Back in the olden days Marvel made a series of comics called Amazing Fantasy. It was used pretty much just to bounce ideas around. Spidey fans will know that he is a product of this series. I am taking after this series and am going to be posting less than a page or so of ideas that I have for stories. This is a very criticism based topic, so your thoughts are appreciated.
This first one is about a French mercenary Robin Hood in the near future, Tueur:
The sniper rifle’s recoil pushed fruitlessly against Tueur’s shoulder. The bullet spiralled from its barrel, the bullet spun through the air at breakneck speed, 300 feet, 600 feet, 1000 feet, until it finally struck its target. The metal tore its way through the femoral artery as the target fell to the floor in pain. His bodyguard’s rushed to his aid, quickly pulling out their phones to call 999. Tueur quickly but smoothly disassembled his sniper and stuffed it into his bag. He snatched his phone out of his pocket. “Il a finisse. Je suis prêt.” He whispered as he made his way down the stairs and dark corridors of the abandoned warehouse. As he exited the building a luxurious black car pulled up to the sidewalk. A siren wailed in the background as he stepped into the front seat.
“I’d give it a seven, sir,” said the driver.
“Why would you say that, Reginald?”
“Shooting through another building is tacky. However, I do have to commend you on the femoral rupture.”
“And it shows. That’s your fatal flaw, sir. You lack je ne sais quoi.”
“Well, I wish tu as sais. Then perhaps I’d be able to learn a bit from you.”
“Killing in the sixties was different than it is now. We had flair. Now it’s just about the money. The business has lost it’s appeal.”
“Well then, I’d guess I’ll make sure to keep that in mind, Mr. Bond.”
“Yet another great franchise that has lost its bid.” The car pulled to a stop at a red light. Reginald cruised along the highway towards the northern coast of England. He pulled the car into the private jet that rested in the community airway. Reginald took to the pilot’s seat and Tueur poured himself a glass of 1984 Bordeaux. He savored the burgundy flavor as he took a seat on the couch. He turned on the flat screen and tuned into the news. They were covering the death of the notorious Italian blackmailer and his mysterious twitter confession to his crimes. A grin slipped up his lips. He pulled out his laptop and took 90% of the commision from the job and transferred it evenly amongst the blackmailer’s victims. He was sure they would enjoy the generous donation. Exhausted, he laid back and fell into a deep sleep.
He woke up as the plane touched down in northern France. Reginald drove him back to his mansion and paused in the driveway.
“Reginald, why have we stopped?” he said as he pulled up in between the seats.
“Sir, there’s a woman in the garage.”
“Well, honk at her. Tell her to get out of the way!”
“Sir...she’s covered in blood.”
Soooo... here's the next one. I was thinking about calling it Darwinism, but I'm not sure yet. Enjoy!
I’m going to need to start out simply. My story gets pretty complex along the way, so let’s lay down some ground rules. First of all, I’m not insane, I swear. Second of all, this story is definitely insane. It’s near impossible. Heck, it is impossible. You’re just going to have to run with this, okay? You can do that, right? Well, good job, because there’s not a lot of people who can do that. Nice to know I have an intelligent audience. That’s going to make my job easier.
Alright, now that I’ve got that out of the way, where to start? I mean, the beginning is a good place. But where is the beginning? I guess I’m just wasting your time at this point. Leave if you want, I really don’t care anymore.
After thinking it over, I’ve decided on a beginning. Are you ready? You had better be.
I’m Richard Darwin, and this is my story.
His fist slammed hard into my chest. A futile attempt with admirable force. The wind whisked past me as he thrust himself into a step through roundhouse kick. I caught him in the back of the leg and he crumpled to the ground. He spun his right leg about a foot above the air and connected hard with my shin. I spun down to the ground as he slowly got up, rubbing his leg. He tried to stumble away, but I was able to shake the haze out of my eyes and chase down the alleyway after him. His black coat melted into the night as he sprinted towards the street. I barely caught him. I swung him around and carried him into the wall. He connected with a thud. I braced myself, and pulled my forehead into his nose. It broke with a sickening crack. He winced. I had to admire him for not screaming. There was a good deal of blood. Somehow he managed to struggle out of my grasp and pull me down to the ground. He slammed his fist into my face, one, two, three, four times. Slowly, the night’s darkness swirled in around me as my last grip on consciousness left. The last thing I remembered was him picking me up and swinging me over his shoulder. My boss was going to kill me. MI5 as a whole was going to kill me.