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[opening narration] They were all dead. The final gunshot was an exclamation mark to everything that had led to this point. I released my finger from the trigger. And then it was over. To make any kind of sense of it, I need to go back three years. Back to the night the pain started.
Life was good. A house on the Jersey side across the river. The smell of freshly cut lawns. The sounds of children playing. A beautiful wife and a baby girl. The American dream come true. But dreams have a nasty habit of going bad when you're not looking.
The sun went down with practiced bravado. Twilight crawled across the sky, laden with foreboding.
I didn't like the way the show started, but they had given me the best seat in the house, front row center.
When the darkness fell, New York City became something else, any old Sinatra song notwithstanding. Bad things happened in the night, on the streets of that other city. Noir York City.
Turn around, walk away, blow town. That would have been the smart thing to do. I guess I wasn't that smart.
Lupino thought he could get to us by taking out Alex and leaving me to take the fall for it. All he had gotten was my attention.
It was a lucky break. The goons inside were spooked, but luck always came with a price tag.
[after listening to a radio report accusing him of murdering his colleague] I had just gotten my fifteen minutes of fame.
One thing you could count on, you push a man too far, and sooner or later he'd start pushing back.
You play, you pay, you bastard.
Collecting evidence had gotten old a few hundred bullets back. I was already so far past the point-of-no-return I couldn't remember what it had looked like when I had passed it.
I might have laughed, if I had remembered how.
The word was out. A deadly virus released into the City's corrupt circulatory system. Something wicked this way comes. Max Payne at large.
Snow fell like ash from post-apocalyptic skies, but that was outside. Things would soon get hot in the Don's restaurant.
Gognitti bailed. I made like Chow Yun-Fat.
I don't know about angels, but it's fear that gives men wings.
Gognitti ran out of steam in a dead end valley with steam boiling out of the sewer grates, like all the fires of hell were burning high beneath us... It was shakedown time.
There was no glory in this. I hadn't asked for this crap. Trouble had come to me, in big dark swarms. The good and the just, they were like gold dust in this city. I had no illusions. I was not one of them. I was no hero. Just me and the gun, and the crook. My options had decreased to a singular course.
[after examining some of Jack Lupino's satanist literature and videos] The only thing I could take seriously was the thought of Lupino taking it seriously. He had been spending a lot of time getting intimate with the guy downstairs.
After Y2K, the end of the world had become a cliché. But who was I to talk, a brooding underdog avenger alone against an empire of evil out to right a grave injustice. Everything was subjective. There were only personal apocalypses. Nothing is a cliché when it's happening to you.
Alex and I had a few moments of glory between us. Crime fighting comrades, the best in NYPD-DEA collaborative team... Good-hearted macho bullshit like that. I would have given anything to have him here as my back up. No such luck. No luck at all.
[getting up from a broken chair he was tied to a moment ago] I felt like the chair I had broken to get free.
Vlad was one of those old time bad guys with honor and morals, which almost made him one of the good guys. None of us was a saint.
The Brooklyn riverfront was a maze of rusty containers, sharp-boned cranes looking up from the snowstorm. On a night like this you couldn't help but think of the dark army of dead men, sleeping with the fishes, cement shoes in line. No minotaur lurked in this labyrinth, but somewhere out there, on the clanking deck of his cargo freighter, the skipper of the Charon was waiting, like the ferryman of the river Styx.
Punchinello was burning to get me. The feeling was mutual. He was trying to put out my flames with gasoline.
It was colder than the devil's heart, raining ice pitchforks as if the heavens were ready to fall.
You'd find that Lady Luck was really a hooker, and you were fresh out of cash.
It wasn't about how good you were. It was chaos and luck and anyone who thought differently was a fool.
Staggering on the mill roof in ice and snow and wild wind, I was a Ninja. My Kung Fu was strong. I wasn't kidding anyone. At best, I was Superman on Kryptonite, about to fall through a skylight, down to where it was all going down.
He was trying to buy more sand for his hour glass. I wasn't selling any.
The shadows rushed me, bruised mug-shot faces hungry for revenge. They knew my weak points and closed in for the kill. The floor turned into a vortex of green blood. I fell.
[in a dream, when it is revealed to him that he's in a graphic novel] The truth split my skull open, a glaring green light washing the lies away. All of my past was just fragmented still shots, words hanging in the air like balloons. I was in a graphic novel. Funny as Hell, it was the most horrible thing I could think of.
[in a dream, when it is revealed to him that he's in a computer game] The truth was a burning green crack through my brain. Weapon statistics hanging in the air, glimpsed out of the corner of my eye. Endless repetition of the act of shooting, time slowing down to show off my moves. The paranoid feel of someone controlling my every step. I was in a computer game. Funny as Hell, it was the most horrible thing I could think of.
The bullet holes were rubies on her chest, blood glowing on her ivory skin. She was so beautiful. The killer was smiling.
I knew the appetites of ghosts intimately. They hungered for revenge.
You piece together a jigsaw and the final picture is you finishing that same puzzle, a mad green-eyed killer standing behind you. An urban legend come true.
Just when you thought you had reached the deepest depths of horror, it suddenly got worse. How to turn off that small voice inside your head that started to whisper that you should be glad... that now, if not before, your revenge was justifiable on any conceivable moral scale. That small voice proved, beyond any doubt, that I was damned.
Valkyr was meant to be a white-winged maiden that would lift you up to a warrior's heaven. Instead, it had turned out to be a one-way demon ride to hell. The devil was in the drug. I knew. I had met him.
So what does B.B. stand for? Backstabbing Basterd?
B.B. turned out to be another cardboard cut-out bad guy. A bad cop on the take. A cowardly right-hand man fleeing from the scene, leaving his paid thugs to do his dirty work.
It was an impressive floor show, but I decided to leave early anyway. It was only a one story fall. Lucky me.
[about Alfred Woden] In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.
I had taken on the role of the mythic detective: Bogart as Marlowe, or as Sam Spade going after the Maltese Falcon. To unravel all the mysteries, following a path of clues to that final revelation, even if it would take me down to the cold, cavernous depths of a grave.
Mine wasn't the most original approach to the problem: An eye for an eye, the oldest principle of revenge. Old as dirt, still going strong. The cardinal rule in going after someone with an intention to kill was not to make it personal - which it almost always ended up being anyway. It did with me.
I had a bullet with Nicole Horne's name on it. I had ten thousand bullets with the hag's name on them.
A gunshot boomed and she [Mona Sax] fell down in slow-motion. She was a nice girl, not really a stone-cold killer, and now she was stone-cold dead.
Hacking through Horne's computer would have unearthed files of criminal plans, strategies for world domination, spy helicopter reports, illegal wire tap recordings, Internet porno, all of the above. Take your pick, I really didn't care anymore. [shoots the computer, breaking it] I had seen too much of it already.
[after killing Nicole Horne] They were all dead. The final gunshot was an exclamation mark to everything that had led to this point. I released my finger from the trigger. And then it was all over. The storm seemed to lose its frenzy. The ragged clouds gave way to the stars above. A bit closer to Heaven.
[closing narration] Woden was there in the crowd, standing by the sidelines. It wouldn't be over till the man with the patch would say so. He'd say the right words. I knew he would. He'd better. Woden grinned smugly. It was the grin of a winner. [Max is pushed into the police car] That made two of us.
So much for being subtle.
[at the begining of the final level of the game, chasing Nicole Horne]And now I was going to kill her - the queen of the underworld who had tried to lift herself a bit closer to heaven with her drug money. No begging, no bribes. She knew better. Honor among killers, "we who are about to die." Both of us knew how this would end: in pain and suffering.
Somewhere in the distance, a baby was crying.
Vinnie Gognitti, just the man I'm killing to see.
In the quiet air of the night, the club stood firm, like father like son, all thanks to Jack Lupino.
Lupino ran his racket of sex, drugs and contact killings from a sleazy hotel and a slum block of tenements.
I walked straight in, playing it Bogart, like I'd done a hundred times before.
The trick in my situation is that there was no trick, no matter what the movies tell you. No rules, no secret mantra, no road map. It wasn't about how smart or how good you were. It was chaos and luck, and anyone who thought different was a fool. All you could do was to hang on madly, as long and hard as you could.
{Max walks in the baby's room} No, No,God please No!!
This is an account for a gmod comic series i want to work on based on max payne. if it becomes popular enough and people like it i'll make it into a video with voice acting and "a cold day in hell" (the song that played in max payne during the graphic novel parts) playing in the background.
I didn't put this on my original account (:iconnickreaper:) because that one is mainly for crappy drawings.
  • Watching: Let's Play videos.
  • Playing: Garry's Mod.
  • Eating: The Flesh of Fallen Angels.
  • Drinking: knock-off brand Coke.


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Friki-chan Featured By Owner Apr 10, 2011  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
maxpaynecomic Featured By Owner Apr 10, 2011
Friki-chan Featured By Owner Apr 10, 2011  Hobbyist Traditional Artist