There comes a time when even I begin to tire of the bullshit that guns bring to the table. It would be hard to say that I'm a stranger to situations like this: weapons jammed to by head, stuck on my knees, thugs going through my crap and stealing my booze. Yet the more it happens to me, the more I find that it doesn't happen to anyone else.
And here I was thinking it was over. I figured my noble quest for redemption, or justice... something... was finally brought to an end, only to come charging back in the form of a pistol-whip to the head. It seemed no matter how close I came to peace, there would always be the parasites who brought me back down, niggling at my feet before eventually consuming me.
Four or five of them. Amateurs raiding this cheap, Brazilian summer home. The young, nervous looks in the unconcealed one's eyes opposing the drugged, frantic movements of his friend's. Solidarity found even those at opposite ends of the spectrum.
Honestly, what did they have to worry about? A middle-aged, partially drunk, fat American could hardly be considered a threat against several Kalashnikovs and forty-fives. Stealing my possessions would mean rummaging through the medicine cabinet and then making off with a plastic chair.
Then something drew away my admiration of the drab wooden flooring. Namely, a kick to the head. It sent me reunited with that cold, hard floor and once again I caught up with an old pal: blood. It was as if the only way my body could check I was still alive was by bleeding on a regular basis. It had been, what, a week without an injury?
Apparently they were eager to speak with me, as one of the more confident raiders pulled me up by the head. He pointed the pistol to my neck and spoke with broken English.
"You...Max...Payne..."
I'd almost be honoured to have fans at this point. I didn't have much else going for me. So, he knew my name. Did he recognise me from the news? Was he on his own mission for vengeance? It was all very likely that I killed a brother of his, he could have easily been part of the Commando Sombra gang.
That was the fun thing about being a loose end, if you survived long enough you'd get to reflect on a lot of questions and things you'd like to say to your possible enemies.
The gun was pressed harder, and moved upwards to my now-shiny dome of a head. They were definitely intending to kill me, or at least this one was. Only a person as corrupted as me would be able to say I found this funny. I could easily disarm him, kill him and his friends, pop a painkiller and go back to sleep.
But at the same time I couldn't.
Was it was finally my time to give up? I didn't care anymore. I wouldn't resist the inevitable any longer. My entire life, death had been scraping at my heels, and each time a piece of dog shit showed up on them and put him off getting closer. Now? I had clean shoes. A new slate. And now it was his time to shine.
I was vulnerable at my happiest moments. If you could call knocking yourself out each night with a combination of gin and painkillers happy. Maybe not happiness... serenity. Whenever there was peace in my life, I was a target. The fates always conspired against me, plotting my downfall at every nap, breather and success I got.
I guess it couldn't have ended any other way, on my knees in a tiny alcohol-filled shack in a country thousands of miles from home. Silence at last. I've ended so many lives before me, let's see how I like it. My funeral shroud would be a stained tank-top and ruined pair of jeans. In a way, that was a testament to my life. Used and abused, but by my own arrogance, blind luck and sheer coincidence I was kept alive.
If heaven is lenient enough to allow a serial killing drub-abuser through, maybe I'll be reunited with Michelle and my daughter. Not that I deserve it. I couldn't protect them. Whatever is on the other side of my brains is punishment enough.
The afterlife isn't all it's cracked up to be.
I was surrounded by beaming sunlight. A forest, trees touching the sky and bright plants littering the area. The random noises of wildlife tempting my already hung-over mind into overdrive. I may not be the smartest person in the world, but it seemed as though I was just thrown into the closest pile of plants and left to rot. There was no stunning white lights, no reflecting over my terrible life, I was shot, and now I was lying in the middle of a forest.
I was still bleeding from my friend's little outburst, and now I didn't have any painkillers or bandages. I couldn't feel the bullet that had ended me either. My head was as smooth as the mental glass that was tearing at my brain.
I didn't know what the hell was going on, so naturally, my first course of action was to fall asleep on the rough, dirty ground. Only after waking up, God knows how long later, did I realise that that was an incredibly stupid idea. The open wound was infected, smothered in dirt.
Wherever I was, I hoped it had medical supplies. With a lack of adrenaline to keep me fuelled I guess I was running on interest. Somehow, everything was brighter here. Vibrant colours blinded me past every tree I went through. Even the shades of grey had some life in them. It didn't bode well for a cynical drunk out here.
After about twenty minutes of stumbling around and holding onto trees for balance, I fell once more. Lying on my back, I looked to an open canopy in the forest and saw an expanse of clouds that were moving at an alarming pace. Squinting my eyes helped no further, but as the clouds disappeared from sight, a quick glance of something that looked like a rainbow stemmed from the back of it.
I chalked it down to me being crazy, or some sort of delusion that occurs after someone is shot in the head. Just when you think you've seen it all, overcome every possible new challenge that presents itself, the fates hand a royal flush and rob you blind. They sure had it in for me, didn't they?
I was coming closer to the edge of this disgustingly lively forest. The trees were thinning out with each step along the crisp, green grass. This wasn't the violent, poverty-stricken image of the Brazilian slums I had grown accustomed to, nor the depressing, cruel streets of New York I now longed for.
Was I really so pessimistic that I had the nerve to bastardize a good outcome for once? Was this really a good outcome? It'd been a while since I witnessed some evildoing that was distorting my view of life as usual. A whole hour or so.
As I reached the outskirts of the forest, just when everything was coming into plain sight, I was going hazy once again. It felt like something had burrowed into my head where the bleeding, infected scar was. I found myself clenching my eyes shut, the searing pain threatening to overload and clamp my brain into paste. I didn't get that luxury. Instead, it was back to the floor.
As the darkness enveloped my vision, succumbing once again to the joys of passing out, I saw some pink shape getting closer. A bouncing blob dancing in my iris, the last cheery thing I saw before my world faded to black.
I awoke in something not unfamiliar to me, a hospital bed. I still felt like a mouse in a vice, but I was alive and bandaged. With yet to have the faintest idea of what was happening, and no sign of me finding out soon, I played around with the bed control buttons like a forty year old child.
This hospital definitely wasn't in the slums, I even had my own private room, blocked off from the rest of the complex. Everything was about as modern as could be, flowers, a window view of the countryside, proper medical equipment. I even had a glass of water resting on the stand next to the window. In a situation like mine, you don't take it for granted. I downed it at once.
Was I in some state of limbo? Would I be stuck here forever? Although I never believed along those lines, I couldn't help but notice I was being backed into a corner that was forcing me to think so. Sooner or later, I was sure, the grim reaper would show up to congratulate me on a job well done.
Most people are scared of things they don't understand. I, on the other hand, was too distracted by the medicine cabinet next to the door at my side.
So here I was. Fat, old, 'Gringo Max' pathetically reaching over for the first supply of medical sustenance in my new life. Or whatever you would call this. Maybe this was just another one of those times where I get built up so that my faith is restored in whatever cause I'm fighting for, right before I get kicked in the balls and fall down my self-imposed podium of righteousness.
Except this time I didn't have a cause. My life had ended, or so I thought.
Like many of the goals in my life that I couldn't reach, the cabinet was out of range. Reclining back into the white pillows left me noticing the bedpan at my feet. With an uncertainty on whether to be insulted or thankful, I ignored it- time had yet to deprive me of control for that function.
That was when the door opened.
A pink, jumping creature bounced it's way in to the room, a massive smile plastered on it's face. It was accompanied by a slightly less energetic creature, masquerading in a white doctor's coat. If that wasn't enough on my already fragile state of mind, it had a horn that was glowing. Corresponding with that glow was another, floating a clipboard to it's face.
I had seen some sick things before, but this was the only time I mentally double-took. What in God's name could I say about this moment? Did these things actually own this hospital? What the hell were they? I assumed they had some sort of intelligence if it were them who patched me up.
They looked about as surprised as me. Well, the brown one under a doctor's uniform did, the pink one was too lively for my liking. They had emotions then, but they weren't anything I'd seen before. How does a person respond in this situation? For me it was to stare at them idiotically. I was never dumbstruck, my life had no time for that.
But then, this wasn't my life. As I couldn't stress enough to myself, I didn't have a clue on what was going on, and it seemed as that was going to be the general theme behind this strange interaction.
"Hi! My name's Pinkie Pie!"
Now this raised a whole lot more questions. The pink thing spoke English and had a name. This wasn't some ordinary animal. It had a voice that made me cringe with it's high volume and pitch. Now they were both staring at me, expecting something. With the absence of a gun, I attempted to actually speak calmly back.
"...H-hello...?"
Attempted. Great first impression there. They were both taken aback as I were initially. Clearly I was as alien to them as they were to me. But the pink one, 'Pinkie Pie', was ecstatic at my response.
"OHMYGOSH! You speak Equestrian! This is gonna be so awesome! I can introduce you to all my friends! And we can have a welcome to Ponyville party! And we can share stories! And-..."
Pinkie was cut off silently by the doctor, still observing me. Good. The pace it spoke at reminded me of a sub-machine gun, emptying the words into my brittle sense of reality. And what did that mean, I spoke Equestrian?
The doctor, someone I much preferred at this point, spoke quieter, deeper and more serious. There was still some apprehension, but it was actually trying to communicate, rather than shout at me.
"So, can you understand us? Do you have a name?"
I wasn't one for giving out my name freely: my enemies had a nasty habit of showing up where I least expected them, and this was the last place I would have thought some kind of drug-dealing crime lord would have shown up. I suppose as an act of thanks, however, I risked it.
"Yeah... Max. Max Payne."
The name flooded back crippling memories and loathing. My entire life was based around suffering, even my name sought to intimidate and hurt. Before they had the chance to run away in fear, I pressed them for any answers that I dreaded.
"Listen, where am I? What the hell happened? What are you?"
"We're ponies, silly!"
Last time I checked, ponies weren't pink. I had the feeling this pink 'pony' wasn't the best ambassador for this weird world. Then again, who was I to talk? I wasn't painting a good picture for the human race.
Unfortunately, the doctor chose to let her continue speaking. I presumed it was female due to the contrast between her and the doctor's voice.
"And we're in Ponyville, Equestria! I found you lying at the edge of the Everfree forest all messy and sleepy!"
Ponyville. Suddenly, the thoughts of my short-lived family were back. It was like something out of a children's book. I'd never have the privilege of being able to tell my daughter of a land like this.
I may have been rusty on certain aspects of mythology, but I was fairly sure that the doctor, with the magic horn, was a unicorn. Even a hard-boiled cops like me have some knowledge of things like this. Not that I'd ever expect to have to put it to use.
I needed time to absorb this. It was a hell of a time to find out that that anti-depressants apparently had hallucinogenic properties. If you fight fire with fire...
"...Do you have any painkillers?"
Fight confusion with confusion.