Contest: This is a collaborative piece made together by the community of r/hostedgames for an event that has sadly been cut short due to a lack of further contribution, and therefore largely unfinished.
Please, enjoy, what we did wrote, tho.
To those that contributed, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your contributions.
Also, love4tae and Gower, thanks for your help in making this a wiki.
|The story so far|
< It’sMeZoey > It was a typical day in Helltown, Ohio. Like any respectful lad, Little Jimmy abided all known traffic laws made by man as he carried on to school. Suddenly, from fuck-knows-where a black van smashes right at him, catapulting the boy to a nearby stop sign in mach 5 no less.
< Bocchinator > The doors opened, and a man in black exited the van, looming over dear Little Jimmy’s body as he lay helplessly on the ground, bleeding with a pair of broken legs. “Should’ve paid your taxes, kid.” The man pulled a gun from his pristine suit as he saw Little Jimmy was still alive. “The IRS sent their regards.”
“But, I’m only twelv—” Shots were swiftly fired, and the world turned dark in a blink.
< HustlerTwo > It was a typical day in Helltown, Ohio. Like any respectful lad, Little Jimmy abided all known traffic laws made by man as he carried on to school. Although he could swear he had already done this, and it didn’t end well for him. Something involving searing pain, the sound of his bones snapping like pretzel sticks, and a van the color of a moonless night.
He tried to shake the strange feeling of deja vu as he walked, and almost succeeded. Until he saw the black van turn the corner. He dropped his books, screamed, and ran the other way as fast as he could.
< waffle_waffle51 > Like memories of a past life flashing through his mind, Jimmy cut through his neighborhood as if he knew where exactly to go to avoid this repetitive situation. The alleys dividing into other paths with memories of previous encounters Jimmy had never been apart of. Or has he? Why can he remember to fear the van if he never saw it before?
The van, also seeming to know where he is and what paths he takes before Jimmy even knows, detours and reappears seemingly from thin air.
The twisted game of cat and mouse ends when the memories just stop after Jimmy cuts through a T-sectioned alley. The van has caught up with him now, with no escape on either side, lest he be run over for trying.
< ddddyyylllaaannn > As the man in the black van steps out he suddenly just vanishes into midair. A man with the shimmering suit comes from behind Jimmy and removes his shimmering shades and says shimmeringly “Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy. You’ve been a naughty little boy, haven’t you. You still haven’t paid your taxes but unlike my brother here, I’m willing to offer you a chance to mend your ways”. Jimmy afraid stammers “Wh-what does that mean, mister? Wh-what do you want from me?” The man smiles and says “I’m the Ghost of Tax Day Past and you and I are going on a trip. Now take my hand boy unless you wish to be with my brother” Little Jimmy takes the hand and is blinded by a white light. When he opens his eyes, the world is black and white, oh god he’s in the 1930s.
< Ash-Otaku > Ah, the 1930s the time where Pluto was officially discovered as a planet, the time where the first World Cup took place, and of course the year where Mickey Mouse was brought into the world. All the while it may sound sweet it’s also the year where the Great Depression struck harder than a nuclear bomb in terms of economics.
“Why are we here, mister?”
“That’s a great question, little Jimmy!” He smiles, exaggerating his movements comically to which it earns him an incredulous look from Jimmy. “Why do you think we’re here?” He tilts his head eagerly awaiting for his answer. Jimmy takes a deep breath thinking carefully about his answer.
“I-Is it b-because I didn’t pay my taxes?”
“Bingo!” The man for some reason decides to poke Jimmy’s nose without a question. “You, my friend, get a gold star!” he says enthusiastically while sticking a gold star sticker on his forehead.
< Daikon_Gullible > Jimmy, utterly perplexed by this strange man’s actions, quietly peels the gold star sticker off his forehead and drops it into his pocket. “So… if I didn’t pay my taxes, what does that have to do with you? I mean, who even are you?”
The man’s smile doesn’t falter, but his eyes twinkle mischievously. “Ah, now we’re getting to the good stuff, kiddo. I’m whatcha might call… an agent of fiscal justice.” He puffs out his chest proudly.
“But Sir, I’m only 12, what taxes do I owe?” The little boy eyes pleads at him.
The man throws his head back with a booming laugh. “Oh, my dear Jimmy, age is no excuse for tax avoidance! In fact, some of the most notorious tax evaders in history were mere infants! Hah!” He waggles his finger at Jimmy. "But, I’m a fair man. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement… shall we say, a mutually beneficial one?
< ddddyyylllaaannn > Jimmy nervously asks “What kind of arrangement?”
“You’re going to help your uncles, Al, file his taxes before they cause him to go to prison. Take this package to this address and hand it over. Here’s some money for a taxi.” As a grey pack and grey dollar bills float in mid air.
“My parents never told me of an Uncle Al.”
“I don’t blame them. Nobody wants to be related to a gang boss. Now go do it”
“Why can’t you do it?”
“I’m not the one Ghost of Tax Day Present wants to kill plus him being your uncle means he won’t cave your head in with a baseball bat.” And with that Jimmy begins the perilous journey to Chicago to visit Uncle Al, hopefully nothing goes wrong.
< Hustler_Two > Jimmy turns back to ask the ominous spirit if he could possibly get some green money, since he is fairly sure no one would accept this spurious-looking gray stuff. But the taxman goeth as quickly as he cometh, and Jimmy is alone with his odd package, his counterfeit bills, and his thoughts.
He flags a taxi down anyhow, to at least be able to say he tried. He hands a crumpled wad of ashen money to the man, and is shocked when the meter is pulled down and the car pulls away from the curb. He feels cheerful for the first time since right before his initial death today, glad that finally something was going right. Until it occurrs to him that the taxi was already weaving through traffic and he’d never given him a destination.
The cabbie looks back at him then, grinning like a madman while sucking on the wet cigar between his lips. "Heya, Jimmy. Long story short, that ain’t no IRS spook. Those are much nastier. It’s your Uncle Al’s great-great grandkid, monkeying with time to try and maintain the family fortune so he can enjoy squandering it instead of working. Wanna try and stop him?
< Livdaboba > This sounds way too fishy. With no other way to gain information, Jimmy studiously stares at the cabbie, specifically how the silhouette of his hands looks like it belonged to an alpha kangaroo.
Could he be…?
Jimmy fearlessly snatches the cigar out of his hands, and throws it out of the square window, hoping to avenge his grievance. Eyes not even looking to see whether it hit someone’s window. All Jimmy could think of is that his mortal enemy is here.
“Sir, with all due respect, I’m not about to betray my blood.” Jimmy opens the door, fumbling with it for a few seconds before managing. “I know who you are, the no. 1 money heist legend, Portobello!”
The man immediately slows down the car to 35 mph, causing Jimmy to nearly fly out. A series of furious honks ensued from behind, yet it could not rival the impatient yell of the cabbie, “Kiddo, if you know what’s good for you, you would stop this.”
Pity, none of it could scare Jimmy who boldly rolls out of the car, knowing the taxmen would rewind time. All with the hope that he could remember this timeline, and only he could because he blurted out, “Sir, don’t pretend I don’t know what you and sir taxmen did to mozzarella two summers ago.”