07-01-2017, 09:45 PM
Sergeant John Estes laid panting, his chest heaving from the exhaustion of travel through the agony of his broken limbs. The insides of the safehouse was a sanctuary from the death and violence outside amongst the hellish, artificial and empty world of Dante's Abyss. The burly, battered and beaten cop sat propped against the metal bulwarks of the safehouse. In the hours since arrival the determined lawman had fashioned a splint for his shattered leg, but had nothing to treat the overpowering pain.
He held his Smith & Wesson revolver in the palm of his good hand, drawing comfort from the weapon like a child and it's Teddy Bear. His reddened eyelids, heavy with fatigue, closed - thinking back to times long past.
The syncopated clip of helicopter blades sounded overhead and dispersed the harsh rays of sunlight that burned through the jungle foliage. The day was humid, so humid and sweltering hot that steam rose from the marshland, further obscuring young John Estes’ vision. “Charlie” was out there ahead; no one in the platoon could say for sure which direction the unseen freedom fighters hid, but like stalking panthers in the underbrush, every GI could sense their malevolent presence.
Before he was the Mad Bull of the 34th Precinct, he was just another Puerto Rican kid, plucked out of the slums of the Bronx and shipped off to ‘Nam to fight a meaningless war for a cause hard to understand amidst the poverty of the city streets. While other rich teenagers had fled the horror of war through college or a one way ticket to Canada, John Estes had embraced the draft as an opportunity to rise above a fate hustling drugs and dames in some barrio gang.
Deep within the ancient and almost forgotten memory, the broken cop could once again smell the gunpowder of the Viet Cong as they approached in ambush… and could see, could feel himself clutch his M-16 rifle, finding comfort in the violent, RETRIBUTIVE power at his finger tip. Unspeakable images of violence and death passed through his mind, and he could recall how the true nature of mankind was laid bare through the inhuman acts of cruelty he bathed in during the Summer of 1969. Within the jungles of Vietnam that hot July day, he had seen the edges of Hell.
MAD BULL opened his eyes and looked at those hunkering in the safehouse with him. His opponents thought they knew violence, but it was time for the old cop to give a lesson. He would show everyone that real carnage didn't come from pompous victors, but from the cornered and injured… the inhuman demons that walked like corpses among Mankind with nothing left to lose.
He held his Smith & Wesson revolver in the palm of his good hand, drawing comfort from the weapon like a child and it's Teddy Bear. His reddened eyelids, heavy with fatigue, closed - thinking back to times long past.
The syncopated clip of helicopter blades sounded overhead and dispersed the harsh rays of sunlight that burned through the jungle foliage. The day was humid, so humid and sweltering hot that steam rose from the marshland, further obscuring young John Estes’ vision. “Charlie” was out there ahead; no one in the platoon could say for sure which direction the unseen freedom fighters hid, but like stalking panthers in the underbrush, every GI could sense their malevolent presence.
Before he was the Mad Bull of the 34th Precinct, he was just another Puerto Rican kid, plucked out of the slums of the Bronx and shipped off to ‘Nam to fight a meaningless war for a cause hard to understand amidst the poverty of the city streets. While other rich teenagers had fled the horror of war through college or a one way ticket to Canada, John Estes had embraced the draft as an opportunity to rise above a fate hustling drugs and dames in some barrio gang.
Deep within the ancient and almost forgotten memory, the broken cop could once again smell the gunpowder of the Viet Cong as they approached in ambush… and could see, could feel himself clutch his M-16 rifle, finding comfort in the violent, RETRIBUTIVE power at his finger tip. Unspeakable images of violence and death passed through his mind, and he could recall how the true nature of mankind was laid bare through the inhuman acts of cruelty he bathed in during the Summer of 1969. Within the jungles of Vietnam that hot July day, he had seen the edges of Hell.
MAD BULL opened his eyes and looked at those hunkering in the safehouse with him. His opponents thought they knew violence, but it was time for the old cop to give a lesson. He would show everyone that real carnage didn't come from pompous victors, but from the cornered and injured… the inhuman demons that walked like corpses among Mankind with nothing left to lose.
Quote: Mad Bull is hanging around the safehouse for roleplay.