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This is another one of my books, based on a video game. I chose Max Payne, because it has a unique thing about it..the film-noir thing, and the comic book scenes. Very good plot. Would make a good book.


Part One:The American Dream Prologue

Max Payne was a happy-go-lucky man, one of many in the United States of America. He considered himself lucky, because he had many friends, a beautiful wife, and a wonderful baby daughter. Max lived in a spacious home on the suburban side of town, or as the folks there referred to it, the "Jersey-side" of town. He had a steady job at the Police Department. The prospect of having such a great life, here in the 'States, was called the "American Dream".
One glorious day, he was at the Department, sorting out a case, when his best friend, Alex, came up to him.
"Hey, Max, want to come play cards tonight?"
Max smirked, and nodded."See this, Alex? Last cigarette. Bad for the wife and kids."He lit it, and took a long puff.Life was good, he thought.
The rest of the day was like any other, and he returned home in the evening. Night sewed its dark weave over New Jersey. He got home, and dumped his briefcase by the hat rack. Michelle, his wife, didn't hail him as usual today. Thinking that she might be upstairs, Max called. "Hey, honey, I'm home!" No one answered. He walked into the parlour, and swallowed.
A syringe crossmarked by a "V" was spray-painted on the wall. It was a poison needle, full of diabolical meanings. And it caused a horrible gut feeling to climb into his abdomen.
He took out his gun, a light Beretta, and strode forward cautiously. The kitchen and dining room had been blockaded off. The phone was ringing. Max picked it up.
"Hello? Who is this?"
"Is this the Payne residence?" A snooty female voice said.
"Yes...look, my home's been broken into. Call the police!"He said.
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid i cannot help you now." She hung up.
Max slammed the phone down. It was obvious that his home had been broken into, so he holstered the handgun, and groped in the nearby closet for his Pump-Action shotgun. Michelle knew where it was, and the idea that she hadn't bothered to use it, and the idea of it nagged at him. He could only pray that she had grabbed the baby and ran to safety...somewhere.

The living room was empty, but the fireplace was still crackling merrily. That meant that the break-in happened recently.
He gripped his shotgun tighter, racked a round into the chamber , and crept upstairs.
The bathroom was empty, but as he tried to enter the master bedroom, it didn't budge. He had to go the long way. He entered the reading room.
A druggie, in green slacks and a t-shirt, pointed a gun at him.
Max had lightning reflexes, though, and shot him dead before the druggie could squeeze the trigger. Another emerged from the baby's room, and got killed, as well.
This was bad. Very bad.
He entered the baby's room, dreading what he might see.
His daughter was dead.
Max felt like a railway tie was being driven through his chest. Who the hell would kill a baby?, he thought. This was not happening. Christ, let this be a dream...
He stepped into the master bedroom. A figure was sprawled on the bed. Oh no..oh-no-oh-no...Tears sprang to his eyes, and he dropped the gun.
"Oh, god, please not Michelle, not Michelle..."
Dear god, please let this be a nightmare. But it wasn't meant to be, and the house rang, as Max fell to his knees beside his dead wife, and let loose an anguished yell.

Chapter Two:Roscoe Street Station


The next three years passed for Max Payne. The American Dream was turned upside-down, and he was left desolate, lonely, and burning for retribution to be meted out. It was a pretty good example of how things could turn out in the metro-style world of New York.
After the incident, about a month later, was the funeral. Many people came, for Max was well-known, and respected. He was distant with them..even though many showed their sympathy, he barely acknowledged them.
He got a transfer to the DEA, a sub-section of the NYPD. He and Alex remained best friends, still, and visited Alex's house for Sunday lunch sometimes.
It turned out that the murder incident was related to a drug case, and as luck would have it, Max Payne was one of the cops assigned to it. Three years, and still no breakthrough.
He went undercover, posing as a lackey, and infiltrated one of the worst mafia families in New York. That was saying something, because this mafia lord was particularly stupid, since he haven't found out that Max was out for revenge.
Then came that one fateful day. Alex had discovered something, and needed a classic face-to-face chat. However, Max was supposed to meet him at Roscoe street station. He had heard about it once, or twice. A lot of druggies snuck in the dark corners to snort cocaine, smoke weed.