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deadpuppetboi · 1 year

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How does Cash react to Mr. Nasty finding out about his son? And does he try to track them down at Bullworth?

It started with tape.

A cassette tape that is.

It was just laid on his desk, in his office, right in his workplace.

Thinking it was nothing, Jon threw it away, going back to his papers to settle other disputes. He would forget the tape the same day, helping his coworkers to fix a problem a newbie made. The day after, the tape was placed on his desk again, only this time, writing was on it.

‘Play me, dumbass.’

There was a cassette tape next to it, a hand-drawn arrow where the tape should be placed in. Another on the play button, it's so ridiculous that Jon had to take notice.

It's obvious, it should have been in the beginning, but he figured he’d deal with it at home.

At home, it had been way past midnight, one hour spent taking care of work and the other driving back. The tape and cassette player were still near him, being carelessly thrown on the kitchen counter he figured to ignore it again.

But he didn't, he couldn't, something was telling him to play the tape.

He placed the tape inside the cassette player, closed it, then pressed the play button.

What he heard next shocked him.

“How are you feeling?”

“Leave me alone, please.”

He didn't believe it at first; his mind blanked out, his body being stuck in one spot while he held his breath.

He knew that voice.

Despite his entire body tingling by the minute, he listened on, like he was in a trance.

“This is part of your treatment, “the voice went on, one the man had never heard of.

“My treatment, really? Good.” She sounded sarcastic, almost drilling the irony of the entire situation.

“Yes, your treatment, you know that.”

“It seems to be doing me a lot of good. You guys certainly know about right and wrong, thanks.”

The more the two talked the more Jon sunk within himself, that unsettling feeling he’s had for years then weighing on his shoulders.

“Do you ever want to go back to work?”

He remembered that night like it was yesterday.

“Yes, I really want to go back to work and find out some more lies. Are you kidding me? You moron, go back to work?! You've spoken to me, you know what happened.”

He remembered the blood, the chants, the fear, and even the end of the chaos that started it all.

“You’ve spoken to me, you know what happened.”

He remembered how sore his muscles were, how his headache was, how fast his heartbeat was, and how the blood dripped from his body.

“You had a breakdown.”

He was empty that very night, immediately talking about what he needed before running away. Anything valuable was going to help him get a new life out of the law’s eyes.

“Yes, of course, I had a breakdown. I got very scared. You know what I saw?! How the hell would that make you feel? You patronizing idiot, you think you could get out of bed after you’d seen that?”

He didn't look back and he never did, for his own sake, he thought he could forget about that night and what transpired before that.

But it ate away at him, mentally it did, and the more he ignored it, the more it drove him crazy.

“We all saw it on television. You broke the story, why does it make you so angry?”

Is the apartment as safe as it claims to be?

Are just neighbors his actual neighbors?

Would he live to see another day?

Is he really safe?

“Yeah, you saw it on television, I saw it. There's a difference! I saw him, you idiot, I didn't do anything wrong! I didn't hurt anyone, I’m not mad, I’m not mad!”

All these questions racked his brain enough to distract him as the tape went on. He hadn't even noticed that it had stopped, at least, until numbers had started to be counted off. He hadn't noticed what they were before he immediately ran to get his notebook and pen, writing down the numbers given to him.

The tape soon stopped and Cash looked down at what he had to write.

It was coordinated. He was given coordinates.

Cash took the next few days off, for once in his life, he was using his break to his advantage.

The coordinates he was given led him to a pier at Del Perro; he spent nearly two hours searching the place before he found the tape. He didn't waste time, he immediately went to the next location, listening to the tape as he drove on. His mind clouded with worry as he listened in on these interviews with a woman he hasn't seen since that night.

What had happened to her?

All he heard was the news, the fear that rocketed the country at the discovery of Starkweather’s work, and so on. Not like he would care, he was too busy selling the director’s watch to spend the night at a somewhat decent motel.

All he cared about was hiding and running far away from Carver City.

Whatever was in that city, he didn't care, it could finally burn for all he cared, and he wouldn't turn back. Yet, here he was, sneaking his way into a building to find a goddamn tape to listen to. Time wasted over cassette tapes expanding his guilt over a woman he barely knew who suffered the consequences of his actions.

Why didn't he ask if she was alright?

Physically she was fine, but mentally?

She saw him kill those cops, sure, but with the evidence, she collected, what else could she have seen? If she was there from the beginning, would she be worse than before or barely understand the world she lived in was a complete lie?

What had happened to her?

It had been the fifth day, Cash was needed for his work in the next five hours, and all he had was his fears and suspicions to keep him alert.

Had he slept? Ate anything? Stopped to take a small break?

He didn't know, all he cared about was getting to deal with this once and for all.

Whatever or whoever was doing this to him knew what he had done.

It couldn't have been the police, no matter how invasive and corrupted they were, they were too damn lazy to commit something to this extent.

It couldn't have been the FIB, now he sounded like a conspiracy theorist, he needs to stop listening to that one radio show.

But Starkweather? Starkweather was dead. He killed that man with a chainsaw welded by a disturbed, overweight man in a pig’s mask.

He was long gone, so who would go after him?

Someone that knew Starkweather personally?

Someone who knew the snuff film business?

Someone that wanted to get revenge?

But who would have enough time and resources to get back at him? After all this time, they would have hired another company to handle the snuff film business than worry about him.

Better yet, why not just shoot him in the back of the head and leave him to bleed out on the pavement?

God, why him?

Cash hasn't noticed it at first, his eyes barely trailing over the roads to sense the familiarity.

The same roads, the same signs, the same buildings-wait-what the hell?

Cash looked out his window, running a hand over his eyes he watched a familiar sign pass him.

‘Oakwood Parc’

The grown man looked at his phone before looking at the sign again before it passed. Turning right he looked at another sign, his heart starting to race.

‘Dutch Road’

No.

‘Jersey Down’

‘Swallow Cliff’

‘Brook Glen’

He continued on the path, only ignoring the directions when he skipped a few streets for a shortcut. His eyes widened as the sounds around him started to ring and his heart started to beat faster.

This can't be possible, it just can't be.

Cash made a rather harsh turnover towards his apartments, parking recklessly as he grabbed what he had and ran out of his car. By this point, the sun had fallen and the starless night had taken over, every shadow could lead to his downfall.

Yet, Cash haphazardly ran to his apartment door, taking no mind of the danger, and as he walked in front of it, he paused.

The door was ajar.

Someone had broken into his home.

Cash readied his pocket knife, slowly opening the door he watched as the moonlight cast his shadow over his home.

He reached over to turn on the light only to get nothing, cursing to himself, he carefully walked inside. He didn't have a flashlight with him so all he had was the moonlight to lead him further. He barely passed the front door before quickly making his way into the shadows.

It was best to avoid the light to get to jump at anyone who was hiding somewhere.

Cash checked the kitchen, and every cabinet opened up as well as the oven.

Cash checked in the living room, and under each used couch nothing was touched.

Cash checked the hallway from which only three rooms resided to check.

His room, the guest room, and the bathroom.

Only one of these room’s doors was left wide open.

Taking that as a trap, Cash left that one for last.

The guest room wasn't much to look at, even with how much stuff was piled there over the last few months it wasn't much. Even in the closet, nothing was there except for a few leftover shoes, clothes, and a locked box.

None of it was touched.

The bathroom was empty as well, the curtain was drawn so far to the side no one would be able to hide behind there.

So all that was left was his room…

The sound of static was high and unforgiving, the light of the television shining down against the harsh shadows.

He peaked at every corner, his closet wide open, yet nothing was out of the ordinary apart from the television. The man checked the closet, even with how small it was, it didn't mean that no one couldn't hide in it. Carefully parting the clothes, everything was normal, so Cash turned over to under his bed.

He made a quick move to look under, he was met with an empty plane, no man hidden under there.

Cash sat right back up, feeling his mind calm down just for a moment, he turned his attention toward his television.

The man walked over to the tv, eyeing the whole thing before he noticed the VCR underneath the tv. There was a VHS tape planted halfway into the VCR, the writing is shown in plain view.

‘Play Me :)’

He pushed in the tape and quietly sat down on his bed, a sort of uneasy feeling grew over his chest. The screen blacked out before color filled the entire screen, and the image of a doorway was shown. Everything else was blacked out, save for the bright red door which slowly opened to reveal a man behind it.

Cash was taken aback by the man at first, his attire completely taking him by surprise.

He wore a gimp suit, made entirely of latex and leather, belts of all kinds wrapped around his arms and legs. There was a corset wrapped tightly around his waist, it was pulled so tight that it looked uncomfortable. The worst part was the smile hidden behind the zipper-like teeth that were stitched onto the mask itself.

“Oh, hello, “the man sang, the blindfold over his eyes twitching ever so slightly with how wide he smiled.

“Welcome, weary traveler, come in, come in!” Claw-like gloves moved over in sync, enticing the viewer to come inside, from which, the camera did so.

From inside, Cash saw what seemed to be a single chair perched in darkness. It seemed like the entire room was covered head to toe with latex, the lighting reflecting them lightly. The gimp seemingly turned around the chair in a spin, grabbed it, and turned it over to sit backward.

“It seems that you’re lost, don't worry about your scrambled head, you can rest here all you like!”

He held out his arms and legs over the chair, crossing them over each other in some ridiculous way to keep them from going all over the place.

“Besides, I have a wonderful story to tell!”

He snapped his finger, and immediately a book was brought in by a man wearing similar attire to the gimp on the chair. He said nothing as the gimp took the book from their gloved hands, shooing them away as they showed the book towards the camera.

“Here, my tired traveler is a book still ongoing! Now, I am not a writer, by all means, I'm open to criticism.”

There was a pause.

“Criticism only I approve of, of course.”

The book was covered in black with red lining, just like the gimp holding it, he opened it and started to read.

“Once upon a time, there was a man, a really brutal man who knew nothing but pain and suffering. His upbringing, although filled with nothing but harm and betrayal transformed him into the man he is today. And what a man he became, striving to do more for men in suits, distraught lovers, and the thrill of gold all around!”

The book was turned over, showcasing typical childlike drawings depicting the ‘man’ throughout his life. The book was turned over and a page was turned, the gimp nearly jumping on his seat in excitement.

“He fought and he spat, for ten years he ran around in fear of capture and persecution. Yet, once he was behind bars, plans were made for him. Just for him. And when the time came, another special man waited by the spotlight, watching ever so intently to see the action happen. And his name…”

The book was turned, and a small version of the gimp was shown to the camera. It had the same attire, the same smile, and the same murderous intent as its creator.

“Is Mr. Nasty.”

The book was turned over, the gimp laughing to himself with a wide smile.

“Now, Mr. Nasty was a very impressive man. So impressive the only way to get his attention was to prove how gruesome and vile you can be. So he had so many friends all over the world who gathered to help and watch his films become a reality. A life even Mr. Nasty never thought he could have, but once acquired, did everything in his power to keep that in check.”

Another page was turned.

“That all changed one day, however, as the certain man in this story changed it all in one night.”

There was a slight twitch to his smile, one of malice and anger, but was held up nonetheless.

“One night, the man not only managed to create the best film he's ever had the opportunity to produce and edit but also ruined his chances to make more afterward. For you see, my weary traveler, business for Mr. Nasty is all but sensitive as it is cruel and unforgiving. Because there are other groups and self-righteous fucks that think they can put down works of art for their so-called ‘justice’.”

The gimp didn't turn the book over, instead, they turned to another page.

“Justice unwarranted when all they do is cover shit up to promote how helpful they are to a community filled with liars and bastards alike. But that is neither here nor there, for you wanted a story, a story we both know all too well.”

The gimp groaned, closing the book as he put their head back. They raised the book for a second before abruptly smashing it onto their face, Cash watching in shock as the gimp rose with a smile. He shook his head, his body shaking to reposition himself onto the chair to read the hook once more.

“Me and society, damn, I need to pull myself together. Anyway, back to the story, blah blah blah, blood and guts, my prized director and fuck buddy dead in my tracks, and the FIB going up my ass after that night. Er-some reporter lady getting her ass humbled in a madhouse-”

Cash gasped, his mind immediately going over to the tapes. Each one was expertly hidden in a place that took nearly more than an hour to find. Only then to struggle to find the coordinates for the next tape and so on.

“Uh-but that won't bother you too much, you got the tapes, you heard that bitch whine and lose it. She's not that important anymore, trust me, she's being taken care of, Cash, anyway-”

The book was closed, and a sense of irritation overtook the gimp’s facial features.

“You know what, fuck it, Cash, look, as much as I love theatrics, slow burn isn't my kind of taste. Unless I want to torture myself, today is not the day, you’re tired, I’m tired, and we’re all waiting for the finale, am I right?”

Cash stared at the television.

“Right, okay, look. Cash, I'm pissed at you, like, incredibly and utterly so pissed I’m still shocked I haven't killed you just yet! And, knowing me, that's something entirely new, so I have to make up for that somehow. So, I ask you, Cash, how is it that because of the massacre you created that nearly destroyed my business could ever make up what I’ve lost?”

The gimp jumped onto the chair in a swift moment, the book still, in hand, he forced a smile onto his face.

“That’s because not only have I faced such turmoil and depression after the chaos you’ve spread. I've been given a chance at retribution, Cash, another chance to bring myself back into business with new ideas and new environments. Case in point, I would have to thank only one person for my comeback, a true blessing in disguise if I say so myself!”

The gimp made another pose on the chair, one leg placed on the ground and the other bent on the seat of the chair.

“I’m going to save you a lot of time because I'm so excited, Cash, but it all started because some dumbass decided to steal my briefcase. I was going to get it back, with all my important stuff in there, of course, but someone got there before me. They were fast, like a gazelle, faster than I could ever run, but I managed to get there just in time to see the action myself.”

Cash saw the gimp get more excited, tapping one foot on the ground, their grip on the book grew tighter.

“It was beautiful, Cash, beautiful! The villain is down on the ground getting beaten by the hero himself, each punch as harsh and bloody as the last! Oh God, I was amazing, I wish I had a camera on me to record it, but all I could do was watch everything go down. It was miraculous, James, everything that I’d been missing for months only to begin playing right in front of my eyes!”

Cash felt himself sigh; what was he going with all of this?

“Soon my briefcase was returned to me but I didn't care about it anymore, what mattered more was the hero who went out of his way to save me! I wanted-no-needed to know his name but he must have caught my desperation and left me with his only name.”

The gimp laughed a breathless laugh.

“Jimmy.”

From within Cash’s chest, he felt his chest overfill with a horrible chill.

“Jimmy. Oh, Jimmy? There had to be more to that, I just knew there was. So after I killed the thief-the villain-I called a good friend of mine to get everything together. I wanted to know every damn man in Liberty City named Jimmy as soon as possible, no exceptions. So for the next few days, I did not sleep, no hour was wasted as I spent so long trying to find this specific Jimmy.”

Unconsciously, he felt himself gulp, breathing in sharply as he watched the tape on.

“But then it hit me! Jimmy could just be a nickname, so I took a full minute to think about how that nickname could be integrated into a full name. Jim, Jamie, Jimbo…”

The camera closed up on the gimp’s face, his smile widening to show his pearly white teeth.

“James.”

The cold feeling spread across Cash’s body, his chest expanding and condensing as the seconds passed by. His mind was stuck on one possibility but he pushed it aside, only for it to come right back up again.

It couldn't be possible, it just couldn't.

The camera panned back out, the gimp changed positions once again, this time his knees were up the seat.

“So there I was, searching with every resource I’ve bad at my grubby sharp claws, and then I found it! I found him, Cash, I found the hero of my story!”

No.

“He was found around Liberty City, making note of every strange person and adventure in his way. He's met the homeless, the scum, the corrupt, and even the politically incorrect! But at the very end, he returned to one place I never thought a boy like him would rest. Could you imagine what that place was, Cash?”

Cash was silent, his heart beating faster.

“An apartment, an expensive one at that, and over here I’m thinking to myself: Was my hero some rich delinquent? But-no-this was different, Cash, way different, when I looked through the files of who could have been in that apartment I found a particular name. A very special name I'm sure you hold dear to your heart, no?”

Cash was breathing faster, his grip on his bed sheets got tighter, sweat collecting over his head.

“Room 176, level 3, a room rented by a name named Jerry Jones. A man who fancied older cars for his business nobody gives two shits about. Then I looked deeper into it, very deeply into it, and I found out who he married just the month before. So you know who that woman was, Cash?”

In a flick of a wrist, a picture was shown, of a woman wearing flamboyant clothing pulling the ear of a teenage boy in haste. She looked upset, a finger up in the air accusing the teenager of something as her free hand brushed her red hair back.

Cash remained silent, his entire body felt numb.

“Mallory Hopkins telling her son James ‘Jimmy’ Hopkins that he has no right to go out into the city without her permission.”

If it was even possible, the smile went further than humanly possible.

“And then I remember way back when I read up on your files that you used to be a married man, no? You used to have a secret life hidden away to support the girl of your dreams, and eventually, after many tries, a baby is in the way. But, of course, the damned FIB was after you and you had to leave and leave what you had to support your family and left them all behind for an entire decade.”

The gimp sighs, a notable frown on his face.

“It's a tragedy, really, it is. But a sacrifice worth living because if it wasn't for you, Cash, I'm sure I wouldn't have considered the thought of these two.”

The picture was then crumpled slowly in the gimp’s claws, the blindfold over his eyes switching slightly as he did so.

“I mean, who would have thought that I would meet the bastard of the man that nearly ruined my entire business! Oh my God, the second I connected the dots I jumped up and yelled at the top of my lungs: THERE IS A GOD!!!”

The camera panned out further, showcasing the gimp jumping onto the chair, one on the seat and the other at the top. He fell over, almost gracefully, onto the ground with a laugh as he shook his hands with the book.

“It was a sign, Cash, a sign for me to get out of my depressive state and do my work again, only better than before!”

The book was opened to reveal the empty pages within.

“There can be more put into this story! The hero of this story will be the bastard you left long ago to avoid the truth of the matter! Every page will finally be filled out and all my hard work will finally be done and over with once and for all! You can't imagine how much this means to me. Cash, nothing in the world, no pain, no pleasure could ever make up for what this means to me!”

He laughed.

“I'm so excited about this! I can finally do what I always wanted to do and make a film in school!” It took months and specific needs to make it all happen, but it's finally happening!”

Closing the book, the gimp threw it over towards the camera, Cash flinching at the act as the book soon disappeared from view. A map was given to the gimp, and he took it and opened it up to show it in front of the camera for Cash to see. With the footage, it was hard to make out but even then it was slightly visible.

“Who would have thought a troubled kid like Jimmy would get into a prestigious school such as Bullworth Academy? I mean, if I was kicked out of so many schools I would have given up right then and there! But that's what makes you and Jimmy so similar, Cash, no matter how many times you both are battered down, you always get back up for a fight!”

A sharp finger pointed over toward the center of the map, where from what Cash could tell, was this proclaimed Bullworth Academy. He couldn't see the address, once again, it was blurred even close to the camera.

“I need that in a film, and I need him in my film, Cash! No one else can compare to what potential that boy has to make for a film of a lifetime! To make up for survival not only for him but for everyone else nearby, especially the town of Bullworth itself!”

The map was thrown out of frame, the grown man laughing and jumping up and down like a child who's been given a lot of candy.

“I'm so excited! And I have you to thank for all of this happening, Cash! To your insane amount of bloodshed, my business nearly going down, my depression at an all-time high, and the FIB finding out many of my hideouts! It was all worth it in the end, Cash, all of it was leading up for the better!”

The camera was grabbed and pulled out of the cameraman’s hold, the gimp’s face getting up close at the lens that it nearly blurred.

“So Cash, thank you, really, for this opportunity of a lifetime! I know you have more questions and even if they’re hardly answered in this tape, I can assure you, they weren't.”

He laughed, his breath wheezing at the end.

“I leave you with this James, you have a choice to make, a big one.”

The gimp licked his chapped lips.

“You can either ignore all of this and live your sad life where you are now. Take out the tape, collect all the others, throw it in a bag, and break it apart. Or, and I hope you take this one, you can be the man you were once before and go protect that bastard of a son you’ve made. I'm telling you right away, Cash, I really hope you take the last option because I'm not so sure that boy is capable of murder as I hope and dream he is.”

There was a moment of silence, the sound of the man breathing heavily was heard before he gulped and smiled once more.

“But remember this, Cash, no matter what option you make, blood will be shed and Bullworth will become the next Carcer City. So help me, God, this country-Hell-the world will finally see what I'm actually capable of.”

Mr. Nasty gave a small sigh, his smile turning sinister by the second.

“I can't wait to see how this all goes down.”

At the last second, Cash watched as the image of Mr. Nasty fazed out to reveal a date, a date he recognized to be only due in a few months. Only for that date to be abruptly cut by footage of a cartoon alien talking with a teenage boy underneath the stars.

“Be mindful, Jack, there is much to find as there is much to fear!”

Then static.

Complete and utter static.

Cash watched on in silence as the static went on, the tape finally ending, all he could do was sit there and look.

He didn't know what to think as well as he didn't know what to do. All he could hear was the static of his television, his own beating heart, the ambulance traveling by his apartment, and the drunken argument being made next door.

And all he could whimper was one name and one name only.

“Jimmy…”

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