The Dark Menace

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
The story is about the beginnings of The Dark Menace, a trickster villain that loves the game of Life and Death. The beginnings began from the peak of his prodigal youth, to the downfall of his humanity. Where his love for the only person who ever loved him caused him despair. And that despair manifests itself into many things.

Submitted: August 14, 2016

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Submitted: August 14, 2016



Chapter 1: The Dark Knight? No. I am the Dark Menace.


It's was the Rio's 2016, where corruption was the shadows looming over the games.


Where hopes and dreams lie within the games but despair and poverty were profound in the city of Rio.


There came a young Singaporean Lad, 9 in age. Some call him a protégé, to some, "a smirk punk". Nevertheless, this young man, who was supposed to play his finals against South Korea, and the fact that Singapore, a small island in South East Asia, finally won their first Gold Olympic medal in its history, gave tremendous stress upon all the subsequent Singaporean competitors.


He, who was only 5 foot tall, stood in the centre of the stadium with his towering opponent. The table tennis match was about to begin. But all he could think of was how his parents had the gall to have left right before his match just because his father had to attend a business meeting back in Asia.


His head stood just right above the table as he got ready to serve. Even though he knew his limitations, his knack as a strategist led him to become the best in his country and now, potentially the world. But as he was about to serve, the constant sneer he could hear at the edge of his ears gave him an irking for these creatures. "I know you're laughing at me cos I'm young and short, but you would never be able to stand here like I can. Who's laughing now?" But his mind and thoughts could not project to the masses, he knew. He knew too, that it didn't matter, as he had the love and support from his mother, the only person that supported him in anything he wanted to do. Being a protégé from birth, he could do anything, be anything. He decided to try a sport since he liked to play with his mum during the weekends. But his mother wasn't around for his finals. And all he could think of was how his parents easily abandoned him like a rag doll tossed aside.


The despair and anger convoluted his mind as he tried to get into the game. He failed. He screamed "SHUT UP". His throat burned but he didn't care, he just wanted them to shut up. The whispers continued even louder. He screamed even louder.


Then, out of nowhere, 2 paramedics came from the sidelines and subdued the boy. He placed him onto the stretcher and took him out of the stadium. The situation happened so quickly no one had any time to react. The boy, in a daze from the shock, as well as a well-placed injection of propofol, slowly fell into slumber, the last glimpse was the weird disappearance of one of the paramedics that stood behind the stretcher, only that the stretcher was still levitating on its own! The boy closed his eyes and awaited his fate..


It was the most tyrannically filled gambling den in the whole of Rio, other than the fact that the den was a makeshift one off an old church, but the fact that it was now owned by one of the most despotic underworld overlords in Rio. The dilapidated church, deep in the heart of the filthiest and forgotten parts of Rio, was now the underworld's main betting centre, especially since the Olympics is held here.


The boy opens his eyes to see himself in a small room and sitting onto a wooden chair. Across him sat the paramedic, with a broken wooden panel in between them, the man stared intently into the boy's face.


"..Who are you and what do you want with me?"


*continues staring without batting an eyelid.


The boy stares right back at him with disgust and total contempt that a grown man could kidnap a boy, let alone a genius like him!  He groans as he awaits the man's reply, not saying a word as he knows that no words could sway the man to speak.


Have you heard of the power of the stare? In science, when you look someone directly in the eyes, their body produces chemical called phenylethylamine that may make the person feel in love. Sometimes it even allows a man to peer into another's soul. If your stare intently enough, you can communicate with each other in a world no words can explain.


The boy stares at the man's features: droopy eyes, face of a comical type, seems like a reasonably normal person other than the fact that he kidnapped a potential Olympic Gold medallist! Now the boy felt even more annoyed than before. He stood up and decided to ignore the man, who's still staring at him. He tried to find an exit from this stuffy and claustrophobic room. All there was is a wooden door and the small window of space between him and the man. It felt surreal to him to be in this situation. He decided to calm himself and thought of an exit strategy. He knew that if he had gone out onto the unknown it would be too dangerous and folly as he knew the dangers of a backward country such as Rio. The back of his head was the severe reminiscence of his home country, a first world city state that having a kidnapping situation occurring would be almost close to nil. But his mind was steadfast to get out of this situation. Firstly putting his ears onto the thick wooden walls, he can hear whispers of loud shouting and uncouth speaking of people but with unusually large amounts of echoes. From there he easily deciphered he was at a church and he was in the confession room with the man. The man, still staring at him, looked on to see the boy being calmed with a look of determination. He finally cracked a crooked smile and spoke with a hint of an accent, "Where are we?"


The boy shooked in his seat from the sudden cracked of silence in the room. He stared back at the man and took a deep breath to calm himself. He replied, "We're at a church, you dirty old bastard."


The grin of the man grew. He instantaneously stood up and laughed boisterously. The boy was taken aback by the sudden change of character by the man, from a cynical-looking man to a hearty one, nevertheless still insane, he thought. The now cheery man, after having a good laugh, sat back down and look right back at the boy, now joyful as if he finally found the needle in a haystack. As he grinned, with a touch of seriousness, he spoke, “Now, tell me your story."


The boy looked confusedly at the man. "What the hell is going on?" his mind ran on and on thinking now what this man before him is up to. The boy decided to carry on the conversation in hopes to negotiate his way out of this sticky, potentially lethal, situation.


"Who are you?"


*Remains silent.


"Fine, but my name doesn't matter, and in any case you should know who I am, since you so blatantly kidnapped me in front of the world's eyes."


*Continues to remain silent.


"My story? What do you want to know? That I'm a genius kid that plays Table Tennis? That my only parents left on my most important match ever? That no one ever understands me? Is that what you want to know?"


*Staring in silence, now with a hint of sadness in his gaze, as if his gaze reflects his condolences to the boy.


The boy, now feeling his knees getting weak and the irony of him confessing before the man who might potentially kill him in a confession room, starts to think of his short 9 years of his life. How, even though he knows that his mum cared and supported him with her hard love, he knew she was pained by his abusive father than hits her whenever the boy does something that upsets the father, blaming it on the incompetent wretch that he says she was. For the father was a perfectionist, being one of the richest man in Asia, and for achieving so much in his life that most only dare to dream. Having a prodigal son meant he had achieved a godlike stature. But in his twisted thinking, his wife was his downfall as she was just a plain housewife to him. Someone to bear his genius of a child and no more. Somehow if any mistakes of the son was made it was due to her incompetent genes inside of his son.


This made the son teared a little. For he knew he couldn't avenge his mother anymore by giving her a good life when his father was no more. Being forced away from her only son's biggest moment just to accompany his father to his business trip, just because.


The boy looked to his maker and decided to divulge everything he felt at that moment, the irony of dying in the church even though he never believed in God. The fact that he tried and prayed and prayed yet to no avail came from aiding in his mother's past anguishes. So he never believed in Him. Yet as subtle as it is, the more the spoke to the man, the more he felt like the man was someone he could rely on. Someone that could understand his anguish and pain, and even the guilt of wanting to kill his father for the avengement for his mother. He felt everything slowly being cleansed away as if God himself accepted his sins and loved him like his own.


The boy finally completed everything he wanted to say, with the tears running ever so heavily down. He looked down in contempt awaiting his fate, waiting for the man to give him what he deserved, Death. But the man just sat there, slowly absorbing everything he had just heard, processing the words and the feelings this little boy has expressed and experienced. He stood up and told the boy, "Come son, you are ready." He got up and left the room. The boy, snuffling back up his last mucus and he rubs it away with his hands, composed himself mentally and went out together with the man, now weirdly compelled to follow the man.


There sat dozens and dozens of huge men and women, people you only see in the darkest of streets, the tattooed skins that the only visibly bared skins were of the man and the boy present in that church. Rowdy as they were, everyone stood in their place in sudden silence when they say the two out-of-place fellows. They walked on as the man grabbed onto the boy, even with the mucus now onto the man's hand, he paid no attention to it. Only his eyes dead set onto the exit of the church. A big man sitting on one of the pews started taunting the man, taking a gun out from his pants and aiming right at the man's chest. The man continued walking on, oblivious to that man nor his gun. The big man, being ignored, stood up in total embarrassment and anger, cocked his gun and aimed right at the man's back and fired.




To everyone's surprise, nothing happened! The bullet went right pass the man!


The boy couldn't fathom what has just happened, only to follow the man obediently.


Just when they were about to reach the exit, someone else, who was quite obviously the underground boss due to the gold and silver chains rings and necklaces on his body, stood up, pointing a shotgun, and spoke in a polite and forceful manner, "Why the rush? Stay, make yourself comfortable! There's no other place you'd rather be in Rio!"


The boy looked at his face and thought this scene was like a movie he recently watched, except that he might die by that shotgun in front of him.


The man ignored him and opened the doors. The boss cocked his shotgun and was ready to fire, beckoning them one last time.


The man stood in his feet and let the boy's hand go. He walked towards the man and put two fingers into the shotgun's barrel. Then he looked at every single person in the room and said, "You should be very afraid of me." Everybody laughed at his confidence and the boss even patted his shoulder in laughter.


The man repeated his words again, now with a voice deeper than any voice you have ever heard before, almost diabolically low. And he snaps his fingers of his other hand. Suddenly a black figure appears right next to him and instantaneously snaps the boss' head off. The boss with an instinctive muscle, pull the trigger right before his head was snapped. The shotgun imploded and the backblast caused the decapitated head to lose its top half of its body from the shrapnel of the shotgun. Everyone started to scream and run away, even the boss' bodyguards were apologetic for their former boss' behaviour, asking for leniency and running away with their tails between their legs.


The boy looked as the moment flashed before his very eyes. No amount of logic could explain what had just happened. The man turned behind and snapped his fingers again, unsummoning the murderous creature before him. The man looked at the boy and noticed he wasn't afraid, but a look of curiosity.


"H-h-how did you do that! He appeared out of thin air and vanished into the night! As if he was like the Batman!"


The man looked on in shock by the boy's reaction, but in total content, he replied, "Boy, I am no Dark Knight. I am no Justice, but I am The Dark Menace."

© Copyright 2018 Jeremy Ho. All rights reserved.

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