The Instigator
TUF
Pro (for)
Winning
9 Points
The Contender
Ren
Con (against)
Losing
0 Points

Famer's Story writing debate Round#3 TUF V.S. REN

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Post Voting Period
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after 2 votes the winner is...
TUF
Voting Style: Open Point System: 7 Point
Started: 6/19/2012 Category: Entertainment
Updated: 4 years ago Status: Post Voting Period
Viewed: 1,293 times Debate No: 24348
Debate Rounds (5)
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Votes (2)

 

TUF

Pro

I thank my opponent Ren for taking part of Famer's story writing debating tournament. This is the final round of Famer's knock-out tournament. Both debaters must create a story together. Whoever creates the most interesting continuation/orientation/conclusion of the story wins the vote for "most convincing arguments"

Rules of this debate:

8000 characters maximum
72 hours for time to argue
7 days voting period
Yes to voting comments
5 Rounds
A title must be initiated by the Instigator (TUF)

Points for spelling and grammar are awarded as per usual.

There will be no points awarded for sources.

However, as the rules of the tournament goes, if any of the debaters forfeits a round (unless both forfeits an equals number of times), they will, by default automatically lose all 7 points as a result.

Good Luck!

TITLE: Loose Ends

Chapter 1:

Phase 1; Loss.

It's 2:57. 3 minutes. A total of 180 seconds, before my shift would finally be over. These seconds seemed like an eternity, as I stare into a computer screen glaring at numbers, and statistics, that become blurry to my weary eyes. I look down at my watch. Only 15 seconds have elapsed.

I feel dead in this place, like I always do. I work in an executive building making Blueprints, and stat sheets for steel products. I have a pretty little office, in a pretty little building surrounded by a pretty little lake, and grass that's greener than Kermit the Frog.

At least that's how I used to see it. After 3 years of working here at this same place, though, I see the reality in the dullness that surrounds me. I see fake employees, who barely know how to manage a smile when speaking to me. I see Misery in every one's face, even as we take our breaks. No one likes working here, more of the Idea of doing so. Who knew all of those awesome little high school fetishes for doing building design work in the future would lead to such a mundane and boring society. I certainly didn't. Was this worth the 2 years I spent in college for an associates degree? I always tell everyone the answer to this question is yes. And indeed it does pay well, granted I work 6 days a week, for about 6 hours each day. I knew how to do the work I did, and felt I was rather good at it. But I was far from enjoying it, as was the position with most of my colleagues.
I look at my watch. The seconds slip by. 3 seconds left. 2. 1.

I don't hesitate as I quickly log onto our punch clock server, and punch in the necessarily data required to clock out.

I leave the beautiful building to the parking lot. Today was my day with Mandy, and I will be expected to pick her up at 4. Through most of my boring life, Mandy often presented a time of excitement and happiness.
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The drive to Sharon's house was short, as she only lived a few blocks away from my work place. I get out of my car and approach the sidewalk eagerly. I cannot go any further however, as I have a restraining order against me from the b1tch inside.

It is 3:56. They know I am outside, But Sharon being manipulative as she is, is always completely particular about time. She won't let Mandy come to me until the exact millisecond. Not until the second hand on the clock precisely hits 4:00.

I am not annoyed, however, as all I really care about this moment is seeing my daughter. The time finally comes. The door to the daint little condo opens, and Sharon and Mark walk out holding hands. This annoys me to no end. It is almost like she specifically does it because she knows how much it aggravates me. I quickly push my anger aside though, however, as soon as I see my beautiful little girl step out between them. Her pretty blonde hair is done nicely in a Pony Tail. Her bright blue eyes look happy and innocent, and excited to see me.

She screams "Daddy!" And she runs to me with arms open. I open my arms as well and invite her in as she rushes into my arms.

"Hey pretty lady! I missed you!" I say as I give her a kiss on the forehead, and pick her up.

Her mother just glares at me annoyed. "Get her back here Saturday before 6:00" she says bluntly, then quickly turns back into the house with her "lackey" following close behind, slamming the door behind him.

She hates it when Mandy is excited to see me. I love seeing her angry.
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Mandy quickly starts filling me in on every little detail of her life since she last saw me. I soak it up, as usual. I love hearing her talk, and what she has to say is always interesting to me. I don't have much else in my life to look forward to.

Finally she is done talking.

I ask "What would you like to do today? Would you like to go to the park? How about ice skating?"
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She looks pensive, as if she is making a life changing decision. "Can we go to the Lagoon daddy!?" She finally exclaims.

I nod in approval, though inside I am grunting.
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"Okay baby girl, well I will need to stop at the bank then first. I have a feeling you are going to run my wallet dry today, you little stinker!" I say jokingly.

She giggles in approval.

I arrive at my bank here in the busy City of New York. I am waiting in the usual long line I experience when I come here.

"Up, Up!" Says Mandy. I know what she wants. I hoist her onto my shoulders.

Finally it is my turn.

"Hi, how can I help you?" Says a bored looking female teller. She has pale blue eyes, and soft brown hair that is resting gently over her shoulders. She is young, and looks to be in her early 20's, maybe a college student. She is actually very pretty.

"I would like to make a withdrawal please." I say casually. I am still wearing my company shirt branding me. SME Steel Co. it says. I wear it as I have been branded like a cow.

I hand her my debit card. She looks it over, and scans her computer.

"And how much would you like to withdraw today Mr. Colton Pratt?"

I tell her the amount.

"Just one second please." She responds, and she presses the button that make the cash come out.

Then it happens. Time, for me always seemed to go slowly. But now it didn't more than ever. My ears go dumb as the gunshot was fired. I turn and see glass shattering as 3 men with black masks charge in through the broken window holding deadly looking AK-47's, poised and ready to fire.

Screams sound from the customer and bankers.

"EVERYBODY GET YOUR MOTHER FVCKING @SSES ON THE GROUND RIGHT NOW!"

Shouts the taller man is a grungy low voice. His voice is scratchy, as if the man has smoked one to many cigarettes in his life.

Everyone, including myself, do not hesitate in doing so. I am scared. Mandy is scared too, and is screaming at the top of her lungs.

"It's okay baby girl, it's okay!" I try to re-assure her, but it doesn't work as my voice is so obviously trembling.

The Three men quickly run around to each person and collect their cell phones and wallets, giving anyone a quick kick to the body if they provide any hesitation. I am shaking, and Mandy is still screaming. One of the men, (the one that had shouted) comes towards me.
"Shut her up, or I will put a bullet in her brain!" He screams at me while his two friends quickly grab cash and stuff it into duffel bags from the Tellers.

I panic.

"Mandy I need to you be brave for me baby! Please be brave baby girl." I say trying to sound as calm as possible.

She continues screaming. Suddenly an alarm sounds.

"Sh1t, let's get out of here!" Says one of the hooded men. His voice sounds familiar, but I can't place it in my panicked state.

Two of the men quickly dash out of the bank with their duffel Bags half full.

The leader continues staring at me.

"I told you to shut her up, and now look what happened!" He screams angrily.

He hits me over the head with the butt of his gun. Pain rushes through my body.

The last thing I see is the man grabbing my screaming daughter and running out of the bank before everything goes black.

I will find my baby girl.




I look forward to your response Ren, good luck!
Ren

Con

It's a little past 3 a.m. I'm guessing, because I hadn't looked at the clock since I got home. I was sitting at my table keenly placed in the space between my kitchen and livingroom, giving it a diningroom effect. I hadn't turned on any lights but the kitchen's, and its yellow glow cast long, depressed, livid shadows across my apartment. Before me, on the table, was a mostly empty glass of cognac. Sharon didn't like it when I drank, so I never had the opportunity to enjoy such liquid delicacies through the duration of our tempestuous marriage. And God, I needed it, too. So, one of the first things I did for myself when I got this little place in a cute corner of Ft. Greene, Brooklyn, was buy myself a good bottle of Remy Martin. It set me back two weeks, during which I ate mostly ramen and turkey sandwiches from the bodega down the street.

It was for special occassions -- happy times; naturally, I hadn't opened it until now. Not when I wanted it, but rather, when I needed it. I was about a third through the bottle. My insides burned, all the way to my soul. My head ached, but the Advil was kicking in. There was a lump on my head, but not even an concussion -- I pleaded with the hospital, and they let me go.

I was sweating, but my vision was sharp, and my mind was reeling at a thousand thoughts a minute. She could already be dead. They could already defiled her in so many ways and she may be wishing for death that still hasn't come, but who's icy fingers will burn into her small shoulders just as I watch her eyes dull into oblivion, too little, too late.

The point is, these sonsofabitches took my daughter. And, I know exactly what I'm going to do about it.

I killed my drink, then headed to the C train on Fulton. Once I got to Lafayette and Fulton, though, I remembered that the trains weren't running for another three hours. I checked my cellphone -- wait, another hour and a half. It was already 4:30 a.m.

I stood there, staring at my cellphone, feeling helpless. What did I expect to do, anyway?

My intention was to make my way to SoHo to speak to old a couple of old acquaintances who I used to buy weed and percs from once upon a time -- Jim and Baby Easter. They were twins with a penchant for criminalism, so I thought they might know someone who knows someone who could give me a starting point. It's not like I didn't trust that the cops wouldn't do their jobs. But, I sure wasn't going to just sit around and wait for something to happen. Nonetheless, that was the best idea I had come up with in hours. I just wasn't the sort of guy with the wherewithall to do anything at a time like this. When the unimaginable and insufferable occurs; when it's even worse than how shiitty my life already is.

My stomach continued to burn and I felt a little nauseous. I considered stopping at one of the 24-hour corner stores in the neighborhood for a bite to eat when my cell rang. Who in the hell... but, as soon as I took it out of my pocket, I almost dropped it. It was coming from Sharon's cell. I hesitated, then tried to answer, but line cut off. I missed it. Likely, dodged a bullet. Still, I stood there on the sidewalk, staring at my phone, bathed in orange streetlights in the uncharacteristically desolate downtown Ft. Greene. It rang again and I answered almost immediately.

"Sharon?" I asked cautiously. Who knows what she had in store for me.

"No, it's Mark." His voice was hushed and strained.

I hesitated for probably a full minute before replying, "what?"

"It's Mark," he replied cooly in the same voice. "How ya doing, bud?"

"Pretty shiitty," I replied icily.

"Yeah, me too," he said.

"Huh," I grunted.

"Yeah. Look.. I think we need to do something about this," he began.

"Do something about this? What do you mean," I inquired tentatively.

"Look, I know how you must feel about this," Mark continued, "I'm sure it's much worse than what I'm going through."

"You don't say," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

"Well, even based on how I feel, I think we should do something about it," stated Mark with finality.

"What's going on? Where's Sharon?" I asked, confused, growing frustrated.

"Sharon doesn't need to know about this," answered Mark.

"Look, you're kind of weirding me out. Don't call me again, alright?" I said after hesitating again.

"Alright, alright, I understand. But, look, if you change your mind, meet me at the French coffee shop on Fulton tomorrow at 11 in the morning. We can try to sort this out together. In the meanwhile, try to get some rest. Nothing's gonna happen right now," concluded Mark.

"Look--" I started, but the phone beeped in my ear, indicating a severed line.
Debate Round No. 1
TUF

Pro






(music added in for effect while reading)

My head is pounding. Almost throbbing. The place on my had where the butt of the man's gun head whacked me on, was extremely sore. I am not a violent man. I was usually good at avoiding fights, or talking my way out of them. But I never really had any incentive to get in them. Most of the time the conflicts I would be involved in would have something to do with a pointless drunken argument, which held no meaning or barren to anything. I didn't care enough about anything in my life to really get offended by anyway. Except Mandy.

She is all that is on my mind right now. All I can think about it the pain I will bring to the men who stole her. I haven't slept in the 37 hours since the bank robbery. Jim and baby Easter were hopeless. The pigs were still "investigating" the incident. But as of right now, we had nothing. Here I am, alone, at the bottom of a bottle of alcohol, with absolutely nothing.

My doorbell rings, and the sounds pierces my already pained head. The doctors said it was just a minor concussion and that it would heal in a few weeks. Somehow, with the pain I was experiencing though, I doubted it.

The doorbell rings again.

Screw off.

I need an Advil. No, actually, I need to wake up from this horrible dream I have been in for the past couple of days.

The stranger knocks on the door loudly six times. This guy was persistent.

Fvck it.

I go unlock my door and open it, only to find that my visitor really wasn't male. It was a cop. She looked to be of Latino orientation, with dark brown hair, done up in a bun. She has big brown doe eyes, and an expressionless face painted on.

She looks me up and down. I know I must look like sh1t. I am wearing the same clothes (a plain white shirt and jeans) from the robbery, my eyes are bagged and veiny, and I look like I have been hit by a train.

"Good morning, Mr. Pratt, I am Officer Mendez. May I come in?" She asks.

I just nod, and turn back into my apartment. She follows me in, and sits next to an oily pizza box on my old couch.

"Want a cup of coffee?" I ask as I start to pour myself a glass from the steamer cup.

"No, thankyou Mr. Pratt." She responds politely.

I pour a small cup of cream into my coffee, and then proceed to sit down on the couch next to the Officer.

"I am here to tell you about our current info on the kidnapping." She says calmly.

Suddenly, my ears perk up, and I am interested. Up until now, the pigs have had nothing every time I have called.

"These guys are pro's at bank robbery. Or so we thought. The robbery was quick, clean, and fast. They all wore gloves, which prevented us from doing any finger printing on the suspects. But after a more thorough sweep of the building we found something." She stops, and pulls out a plastic evidence bag from inside her coat.

Inside is what I would best describe as a metal bullet.

" What is that?" I ask intently.

"It's a blank. We think it fell out of one of the robbers pockets as he was leaving."

Damn. These fvcks, robbed a bank and took my little girl, armed with AK-47's, and they were carrying blanks? I suddenly feel more angry than I did before.

"Please leave." I say angrily. I don't want to hear any more of this bull sh1t.

"Wait!" She exclaims quickly. "That's not all. We found a partial print on the shell. The owner of the finger print is Daniel Moza. We sent in a police squad to his residence, but he evacuated. Were currently searching for him now."

I am surprised. Still I don't know what to do with this information. I just stare at her. Finally she gets the point.

"Good day Mr. Pratt, We will let you know if we find anything else." She says in a voice that sounds aggravated. She then gets up and walks out the door.

Good riddance.

I finish my cup of coffee, and then toss the cup in my sink that's already full of dirty dishes.

I can't stay here any longer. I need to do something. Anything. I have no resources, nobody I can count on to help me find my girl, just the police, who have only been able to give me a name.

Daniel Moza. Hmm... For some reason the name sounds familiar, however, for the life of me I can't place it. Whatever.

I grab the keys to my Honda, and leave. I can't be here anymore. It's almost 11:00, and Mark will be waiting for me at Le Gout de France.

I personally hate the coffee there, it tastes like p1ss and beans.

A big part of me wants to walk in the coffee shop, tell mark to fvck off, and the punch him in the face. A smaller part of me is actually interested in what he has to say. Let's add a little more emphasis on how small that part of me is...

But since the first part will likely end up in me getting arrested, I start to drive toward the coffee shop, and calm myself as much as possible. I still look like crap and have been drinking quite a bit, but I don't care.

The drive is about 10 minutes from where I live, making me a few minutes late.

I get out of my car, and walk into the coffee shop. The scent of warm coffee fills my nose, as it wafts out the open door. A nice melodic French tune is playing, though I don't understand any of the lyrics.

I look around the decorated little coffee shop, until sure enough, I see Mark sitting at a table alone, wearing a striped oxford dress shirt, a pair of ripped jeans, with his hair slicked back, looking good as always. In high school, he was the one who always got the girls. Seemed he still did. Even his best friends' girl.

I go and pull out a chair next to him, and plop in it.

He looks up at me surprised.

"Hey, I didn't think you would come..." He says in a voice that sounds as if we were still good friends.

"What the fvck do you want!?" I say. I am not here to bull sh1t, and pretend to be fake.

He is taken aback by my harsh tone.

"Jesus, Colt, calm down. I.... I wanted to help you find Mandy... I know you have some harsh feelings towards me-"

I roll my eyes at this, but let him continue.

"But I know you care about Mandy. Well I do too. I want to find these dirt bags and hurt them for taking her. But I want some help. I don't know any one else who would be more passionate in finding her than you, Colt."

I chuckle.

"You serious? Are you high right now? What in the world would make you think I would want to help you? I hate your fvcking guts."

Mark just sighs.

"I understand. I am not asking you to like me. I am not asking you to forgive me. Colt, I just want you to help me. Mandy means a lot to me... I have loved every minute I have had with her. I don't want or expect you to feel sympathy for me. But I can't think about anything else other than trying to find her right now Colt. Every time I think about what those bastards could be doing to her right now... I..." A tear is running down his cheek.

I understand his pain, because it is mine as well. I am just better at hiding it than he is. I know exactly how he feels. Hopeless. Desperate. Like I should be doing... something... But what? What could we possibly do? What could a steel designer and a sales representative for Phiser possibly attempt to do to save my little girl? We were helpless. And that is what caused the most pain.

I feel angry again. He doesn't deserve to feel this pain. To share it with me. He took the only two things in life I cared about. I hated him.

"Listen mark, were done here. We have nothing. I have nothing. You made damn sure of that. The cops will find her. They have to. They have already given me a name, Daniel Moza. They will find her. Til then, I don't want to have anything to do with you. Goodbye Mark."

I get up and turn towards the door. I am halfway to the door when he shouts after me.

"Daniel Moza? What, you mean to douche bag that used to sell weed to us in high school? The one that always crashed at Manuel's place?"

Then it clicks. It all makes sense. He spoke back at the bank. I knew I recognized the voice.

Mandy, Daddies coming baby, stay strong.
Ren

Con

I couldn't believe her number was still in my contacts list. Once I was on the street, I opened it and found her name almost immediately -- Angelica Rodriguez. I dialed, and hurriedly walked east toward the train with the phone pressed against my ear.

Voicemail.

I hung up and redialed. My breath was uncharacteristically heavy -- I was tired. I was getting really tired.

"Hello?" Her voice drifted into my ear like sweet pink smoke.

"Angelica." I remembered how pretty she is.

"Colt?! Diosmio, it's been forever! How are you??" she exclaimed. I wanted to appreciate how happy she was to hear from me.

"Look, Angelica. You know where--" I began, but she cut me off:

"Look, it's great to hear from you, but I'm at work -- but, how about we get together some--" but, then, I cut her off:

"No, Angelica, it's an emergency. Listen. Do you know where Daniel Moza is? Where he lives, whatever?"

Silence.

I hear her tell someone in the background that she'll be right back.

"What do you want with him?" she asked, finally. "You got into trouble? He's only more trouble," she warned.

"I knew it! You still talk to him every now and then, don't you??" I exclaimed.

"Yeah, every now and then, so what? What's going on, Colt?" she inquired cautiously.

"Someone... someone took my baby girl. Three men did, and he was one of them. I need you to tell me where he lives," I stated bluntly.

Silence, again.

Finally: "Oh my God, are you serious?" she sounded scared.

I heaved impatiently into the phone, standing in front of the subway. "Yes, Angelica. I need you to tell me, now, where he lives."

"I don't... I can't..." she began, sounding desperate. Then, finally, "372 Ten Eyck Street, in Bushwick." Then, she hung up.

I just stood there. For one, I was at the wrong subway. But, more importantly, I had a lead. A big lead. Now, I had a decision to make. I could include Mark, especially considering that he sent me in this direction in the first place. Or, I can keep the douche out of it, because I hate his ugly face.

A large vehicle on the street honked nearby and I jumped, but paid it no mind, still frozen in time.

"Hey!" someone called out, and I turned. It was Mark in his black Explorer. "Still don't know where to start?" he called to me. I walked over.

"I know exactly where to start. You coming?" I asked him through the passenger-side window.

"Hop in," he replied.

As we were merging onto the BQE, Mark asked, "So, how did you find his address?"

"You know Manuel's little sister, Angelica?" I countered.

"Yeah... a real cutie, two years younger than us," Mark replied.

"Right... she ended up going to SUNY and I ran into her once while I was working in Downtown Brooklyn. We got to talking and whatever, and stayed in touch every so often," I explained.

"So what?" asked Mark.

"Well, one of the things she told me was that she had a fling with Moza when she was a senior. Lasted a couple of years on and off, until the drugs and legal problems just got to much and she cut him off," I continued.

"Uh-hmm," said Mark with a hint of judgement.

"Yeah, well, you know how girls are. You have sex with them too much, and they will keep tabs on you forever. So, I figured she at least knows where he lives," I concluded.

"Well, I'll be damned," said Mark.

"Yeah," I replied.

"You sure we can trust her, though?" asked Mark.

"I don't even know if I can trust you. So, I guess we're just gonna have to find out," I concluded.

Mark exited the highway.
Debate Round No. 2
TUF

Pro

Phase 2; Rage

Smoke clouded the room. Slight moans could be heard from the hooker bouncing up and down on Moza, as he took in another huff of his Marijuana.
The TV was on; Comedy Central. Some corny comedian was failing making jokes on the screen.
Daniel laughs loudly at something the comedian says.
"Shut the fvck up and pay attention." Says the hooker annoyed, as she continued her rythmitic motion.

Daniel has had better. This chick was dirty and smelled like garlic anyways.

"Hey, why don't you go make me a fvcking sandwich ho. I don't pay you to back talk me." Daniel says angrily at the naked woman, as he pushes her off him harshly. The skank gave him a dirty look, but did as she was bid and went into Daniel's disgusting kitchen.

Daniel continues laughing at the person on the screen. Fvck. He was out of Mary Jane.

"Hey b1tch, get me some of the good stuff while you in there chica." He shouts across the room.

He bursts out laughing in response once more to a joke the comedian says.

There is no response from the kitchen.

"Yo sl ut, answer me when I talk to you, what are you fvcking retarded!?"

He waits. There is still no response.

"Do you want me to beat your fvcking @ss again?" He gets up and makes his way over to the kitchen.

Daniel is shocked as he sees the naked woman passed out on the floor with an open jar of mayonnaise spilt next to her on the floor.

"What... the... Fvck?" he mutters.

The wire is around his neck faster than he has time to react.

Daniels Hand's instantly fly up to his neck as he tries to wrestle away his attackers vice like grip on the wire.

He struggles for breath, as the wire gets tighter. He feels his consciousness start to fade, and his grip loosens. No. Daniel Moza wasn't gonna be someone's b1tch. He thrusts his elbow into his attacks pelvis with all the strength he can muster. Instantly the wire loosens and slips from his neck as the man behind him crashes down onto Daniels Stained coffee table in pain, glass shattering around him.

Daniel turns towards the man, only to get shocked once again.

"What the fvck?" He says again. "Colton...?"

---------------


I am back on my feet as quick as I can move. I throw a punch at the surprised Latino drug dealer, and land a lucky square right on his jaw. The man falls to the floor in pain. I attempt to pursue him to follow up with the blow, before I really start to feel the pain in my fist from that last punch. My hand tightens, and I Curse loudly, and cringe as it feels like I have just punched a steel wall. Damn, that hurt. I suck it up and go to hit Moza again, only to find that he is up now. I have no time to avoid the knuckles that fly right towards face. Blood rushes out of my nose, and I hear a crack, as Moza breaks my nose.

Daniel awards me no reaction time, as the next thing I feel is a hard knee fly up into my stomach. I instantly collapse to the ground in pain. He kicks me again, hard in the stomach. Once. Twice. A third time. I wait for the fourth but it doesn't come. I chance a glance up to see that Daniel is being tackled by Mark. Thank God. My whole body is on fire as I roll on the ground in pain. It's obvious I have never been in a fight. I shouldn't have let go of that wire, it would have saved me more pain in the long run. I almost had him. I am done; not a muscle in my body has more fight in it. Pretty pathetic I know, but I never planned on getting in a brawl with this guy.

I can hear the sounds of the brawl behind me coming to a stop. Who won?

Foot steps walk over to me, and I can hear them right behind me. I cringe once more, as I await a few more harsh kicks. Instead a hand collapses on my shoulder. Mark. He helps me up, though standing is difficult.

I look at him, then look at the knocked out mess on the floor. Daniel is shirtless, and his khaki pants were still un buttoned.

"Piece of sh1t" Mark says as he looks at the man.

I look at Mark. He looks calm, as if he had just finished a walk on the beach. He didn't even have a mark on him, not one bead of sweat. I need to work out more.

"Like your any better?" I retort.

"Guess I deserved that. Hey what was that Colt? I'll be surprised if you didn't wake up the whole fvcking neighborhood. This was supposed to quick and easy." Mark says in a cold tone.

I wipe blood off my mouth and nose with my shirt. The Iron taste of blood is poignant in my mouth. My whole body is sore. My pelvis, and face hurt badly, and Mark's words just seem to be adding insult to injury.

"Screw you. You act like I've done this before. It worked on the hooker pretty well didn't it?"

He just shrugs.

"Here help me get him downstairs."

Moza is heavier than I expected. He is about 5'11, and weighs about 230 pounds. For being as small as this guy was, he had a lot of muscle mass. Yeah, maybe I picked the wrong guy to get in my first fight in with. But maybe he shouldn't have kidnapped by daughter.

Moza's basement is messy, and un-finished. There are broken bricks, and frame walls laying all over the floor. I let the beaten fall on the floor hard. He is still out could.

"I'll go get the stuff." Mark says in a straight tone, and walks up the stairs. I nod.

I stare at the dirt bag on the ground in front of me. It's been years since I last seen him, he looks different. His eyes seem darker, more mature. His hair is longer. He has a thin trimmed mustache, and a set Jaw.

I never really had much of a "relationship" with the guy. I met him behind the football field every day at Cardinal Hayes High school. I handed him the money, he handed me the drugs. We never talked much other than that.
This guy was a piece of sh1t. But really was I any better?
My life used to be good. When I was married, I was the happiest man in the world. I had a loving wife, and a beautiful daughter. We would always go to the beach, or have pizza night, watch movies, and I loved it. Every damn second of it.

But it is all gone now. A distant memory. All I had anymore was Mandy, a faint memory of the good times in my life. And now she was gone. This @sshole had taken her from me. He will pay dearly.

Mark returns with a bundle of rope, and one of Moza's kitchen chairs. We hoist the heavy man onto the chair, and tie his hands up with our best knots.

It is time.

Mandy, I will find you.

I sore fist with it's bloody knuckles, soar into Daniel's stomach.

He spits blood of his mouth, and starts coughing, as he is harshly woken up.

"Where's Mandy!?" I shout, and slam my fist into his stomach again.

He yells in pain, at the impact.

I give him a couple of seconds to catch his breath.

"Who the Fvck is Mandy?"

My fist returns in to stomach.

"Hey, Fvck you man! Fvck you!" He spits a bloody wad that splatters on my face.

I wipe it off on my sleeve calmly and glare into his eyes for a couple of seconds.

Whack. Whack. Whack. And he is suddenly regretting spitting at me. Moza groans in obvious pain, and let's his head go limp.

I slap his face several times. "No, no, you get to stay awake for this."

I continue. "Mandy. My daughter! You fvcking kidnapped her after you stole my wallet at the bank. Remember now fvck face!?"

I kick him hard. So hard that the chair falls back. Daniels full body weight crushes his hands tied behind it, and I can hear several bones break. He screams a loud and torturous scream. Oops. Mark puts his hand on my shoulder. "You need to calm down, Colt, you'll kill him."

I push mark away. At this point I didn't care.

The man is weak, and hanging on the edge of reality, the only thing keeping him awake is the intensified pain I insist on putting him through.

He mutters something.

"What was that?" I say curious.

I get closer.

"Closer" he whispers weakly.

I get closer, so close, that I can smell the drugs and blood in his nasty breath. I can hear him breathing heavily.

"I killed the b1tch. Her screams were magnificent, as we cut her up in tiny pieces" he says coldy. Then he chuckles.

"NO!" I Scream. All I can see is red, as rage fills my soul. I grip his neck and twist it hard. Crack. Moza is dead.





Ren

Con

Ren forfeited this round.
Debate Round No. 3
TUF

Pro

Unfortunately due to tournament rules, this debate has concluded in a forfeit by just a few minutes. I thank my opponent ren for the debate thus far and urge the voters grant him a conduct point for good effort.
Ren

Con

Ren forfeited this round.
Debate Round No. 4
TUF

Pro

Trolololol.
Ren

Con

Ren forfeited this round.
Debate Round No. 5
No comments have been posted on this debate.
2 votes have been placed for this debate. Showing 1 through 2 records.
Vote Placed by ldcon 4 years ago
ldcon
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Total points awarded:60 
Reasons for voting decision: Was going pretty well too
Vote Placed by thett3 4 years ago
thett3
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Total points awarded:30 
Reasons for voting decision: Forfeits