This short story is the prequel to Amerigo, as well as the entire Amerigo series.
Rise of a KillerEdit
Nova Hejmo. A sinful, dirty, ugly city. The year was 2006, and 19-year-old Amerigo Tranmer was only one in a handful of delinquents in the disgusting city. He was no stranger to drugs, rape, and even the occasional killing. It was all a rush for him. He liked that rush. No, he loved it. It was all he lived for, really, since both of his parents were killed while he was still young. He was a high school dropout who never cared for much except sex, alcohol, and drugs.
Amerigo darted through the streets, picking his way through the crowd while struggling to keep his sagged pants from falling down even further. He was armed with only a titanium baseball bat gripped tightly in his hand, and he was looking for a suitable victim to use it on. He was following a teenage schoolgirl wearing a short blue skirt. Yes, she was perfect. He had a perfect plan in mind. He'd knock her out with the bat and then he would... get down to business. Trying to remain hidden, he slowly creeped closer, still not close enough to do anything. The schoolgirl suddenly turned to her left and down into an alley. This was perfect! It would all work out perfectly. Amerigo bit his lip eagerly and followed suit behind the innocent teenager.
The alley wasn't a dead end, but Amerigo figured he could easily apprehend the girl. The unlucky schoolgirl still unaware of his presence, Amerigo quickly ran up behind her and swung his bat -- but was stopped short when a large man grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pulled him backwards. He was thrown to the ground, stunned, and when he looked up he was staring in the face of a buff-looking jock with a football helmet held under his arm.
"So, you little cunt, you were planning on trying something on my gal? Yeah, I don't think so, you little fuckup. I'll teach you to fuck with me." the jock said as he grabbed Amerigo by the front of his jacket and started punching him in the face. Amerigo was helpless to the beating at first, but he finally came to his senses and kicked the jock in a very, very painful area before hastily fleeing the alley and running down the street. He stopped short of breath and felt his face. His nose was bleeding. He looked back down the street towards the alley. Sure enough, the jock came sprinting out of the alley and after Amerigo. He gasped and picked up on running again, desperate to avoid the beating. Now, Amerigo liked a good fight... when he was winning. But nothing like this. He hated appearing weak. He wanted to be cool, respected, and feared, pretty much like anyone else his age wanted. But he wasn't exactly near that. Amerigo was practically at the bottom of the hierarchy of delinquents.
He felt like he was about to collapse from exhaustion and he collided with people on the streets over and over again, but he kept running anyways, away from the big man pursuing him. When his legs finally gave way, he looked behind him and saw that he wasn't being followed anymore. He sighed in relief and painfully stood up. He was close to his home now, that home being nothing but a rundown old trailer sitting behind a dirty McDonald's. He passed by the restaurant and grunted, still in excruciating pain from both the beating and the running. He left his baseball bat back in the alley. He was totally unarmed and vulnerable now, so he had to hurry up and get inside before anything else happened.
After heading inside, slamming the door shut and locking it, Amerigo slumped down on the old and ratty couch in the living room of the trailer. There was electricity, thanks to Amerigo's old friend Rico, who had figured out a way to transfer electricity from his home and into Amerigo's trailer. Amerigo looked around the dirty room. An empty pizza box, beer bottles, cigarette butts, a half empty box of condoms, and a big burlap sack stashed full of stolen cash. There was a knock at the door. Amerigo jumped off of his couch and looked through the peephole on the front door without making a sound. It wasn't the jock. It was a guy who looked like a hippie, but he looked intelligent as well.
"Who the fuck is it?" Amerigo yelled through the door. There was a pause.
"I want to help you." the man responded. Cautiously, Amerigo opened up the door. The strange man entered and looked around the room, nodding. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, had long brown greasy hair, had novelty swirl glasses, and a pair of long khaki shorts. Everything about him just practically screamed, "I don't give a single fuck."
"Ahem, and who the fuck are you?" asked Amerigo impatiently. The man looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
"Do you really care who it is? Dude, I'm here to help you out. I noticed how you seem to get picked on quite a bit, man. It's not like I'm following you or anything though. I've just seen you 'round the city more than a few times. I know that you want to be a well known, great, amazing guy. And I'm the guy to help you out with that!" the hippie man said with a light-hearted tone in his voice.
"Thanks a lot, mister, but I think I can manage. Besides, you look like a fucking loser. What could you possibly teach me about being more well known?" Amerigo laughed, which triggered a hoarse cough.
"I know more than you think, dude. Just let me show you how it's done, alright?" the man said as he scratched his head. Amerigo nodded hesitantly. Whatever. It was worth a shot, right?
That was when Amerigo's life changed forever. The strange hippie man, who Amerigo came to know as Jackson, really did know about fighting, and so he taught Amerigo everything he knew. Within months, Amerigo became just as skilled as his hippie master. He learned the arts of parkour, stealth, and most importantly, murder. Thanks to Jackson, who mysteriously disappeared once Amerigo's training was completed, Amerigo rose to being the most well known assassin and murderer in the city...
And so the true story began.