Stories made by: Game Creator, Admin, Zenith, Userid: 2
_____________________Awakened Lands Stories__________________________
George Biondi was as restless as a schoolboy. He had to know. What the heck was Big Jack doing in the warehouse? Why was he the only one sitting in this drek of a rusted-out Eurocar 10xi?
Just one peak, he thought.
Just one little peak and I'll come back to the car and act like nothing happened.
Simple plan really, slip out of the car and peak in between the warehouse loading dock doors. No doors to open. No stairs to climb. Probably 30 feet from this back alley to the loading dock.
Then George remembered what Mats Fullar did to that hobo who had wiped the Eurocar's windshield off in hopes of scoring some creds for some smack.
George had never seen a Broyles Combat Axe slice completely through a chest before that day. That wasn't the scary part either. Mats had stepped out of the car, pulled the Combat Axe George had no clue about out from under his Dyneema Trenchcoat, made a quick one-armed gesture with the axe, then was in the car without a word. In 4 seconds.
Was Mats keeping an eye on him? George had no idea. All he knew was one slip-up and he'd be dead before he could see it coming. That's all the motivation he needed to stay put in the alley as a look out.
So what the heck WAS Big Jack doing in there? What could possibly be going down here in the Industrial District at 4am? He saw the Ares freighter in the dock, but he's seen plenty before. Was this the big "revolutionary" armor Jack had mentioned?
George continued to sit in the car and wait. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. Talk about fun. Good old Georgie, pride of Evanfall, sitting here in a rusted heap in a back alley being the look-out for the gang.
Then, it happened.
There were sounds from behind him. Rustling. Like someone was stepping gingerly over leaves. Leaves in Decatur? He feigned a crooked smile.
George sat as motionless as a statue, listening intently to whatever it was behind the car. More sounds came, as if someone was trying to be heard but was afraid to speak. George noticed a shadow moving in the driver's side mirror and felt his heart slide up to his throat.
As soon as George reached for his Peacekeeper, whoever it was behind him must have heard him. The shadowy figure started to quickly make it's way away from the car.
"No way I'm gonna let some creeper get the drop on Big Jack," he whispered to no one in particular. He opened the door and drew out his Armalite.
The alley was empty, except for him, the car, and a trashcan he knocked over when he parked.
George crouched behind the car, scanning the alley for anything out of the ordinary. His nerves calmed. Nothing.
But there WAS something, wasn't there?
George started to make his way down the alley, making sure the heavy Peacekeeper was ready for action. Twenty paces down the alley and a brilliant idea occurred to him. If he could nab someone out here, maybe he'd score some points with the gang.
He ducked under an awning and crouched again, looking first back at the car, and then back towards where he was going, doing what he learned from Col Vincent to remain stealthy.
More noises, perhaps a cardboard box falling or a trash can lid. Only way he could know for sure is if he grew a sack and looked.
He made his way closer to the end of the alleyway, and saw the remnants of what he had heard-- a slowly swaying trash can.
"REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!"
George spun around and rolled to his left, gun unable to fire because he had forgotten the safety was on. Only 2 pulls of the trigger before he figured it out, but by then it was too late. Before he had a chance to fill his pants with drek, a cat had jumped on the trash can and scurried up the alley wall.
"Good going George, that will impress the guys... Cat Killer Georgie to the rescue", he muttered to himself in disgust.
He made his way back to the car, being thankful he only had to change his pants. But what he saw ahead of the car was unbelievable. In his escapades to kill the villainous kitten, he had forgotten to keep his eye on the warehouse. By then it was already surrounded by Secure-Point guards, with guns drawn.
"Drek", George Biondi deadpanned.
_________________________Biondi's Brutalization__________________________
Another clip of submachinegun fire erupted, and George Biondi wished it would stop. How many times had it been in the last week he's been target practice for young criminals in Decatur's downtown?
DaGReaT1 let fly with another hail of bullets, this time puncturing George's trenchcoat, piercing his ribs. George was fed up. No more. He was not going to take one more hit without getting his licks in.
He pulled out from behind the wall he had taken shelter behind and unloaded 2 slugs from his T-250. Screaming like the hermit on the beach known as The Horvath, he attacked DaGReaT1 with no sense of his own well-being.
DaGReaT1 fought back, but the battle had gone on long enough for the sirens to approach. He thought to himself, "can I get one more well-placed shot in before they arrived?"
Several more slugs from Biondi deflected off the lightpost that DaGReaT1 was using for some cover. No more time. The sirens were right down the street. Time to split.
As DaGReaT1 took off into the shadows, George Biondi had no intention of stopping. He fired again and again, only stopping to reload. By then the cops had him surrounded.
But George was wigging, and was not going to let some poorly trained cops get in his way.
Shooting first and asking questions later, the cops treated this madman with armor and a shotgun like they should. Four officers took cover behind their squadcar doors and another four circled from behind. Biondi was worm-food.
But that didn't stop George. He had already lost what little bit of sanity he had left when DaGReaT1 attacked. What were 4 cops going too...drek where did those 4 come from? How did they get behind....
Before he could think of the next word, his body was inundated with a hail of armor-piercing bullets from the 2 S.W.A.T. members on a rooftop he didn't even know were there. The bullets found their way through his armor only after exiting the left side of his jaw.
...
darkness
...
As George woke up, the first thing he saw was old double-ugly Jack Mort standing there looking at him with one of those "glad it ain't me" grins.
"So, George, next time you wig out try taking cover instead of..." *smack"
Enrico Balazar gave Jack a back-hand slap. Jack looked back at Enrico as if shot.
Enrico just looked down at George and shook his head. In almost a whisper he said, "So pretty boy, next time you do somefin stupid, bring one-a deez."
Enrico held up a nice shiny Silicon Carbide Tactical Helmet.
"We gottem down across the street where yous got dropped. New shipment. Make sure you wears dem fer now on, ya see?"
George Biondi, now known as Pretty Boy due to the horrible scar on his face, took his boss' advice.
_________________________Balazar Rumblings____________________________
beep. beep. beep.
Jack Mort awoke out of a dreamless slumber. What were dreams? He hadn't had any of them for some time now, ever since the last weapons haul from overseas. The alarm clock was just out of reach, irritating Jack as he had to adjust his comfortable position just to reach the snooze button.
"Not another day," Jack said to no one.
Something was bothering Enrico's primary thug, but Jack wasn't the type to analyze. All he knew was something wasn't right, as if something was missing from his life.
The last trip overseas Enrico and Jack took introduced them to some new technologies. Flechette and railgun tech were advancing quickly ahead of armor, and the new technology would do wonders for the criminal underworld. Flechette tech, of which Jack didn't understand, seemed ready for mainstream. Railgun tech wasn't quite there, but the first prototype rifle was ready for use.
On the way back to Decatur, Jack and Enrico had a debate on how long this new tech would reach the ALPD and S.W.A.T. teams. The cutting-edge tech was sure to cut through new armor tech better, but would it be enough? Jack pondered taking out the ALPD with the new weapons before they made it to market. Enrico vehemently was against the act. The ALPD paid him handsomely to NOT commit crime. The two of them talked (argued) late into the night about things, only to get nowhere.
That's when his first thoughts of going out on his own came to him. Jack knew Enrico was the politician-type needed to run a long-lasting gang, but he wanted more action. He also knew Enrico was nobody without him. Together they had a good life, but Enrico always got credit while Jack did the work.
Today was the great unveiling of new weapons to the markets in Decatur, but of course word leaked out early. With the criminal element always on their toes in Decatur, it was tough to keep a secret long.
Jack rushed to the monorail still thinking of what life would be like taking on gangs on his own. No one to split the money with. No one to steal the credit. No one to share the spoils with.
Enrico's hideout was quiet when Jack arrived. Two minutes early, and no one was there but George Biondi. Of course, Biondi was always there. Dude had no life.
"Hey Jack, ready for the great unveiling?"
"I'd rather use the new stuff first, but who am I? We don't even know how well it will work as Balazar hasn't given us anything to test."
George looked at Jack with a blank stare. Typical George. Tell him to do something and he'll do it, but ask him to think and you got the blank stare.
Jack Mort sat in Balazar's hideout meeting area for over an hour before Enrico showed up.
"You're late," Jack deadpanned.
"So, it's good to be the boss," answered Enrico.
"You told the shops the new stuff would be ready an hour ago. No one is going to take use seriously if we don't deliver," argued Jack.
"Jack my friend, they are sheep. They will follow me no matter what. I just wanted to test the new sniper rifle and I have to admit it's sweet. It seems more consistent than any other weapon I've used. Perhaps too consistent."
Jack could only shake his head at this thought. He didn't even hear the part about the gun. Perhaps he was being told he was also a sheep too. He'd followed Enrico for a long time and never realized it.
"Perhaps they are sheep. But they won't follow you forever," said Jack.
Enrico looked at Jack with a puzzled look, then looked down at the new Riot Flail and smiled.
"When you have the only supply of this stuff, who cares what they think. They want to sell it no matter what."
Jack Mort, right-hand man of the great Enrico Balazar, looked at the green-glowing spiked weapon and smiled. Deep down he knew his boss was right, but didn't know how long he could keep calling someone boss for.
The vid-phone rang, and up popped the display of 4 merchants ready to do business. Enrico began what he did best... talk. Jack sat there expressionless.
________________________________The Incident_________________________
Jack Mort questioned Balazar only in his own mind.
"Why are we waiting to unleash these weapons," he thought. He had a bad feeling...
"We are waiting till we get a better price from the merchants my friend." As if on queue, Balazar answered his question as if he could read Jack's thoughts.
Balazar's knack for giving only the amount of information needed to calm the waters was matched only by his surreal sense of timing.
"We have them stored in a secret warehouse ready for shipment. Just want to make those merchants sweat a little. Besides, I am not sure they are ready for such quality."
###
Biondi and Col Vincent had warehouse guard duty. Why Balazar chose these chumps is unknown, but perhaps it was because they were expendable.
"George, why do we always get the chump jobs man," questioned Vincent.
"Because boss knows we get drek done. Plus, Jack is being a baby lately. All he does is mope around," quipped Biondi, secretly hoping the Jack part was lost in the praise of Vincent.
"Dude, if Jack heard you say that he'd tear you in two," snapped Vincent. He liked Jack, even if he was occasionally a jerk. "Wonder what's in the warehouse. You look?"
"Nah, probably some more cars to ship. Besides, all I care about is if I get my gang pay."
That was Biondi for you, always the team player when he got his take. The rest of the time he just cared about training.
Off in the distance a shipping barge's horn blared. Seagulls, in their ever-present search for a free meal, fluttered and squawked overhead.
"Frag man, I wanna see what's in there. Just a peek. You come with man, I don't want you to rat me out so you are coming with," blurted Vincent while walking to the warehouse doors. "Bet there's some new drek in there that is the bee's knees."
"The wha....."
"Nevermind you, just come over here and help me with this darn mag-lock. I didn't take my class on picking em. Plus, you've always been the best at em."
Biondi, with his ego fed enough with that statement, walked over with a purpose and a smile. The approaching shipping barge's horn blared more loudly.
"Those mag-locks are simple man. Just....do....[click]...this," said Biondi triumphantly.
Vincent popped open the doors to find a bunch of pallets of uber-ware. He started sprinting around the towers of gear like a little kid on his way to an amusement park. The grin on his face couldn't be wiped off unless Balazar caught them or they screwed up the simple task of guarding a warehouse near the docks. Even the blaring horn, which seemed to be on top of them, couldn't upset him right now.
Biondi and Vincent were enamored so much with the treasure-trove of new gear, they they looked lost in thought. Vincent was dreaming of torching a few gangs while Biondo was thinking of money. Neither were thinking of guard duty.
###
The captain of ALS Rusty Bottoms didn't feel all to well. This shipment of toxic waste was really draining him and his crew. Last thing he wanted was for his decrepit barge to sink with this haul. The docks would have to be evacuated if such a calamity happened.
But the pay was better than anything he could get. He and his crew could dock up in Saleema for a month drinking on the beach when this was over.
He gazed out of his window to look at the cargo and noticed a green haze surrounding the barrels. Concerned and confused, he rang downstairs and sounded the horn to get a report...
"Hey Vaxx, what's with the green mist?"
Several minutes passed. No answer.
"Vaxx, quit playing poker and give me a report on that green mist by the cargo."
Silence. Captain sounded the horn and rang again.
"Dag Nabbit Vaxx, you better be either in the head or dead. I'm coming down."
Captain stomped down the ladder steps into the misty evening. The green haze was getting thicker, and there was no sign of his crew.
"Vaxx? Thenson? Where are you guys?"
Something wasn't right. His crew usually ran from sight when he came down in such a mood, but they were always easy to spot. The mist was heavy down here, and the only thing he could hear was the hum of the engines and the wind.
And a cough.
Well more like a gag than a cough, but at least it was something. He hurried over to where he thought he heard the sound and nearly had to change his pants.
There on the ground lay Vaxx, or what looked like Vaxx except his skin was a sickly greyish-green. Similar to the haze.
"Vaxx, buddy, you alright? Don't be dying on me or I'll kill yo..."
Just then Vaxx flopped over. His face was disfigured, teeth a nasty yellow. This wasn't too far off from his normal snaggletooth look, but they seemed to have...grown?
"Holy bageebus Vaxx, what the heck happened to you?"
"He's one of ussssss now," a sinister unworldly voice hissed from behind.
Captain turned around to see his crew, or what was left of them. Their skin was the same greyish-green, their teeth large and yellow, their fingernails seemingly turned into claws. The looks on their faces were that of extreme pain and hunger.
"Now itsssss time you joined ussss!"
The Captain was surrounded.
###
"Hey Vincent, check out this stack!"
Biondi was jumping up and down in excitement. He had lead Vincent over to a pile of long cylindrical tubes with a stamping on the side : S.A.B.O.T.mini
"What are they George?"
"Are you a numbskull? They're fre...."
Just then an tremendous crash came from behind. Vincent spun around in wonder as the front of the barge sent him sprawling. Poor Biondi had no chance. He was holding his new found weapon like a baby when the barge snapped him in two. Guess poor George saved Jack some time with the punishment for not doing his job.
The barge continued a few hundred feet into the warehouse before coming to a stop. The canisters marked toxic started to roll over the sides of the barge into the warehouse, spilling their contents everywhere.
Vincent didn't know what was going on, but knew the last place he wanted to be was here. He jumped through the closest window and just before a massive explosion ripped him down from behind.
###
Balazar sat at his desk playing solitaire with his favorite deck of 1950's pin-up girl cards.
Jack, gazed out the window towards the industrial district.
"Hey boss, how much you think we can get from them merchants? They sound like they are pulling a fast one..."
Jack trailed off. His attention was diverted from money-making to gawking.
"Um boss, you may wanna take a look at this."
"Not now Jack, I'm about to cover up Gil Elvgren with Pearl Frush."
"Seriously, look out the window," Jack said calmly. Even in the worst situations Jack was cool.
Balazar looked up just in time to see the tail end of a reddish-orange cloud. He dropped his deck of cards and rushed over.
"You gotta be kidding me," Balazar said in disbelief.
The explosion, large enough to light up the darkening evening, was massive. The green dusk it spread covered several blocks. Whatever had exploded had taken out a massive building by the docks.
"What is it boss?"
"You don't want to know where that secret warehouse was, because looks like we are going to need some help recovering our cache."
________________________________The Incident 2________________________
"Balazar must be in a heap of trouble to post notices like this," the fedora-wearing figure muttered to himself.
Proclamation of Reclamation
To all those willing to risk their hides, Enrico Balazar issues this challenge. Take out as many of the oddities running amok in the Industrial District by the docks as you can. The person who claims the most heads minus losses each day will be given a prize. One prize per day, and only one prize per person. Prizes will be given out once the area is cleared.
Next to Balazar's notice was one by the city that read :
The Docks are hereby off limits to all AL citizens.
Short and to the point. Notices all over the Industrial District proclaiming the area off limits weren't going to keep him from claiming a prize.
Everywhere he looked, warehouse walls, the sea-soaked docks, even a fallen bird lying on the street, were coated with a light-green residue. What the residue was he had no idea, but its putrid stench was inescapable. The area was devoid of life.
The man knew where to go without being told. The electricity had been knocked out sometime last week, and the only light this early in the morning was the faint red glow of smoldering wood up ahead. The area was dead silent, even the wind off the bay seemed to keep its distance.
He crouched down to take a look at the ruins in front of him. The slow drizzle seemed to have no effect on the slowly burning building. The expected smoke from the flames was more like a vapor. He noticed several bare-foot footprints leading away from the fire towards the area's warehouse hub.
*cough*
The man spun around and drew both Rugers in a blur. His adrenaline had always given him itchy trigger fingers, but this time he hesitated.
What he saw before him was unlike anything he had ever seen. It glowed green in the dark. How he didn't see it before he had no idea.
"What the frag are you?"
The man steadied his pistols on this thing before him, yet couldn't pull the trigger. He wasn't quite sure if it was really there.
The being smiled at him and seemingly floated toward him. The closer it got, the brighter its glow.
"One more step and your worm-food. I don't know what you are, but these girls have yet to meet something they couldn't tear apart."
The phantom gazed hungrily.
The thing came closer still, yet the man couldn't seem to unload his clips into it. The closer it came, the more details he saw. Large yellow fangs. Glowing greenish-grey skin covered in sores. It's hands no longer had finger nails as much as claws. It definitely didn't float, but moved with an other-worldly grace.
He could feel its drain now, feel it taking what it didn't own. It's glow brightened while he weakened. Silently the ghoul drew him in with its gaze.
The man was barely able to keep his pistols on target. He staggered back, feeling dizzy and disoriented. His pistols felt like lead weights. Pure instinct guided him now, and it would not let this thing take him so easily. His fingers pulled their triggers.
The beast's glow erupted and engulfed him. He fired toward the light in an arc. He could no longer see the ghoul, nor darkness. Green light filled his vision until his 11th shot.
The 11th shot saved his life.
Somehow luck was on his side this time. The bullet weakened the creature, and its grip on his mind faded. The glow was gone, yet so was all color from his sight. The beast's left shoulder had turned into a fine oozing mist.
"Ramon Wiley ain't so easy to take down fiend. Go back to hell!"
A final shot was heard in the darkness. |
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