The War On Whores

[Shroom Man 777]

[Based on a character who is not mine, but is inspired by the Goddamn Batman: The Crow]



Dark night envelops the gritty skyline of Los Angeles. Illuminating the endless black are the star-like luminescence of countless buildings and homes, and the arching beams of searchlights.

At the very fringe of the city outskirts, a black obelisk protrudes like an obsidian blade, black steel darker than even the blackest night. Atop this grim edifice stands a gargoyle, with feathered wings like that of an angel’s but smeared in black tar, the sinful sentinel of the City of Angels.

I am The Goddamn Crow.

I stand watch high above the dark streets of LA. My town, my city. I’ve been watching. For years. Over the dark streets, the piss-stained alleys. My alleys. All of it.

I’ve been watching.

This is my town, my city.

Los Angeles. The City of Angels. No Man’s Land. A city that lies, infested to the core. My city. The Crow’s City. Not like Crowtalon, the city. Worse than Crowtalon.

Richard Gray Age Twelve sniffed the glue. In his nose. And then he had a dream, a long one, a long one dream about the future. He woke up on the floor, his pants wet, pissed himself. In his pants.

He told me about his dream, or else he’d have to wipe the floor with his own face. Said that there’d be an earthquake. LA would be split off from the continent, he said. It’d become a No Man’s Land. Evacuated. The city will went nuts. The scum stayed behind, running it like their own country, while the innocents tried to escape from LA.

It’d make life simpler. Because…

This is my life. A world you could never understand.

I am The Goddamn Crow.

The last sane person on Earth.

And this is a war.

The war.

My war.

On Whores.

Wings spread, the Crow leaps off into the night sky. Black on black, gone like a dead ghost.

I fly over the air, cool cold breeze over my face hair. I haven’t shaved. For a month. Every once a while, I’d have to rip off bloody clumps of beard and skin with my bare hands.

I watch the city. And everyone knows I’m watching them. Sunset, everyone hides indoors. A few stay outside. Because they want to die.

Because I am The Goddamn Crow.

Silence. Aside from the wind, all I hear is Richard Gray’s sobbing.

Richard Gray Age Twelve. I don’t like him. Young. Nubile. Supple. Firm but soft. Just like me. When I was young. I got beat, bad. I beat Gray, bad. Hopefully, he’d grow up to be just like his old man, me.

I am his old man.

Because his parents are dead.

Killed by whores.

Whores.

Women aren’t dames. They’re whores. For the last year, I’ve been watching whores. A bunch of whores, a whoring. I watched them scream as drugs and cocks and drugged cocks got stuffed in their mouths. They got beat, bad. Like Richard Gray’s bleeding beak. Then they got pregnant, and their babies got killed. Inside them. They went crazy. The whores went crazy. They killed the men.

And now I kill them.

I see the whores everywhere, but I see three of them now. Back alley. They had a man, a naked man. A naked man smeared in shit. A naked man smeared in shit getting assfucked by a PVC pipe.

The big whore shoves the man’s face in her and squeezes, hard.

Even up in the air, I hear the man’s skull smash.

The whore drops the man, his head looking like a deflated balloon. Or a limp dick.

I drop down from the sky and hover above the ground, like a wraith. I land on a puddle of mud. A puddle of bloody mud. Or muddy blood.

“It’s the Crow!” the three of them shriek.

“Whores,” the Crow mutters under his breath, like a curse.

I am The Goddamn Crow.

I draw my vicious knife. The Crow draws my gun.

The whores fire. Literally.

The lead whore wears iron bras. Nozzles come out of her iron bras and fire comes out of the nozzles that came out of her iron bras. I’ve been watching whores. I know this whore. She turned the fire into a giant flaming cunt and sent the flaming clit at me.

The Crow grits his teeth as he dodges out of the way. I smash through the alley’s wooden boards, shooting back through the wood with my gun.

I can see through walls.

Despite the heat from the burning breasts shooting out flaming clits, and the sizzling of my fried beard, my infrared sees the whores. The other one pulls out a giant machinegun. From her ass. And wears it on her, like a .50 caliber strap-on dildo. She fires it on full-automatic, turning the wooden alley walls I hide behind into shitty Swiss cheese, while the recoil turns her .50 caliber water-cooled fully-automatic dildogun into a vibrator.

I shoot back. But, just this once, hers is bigger than mine.

No one’s is bigger than mine.

One whore. Two whore. Where’s the three whore?

The full moon is blocked out by the clouds, and the clouds are blocked out by the silhouette of a whore. On ice skates, ice skates sharpened to a knife’s edge. She has a katana on one hand, and a chainsword on the other. I shoot at her, but she’s fast. Faster than any species of whore the Crow’s observed. Until now.

She lands, blocking bullets with her katana while lashing out with her chainsword.

The Crow, me, grunts in displeasure as the chainsword teeth cash at my armor. Sparks fly out.

I bitchslap the whore.

The other two are on me.

The fifty-cals hit me in the tits, and the Crow is thrown backwards from the impact, bullets flattening on his armor, forming bat-nipples on my Crowsuit.

I grit my teeth and ready myself to curse.

“Oh I do declare!” the Texas chainsaw massacre whore declares as she comes at me with her chainsword. I dodge, jump back. The Crow parries her katana with my knife. I scream. Scream as her other hand chainsaws the artificial feathers of my wings.

The Goddamn Crow’s Goddamn Wings are neurally interfaced with his brain. He surgerized these wings into my spine by myself. If Richard Gray saw me run that electric scalpel through my own back, he would’ve shit. No one shits on the Crow’s couch, especially when I’m performing surgery on myself.

I would’ve shoveled that shit back into Gray’s mouth. Used his glue to seal his mouth shut, see what happens when shit gets digested all over again. He couldn’t puke it out. It’d come out of his ass. Would digested shit still come out as shit? Or would it come out as food? Gray would have to find out.

While pondering Richard Gray’s closet-coprophagia, I automatically bitchslap the chain-whore away.

I smile and say something smart, then get a mouthful of pussy. On fire. Flaming pussy. Goddamn pyromaniakinetics. Just like Firestorm. That man-whore.

WHORES! I think that and I scream it loud as I inhale flaming air and exhale flaming air in order to scream those words out loud. WHORES! WHORES! WHORES! WHORES!

WHORES!

The Crow’s had enough with these whores.

I am The Goddamn Crow.

I, The Goddamn Crow, fucking leap some ten meters into the air before flapping my burning wings. With my goddamn pistol’s last rounds, I aim at all three of them at once. Because I can.

I squeeze the trigger. My frantic cursing makes the gunshot sound like a whisper.

All at once, bullets hit them in the head. They fall down, grey matter coming out of the holes between their eyes.

Grey.

Gray.

Richard Gray Age Twelve.

Gray’s Anatomy.

Greys.

I once read a book about a man who killed whores. The book was all about black and white. All that man saw in his world was black and white. Symbolic, perhaps, of right and wrong. Right and whores. Black and white. He killed whores in a city of sin and saw it all in black and white.

I kill whores. In a City of Angels. I don’t see it all in black and white. Grey. It’s all grey. No symbols. No right and wrong. Whores. But no right. No wrong. No black ink drawings on a white sheet of paper. Maybe pencils. Pencils all over a white sheet of paper, covering it all in lead. I see it all in grey.

I am The Goddamn Crow.

I land. And the Crow goes in. Me. Into the den of whores.

A stripclub. A whore house. Full of corpses. Man-corpses. Written over the mirrored ceiling were the words:

THE GUN IS GOOD THE PENIS IS EVIL

I agree. With my penis.

I am The Goddamn Crow.

There she was, the lady in red. Blonde red. Spreading her legs wide open on the whore-couch. Holding a pistol. The spent magazine clutters on the ground.

She closes her legs, stands up, and shoots me. One last round in the chamber. Into my head. My skull.

Between the eyes.

Pain. A white flash.

The deformed bullet bouncing off the bulletproof. Falling to the floor.

She was empty. So was I.

I slashed her across the chest. She screamed and fell on me.

Her breasts bled on me. Like my mother.

People say they remember being born, their earliest memories. My earliest memory was my mother’s breasts.

They bled on me.

I holstered my empty sidearm as her spent pistol cluttered to the floor. I hold her close in my arms.

For the first time ever, I notice one thing.

The Crow saw that she was pregnant, her belly like a hemisphere.

They killed because their unborn children were taken from them. Maybe that was why she killed with them, she killed for them.


The Crow drops her bleeding, dying body in front of a hospital.

In that black-and-white book I read, the man said one thing too. Everything wasn’t black and white. Sometimes, just sometimes, there were colors. The red of passion. The blue eyes of the innocent. The yellow of sickness. He was wrong with the black-and-white. He was right with the Technicolor.

I killed her because she was a whore, and I was right. All women are whores, but not all whores are women. There are man-whores. But some women-whores aren’t just whores.

The Crow remembered when his mother’s breasts bled on him. And he saw the dying woman, blonde hair, pale skin, red dress. Crimson blood pooling in the grey concrete pavement.

Her child would be an orphan. Orphaned because of a war.

The war.

My war.

On Whores.

His, or her, parents were dead.

I am The Goddamn Crow.



"Nevermore."

[Bladed_Crescent]

Someone's been reading Frank Miller's design notes....

Of course, you left out the obligatory ASS SHOT!

[Shroom Man 777]

*dies laughing*

[JointStrikeFighter]

Classic Shroom Man insanity once more

War On Whores = Gold

PS. What were you smoking when you wrote this and where can I get some

[The Vortex Empire]

Excellent, Shroom, simply excellent. You are great at making these random, hilarious fanfics.

Classic Shroom Man insanity once more

War On Whores = Gold

PS. What were you smoking when you wrote this and where can I get some

And how much is it?

[Sidewinder]

That was... disturbing. By the way, how do you come up with inspirations like this? I'd like to tap into such inspirations myself. (I'm currently dealing with writer's block by revising some older stories.)

[Shroom Man 777]

Well, sometimes I just like to make fun of things. In this case, Sin City, Batman, and other Frank Miller "gritty" anti-hero stuff.

And I practically ripped off Fear and Loathing in Gotham City

Maybe it's because I'm insane and have an unhinged sense of humor.

[Winston Blake]

I would’ve shoveled that shit back into Gray’s mouth. Used his glue to seal his mouth shut, see what happens when shit gets digested all over again. He couldn’t puke it out. It’d come out of his ass. Would digested shit still come out as shit? Or would it come out as food? Gray would have to find out.

While pondering Richard Gray’s closet-coprophagia, I automatically bitchslap the chain-whore away.

I smell a Pulitzer.

[Shroom Man 777]

I edited it. For the sake of completion

[Zixinus]

Goddamn hilarious. Just goddamn hilarious.

[Sarevok]

Far too awesome to be left there. I demand a sequel !