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Backstory Of Bugsy Malone Cratered by Thomas Miller
Bugsy Malone stood calmly at the entrance of the rundown apartment building, his large frame casting a menacing shadow in the dimly lit hallway. He could hear the faint sound of music blaring from one of the apartments, the smell of cheap whiskey and cigarettes wafting through the air.
He checked the address scribbled on a crumpled piece of paper in his hand – this was the place. Without a second thought, Bugsy strode forward, his heavy footsteps echoing on the worn-out carpet.
As he reached the door of apartment 17B, Bugsy paused and took a deep breath. This was it. The moment he had been waiting for, the first step towards his long-awaited revenge.
With a steady hand, Bugsy reached into his pocket and pulled out a serrated knife. He ran his fingers along the sharp edge, relishing in the feeling of power it gave him. This was his weapon of choice – the tool that would bring him the satisfaction he craved.
Without hesitation, Bugsy kicked open the door and stepped inside. The sight before him was all too familiar – a small, dingy living room with peeling wallpaper and stained carpets, a worn-out couch and a TV that had seen better days.
But what caught Bugsy's attention was the man sitting at the kitchen table – an old associate who had betrayed him in a deal gone wrong. A man who had given the order to brand Bugsy's face with a red-hot iron, leaving him with a permanent reminder of the debt he owed.
The man looked up in shock as Bugsy approached, his eyes widening in fear as he recognized the towering figure before him. He tried to speak, to plead for mercy, but all that came out was a strangled gasp.
Bugsy took a step closer, his knife glinting in the dim light. He could see the fear in the man's eyes, and he reveled in it. This was what he had been waiting for – the chance to bring pain and suffering to the ones who had wronged him.
With a sudden burst of energy, the man lunged forward, reaching for a nearby knife. But Bugsy was faster. In one swift motion, he grabbed the man's hand and twisted it, causing the knife to clatter to the ground.
The man screamed in pain, but Bugsy remained unfazed. Instead, he leaned in close, his breath hot against the man's ear.
"Do you know who I am?" Bugsy growled, his voice low and menacing.
The man nodded frantically, his eyes never leaving Bugsy's face.
"Do you know why I'm here?" Bugsy continued, his grip on the man's hand tightening.
Again, the man nodded, unable to speak.
"Good," Bugsy said, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "Then you know what's coming next."
With that, Bugsy plunged his knife into the man's stomach, the blade sinking deep into his flesh. The man's screams echoed through the apartment as Bugsy twisted the knife, relishing in the sound of bone and muscle tearing.
As the man's lifeless body slumped to the ground, Bugsy stood over him, his chest heaving with excitement. This was only the beginning – there were others who needed to pay for what they had done to him.
With a satisfied smirk, Bugsy turned and left the apartment, the sound of police sirens in the distance barely registering in his mind. He knew he had to move fast – he had a list of names in his head, and he was determined to cross off each one.
Bugsy made his way to his old neighborhood, a place he hadn't been back to since the incident that had left him scarred. But this was where he would find his next target – a small-time drug dealer who had cheated Bugsy out of a large sum of money.
He found the man in a rundown apartment building, just as he had expected. Without a moment's hesitation, Bugsy kicked down the door and stormed inside.
The man was sitting on a couch, surrounded by a pile of drugs and counting his ill-gotten gains. He looked up in surprise as Bugsy entered, but before he could even speak, Bugsy had grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground.
"You think you can cheat me and get away with it?" Bugsy growled, his grip on the man's neck tightening.
The man struggled for air, his hands desperately clawing at Bugsy's massive arms. But it was no use – Bugsy was too strong.
"You should have paid up when you had the chance," Bugsy continued, his voice filled with rage. "But now, you're going to pay in a different way."
With that, Bugsy threw the man to the ground and pulled out his knife once again. The man tried to crawl away, but Bugsy was on him in an instant, his knife poised to strike.
The man begged for mercy, promising to pay back the money he owed. But Bugsy was beyond reason – he had been pushed to his limit, and now he wanted nothing more than to cause pain and suffering.
He brought down the knife with all his might, the sound of flesh tearing and blood spattering against the walls filling the small apartment. But Bugsy didn't stop there – he continued to stab and cut, his mind consumed by a lust for violence.
It wasn't until the man's body lay still and lifeless on the floor that Bugsy finally snapped out of his rage. He looked down at the bloody mess before him, feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over him.
But as he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of himself in a nearby mirror. The sight of his scarred face sent a wave of anger and self-loathing through him. He had been branded like an animal, and now he would make sure those responsible would suffer the same fate.
Bugsy continued on his mission of vengeance, leaving a trail of mutilated bodies in his wake. He didn't care about the consequences – he was a man on a mission, driven by a burning desire for retribution.
But as the body count rose and the police closed in, Bugsy knew his time was running out. So when he received a tip about the whereabouts of the man who had given the order to brand him, Bugsy didn't hesitate.
He tracked the man down to a seedy motel on the outskirts of town. With his knife in hand, Bugsy burst into the room, ready to exact his final revenge.
But what he found was not what he expected. The man lay on the bed, weak and frail, his body riddled with scars and burns. It was clear that he had been suffering for years, both physically and mentally.
Bugsy's anger faltered for a moment as he looked at the pitiful figure before him. This wasn't the strong, powerful man who had branded him – this was a broken shell of a human being.
Without a word, Bugsy turned and walked out of the room. He had finally realized that his quest for vengeance had consumed him, turning him into a monster just like the ones he sought to destroy.
And as he walked away, Bugsy knew that he would never find peace. He was forever haunted by his past, his deformity a constant reminder of the horrors he had endured.
In the end, Bugsy's quest for vengeance had only brought him pain and suffering. And as he disappeared into the night, he knew that his story would be nothing more than a cautionary tale for those who sought the same path of destruction and violence.