06-07-2017, 12:32 PM
"Dispatch to Sergeant Estes, do you copy? Over!"
Mad Bull unclipped the radio from his police utility belt and took in the grisly scene in the apartment. His face was grimly stoic. Violence, murder, and death were second nature to the seasoned law officer.
"This is the only goddamn way were going to clean up this city."
Manny Pardo's words rang in his ears as the sergeant gave the wasted corpse of the husband a venomous look. The son's blood still smeared the walls of the cramped, dingy apartment, and dollops of gore were dripping down to the red-stained carpet. The burly man couldn't help but think the wife-beater got what he deserved, so why did he feel a nagging sensation at the back of his conscious?
"Dispatch to Sergeant Estes, do you copy? Over!"
Estes pressed the receiver button and spoke into the radio, "10-4 Dispatch. That 273D ended up being a 140. The husband pulled the trigger on the son before we arrived. Over."
"Good heavens!" the radio statically gasped, the dispatcher for once showing a hint of emotion. "C...c...copy that sergeant. I assume I should send down EMTs?"
"Yeah, we got two stiffs. The kid and his dad. Over and out."
Mad Bull grimaced as he clipped the radio back to his belt and glanced towards Manny who was rummaging in the kitchen.
"Fuck Mad Bull! Check out all the skag in here!" Pardo shouted through the dingy apartment.
Mad Bull crept over the splattered corpse of the husband, exited the miserable living room and walked into the cramped kitchen. The tile floor couldn't have been more than 3 foot wide and there was no hope of the massive police officer cramming himself in there with Manny. Instead, he simply stood at the open archway that led into the kitchen and took stock of the scene.
At one point the yellowed kitchen cabinets had been painted a handsome white, but were stained with ancient food smears. The cabinets surrounded the tiny kitchen, except for a broken down oven range, a disgustingly dirty microwave, a humming refrigerator and about 3 feet of kitchen counters. A weighing scale sat atop the old stove; a kilo of red powder held in a little paper cup was balanced against a steel weight. A five gallon drum lined with plastic was standing on the floor and was halfway filled with the same red powder. Two mixing bowls laid on the kitchen counter, one filled with empty white capped vials and the other with those that had already been filled. Orange pill bottles, some filled, littered the floor and the counter; it seemed someone had knocked the drugs off the counter. A two-foot by two-foot window was set at the back of the kitchen; it offered a depressing view of the neighboring brick building's wall.
Manny Pardo squatted on the tile and picked up one of the pill bottles. Still kneeling on the ground, he held the bottle up to the hazy fluorescent light in the kitchen. "Looks like Amaranth. This shit's taking over the streets, but not the kinda thing you'd expect to find in a dump like this." (See "Westside Canon" for Street Drug List: http://omniverse-rpg.com/showthread.php?tid=8224)
Just as Sergeant Estes grunted his ascent, the two officers suddenly heard the front door, which they had left open, quietly *click* shut. The two policemen froze and looked at each other. Manny held a finger to his lips and Estes nodded silently. The two listened closely and heard voices whispering outside in the hall.
"The pigs iced Ronnie!" one voice rasped.
"Fuck, fuck fuck!" a stocky, feminine voice replied in a panicked whisper.
"You get the boys, or the Hutts are gonna literally eat us alive when those coppers take our gear!" she continued in a hush voice.
The two officers could hear the jangling footsteps of someone running down the hallway, then the opening of a door. From the sound of the footsteps, they could both tell that the woman had remained in place, guarding the exit.
Mad Bull's mustache twitched and he reached for the Smith & Wesson revolver at his hip. Manny stayed crouching and patted the Mossberg 500 he held with one hand, but motioned for the sergeant to stay still and quiet with the other. The two men looked nervously at each other. Silently, Mad Bull pivoted on his feet, leveled his revolver at the door and held his aim in wait. Within twenty seconds, more footsteps returned, but this time with the jangle of weapons. Four unknown assailants had gathered together outside in the hall, the apartment walls separating the two groups from violent confrontation.
Those in the hallway lingered outside the door until one punk tentatively put his hand on the nob and tried to stealthily open the door. A white-skinned punk with a greasy black mullet and thin beard cracked open the door and stuck his head in the small opening.
He looked to the left into the gory living room. All clear, minus Ronnie's blown-out corpse.
He looked right into the little attached bathroom. All clear, minus that terrible piss smell.
He looked dead center into the kitchen.
KAPOW!
The hammer on Mad Bull's revolver slammed into the first .38 special slug in his revolver, turning the punk's head inside-out. Eyes, nose and brains were mixed and stirred into a pink cocktail of gibs that sprayed out through the back of his skull and into the opposite wall. Cries of confusion and surprise could be heard through the deafening ring from the first shot.
"Give'em the heat!" the stocky woman ordered loudly from the other side of the wall.
FACKAA, FAACKAA FAACKAA!
Three automatic weapons cut through the thin wall of the apartment, shooting from outside the hallway into the kitchen. Manny dove lower to the floor, covering his head from the shower of broken tile, cabinets and bullets. Mad Bull grunted in pain as three sub-machine gun bullets banged against the back-side of his Kevlar vest and another sunk into the meaty bit of his left forearm. Sergeant Estes' revolver thunked against the floor loudly as he crumbled to the carpeted floor, face down.
CLICK-CLACK!!
FAAKOOOM!!
Manny cocked his Mossberg 500 and blasted a shot over Mad Bull's head into the wall separating him from the apartment hallway and the unseen assailants. A football sized chuck of plaster and wood was obliterated, opening a little window to the hallway just outside. One of the men in the hallway bent over and looked into the blown-away wall, surprised the shot hadn't taken off one of his limbs. He looked through the hole and into the cramped kitchen, spying Manny squatting on one knee, a look of rage in his eyes.
CLICK-CLACK!!
FAAKOOM!!
Manny blasted another shot from the same position, eviscerating the deathly foolish man's head.
CLICK-CLACK!!
Pardo readied another shell into the chamber as the headless man limply slumped to the ground. The stocky woman's voice called out again, "Keep the heat on! Let'em have it!"
FACKAA, FAACKAA, FAACKAA FAACKAA!
Manny dove low to the kitchen tile again and Mad Bull shielded his head with his arms as he laid prone on the carpet. Red clouds of Amaranth puffed into the confined air of the little kitchen. As the drug began to diffuse in the air, the two policemen began to feel vital, strong and ferocious. Mad Bull groped around the floor of the tiny apartment and grabbed his revolver that he had dropped earlier. Not bothering to take aim, he squeezed off two rounds in quick succession at the increasingly ruined wall.
KAPOW!
KAPOW!
"Yeeeeeeeeoww!" the third man in the hallway howled. The two officers could peek through a little fist-sized hole that had been blown in the apartment wall, not even a foot off the floor. One of the punks on the other side of the wall was hopping on one foot, clutching his grisly, torn boot. After a few hops the man fell to the ground wailing, grievously injured. The stocky woman who had been shouting out orders before screamed in frustration, her three goons now eliminated by the two cops.
"SUCK ON THIS, PIGS!" the stocky woman screeched. The woman pulled the pin off a grenade and tossed it through the football-sized hole Manny's shotgun had blasted open. It landed with a "tink!" at Manny's feet.
Mad Bull unclipped the radio from his police utility belt and took in the grisly scene in the apartment. His face was grimly stoic. Violence, murder, and death were second nature to the seasoned law officer.
"This is the only goddamn way were going to clean up this city."
Manny Pardo's words rang in his ears as the sergeant gave the wasted corpse of the husband a venomous look. The son's blood still smeared the walls of the cramped, dingy apartment, and dollops of gore were dripping down to the red-stained carpet. The burly man couldn't help but think the wife-beater got what he deserved, so why did he feel a nagging sensation at the back of his conscious?
"Dispatch to Sergeant Estes, do you copy? Over!"
Estes pressed the receiver button and spoke into the radio, "10-4 Dispatch. That 273D ended up being a 140. The husband pulled the trigger on the son before we arrived. Over."
"Good heavens!" the radio statically gasped, the dispatcher for once showing a hint of emotion. "C...c...copy that sergeant. I assume I should send down EMTs?"
"Yeah, we got two stiffs. The kid and his dad. Over and out."
Mad Bull grimaced as he clipped the radio back to his belt and glanced towards Manny who was rummaging in the kitchen.
"Fuck Mad Bull! Check out all the skag in here!" Pardo shouted through the dingy apartment.
Mad Bull crept over the splattered corpse of the husband, exited the miserable living room and walked into the cramped kitchen. The tile floor couldn't have been more than 3 foot wide and there was no hope of the massive police officer cramming himself in there with Manny. Instead, he simply stood at the open archway that led into the kitchen and took stock of the scene.
At one point the yellowed kitchen cabinets had been painted a handsome white, but were stained with ancient food smears. The cabinets surrounded the tiny kitchen, except for a broken down oven range, a disgustingly dirty microwave, a humming refrigerator and about 3 feet of kitchen counters. A weighing scale sat atop the old stove; a kilo of red powder held in a little paper cup was balanced against a steel weight. A five gallon drum lined with plastic was standing on the floor and was halfway filled with the same red powder. Two mixing bowls laid on the kitchen counter, one filled with empty white capped vials and the other with those that had already been filled. Orange pill bottles, some filled, littered the floor and the counter; it seemed someone had knocked the drugs off the counter. A two-foot by two-foot window was set at the back of the kitchen; it offered a depressing view of the neighboring brick building's wall.
Manny Pardo squatted on the tile and picked up one of the pill bottles. Still kneeling on the ground, he held the bottle up to the hazy fluorescent light in the kitchen. "Looks like Amaranth. This shit's taking over the streets, but not the kinda thing you'd expect to find in a dump like this." (See "Westside Canon" for Street Drug List: http://omniverse-rpg.com/showthread.php?tid=8224)
Just as Sergeant Estes grunted his ascent, the two officers suddenly heard the front door, which they had left open, quietly *click* shut. The two policemen froze and looked at each other. Manny held a finger to his lips and Estes nodded silently. The two listened closely and heard voices whispering outside in the hall.
"The pigs iced Ronnie!" one voice rasped.
"Fuck, fuck fuck!" a stocky, feminine voice replied in a panicked whisper.
"You get the boys, or the Hutts are gonna literally eat us alive when those coppers take our gear!" she continued in a hush voice.
The two officers could hear the jangling footsteps of someone running down the hallway, then the opening of a door. From the sound of the footsteps, they could both tell that the woman had remained in place, guarding the exit.
Mad Bull's mustache twitched and he reached for the Smith & Wesson revolver at his hip. Manny stayed crouching and patted the Mossberg 500 he held with one hand, but motioned for the sergeant to stay still and quiet with the other. The two men looked nervously at each other. Silently, Mad Bull pivoted on his feet, leveled his revolver at the door and held his aim in wait. Within twenty seconds, more footsteps returned, but this time with the jangle of weapons. Four unknown assailants had gathered together outside in the hall, the apartment walls separating the two groups from violent confrontation.
Those in the hallway lingered outside the door until one punk tentatively put his hand on the nob and tried to stealthily open the door. A white-skinned punk with a greasy black mullet and thin beard cracked open the door and stuck his head in the small opening.
He looked to the left into the gory living room. All clear, minus Ronnie's blown-out corpse.
He looked right into the little attached bathroom. All clear, minus that terrible piss smell.
He looked dead center into the kitchen.
KAPOW!
The hammer on Mad Bull's revolver slammed into the first .38 special slug in his revolver, turning the punk's head inside-out. Eyes, nose and brains were mixed and stirred into a pink cocktail of gibs that sprayed out through the back of his skull and into the opposite wall. Cries of confusion and surprise could be heard through the deafening ring from the first shot.
"Give'em the heat!" the stocky woman ordered loudly from the other side of the wall.
FACKAA, FAACKAA FAACKAA!
Three automatic weapons cut through the thin wall of the apartment, shooting from outside the hallway into the kitchen. Manny dove lower to the floor, covering his head from the shower of broken tile, cabinets and bullets. Mad Bull grunted in pain as three sub-machine gun bullets banged against the back-side of his Kevlar vest and another sunk into the meaty bit of his left forearm. Sergeant Estes' revolver thunked against the floor loudly as he crumbled to the carpeted floor, face down.
CLICK-CLACK!!
FAAKOOOM!!
Manny cocked his Mossberg 500 and blasted a shot over Mad Bull's head into the wall separating him from the apartment hallway and the unseen assailants. A football sized chuck of plaster and wood was obliterated, opening a little window to the hallway just outside. One of the men in the hallway bent over and looked into the blown-away wall, surprised the shot hadn't taken off one of his limbs. He looked through the hole and into the cramped kitchen, spying Manny squatting on one knee, a look of rage in his eyes.
CLICK-CLACK!!
FAAKOOM!!
Manny blasted another shot from the same position, eviscerating the deathly foolish man's head.
CLICK-CLACK!!
Pardo readied another shell into the chamber as the headless man limply slumped to the ground. The stocky woman's voice called out again, "Keep the heat on! Let'em have it!"
FACKAA, FAACKAA, FAACKAA FAACKAA!
Manny dove low to the kitchen tile again and Mad Bull shielded his head with his arms as he laid prone on the carpet. Red clouds of Amaranth puffed into the confined air of the little kitchen. As the drug began to diffuse in the air, the two policemen began to feel vital, strong and ferocious. Mad Bull groped around the floor of the tiny apartment and grabbed his revolver that he had dropped earlier. Not bothering to take aim, he squeezed off two rounds in quick succession at the increasingly ruined wall.
KAPOW!
KAPOW!
"Yeeeeeeeeoww!" the third man in the hallway howled. The two officers could peek through a little fist-sized hole that had been blown in the apartment wall, not even a foot off the floor. One of the punks on the other side of the wall was hopping on one foot, clutching his grisly, torn boot. After a few hops the man fell to the ground wailing, grievously injured. The stocky woman who had been shouting out orders before screamed in frustration, her three goons now eliminated by the two cops.
"SUCK ON THIS, PIGS!" the stocky woman screeched. The woman pulled the pin off a grenade and tossed it through the football-sized hole Manny's shotgun had blasted open. It landed with a "tink!" at Manny's feet.