The streets of New York never looked bleaker. It's funny how everything looks so larger than life when you're pressed against the side walk. Wound out, beat up and bleeding to the bone, you realize your priorities shift. Its no longer revenge or "justice" or any notion of morality at all anymore. Blinking away the blood dripping onto your eyes becomes the first task at hand. Regulated breathing then slows down your heart rate a little, isolating the pain in your body which in turn years for sweet, sweet release. Your mind clears up. Your vision clears up. Like a piss pour from the heavens, rain splatters the Brooklyn avenues. Great, now i can't wear this shirt again tomorrow.My name is Max. Max Payne. Weird how that's worked out for me all these years. I've been shot at my whole life, my dad being the ringleader here. Naturally I joined the NYPD becasue I'd heard they give you a gun to shoot back. All the women in my life are either paid or gone. The only one that stayed, well she would have left too, if not for her being dead. Actually no. She wouldn't have left. She wouldn't have left because she made the wrong decision. Big fuck'n mistake, she made. She loved me.
I rolled onto my back. Rain still pouring. The lights were out here. Total darkness. I can see the street lights flickering past the boulevard but that was at least a block away. Here, here it was dark as hell. I slugged my way to the street-lamp behind me. Propped myself against the base. Looking down at my hands covered in grime and blood, it comes back to me. I check myself, Guns are still there, good. I could feel my badge grazing my skin through my jacket. It all comes back to me.
The Russians. That son of a bitch Gognitti. The west coast mob. I'd been on the mob's tail like a salmon upstream all through winter. Those Italian dogs were pushing crack on the streets for too long and Gognitti, the Mafia don's right hand bitch wanted the action all to himself. He came to me, a few months back. Tells me he can help me with finding the guy that wasted my wife and kid. I bit, i bit hard. What i didn't know was that Gognitti wanted me in on the action all along. He wanted to turn me. He wanted to stain me. He two timed the Mob with the Russians. Grabbed the product, grabbed the cash and a box full of hollow points. Gang-banger organized this hit. He killed my wife and kid, he planted the evidence on the mob, he got me tangled in this mess and he was the son of a bitch that shot me 20 minutes ago.
I checked my wounds. Popped shoulder. Exit wound on my thigh, bullet went in clean and came out back. My face was swollen, battered by gun metal and scarred by treachery. The Street light came on. Dark street, pouring rain and a bleeding man. almost Poetic.
I strung out my guns. The standard 9mm Glock they give you at the station for police work. That was still pristine in its hip holster. I'm not a cop today, haven't been one for several months. I was a man with a mission: Revenge. I took out my badge."NYPD: Serve and Protect" it says. My shield. My authority in this world. My shiny golden shield. I threw it aside.
Revenge is a dish best served cold, they say. Cold like the 5lbs of metal that hung on either side of my shoulder holster. There was no time for shields anymore. I drew out my swords. A pair of chrome Desert Eagles, grid nosed and balanced. Extended mags loaded with hope, faith and .45 ACP rounds and a custom grip coupled to my hands. I wasn't a cop today. No time for small show guns.
The rain just got heavier. I don't know what took more effort, standing up or focusing on what to do next. I eventually get around to doing both. The Desert Eagles gleam in the yellow street light. I know where Gognitti and his Russian motherfuckers were headed. I know where they run and hide.
I cocked and safed my guns. Spat out a glob of blood that had built up in my mouth. It was raining and it was cold. Good.
My name is Max Payne...
... and revenge is a dish best served cold.
