bad fanfiction crossover short
http://kaction.com/badfanfiction/
Your challenge is to write crossover fanfiction combining Max Payne and the Little Mermaid. The story should use good characters becoming evil as a plot device!
It'd been years since Max had been this far from the city. Years of grime, and filth. Hot nights sizzling humid with acid rain that never left the world any cleaner. Now he stood on a grey rocky shore, clean wind blowing chill, colder than a dead hooker's heart. Red hair and a pocketful of sea shells had led him this far, but why he couldn't say. Maybe someone had to. Someone had to care. Had to remember a mute girl who'd lost her way. No one in the city did. To them she was just another wasted life, another piece of trash to be bagged and hauled off. It didn't matter that her life had been literally snipped short, veins slashed open in cruel, jagged lines. Scissors, the report said. Possible suicide. Weapon not found. Something in her pale, drawn face reminded him...like this place reminded him. Years before, a vacation by the sea, happiness. Two people in love. A young life, bright like the glow of the sun hidden behind the dark clouds that sent her to the city, to be used, dragged down, enslaved by addiction and finally broken. Like that remembered glory of love, cut short in blood and violence. Even if no one else cared about the answers, he'd find them. For the life she'd had taken, for the love that had been taken from him, for himself. Because somebody had to.
Too late over the sound of the surf he heard the footsteps clicking oddly behind him. Too slow, reaching for his gun, turning, his trench coat plastered to his legs by the chill salt spray. Before he can even finish turning a blow like an armored fist takes him in the temple. Darkness rushes towards him like a wave of redemption, promising sweet release for Payne, from pain. What feels like a set of dull garden shears takes him by the throat as he falls down and inward, and the last he hears is a voice.
"Down here all the fish is happy. As off to the waves they roll. The fish on the land ain't happy. They sad 'cause they in the bowl," the voice sings raggedly, "I told her, but she wouldn't listen, had to go running off on human legs. Couldn't have that. Couldn't let her go making a whore of herself, risk ruining her father's reputation."
The darkness swirling behind his eyes, blacking out, Max feels the pressure increasing on his neck. Somewhere, beyond the darkness he can feel a light, the last spark of once great love calling to him to join it, or the first spark of life renewed and clean. "Sometimes you just gotta take matters into your own hands," the voice says with false cheer, and a clack of the terrible weapon at the end of it's free arm. His hand is on the gun, peace, blessed peace just moments away, and with a final convulsive effort of will he draws the piece just enough, firing through his holster, his coat, his hopes and dreams and this chance to let it all go and slide into that peaceful darkness.
With a roar the gun barks, hot and loud, sound expanding outward shattering the encroaching stillness, bursting the bubble of his life drawing ever inward. He shoves the thing off and rolls shuddering to his hands and knees. Gasping for breath and coughing, sucking in great lungfuls of air as the sun pierces the clouds driving light painfully into his eyes. Light and life and pain come rushing in by equal measure, every breathe bringing him back into his bruised and battered body, the light pouring in as if to illuminate his shriveled and shriven soul.
He doesn't look at the thing. Doesn't want to know. "The world will be better, with you down where it's hotter. Take it from me," he tells it. "Gah," he says in disgust, lighting a cigarette as he stands. "Rotting seaweed and crab juice. Freshness of nature my ass. I don't know why I bothered leaving the city."
Your challenge is to write crossover fanfiction combining Max Payne and the Little Mermaid. The story should use good characters becoming evil as a plot device!
It'd been years since Max had been this far from the city. Years of grime, and filth. Hot nights sizzling humid with acid rain that never left the world any cleaner. Now he stood on a grey rocky shore, clean wind blowing chill, colder than a dead hooker's heart. Red hair and a pocketful of sea shells had led him this far, but why he couldn't say. Maybe someone had to. Someone had to care. Had to remember a mute girl who'd lost her way. No one in the city did. To them she was just another wasted life, another piece of trash to be bagged and hauled off. It didn't matter that her life had been literally snipped short, veins slashed open in cruel, jagged lines. Scissors, the report said. Possible suicide. Weapon not found. Something in her pale, drawn face reminded him...like this place reminded him. Years before, a vacation by the sea, happiness. Two people in love. A young life, bright like the glow of the sun hidden behind the dark clouds that sent her to the city, to be used, dragged down, enslaved by addiction and finally broken. Like that remembered glory of love, cut short in blood and violence. Even if no one else cared about the answers, he'd find them. For the life she'd had taken, for the love that had been taken from him, for himself. Because somebody had to.
Too late over the sound of the surf he heard the footsteps clicking oddly behind him. Too slow, reaching for his gun, turning, his trench coat plastered to his legs by the chill salt spray. Before he can even finish turning a blow like an armored fist takes him in the temple. Darkness rushes towards him like a wave of redemption, promising sweet release for Payne, from pain. What feels like a set of dull garden shears takes him by the throat as he falls down and inward, and the last he hears is a voice.
"Down here all the fish is happy. As off to the waves they roll. The fish on the land ain't happy. They sad 'cause they in the bowl," the voice sings raggedly, "I told her, but she wouldn't listen, had to go running off on human legs. Couldn't have that. Couldn't let her go making a whore of herself, risk ruining her father's reputation."
The darkness swirling behind his eyes, blacking out, Max feels the pressure increasing on his neck. Somewhere, beyond the darkness he can feel a light, the last spark of once great love calling to him to join it, or the first spark of life renewed and clean. "Sometimes you just gotta take matters into your own hands," the voice says with false cheer, and a clack of the terrible weapon at the end of it's free arm. His hand is on the gun, peace, blessed peace just moments away, and with a final convulsive effort of will he draws the piece just enough, firing through his holster, his coat, his hopes and dreams and this chance to let it all go and slide into that peaceful darkness.
With a roar the gun barks, hot and loud, sound expanding outward shattering the encroaching stillness, bursting the bubble of his life drawing ever inward. He shoves the thing off and rolls shuddering to his hands and knees. Gasping for breath and coughing, sucking in great lungfuls of air as the sun pierces the clouds driving light painfully into his eyes. Light and life and pain come rushing in by equal measure, every breathe bringing him back into his bruised and battered body, the light pouring in as if to illuminate his shriveled and shriven soul.
He doesn't look at the thing. Doesn't want to know. "The world will be better, with you down where it's hotter. Take it from me," he tells it. "Gah," he says in disgust, lighting a cigarette as he stands. "Rotting seaweed and crab juice. Freshness of nature my ass. I don't know why I bothered leaving the city."