Name: Viktor "The Devil"
Age: 25
Eyes: Green
Hair: Dirty blond
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 190lbs Muscular and tall
Ethnicity: English (South London accent)
Pets: A female Burmese Python called Leviathan
Gender: Masculine male
Sexuality: Bisexual with a preference for feminine or punk men.
Distinguishing marks: Has a tattoo of Lucifer's cock on his right ass cheek. Also has another tattoo of a middle finger up on his left bicep. He also has a burn mark on his right forearm from an accident involving fire when he was younger.
Profession: Lead vocalist for The Hell's Angels, songwriter, amateur boxer and wrestler.
Personality:
Viktor comes across as a rebellious livewire who has a perchance for being the rowdy punk kid. He cares deeply for those around him and would gladly get into a fight if one of his band members was being threatened. He isn't the type of guy to shy away from confrontation and often gets in trouble because of his mouth and macho attitude. Yet, underneath all of the macho bluster there is a lonely young man who uses music as his only salvation, due to having a rough childhood. Not having much in his life, the Hell's Angels mean everything to him and he often finds himself confiding in his band mates when he's at a low.
Background:
Viktor burnt his bedroom curtains down when he was 7 and got a hiding from his father who wasn't pleased. He is obsessed with fire and has been since he was old enough to light a match. His childhood wasn't an easy one with his father being the sole provider for the family, often between jobs and often getting in trouble with the police, due to accepting less than legal jobs at times involving the selling of dodgy second hand cars. This impacted on Viktor as he saw the law as a piece of shit to rebel against due to how they acted upon his father and their family. Being an only child, Viktor had to make his mark upon the world and did so by rebelling against every rule ever written. He hated school aside from music lessons, where he would be found singing rowdy, loud songs on the mic. His music teacher encouraged him and from there on he had a purpose in life aside from getting into trouble.
It soon didn't last though since he got expelled at 15 for setting fire to his maths classroom with a match and some petrol he kept in his water bottle. He knew his father would have to send his delinquent son to a detention centre for problem kids. So, Viktor decided to grab a suitcase full of clothes and run away. He ended up in a youth hostel for a time, getting in with the crowd and making friends with a local biker gang. Then, he was hooked on bikes as well as fire, singing and rebelling. With the gang they often set fire to garages, cars and police cars during drunken or drug binges. Narrowly avoiding jail, Viktor managed to slip through the net as did the other bike gang. He bought his first Harley Davidson at 17 due to funds he earnt cleaning for the youth hostel. It wasn't much but he soon had something to write home about, actually bothering to phone his father and tell him. The relationship was strained but Viktor's father was happy his son had found something.
A year later, Viktor had given up living in the hostel to move into a flat of his own with a few of the biker friends. They talked about setting up a band of their own called the Hell's Angels. It was a decent name and Viktor could sing. Two of the biker gang became Viktor's drummer and bassist. The other came along at a later date and became their guitarist. Billy.
People he knows:
Billy, his lead guitarist of the Hell's Angels.![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shutyour_frettingmouth
Zack, his drummerbangingthe_hellouttayou
Joe, his bassisthelland_damnation
Vars, bassist for The Hammersmidnight_devil
Age: 25
Eyes: Green
Hair: Dirty blond
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 190lbs Muscular and tall
Ethnicity: English (South London accent)
Pets: A female Burmese Python called Leviathan
Gender: Masculine male
Sexuality: Bisexual with a preference for feminine or punk men.
Distinguishing marks: Has a tattoo of Lucifer's cock on his right ass cheek. Also has another tattoo of a middle finger up on his left bicep. He also has a burn mark on his right forearm from an accident involving fire when he was younger.
Profession: Lead vocalist for The Hell's Angels, songwriter, amateur boxer and wrestler.
Personality:
Viktor comes across as a rebellious livewire who has a perchance for being the rowdy punk kid. He cares deeply for those around him and would gladly get into a fight if one of his band members was being threatened. He isn't the type of guy to shy away from confrontation and often gets in trouble because of his mouth and macho attitude. Yet, underneath all of the macho bluster there is a lonely young man who uses music as his only salvation, due to having a rough childhood. Not having much in his life, the Hell's Angels mean everything to him and he often finds himself confiding in his band mates when he's at a low.
Background:
Viktor burnt his bedroom curtains down when he was 7 and got a hiding from his father who wasn't pleased. He is obsessed with fire and has been since he was old enough to light a match. His childhood wasn't an easy one with his father being the sole provider for the family, often between jobs and often getting in trouble with the police, due to accepting less than legal jobs at times involving the selling of dodgy second hand cars. This impacted on Viktor as he saw the law as a piece of shit to rebel against due to how they acted upon his father and their family. Being an only child, Viktor had to make his mark upon the world and did so by rebelling against every rule ever written. He hated school aside from music lessons, where he would be found singing rowdy, loud songs on the mic. His music teacher encouraged him and from there on he had a purpose in life aside from getting into trouble.
It soon didn't last though since he got expelled at 15 for setting fire to his maths classroom with a match and some petrol he kept in his water bottle. He knew his father would have to send his delinquent son to a detention centre for problem kids. So, Viktor decided to grab a suitcase full of clothes and run away. He ended up in a youth hostel for a time, getting in with the crowd and making friends with a local biker gang. Then, he was hooked on bikes as well as fire, singing and rebelling. With the gang they often set fire to garages, cars and police cars during drunken or drug binges. Narrowly avoiding jail, Viktor managed to slip through the net as did the other bike gang. He bought his first Harley Davidson at 17 due to funds he earnt cleaning for the youth hostel. It wasn't much but he soon had something to write home about, actually bothering to phone his father and tell him. The relationship was strained but Viktor's father was happy his son had found something.
A year later, Viktor had given up living in the hostel to move into a flat of his own with a few of the biker friends. They talked about setting up a band of their own called the Hell's Angels. It was a decent name and Viktor could sing. Two of the biker gang became Viktor's drummer and bassist. The other came along at a later date and became their guitarist. Billy.
People he knows:
Billy, his lead guitarist of the Hell's Angels.
shutyour_frettingmouthZack, his drummer
bangingthe_hellouttayouJoe, his bassist
helland_damnationVars, bassist for The Hammers
midnight_devilViktor was looking forward to meeting back up with Aksel the Norwegian axe thrower and Vars' close friend. The Brit punk had first met the other man back during his trip to Norway with Vars. Just taking in the culture and seeing what the punk scene was like over the pond so to speak. Now, Viktor is on his way to the communal area to meet Aksel in the flesh once more.
Here's hoping they could axe throw once more and get drunk together. Of course, Vars should be invited first before anyone started chugging any booze. Viktor wouldn't have it any other way.
"Aksel? You around here, mate?"
The pyromaniac coming in wearing his thick leather jacket, boots, faded black jeans and a fire coloured fabric neckerchief around his neck. Some thick-set heavy metal chains attached to his jeans pockets and a detailed Zippo lighter hanging below his belt also adorned the singer. He leaned into the punk aesthetic heavily.
Here's hoping they could axe throw once more and get drunk together. Of course, Vars should be invited first before anyone started chugging any booze. Viktor wouldn't have it any other way.
"Aksel? You around here, mate?"
The pyromaniac coming in wearing his thick leather jacket, boots, faded black jeans and a fire coloured fabric neckerchief around his neck. Some thick-set heavy metal chains attached to his jeans pockets and a detailed Zippo lighter hanging below his belt also adorned the singer. He leaned into the punk aesthetic heavily.
Viktor had been thinking about getting a new tattoo recently because he'd been itching at his right bicep wanting something there since he'd already got tattoos on his ass cheek and left bicep. The one on his ass being a depiction of Lucifer's cock, albeit a very crude one. The real Lucifer saying it wasn't big enough to be his actual cock.
So now the punk was walking to find Mikkel, hopefully inside his room with the other Danes or drinking somewhere in the apartments. The Dane was good at tattoos so Viktor wanted him to do it rather than pay some fucking mug out on the Strip. Knocking twice, Viktor waited because he didn't know if Mikkel was naked with his Swede or whatever inside.
"Mikkel? You in there?"
So now the punk was walking to find Mikkel, hopefully inside his room with the other Danes or drinking somewhere in the apartments. The Dane was good at tattoos so Viktor wanted him to do it rather than pay some fucking mug out on the Strip. Knocking twice, Viktor waited because he didn't know if Mikkel was naked with his Swede or whatever inside.
"Mikkel? You in there?"
Writing Prompts;
word: loud
"Come on then, Blondie. Let's see how much you can drink! I bet I can outdrink you on one bottle of vodka."
Viktor smirked as he gave Mick the finger, coaxing the guitarist to stare before finishing his smoke, snuffing the butt out into the ashtray on the table in front of him. Right. If the punk wanted to have a drinking contest then Mick would rise to the challenge since Viktor had been shouting his mouth of all evening. Rowdy bastard.
"Alright, you loud cockhead. You want to get outdrunk by a bloke who wears heels and make-up on stage? Then let's do this."
Gilly and Hunter now staring at the two as both men get up from where they are sitting close to the bar in the hotel and exchange looks. This was serious. Weird just knew what would happen. They would both cock wave for a bit then get trashed and pass out. Probably. The question is....who would notice this and take advantage of two passed out band members. Dressing up and adorning their bodies with glitter or fuck knows what else could be a thing. Billy shot a look to Aarne at this "drinking contest" the two were going to have.
"My room, Blondie. Let's go."
Viktor was already heading up to the elevator with an arm full of vodka from the bar. Mick had bottles of gin clutched in his arms as he followed the bullish punk up to his hotel room. This should be good.
***
Five minutes later Mick and Viktor were now pulling off the bottle tops to their drinks and eyeing each other up.
"Take a drink for every time you've fucked your girl."
Viktor set the challenge with a boorish grin. This should be good. Surely Mick would get smashed first because he'd known Ziggy longer than Viktor had known Vars so more fucking? It worked that way, didn't it? Mick just rolled his eyes but began chugging on his gin bottle, gagging a little but near drinking half the bottle in one go.
"Fuck! It's your go, Blockhead. Drink for how many times you've fucked Vars."
Mick wondered about who fucked who in their relationship but said no more on the matter. It was Viktor's time to drink! The punk laughed a little and then began gulping down his vodka, swallowing without missing a drop, near drinking the bottle until only a quarter remained.
"Shit! Fuck, that's good."
The punk enjoyed the burn and knew he was getting drunk because he'd drank near a whole bottle of vodka in one go. Mick was impressed but wasn't giving up. No fucking way!
"Ok, drink to how many times you've sucked cock or been sucked by Vars."
Viktor frowned then shook his head. It was his go! Mick was getting absentminded already. Fucking lightweight! At least the punk assumed the blond was a lightweight.
"My go, Blondie. Drink to how many times you've eaten pussy."
Mick swallowed. Oh fuck. He was near obsessed with pussy so this would be an easy win for Viktor. He'd have to drink the rest of his gin and start on a new bottle. The guitarist just giggled and drank the remainder of his booze until the bottle was empty. Fuck, he was getting pissed fast.
"New bottle needed. Pass it over, Blockhead."
Viktor didn't like being called that name and made it clear by giving Mick the finger and shoving the guitarist back a little with a palm to the chest. Bastard. Mick frowned then pushed the punk back on the chest, getting wound up because he was now drunk. Both men were drunk and rowdy.
"Fuck you, prissy boy. Make-up glam wanker."
Mick just snorted out laughter at that. Fuck, this bull-headed bastard.
"Oh yeah? A bit rich coming from a cockhead who gets whipped on his ass by his leather dom."
Viktor stared at Mick before jumping up and tackling the blond onto the carpeted floor. Mick laughed then grabbed onto the punk's hair, pulling a little before shoving him off. The great lump! Viktor growled but then laid back on the floor, wanting to drink more. A little bit of shoving with Mick was fun and part of the game.
"You get drunk on Mule and fucking strip naked wagging that cock of yours at everyone."
Mick just giggled drunkenly at Viktor's words and shook his head. Damn, he was drunk. The punk forgot to ask any more questions as he began drinking a new bottle of vodka. It was everyman for himself now. Mick now joining Viktor, drinking gin and leaning against the bed. Oh gods they were going to regret this in the morning surely.
"You're a fucking---lightweight, Blondie."
Viktor was now chugging more vodka, spilling some down his mouth onto the floor because he was trashed. Mick laughed as he too spilt some gin onto his silken pants, not knowing how the game was going. Who was winning?
"And you're a fucking tart. I'm winning, you're spilling more."
***
An hour later and a few more empty bottles littered the hotel room floor as both men were now totally fucking trashed. There were remnants of broken glass where Viktor had thrown his empty bottles against the hotel balcony and both men were now shirtless and covered in booze stains.
Mick giggled and poked Viktor's chest which was gleaming with wet booze. The punk just shoved the guitarist's finger away and began chugging more, which was causing him to gag a little. Fuck! Both men put their bottles down next to each other which were now completely empty. Viktor going to get up for a piss but falling over his feet, causing him to collapse onto the bed completely wasted. He landed face first onto the mattress passing out. How much had he drunk? Three or four bottles of vodka maybe.
"Fuck, I won. I think? Bloody hell---"
Mick giggled drunkenly before staring at Viktor on the bed and slowly slumping backwards onto the floor, passing out. He'd drunk around three and a half but had remained awake. Just.
word: loud
"Come on then, Blondie. Let's see how much you can drink! I bet I can outdrink you on one bottle of vodka."
Viktor smirked as he gave Mick the finger, coaxing the guitarist to stare before finishing his smoke, snuffing the butt out into the ashtray on the table in front of him. Right. If the punk wanted to have a drinking contest then Mick would rise to the challenge since Viktor had been shouting his mouth of all evening. Rowdy bastard.
"Alright, you loud cockhead. You want to get outdrunk by a bloke who wears heels and make-up on stage? Then let's do this."
Gilly and Hunter now staring at the two as both men get up from where they are sitting close to the bar in the hotel and exchange looks. This was serious. Weird just knew what would happen. They would both cock wave for a bit then get trashed and pass out. Probably. The question is....who would notice this and take advantage of two passed out band members. Dressing up and adorning their bodies with glitter or fuck knows what else could be a thing. Billy shot a look to Aarne at this "drinking contest" the two were going to have.
"My room, Blondie. Let's go."
Viktor was already heading up to the elevator with an arm full of vodka from the bar. Mick had bottles of gin clutched in his arms as he followed the bullish punk up to his hotel room. This should be good.
***
Five minutes later Mick and Viktor were now pulling off the bottle tops to their drinks and eyeing each other up.
"Take a drink for every time you've fucked your girl."
Viktor set the challenge with a boorish grin. This should be good. Surely Mick would get smashed first because he'd known Ziggy longer than Viktor had known Vars so more fucking? It worked that way, didn't it? Mick just rolled his eyes but began chugging on his gin bottle, gagging a little but near drinking half the bottle in one go.
"Fuck! It's your go, Blockhead. Drink for how many times you've fucked Vars."
Mick wondered about who fucked who in their relationship but said no more on the matter. It was Viktor's time to drink! The punk laughed a little and then began gulping down his vodka, swallowing without missing a drop, near drinking the bottle until only a quarter remained.
"Shit! Fuck, that's good."
The punk enjoyed the burn and knew he was getting drunk because he'd drank near a whole bottle of vodka in one go. Mick was impressed but wasn't giving up. No fucking way!
"Ok, drink to how many times you've sucked cock or been sucked by Vars."
Viktor frowned then shook his head. It was his go! Mick was getting absentminded already. Fucking lightweight! At least the punk assumed the blond was a lightweight.
"My go, Blondie. Drink to how many times you've eaten pussy."
Mick swallowed. Oh fuck. He was near obsessed with pussy so this would be an easy win for Viktor. He'd have to drink the rest of his gin and start on a new bottle. The guitarist just giggled and drank the remainder of his booze until the bottle was empty. Fuck, he was getting pissed fast.
"New bottle needed. Pass it over, Blockhead."
Viktor didn't like being called that name and made it clear by giving Mick the finger and shoving the guitarist back a little with a palm to the chest. Bastard. Mick frowned then pushed the punk back on the chest, getting wound up because he was now drunk. Both men were drunk and rowdy.
"Fuck you, prissy boy. Make-up glam wanker."
Mick just snorted out laughter at that. Fuck, this bull-headed bastard.
"Oh yeah? A bit rich coming from a cockhead who gets whipped on his ass by his leather dom."
Viktor stared at Mick before jumping up and tackling the blond onto the carpeted floor. Mick laughed then grabbed onto the punk's hair, pulling a little before shoving him off. The great lump! Viktor growled but then laid back on the floor, wanting to drink more. A little bit of shoving with Mick was fun and part of the game.
"You get drunk on Mule and fucking strip naked wagging that cock of yours at everyone."
Mick just giggled drunkenly at Viktor's words and shook his head. Damn, he was drunk. The punk forgot to ask any more questions as he began drinking a new bottle of vodka. It was everyman for himself now. Mick now joining Viktor, drinking gin and leaning against the bed. Oh gods they were going to regret this in the morning surely.
"You're a fucking---lightweight, Blondie."
Viktor was now chugging more vodka, spilling some down his mouth onto the floor because he was trashed. Mick laughed as he too spilt some gin onto his silken pants, not knowing how the game was going. Who was winning?
"And you're a fucking tart. I'm winning, you're spilling more."
***
An hour later and a few more empty bottles littered the hotel room floor as both men were now totally fucking trashed. There were remnants of broken glass where Viktor had thrown his empty bottles against the hotel balcony and both men were now shirtless and covered in booze stains.
Mick giggled and poked Viktor's chest which was gleaming with wet booze. The punk just shoved the guitarist's finger away and began chugging more, which was causing him to gag a little. Fuck! Both men put their bottles down next to each other which were now completely empty. Viktor going to get up for a piss but falling over his feet, causing him to collapse onto the bed completely wasted. He landed face first onto the mattress passing out. How much had he drunk? Three or four bottles of vodka maybe.
"Fuck, I won. I think? Bloody hell---"
Mick giggled drunkenly before staring at Viktor on the bed and slowly slumping backwards onto the floor, passing out. He'd drunk around three and a half but had remained awake. Just.
Writing prompts;
setting: prison.
"Fuck you, pig!"
Viktor slumped against the wall of the prison cell feeling the familiar cold sensation creep into his back. The cold stone wall now a friend since the first time he got flung into the cell for arson. It wasn't fucking arson though, it was a bit of fun with a home-made fire bomb. The cops were now staring at the young delinquent through the cage doors taking down some notes.
"Viktor, this is your third visit now to our cells. You're going to be unemployable by the time you're 18. Is this what you want? To remain a juvinile delinquent the rest of your life?"
The police officer frowning at the young man who was only 15. He'd been kicked out of school and was now setting fire to buildings and police vehicles for "fun." Viktor found it fun because he was bored and his parents had basically booted him out anyway so why not caused some chaos? His gang friends found it hilarious. The young punk dressed in a ripped denim "battle jacket" emblazoned with various punk patches and offensive slogans. Long hair and a huge chip on his shoulder the size of a small planet.
"Fuck off. There's nothing to do on this estate and my old man will bail me out as always."
Viktor knew his father would be down the station yet again paying to get his son out of jail. For what it was worth it was the only decent thing Viktor's father did for his son in the punk's eyes. His mother of course would end up smacking Viktor around the head if he did ever come back home. He never did though. It was usually a brief nod to his dad and then he ran off to his gang hideout.
"We also found these in your pockets when we searched you."
The officer pulling out a flick knife, a Zippo lighter with a pack of cigarettes, a condom and a porn magazine.
Viktor shrugged. So what? Wasn't a bloke allowed to have his own possession? These fucking pigs could suck a huge cock. The punk offered a middle finger and wanted his stuff back. Fuck this.
"Yeah and? That's my stuff. Give it back. I fucking bought it and didn't steal this time."
The punk often stealing while on the streets. He acted much older than he really was and adulthood wasn't a basket of roses at all. It was hell. The officers put away Viktor's possessions into a sealed clear bag as evidence. A boy of 15 shouldn't be having such items like this. The punk just stared out of the small cell window just waiting for his dad to come along and bail him out so he could fuck the hell out of this shit hole.
setting: prison.
"Fuck you, pig!"
Viktor slumped against the wall of the prison cell feeling the familiar cold sensation creep into his back. The cold stone wall now a friend since the first time he got flung into the cell for arson. It wasn't fucking arson though, it was a bit of fun with a home-made fire bomb. The cops were now staring at the young delinquent through the cage doors taking down some notes.
"Viktor, this is your third visit now to our cells. You're going to be unemployable by the time you're 18. Is this what you want? To remain a juvinile delinquent the rest of your life?"
The police officer frowning at the young man who was only 15. He'd been kicked out of school and was now setting fire to buildings and police vehicles for "fun." Viktor found it fun because he was bored and his parents had basically booted him out anyway so why not caused some chaos? His gang friends found it hilarious. The young punk dressed in a ripped denim "battle jacket" emblazoned with various punk patches and offensive slogans. Long hair and a huge chip on his shoulder the size of a small planet.
"Fuck off. There's nothing to do on this estate and my old man will bail me out as always."
Viktor knew his father would be down the station yet again paying to get his son out of jail. For what it was worth it was the only decent thing Viktor's father did for his son in the punk's eyes. His mother of course would end up smacking Viktor around the head if he did ever come back home. He never did though. It was usually a brief nod to his dad and then he ran off to his gang hideout.
"We also found these in your pockets when we searched you."
The officer pulling out a flick knife, a Zippo lighter with a pack of cigarettes, a condom and a porn magazine.
Viktor shrugged. So what? Wasn't a bloke allowed to have his own possession? These fucking pigs could suck a huge cock. The punk offered a middle finger and wanted his stuff back. Fuck this.
"Yeah and? That's my stuff. Give it back. I fucking bought it and didn't steal this time."
The punk often stealing while on the streets. He acted much older than he really was and adulthood wasn't a basket of roses at all. It was hell. The officers put away Viktor's possessions into a sealed clear bag as evidence. A boy of 15 shouldn't be having such items like this. The punk just stared out of the small cell window just waiting for his dad to come along and bail him out so he could fuck the hell out of this shit hole.
Viktor had been expelled. He was fifteen years old and in the last year at school.
***
"Fuck off! I don't need you both and you've never been there ever in my whole fucking life!"
Viktor yelling down the stairs from his room where his parents were downstairs in the living room. There had been a family row yet again and this time it was serious. Viktor's parents had been sent a letter through the post about their disruptive son setting fire to the boy's toilets in the English department at school. Viktor's father just sighing knowing this day would come while his mother just became even more disappointed at her son. She came storming out of the dining room staring upstairs with her hands on her hips. Her husband standing behind her lighting up a smoke and wiping his face with his hand.
"Why do you have to act like a damn delinquent all the time, Viktor? You're fifteen and now you've been expelled from school! Bloody expelled."
She just threw her hands in the air and went into the kitchen to pour herself a large brandy. Fuck it. Her only son was a failure in life. Viktor's father just drawing deep on his smoke, fuming in more ways than one at his only son cast out from school.
"Let me guess. You're going off to join those fucking idiots! Those delinquent punks in that gang of yours! It won't do you any good, son. They're fucking druggy wasters the lot of them! You've got no future now so get that bloody ass of yours down the labour exchange and find a fucking job!"
Viktor just slamming his bedroom door on his parents and kicking a large hole in it for good measure with a vicious kick from his hard leather boot. Fuck them! Fuck it all. He didn't even need them anymore. He was out. Shoving open his bedroom window, Viktor had already thrown his valued posessions into a large carry bag and was now heading out through the window, climbing out to jump down onto the overhang below. Sliding down the tiles he then jumped again and rolled, managing to sustain just a few minor bruises.
"Fuck off! I don't need you."
The punk boy then offered a large middle finger to the image of his father staring back at him through the window before beginning a march into the city to find his delinquent punk friends. Fuck his parents. He didn't need them anyway. He was near a man now anyway just shy of his sixteenth birthday soon. It was near dark as he eventually slowed to a walking pace, turning the corner and heading down a dingy alley towards a make-shift shed of sorts. It was a bit far out from the main city centre and was illuminated with some old bulbs which flickered now and then.
Slamming his fist on the wooden door of the shed, Viktor felt turmoil build in the pit of his stomach. He'd been kicked out of school and now he'd left home. He was homeless and had no life. No future. The only salvation he had was his punk gang. The three friends he'd known for a good few years now. Ed, Suzi and Jack.
"Open up, it's me, Viktor. My fucking parents have kicked me out and school can fuck off."
There was a click as the door was unlocked and out popped a young woman with black hair dressed in punk leathers and boots. She wore a short skirt which was well above her knees as well as a cocky expression. Pulling Viktor inside the shed she locked the door behind them both with the old rusted key. This was their gang hideout. A sign hung above made of hardwood with white paint red "The Street Rats." This was the name of their gang.
"Fuck, Viktor. What happened to you? The old man kick you out, eh? Fucking school is a waste of time anyway. Jack got booted for drugs and Ed punched a kid and caused them to lose all their front teeth."
Viktor slumped down onto the worn couch and sighed, pulling out his smokes which he'd stolen off his old man, lighting up and pushing back some of his long blond hair. He'd grown it out now and it was near his shoulders. Fuck rules. Suzi lit up her own smoke and then offered Viktor a bottle of Jack Daniels. She knew he drank since he'd been hanging out with the Street Rats for over three years now. Teen drinking was nothing new.
"That's total shit, mate. Wait until Ed and Jack hear about this."
Suzi leaned against the fridge which had all their booze inside and laughed at the poor boy's predicament. All the Street Rats were older than Viktor by a few years. Suzi was eighteen and both Ed and Jack were twenty already. Young men. Viktor was fifteen and already acted like he was an adult because he felt like he was one. His childhood had been shitty his whole life with his parents being useless at bringing up a child. Their only son. Viktor's father a criminal who dealt in dodgy cars and laundered money. It was total shit.
"Oh look what the cat dragged in! Fucking hell, it's Vicky!"
In strolled Jack, who was high off his head on whatever shit he'd injected into himself or whatever shit he'd sniffed. Holding a full bottle of Jack he downed some and then slumped down onto the couch next to Viktor. He could tell something was up with the young punk. He and Ed both called Viktor "Vicky" because it was their pet name for him. Viktor put up with it only because he didn't mind the name from them. Anyone outside of the punk gang would get their face smashed in.
"What happened, mate? Girl trouble? Made some poor chick pregnant?"
Viktor elbowed Jack hard in the guts which got a laugh out of the drugged up punk. The boy was in no mood for Jack's shit so just sighed and drew on his smoke before flicking it towards the fence.
"No. Fucking school expelled me and my parents told me to fuck off to the labour exchange. They kicked me out. I was going to fucking run away anyway. The old man is a complete prick!"
Kicking a bottle as he got up suddenly, Viktor just felt a wave of anger wash over him. Suzi placed a hand on the angry punk's shoulder but got it shrugged off. He was a fucking failure! Maybe his old man was right about him the whole time. A loser. A nobody. Just a piece of garbage washed up off the street. Jack was having none of it as he stood up and then grabbed Viktor by the shoulder, spinning him around and then punching him in the guts hard. Suzi gasped.
"What the fuck!----"
Viktor knew Jack was trying to snap him out of it. Ed heard what was going on from out the back in the yard as he too stepped into the large shed and saw Viktor clutching his stomach looking rough.
"What's going on? Fuck, Viktor? You look like shit. Jack?"
Ed walked up to Jack and shoved him back onto the couch. He could see that the dark-haired punk was high as a fucking kite so this wasn't helping matters obviously. Viktor recovered from the punch and then got back at Jack by slamming his fist into Jack's own guts. Ed grabbed onto Viktor to pull him back.
"Hey! Stop this shit! Viktor? What the fuck is going on?"
Suzi explained to Ed by whispering into his ear, thinking this might be a bit more subtle considering Viktor's bad mood. That and Jack now shoving some pills down his throat, washing them down with gulps of Jack. Fuck, that guy was going to OD one day and Suzi worried about that all the time.
"I ran away. Got kicked out of fucking school and my parents have given up on me. I'm a homeless delinquent now. Part of the family."
Viktor eventually sitting back down onto the couch and feeling Jack ruffle up his hair. No more punches for now. He knew the gang were rough and ready but were his only real family now. He would grow up with them, commit crimes but he knew nothing else. Maybe he could get a bike next year and join the rest of his friends riding down the street like a hooligan. That sounded like fun. Suzi poured herself a drink in a rocks glass and offered it to Viktor who took it. Ed just shook his head, laughing and drew out a smoke.
"One of us now, eh? Well, it's lucky you should say that, Vicky. We've got a new bike. Found her abandoned at this warehouse. Thought she could do with a new owner."
Viktor looked up and was excited about Ed's words. A new bike? For him? Fuck! This is what he'd wanted. The tall blond gang member was good at finding good shit. Jack now just shining his knife blade up with a dirty rag because the man never left the shed without his favoured weapon. Ed had his hand made knuckle dusters and Suzi, she never carried weapons but used her vicious kicks in a fight scenario.
Ed "The Fist", Suzi "The Scrapper" and Jack "The Fixer." They were all good at their jobs and Viktor was "The Devil." A name given to him by the gang for his love of fire and pyromania. It suited him perfectly.
***
"Fuck off! I don't need you both and you've never been there ever in my whole fucking life!"
Viktor yelling down the stairs from his room where his parents were downstairs in the living room. There had been a family row yet again and this time it was serious. Viktor's parents had been sent a letter through the post about their disruptive son setting fire to the boy's toilets in the English department at school. Viktor's father just sighing knowing this day would come while his mother just became even more disappointed at her son. She came storming out of the dining room staring upstairs with her hands on her hips. Her husband standing behind her lighting up a smoke and wiping his face with his hand.
"Why do you have to act like a damn delinquent all the time, Viktor? You're fifteen and now you've been expelled from school! Bloody expelled."
She just threw her hands in the air and went into the kitchen to pour herself a large brandy. Fuck it. Her only son was a failure in life. Viktor's father just drawing deep on his smoke, fuming in more ways than one at his only son cast out from school.
"Let me guess. You're going off to join those fucking idiots! Those delinquent punks in that gang of yours! It won't do you any good, son. They're fucking druggy wasters the lot of them! You've got no future now so get that bloody ass of yours down the labour exchange and find a fucking job!"
Viktor just slamming his bedroom door on his parents and kicking a large hole in it for good measure with a vicious kick from his hard leather boot. Fuck them! Fuck it all. He didn't even need them anymore. He was out. Shoving open his bedroom window, Viktor had already thrown his valued posessions into a large carry bag and was now heading out through the window, climbing out to jump down onto the overhang below. Sliding down the tiles he then jumped again and rolled, managing to sustain just a few minor bruises.
"Fuck off! I don't need you."
The punk boy then offered a large middle finger to the image of his father staring back at him through the window before beginning a march into the city to find his delinquent punk friends. Fuck his parents. He didn't need them anyway. He was near a man now anyway just shy of his sixteenth birthday soon. It was near dark as he eventually slowed to a walking pace, turning the corner and heading down a dingy alley towards a make-shift shed of sorts. It was a bit far out from the main city centre and was illuminated with some old bulbs which flickered now and then.
Slamming his fist on the wooden door of the shed, Viktor felt turmoil build in the pit of his stomach. He'd been kicked out of school and now he'd left home. He was homeless and had no life. No future. The only salvation he had was his punk gang. The three friends he'd known for a good few years now. Ed, Suzi and Jack.
"Open up, it's me, Viktor. My fucking parents have kicked me out and school can fuck off."
There was a click as the door was unlocked and out popped a young woman with black hair dressed in punk leathers and boots. She wore a short skirt which was well above her knees as well as a cocky expression. Pulling Viktor inside the shed she locked the door behind them both with the old rusted key. This was their gang hideout. A sign hung above made of hardwood with white paint red "The Street Rats." This was the name of their gang.
"Fuck, Viktor. What happened to you? The old man kick you out, eh? Fucking school is a waste of time anyway. Jack got booted for drugs and Ed punched a kid and caused them to lose all their front teeth."
Viktor slumped down onto the worn couch and sighed, pulling out his smokes which he'd stolen off his old man, lighting up and pushing back some of his long blond hair. He'd grown it out now and it was near his shoulders. Fuck rules. Suzi lit up her own smoke and then offered Viktor a bottle of Jack Daniels. She knew he drank since he'd been hanging out with the Street Rats for over three years now. Teen drinking was nothing new.
"That's total shit, mate. Wait until Ed and Jack hear about this."
Suzi leaned against the fridge which had all their booze inside and laughed at the poor boy's predicament. All the Street Rats were older than Viktor by a few years. Suzi was eighteen and both Ed and Jack were twenty already. Young men. Viktor was fifteen and already acted like he was an adult because he felt like he was one. His childhood had been shitty his whole life with his parents being useless at bringing up a child. Their only son. Viktor's father a criminal who dealt in dodgy cars and laundered money. It was total shit.
"Oh look what the cat dragged in! Fucking hell, it's Vicky!"
In strolled Jack, who was high off his head on whatever shit he'd injected into himself or whatever shit he'd sniffed. Holding a full bottle of Jack he downed some and then slumped down onto the couch next to Viktor. He could tell something was up with the young punk. He and Ed both called Viktor "Vicky" because it was their pet name for him. Viktor put up with it only because he didn't mind the name from them. Anyone outside of the punk gang would get their face smashed in.
"What happened, mate? Girl trouble? Made some poor chick pregnant?"
Viktor elbowed Jack hard in the guts which got a laugh out of the drugged up punk. The boy was in no mood for Jack's shit so just sighed and drew on his smoke before flicking it towards the fence.
"No. Fucking school expelled me and my parents told me to fuck off to the labour exchange. They kicked me out. I was going to fucking run away anyway. The old man is a complete prick!"
Kicking a bottle as he got up suddenly, Viktor just felt a wave of anger wash over him. Suzi placed a hand on the angry punk's shoulder but got it shrugged off. He was a fucking failure! Maybe his old man was right about him the whole time. A loser. A nobody. Just a piece of garbage washed up off the street. Jack was having none of it as he stood up and then grabbed Viktor by the shoulder, spinning him around and then punching him in the guts hard. Suzi gasped.
"What the fuck!----"
Viktor knew Jack was trying to snap him out of it. Ed heard what was going on from out the back in the yard as he too stepped into the large shed and saw Viktor clutching his stomach looking rough.
"What's going on? Fuck, Viktor? You look like shit. Jack?"
Ed walked up to Jack and shoved him back onto the couch. He could see that the dark-haired punk was high as a fucking kite so this wasn't helping matters obviously. Viktor recovered from the punch and then got back at Jack by slamming his fist into Jack's own guts. Ed grabbed onto Viktor to pull him back.
"Hey! Stop this shit! Viktor? What the fuck is going on?"
Suzi explained to Ed by whispering into his ear, thinking this might be a bit more subtle considering Viktor's bad mood. That and Jack now shoving some pills down his throat, washing them down with gulps of Jack. Fuck, that guy was going to OD one day and Suzi worried about that all the time.
"I ran away. Got kicked out of fucking school and my parents have given up on me. I'm a homeless delinquent now. Part of the family."
Viktor eventually sitting back down onto the couch and feeling Jack ruffle up his hair. No more punches for now. He knew the gang were rough and ready but were his only real family now. He would grow up with them, commit crimes but he knew nothing else. Maybe he could get a bike next year and join the rest of his friends riding down the street like a hooligan. That sounded like fun. Suzi poured herself a drink in a rocks glass and offered it to Viktor who took it. Ed just shook his head, laughing and drew out a smoke.
"One of us now, eh? Well, it's lucky you should say that, Vicky. We've got a new bike. Found her abandoned at this warehouse. Thought she could do with a new owner."
Viktor looked up and was excited about Ed's words. A new bike? For him? Fuck! This is what he'd wanted. The tall blond gang member was good at finding good shit. Jack now just shining his knife blade up with a dirty rag because the man never left the shed without his favoured weapon. Ed had his hand made knuckle dusters and Suzi, she never carried weapons but used her vicious kicks in a fight scenario.
Ed "The Fist", Suzi "The Scrapper" and Jack "The Fixer." They were all good at their jobs and Viktor was "The Devil." A name given to him by the gang for his love of fire and pyromania. It suited him perfectly.
Viktor had drunk around a bottle and a half of vodka and was now throwing darts at the board he'd hooked up in his and Vars' hotel room. He was angry. The board had a photo of a British policeman taped onto it. Fucking cops. The punk was in a rowdy mood because he just wanted to break shit and let off some steam. The last few nights he'd had dreams about going back home and his mother shunning him for liking a man. For loving someone who wasn't a girl who he could marry and have children with. That's what he was supposed to do, wasn't it? Fuck it. He loved Vars and his family could go to hell. The cops with it.
Getting up from the bed with a growl, Viktor threw his last dart at the board rather aggressively, getting near close to a bullseye. The Brit grabbed the empty vodka bottle and threw it towards the balcony outside where the door was open. It sailed through the open doors and then smashed against one of the balcony's rails.
"Fuck."
The punk was also drunk and this didn't help stop the tirade of anger and frustration that now coursed through him. Where was Vars? He wanted the Norwegian with him so they could smash shit up. Grabbing a nearby chair, Viktor snarled as he threw the chair through the balcony window next, watching it sail over the rails to splinter into pieces in the car park below. It felt satisfying to see the pieces of wood now litter the ground below. What else could he smash? It was always better with two though.
***
Outside the room Billy was passing and heard the commotion going on inside as Viktor was now punching the wall with force. Was he destroying his room again? It would seem so. The guitarist knew he'd have to find Vars because things didn't sound good at all. The telltale sound of a lamp being thrown against the wall with some force just caused the blond to go slightly wide-eyed, rushing back downstairs to where the Danes and Vars were. The Angels had noticed Viktor was slightly on edge the last few days. He always seem to bottle up his feelings because he called talking about them pussy.
Getting up from the bed with a growl, Viktor threw his last dart at the board rather aggressively, getting near close to a bullseye. The Brit grabbed the empty vodka bottle and threw it towards the balcony outside where the door was open. It sailed through the open doors and then smashed against one of the balcony's rails.
"Fuck."
The punk was also drunk and this didn't help stop the tirade of anger and frustration that now coursed through him. Where was Vars? He wanted the Norwegian with him so they could smash shit up. Grabbing a nearby chair, Viktor snarled as he threw the chair through the balcony window next, watching it sail over the rails to splinter into pieces in the car park below. It felt satisfying to see the pieces of wood now litter the ground below. What else could he smash? It was always better with two though.
***
Outside the room Billy was passing and heard the commotion going on inside as Viktor was now punching the wall with force. Was he destroying his room again? It would seem so. The guitarist knew he'd have to find Vars because things didn't sound good at all. The telltale sound of a lamp being thrown against the wall with some force just caused the blond to go slightly wide-eyed, rushing back downstairs to where the Danes and Vars were. The Angels had noticed Viktor was slightly on edge the last few days. He always seem to bottle up his feelings because he called talking about them pussy.
For the Hugging Prompt 33. Picking Them Up Hugs
Vars and Viktor had gotten into a playfight over who would drink the last mouthful of Akvavit. They were both pretty much very drunk and the Brit was more worse off than the Norwegian, yet Viktor was still on his feet, albeit swaying a little and laughing. They were drinking on a patch of grass just outside of the hotel since Joe and Aarne had flooded the upstairs bathroom and all hell was kicking off inside with Tom and Robert yelling at the two imbeciles. High, drunk and crazy. That's what most of the staff had called the two Terror Twins when they had informed Tom of the shit going on upstairs in their room. So, the punks had decided to take their booze and have their fun outside.
Lighting a small fire in a pit by the parking lot they were now sitting on the soft grass drinking and mucking around punching each other and being themselves. The Akvavit---that had made them both very drunk since they had drank the whole bottle in under an hour. All that was left was one small mouthful at the end of the bottle.
"Fuck! We're---we're nearly out of booze, mate. What the fuck shall we do?"
Viktor getting up to his feet, swaying and grabbing hold of Vars by the shoulders, punching him and then proceeding to fall back onto his ass. The Norwegian laughing at his lover because Brits got fucked on Akvavit. Just ask Mick. The real punishment was in the morning when the hangover hit like a jack hammer to the head. The Mule. A bastard of a kick.
"You too drunk. Can't get up. Lazy Brit."
Vars teasing Viktor as he sat back down to join the singer offering a hard punch to the other man's shoulder. Not wanting to look weak, Viktor got up and then ran over to one of the parked cars in the parking lot, climbing up onto it and laughing as he had grabbed the Akvavit bottle and was now draining the last few drops, swallowing and then proceeding to throw the bottle at another car's window, hearing the smash of glass as it smashed the windscreen. The Brit flicking his lighter open and lighting up a cigarette. Was he showing off? Oh yes.
Vars laughed when the bottle smashed against the car windscreen and jumped up to join his lover on the top of the car's roof. Was there cameras recording this shit? So what. They would get smashed soon enough by the punks if the cops were called.
"We're having a good time here, mate. Fuck the cops!"
Viktor grabbing hold of Vars and kissing him on the lips whilst trying not to wobble off the car roof. The bassist wrapping both arms around the Brit, holding him close and then biting his lip. Both men loved kissing each other roughly and now was even better whilst drunk. Viktor then felt his right foot slip off the roof as his legs refused to work properly. Shit---
"Fuck---I can't---"
Then, he was falling backwards, slipping off the roof of the car towards the hard asphalt ground below. Vars, even though drunk, acted quickly, grabbing the Brit and pulling him into a tight hug. A full bodied hug in mid-air whilst Viktor gasped and then swore loudly. His hands found themselves embedded in Vars's jacket as he heaved himself upwards back onto the car roof.
"Here, I pull. Grab arms. Pull up."
Viktor nodded, pulling himself up more and then standing back up still hugging Vars. Both men breathing a sigh of relief since one wrong fall and Viktor could have cracked his head open or worse. Hitting your head from a height could have killed him. Vars now worried about his lover's safety, pulled him in for a hug and then punched his arm slightly.
"You could have fall. Near dead. Stupid drunk."
It was true enough as Viktor's speech was becoming even more slurred and his balance was shot to hell. Time to get off the car and get back into the hotel room.
Vars and Viktor had gotten into a playfight over who would drink the last mouthful of Akvavit. They were both pretty much very drunk and the Brit was more worse off than the Norwegian, yet Viktor was still on his feet, albeit swaying a little and laughing. They were drinking on a patch of grass just outside of the hotel since Joe and Aarne had flooded the upstairs bathroom and all hell was kicking off inside with Tom and Robert yelling at the two imbeciles. High, drunk and crazy. That's what most of the staff had called the two Terror Twins when they had informed Tom of the shit going on upstairs in their room. So, the punks had decided to take their booze and have their fun outside.
Lighting a small fire in a pit by the parking lot they were now sitting on the soft grass drinking and mucking around punching each other and being themselves. The Akvavit---that had made them both very drunk since they had drank the whole bottle in under an hour. All that was left was one small mouthful at the end of the bottle.
"Fuck! We're---we're nearly out of booze, mate. What the fuck shall we do?"
Viktor getting up to his feet, swaying and grabbing hold of Vars by the shoulders, punching him and then proceeding to fall back onto his ass. The Norwegian laughing at his lover because Brits got fucked on Akvavit. Just ask Mick. The real punishment was in the morning when the hangover hit like a jack hammer to the head. The Mule. A bastard of a kick.
"You too drunk. Can't get up. Lazy Brit."
Vars teasing Viktor as he sat back down to join the singer offering a hard punch to the other man's shoulder. Not wanting to look weak, Viktor got up and then ran over to one of the parked cars in the parking lot, climbing up onto it and laughing as he had grabbed the Akvavit bottle and was now draining the last few drops, swallowing and then proceeding to throw the bottle at another car's window, hearing the smash of glass as it smashed the windscreen. The Brit flicking his lighter open and lighting up a cigarette. Was he showing off? Oh yes.
Vars laughed when the bottle smashed against the car windscreen and jumped up to join his lover on the top of the car's roof. Was there cameras recording this shit? So what. They would get smashed soon enough by the punks if the cops were called.
"We're having a good time here, mate. Fuck the cops!"
Viktor grabbing hold of Vars and kissing him on the lips whilst trying not to wobble off the car roof. The bassist wrapping both arms around the Brit, holding him close and then biting his lip. Both men loved kissing each other roughly and now was even better whilst drunk. Viktor then felt his right foot slip off the roof as his legs refused to work properly. Shit---
"Fuck---I can't---"
Then, he was falling backwards, slipping off the roof of the car towards the hard asphalt ground below. Vars, even though drunk, acted quickly, grabbing the Brit and pulling him into a tight hug. A full bodied hug in mid-air whilst Viktor gasped and then swore loudly. His hands found themselves embedded in Vars's jacket as he heaved himself upwards back onto the car roof.
"Here, I pull. Grab arms. Pull up."
Viktor nodded, pulling himself up more and then standing back up still hugging Vars. Both men breathing a sigh of relief since one wrong fall and Viktor could have cracked his head open or worse. Hitting your head from a height could have killed him. Vars now worried about his lover's safety, pulled him in for a hug and then punched his arm slightly.
"You could have fall. Near dead. Stupid drunk."
It was true enough as Viktor's speech was becoming even more slurred and his balance was shot to hell. Time to get off the car and get back into the hotel room.
The phone call wasn't the one he wanted to hear. His mother had just called the hotel and Viktor had picked up the call and heard it all. His old man had gone to prison for up to ten years. Fuck. Fuck it all. He just said goodbye to his mother on the phone then near smashed the whole thing against the bedroom wall. Viktor wasn't good at dealing with shit like this and even though he didn't get on with his father--the man was still his dad at the end of the day.
Fucking cops.
He was now outside livid, hurting and feeling very much alone. Not wanting to join in with the drinking games the others were doing in Aarne's room, the punk was out on the streets wanting to light something up. To burn something to the ground. He was fucking angry and would punch anyone who pissed him off at all. Or even spoke to him. Grabbing a brick from the floor he hurled it towards the nearest window he could find. Who gave a shit what it was? He was in New York, thousands of miles away from home and his old man was locked up.
"Fucking wankers."
Swearing under his breath, the punk then lit up a smoke whilst slumping down onto the nearest bench. Where was he? A few blocks away from the hotel at least. He wanted to cause carnage tonight. Maybe target the NYPD. They were police. American cops but fuck it. Cops were cops.
Fucking cops.
He was now outside livid, hurting and feeling very much alone. Not wanting to join in with the drinking games the others were doing in Aarne's room, the punk was out on the streets wanting to light something up. To burn something to the ground. He was fucking angry and would punch anyone who pissed him off at all. Or even spoke to him. Grabbing a brick from the floor he hurled it towards the nearest window he could find. Who gave a shit what it was? He was in New York, thousands of miles away from home and his old man was locked up.
"Fucking wankers."
Swearing under his breath, the punk then lit up a smoke whilst slumping down onto the nearest bench. Where was he? A few blocks away from the hotel at least. He wanted to cause carnage tonight. Maybe target the NYPD. They were police. American cops but fuck it. Cops were cops.
Viktor had enough.
He threw the empty vodka bottle at the wall of his house and watched it smash. He was eighteen years old and his father had been arrested. Again. What was it? The fourth time now? He'd lost count. The fucking cop car was around the front of the drive and two officers were now questioning his mother regarding her husband's illegal activities. Mostly involving the stolen cars he was selling on the estate and pawning off to other dodgy car traders.
Life was shit.
Viktor wanted a life but what did he have? His father was never around because he spent most of his time getting drunk down the pub or busy with his "business associates." He never had time to spend with his only son. The boy that had grown up with little or no fatherly guidance. Their boy was a criminal himself, having been arrested only last week for smashing up someone's garage. They had made home-made fire bombs and thrown them at the door. Criminal damage. The police came and gave the three delinquents, including Viktor, a night in the cells. Juvenile delinquents they called them.
He was a delinquent.
His bike and voice were all he had in life now. He could sing and he could make fire bombs and do up his bike. Oh, and he was very good at punching other men. Wrestling too. But who would take a criminal into their boxing ring or wrestling ring? No one. As for wanting a career as a rock singer? Fuck that. It was looking like shit as usual. Viktor hopped over the neighbour's fence and ran. He ran as hard as he could until he was at least a mile away from his house and the cops.
Fuck it all.
As for his bike? The cops had seized it and it was now locked up in some fucking garage in town by the cop shop. That's where all the criminal bike gang's bikes went. Tonight though, he would break in with his mates and get his bike back. Fucking wankers. He'd also go into town and get supplies to make some new fire bombs to throw at the cop shop window.
It would be a good night.
He threw the empty vodka bottle at the wall of his house and watched it smash. He was eighteen years old and his father had been arrested. Again. What was it? The fourth time now? He'd lost count. The fucking cop car was around the front of the drive and two officers were now questioning his mother regarding her husband's illegal activities. Mostly involving the stolen cars he was selling on the estate and pawning off to other dodgy car traders.
Life was shit.
Viktor wanted a life but what did he have? His father was never around because he spent most of his time getting drunk down the pub or busy with his "business associates." He never had time to spend with his only son. The boy that had grown up with little or no fatherly guidance. Their boy was a criminal himself, having been arrested only last week for smashing up someone's garage. They had made home-made fire bombs and thrown them at the door. Criminal damage. The police came and gave the three delinquents, including Viktor, a night in the cells. Juvenile delinquents they called them.
He was a delinquent.
His bike and voice were all he had in life now. He could sing and he could make fire bombs and do up his bike. Oh, and he was very good at punching other men. Wrestling too. But who would take a criminal into their boxing ring or wrestling ring? No one. As for wanting a career as a rock singer? Fuck that. It was looking like shit as usual. Viktor hopped over the neighbour's fence and ran. He ran as hard as he could until he was at least a mile away from his house and the cops.
Fuck it all.
As for his bike? The cops had seized it and it was now locked up in some fucking garage in town by the cop shop. That's where all the criminal bike gang's bikes went. Tonight though, he would break in with his mates and get his bike back. Fucking wankers. He'd also go into town and get supplies to make some new fire bombs to throw at the cop shop window.
It would be a good night.
