The complete “A Glimpse into Hell” series - 5 books, 195 chapters, 1700 pages, 600K words of pure gore

by Garrett, Wade H.

  The following morning I waited again for him at the intersection. I was just about to leave around eight-o’clock when I saw his car coming down the street. The light was red, causing him to stop a few cars back. He was talking on a cell phone and not really paying attention, so I immediately walked over to his car and started cleaning the passenger side of his windshield with a rag and a spray bottle filled with water and piss. He honked his horn as I walked in front of his car, and as I was bending down pretending as if I was cleaning his headlights, I stuck the tracking device under his bumper. Once it was firmly attached, I moved on around and started cleaning his driver side windshield, and as I smeared dust and bug guts all over the glass, I yelled at him for a dollar. The light had turned green, and as he drove off, he yelled out his window for me to go get fucked. I laughed as I walked across the busy road and back onto the sidewalk. I was walking off when I heard someone yell, “Hey you, stop,” and when I turned around I saw a bicycle cop riding in my direction. He was pointing at me and yelling for me to stop, so I quickly turned down an alley. After about a hundred-feet or so he caught up and stopped me by cutting me off with his front tire. Before I had a chance to speak he grabbed my dirty jacket and arrogantly shouted, “Are you fucking deaf, asshole? I told you to stop!”

  I glanced at his badge. “What’s wrong, Officer Wilcox?”

  He held onto my jacket as he got off his bike, allowing it to fall to the ground. “I’m sick of trash polluting the streets of my city.”

  When I started to speak, he threw me up against a brick wall in the alley. I remained silent.

  “What, you got something to say, hotdog?”

  I just stood there as if I was scared shitless as he held his forearm against my throat. Spit was flicking out of his mouth and drool was running down his chin. For no reason at all, he threw me to the ground and kicked me in the stomach. “Come on you piece of shit, I know you want to hit me! Take a swing at me! Please take a swing so I can bash your head in, you worthless fuck!”

  I was down on all fours holding my stomach with one hand as he smiled at me with a cocky grin. I smiled back. “Wow! Female cops kick harder than that.”

  He became infuriated, and with a look of vengeance on his face he grabbed my hair with both of his hands and jerked my head back. He bent down and stared into my eyes. “You fucked up now, cocksucker! I’m gonna make you wish you were never born after big Bubba gets through with you in the slammer!”

  I started laughing.

  He lifted me up into a kneeling position and screamed out. “What the fuck is so funny, dumbass?”

  I smiled as I said, “I guess you stupid fucking bicycle cops aren’t taught to check for weapons.”

  He released my hair as his facial expression went from aggressive to startled, and as he started to take a step backwards, I drove my sharp sickle up into his crotch. His screaming echoed throughout the alleyway as I cut into him with all my strength. I could hear the blade as it dragged across his pelvic bone, and the upward force of it was lifting him to his tippy toes. When I pulled the blood-covered blade out of his abdomen, his intestines began to fall out of his wound as he walked backwards, staring in horror. He tried to hold them in with his hands, but the blade had ravaged his insides and pieces were slipping through and around his fingers like spaghetti. When he finally realized what had happened, he frantically went for his gun with his right hand as blood gushed out between the fingers on his left hand, and as he pulled it out of its holster, I lunged forward with the sickle. Before his gun and hand hit the ground, I had already swung again and scalped the right side of his head. The cop fell backwards against a brick wall and screamed out for help as he slid down to his knees. The blood-covered cop stared at me with fear and disbelief. As his eyes were filled with fear, I started to swing again, but I withdrew. I decided not to kill him, and as I looked around I noticed there were a couple of people at the end of the alley who were staring in horror. The spectators ran as I turned towards them while holding the blood-covered sickle. When they scattered, I quickly looked around to make sure I didn’t drop anything out of my pockets that could lead the cops to me, then emptied the contents of a zip lock bag on the ground. The items included several hairs, a comb and a lighter. The items were from a lowlife that I ran across several years back. I took off down the alley the opposite direction from where the spectators had been, and before I turned the corner, I noticed five burly dudes. I think they were some workers from a nearby construction job that had entered the alley. They were running towards me with hammers and other kinds of tools. Only one of them stopped to help the asshole while the others continued on, so I pulled out my XDM .40 caliber pistol equipped with a sixteen-round magazine and popped a couple of rounds into the air in an attempt to get them to retreat. They quickly took cover behind a dumpster, and as I cautiously looked around the corner, I noticed two of them had pulled out handguns. It really caught me off guard that construction workers would be packing, and they apparently weren’t going to retreat either, because I could hear the excitement in their voices as they told each other how they wanted to fuck me up. I didn’t want to stand around and have a shootout until the police arrived, and I couldn’t have them chasing me all over town while we exchanged rounds, so without hesitating I ran over to a gas meter about fifty feet further down from me. I could hear their whispering voices echoing in the alley as I quickly wiped my pocket torch down, removing my prints. I could see their shadows getting larger on the walls as they approached the corner, so I quickly ignited the flame and locked the trigger in the open position. I set the torch on the ground directly under the piping of the meter, then backed away and blew a hole in one of the pipes with my pistol. I didn’t look back as I ran another twenty feet. As soon as I turned a corner, I heard a loud boom, then a large fireball engulfed the alley behind me. As soon as I turned a corner to another alley, I quickly removed my bloody jacket and turned it inside out, then wrapped it around the bloody sickle. I could hear the roaring sound of the fire as I knelt and washed the blood off my face and hands in a puddle of dirty water. My heart was pounding as I ran on down the alley, and when I came to a street, I mixed in with people that were running chaotically in both directions on the sidewalk. The people on the streets were too distracted from the explosion to pay any attention to me. While smoke poured into the air, I calmly walked several blocks with the jacket under my arm until I came to the parking lot where my car was parked. Unfortunately, there were people standing around and talking about the explosion, so I walked on by until I came to another alley. There were a couple of large dumpsters in the area, so I hid behind them and removed my dirty shirt and pants I was wearing over a clean set of clothes, then removed the wig, head rag, fake beard, facial prosthetics and wiped off the rest of the dirt and makeup with wet wipes. Luckily, I had thought ahead and I had stuffed a few items in the pockets of my jacket, which included a toboggan, sunglasses, and a fake goatee. After I disguised myself differently, I grabbed a box out of the dumpster and put my items inside it. I could see smoke pouring into the sky over some buildings and I could hear emergency vehicles in the distance as I walked back towards my car carrying the box. When I finally came to the parking lot where my car was, most of the people had walked towards the street so they could get a better view, so I walked up to my car and calmly got in. I was a little uneasy as I drove off, thinking about everything that had happened. I kept going over every step, trying to reassure myself I hadn’t been seen or left anything behind. I’m sure that the people at the end of the alley and the construction workers got a good look at me, but I was disguised as a homeless person.

  On the way back to my hotel room, I removed some fake items from my car such as pin-stripping, a sunroof, antennas, bumper stickers, fog lights, and a decal that went across my back window that made the glass look like it had a really bad crack. I also swapped out the untraceable license plates, fake inspection sticker, tags, and vehicle identification number with another fake set. I
stopped at the first carwash I came to and washed off the temporary primer-colored paint I had painted on the front passenger side fender. It seemed like a lot of work just to hide the identity of my car, but every detail and every possible scenario had to be thought out and well planned because of today’s technology and forensic science.”

  The Many Faces of a Vigilante

  Seth walked over to Dicky and showed him his hands. “I burned my fingerprints off years ago with acid. I also remove the hair off my body before I execute any of my plans so I can reduce the chance of leaving any incriminating evidence behind. The clothes and shoes that I wear when I make my move on a lowlife are new from the store, which I order over the Internet and don’t remove from their bags until I’m completely shaved. In fact, everything from my clothes to my disguises is ordered from the Internet, and they are all sent to one of my untraceable mailboxes I have in several different cities. I have a hidden clean room between my house and a hidden garage where I keep my car. The clean room is about eight-feet by ten-feet in size, and there are two doors on opposite sides, one for entering and one for exiting. The door on the house side is hidden by a sliding bookshelf. There is a door on the other side that enters the hidden single car garage. The interior walls and ceiling of the clean room are lined with waterproof material so I can wash it down into a floor drain. I have a shower stall in one corner and some shelving with airtight containers in the other. Against one of the walls I have a table with a mirror where I put on my disguises.

  Before I enter the room, I remove all my clothes and put them into a container, which I leave outside the room. If I think the job will be risky, I will shave my face and head with a razor, and I will use hair remover on the rest of my body. The only hair that is left on me when I am done is my eyebrows and eyelashes, which I coat with a gel. I also scrub down with an abrasive pad to remove loose skin. When I’m done shaving and scrubbing, I wash really good to make sure all my hair and skin flakes have been washed off, and before I step out of the shower, I use a hose connected to the faucet to wash down the walls and floor area outside the shower stall. I dry off using a fan that is mounted on the wall so I don‘t have to use a towel that could leave lint. When I’m dry, I open the airtight containers and put on the clothes and shoes that are in the sealed bags. In some cases where I think I need to be extra cautious, or when I don’t remove my hair, I wear a wetsuit under the new clothes to help prevent the loss of such incriminating evidence. After I’m dressed, I sit at the table and put on a disguise. My disguises include fake beards and moustaches, wigs, makeup, wrinkles, scars, birthmarks, tattoos, colored contacts, and I use prosthetics to change the appearance of my nose, cheekbones, chin, forehead, ears and neck. I also use colored makeup and dyes so I can disguise myself as a black or Hispanic person. In some cases, I wear custom-made lead plates under my facial prosthetics and makeup when I think a high security area might be using a 3D biometric facial identification system. Over the years, I’ve created and perfected many disguises to hide my identity.

  When I’m finished, I load my pockets or a duffel bag with different supplies I might need. So many things could go wrong and I try to plan for all the possible scenarios that could play out, and I equip myself for any kind of circumstance that could arise. I have a normal two car garage where I keep my work truck for everyday use. The hidden garage is where I keep my car that I only use for staking out or retrieving lowlifes. It’s filled with large cabinets, and they are packed with supplies that I might need, including fake parts for my car. The hidden garage opens into the back of the two-car garage through a hidden door. The hidden door from the two-car garage side looks like a normal wall covered with pegboard, and the pegboard has tools and such hanging from it. I drive out of the hidden garage and into the two-car garage, then right on out the overhead door. I’ve designed my house with the hidden rooms and compartments just in case it was searched. I’ve spent numerous hours on my car because I use it sometimes when I stake out or retrieve scumbags. Most of the time I use throwaway vehicles that I’ve hidden in different areas. My main car is a very important tool in what I do, and I’ve modified it in numerous ways. I chose a 1967 Pontiac GTO because it’s a solid car with a lot of room. The windows are tinted dark enough so no one can see who is driving.

  I have a path I use that goes from the side of my house over to the cemetery, and from there I exit the cemetery on a two-lane country road that doesn’t have much traffic. If anyone saw me, it would appear I was coming or going from the cemetery. The interior of my car is vinyl so I can wipe it down and vacuum it after every mission just in case I lost some loose fibers, hairs or cross contaminated blood. Leather would have been nice, but it stains. I have a specially-built trunk that has a hidden compartment for storing supplies and lowlifes. I had to modify my car to accommodate the size of the special trunk by removing the existing gas tank and fabricating four smaller ones, which I installed away from the back of the car. The taillights, brake lights, side indicators, and interior lights are on individual switches so they can be turned on or off as needed. I can turn off the headlights and drive by a pair of small spotlights that are mounted in the center of the front grill—this helps hide the movement of my car from behind. I keep a pair of night vision goggles in the car so I can drive with no lights if needed. I have a global positioning system installed so I won’t get lost or have to be bothered with a map. Time is a key ingredient in what I do, but I only use the GPS when absolutely necessary because I know Big Brother can keep track of me through it. My car looks like an ordinary vehicle, but it produces about seven-hundred and fifty horse power with a top end of about a hundred and sixty miles an hour. The exhaust is extremely quiet so I can discreetly come and go without being heard. I rebuilt the entire car to be very fast but dependable. Just in case I have a mechanical breakdown, I keep a set of basic tools and some basic spare parts in a compartment that I’ve built under the back seat.

  The car has some special features such as a switch that will drop several hundred custom made spikes out from the back in increments of twenty-five. The spikes stand upright in the road, and if run over, they will flatten tires on another vehicle. I’ve installed a smoke system that will reduce the visibility of a pursuer. I can also blow a tar mixture from the back that can coat the front of a vehicle, and hopefully the windshield. If the pursuer tries to use their windshield wipers with or without fluid it would only smear the mixture and make visibility worse. The tires are run-flat tires, which will allow me to drive up to two hundred miles with no air pressure. The best part about the run-flat tires is if I get into a situation where my tires are shot out, or I run over stop sticks, I still have a chance to escape. The interior portion of my car is protected with bulletproof material that is hidden between the interior panels and outside metal panels of the car, and the windows are made of bulletproof glass. I have a trap door under the passenger side floorboard where I can crawl in and out from under my car if need be, and I could possibly crawl into a manhole if I parked over the top of one. If I was surrounded by police and didn’t feel like surrendering, I have two other options. There is a set of canisters under the car, and when mixed through an automated system, the mixture will create a massive amount of toxic gas that will visually impair my attacker and/or knock them unconscious if breathed. The gas would not bother me because I would be wearing a full-face respirator. The second option is the car is packed with enough explosives that afterwards there wouldn’t be much left to send to the metal scrap yard or to the morgue. The explosives are also tied to a transmitter and receiver so I can blow up the car from around three hundred feet if I see someone tampering with it. I spent years building that car just in case I needed the extra protection.

  My car isn’t the only thing wired with explosives, my entire house is wired with such a massive amount that if triggered by me or anyone else, it would not only level the house, but would probably leave a huge crater where it was sitting. The explosives are hidden throughout the h
ouse in the finished walls, and there are secret triggers throughout that will detonate them if moved or tampered with. The triggers can be turned on or off as needed from a central location, and they are as simple as opening a certain door, moving a bookcase, or even turning on a light switch; that’s one of the reasons why I don’t drink. I also have multiple triggers in the passageway leading to this chamber that I have to bypass every time I come in here. If triggered, there will be a three-minute delay with a loud audible alarm and flashing warning lights, then gasoline will start flowing into the room from a three-inch pipe that is hidden somewhere in this chamber. An electronic ignition system will ignite the flammable liquid as soon as it starts to exit the pipe. When a sensor detects that the gas has been ignited, a large pump will be activated, which will increase the gas flow to such a tremendous rate that the fifteen-hundred-gallon tank will empty in less than a few minutes. The purpose of igniting the gas as it first starts to exit the pipe, then kicking up the pressure, is to help prevent an explosion. I want the gas to disintegrate the entire chamber and the house that sits on top of it. I don’t want an explosion that would send evidence all over the neighborhood.”