A few words first... this story has nothing to do with Star Trek. Well, almost nothing - it is the novel that is mentioned in the episode "The Royale", which is, as we all know, my favorite TNG episode.
Some disclaimery stuff: I don't own some of the characters, the novel idea comes from Paramount and I make no money with this, it's just a fan fic that is longer than my usual stuff but still by no means a really long novel.
The rating is R due to violence and language. But nothing too graphic, of course - wouldn't want to break forum rules.
It also features NO slash. Slashy behavior sometimes, definitely (hey, I wrote it! lol) but no
Also please keep in mind that the folks in the actual TNG episode refer to this as a "badly written book". I tried my best to make it not really totally awful, but I had to fill it with clichťs, stereotypical women and whatnot.
A novel by Todd Matthews
(not really, itís written by me, Mrs.Picard)
It was a dark and stormy night. No one in his or her right mind would go out at this point - or so it would have been if the dark and stormy night had been that of an ordinary American city.
But this was not an ordinary city.
This was Vegas.
A tall figure emerged from the darkness. The bright glow of the street lights lit up a face - a face that one easily forgot. Plain, bland, no big nose, no scar, no nothing.
Which was precisely why the owner of the face was always careful to keep it that way. He was aware of the fact that he would almost certainly lose his job (and most likely also his life, for he had seen too much) if his face were to be damaged in any way. The boss preferred his men's faces to be as bland as possible - just in case there were unexpected witnesses who then would have a hard time recalling the face of the killer.
The man reached inside the pocket of his coat and looked around. He was on his way to the outskirts of Vegas that were far away from the slot machines, the lights and the fancy hotels. This was his real territory - or rather, the bossí real territory.
He pulled out his silver gun and looked at it. It was still warm from the five shots he had fired a few minutes ago. The man he had shot had been tied to a chair, so, the whole thing hadn't exactly been very exciting. He had had much more fun with the three men he had shot before that other guy.
The man smiled coldly at the memory, put the gun back into his coat and walked on. The darkness enveloped him once more, his footsteps becoming fainter and fainter.