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O'Boyle brings the pain.; Final event mission.
Topic Started: Sep 10 2009, 07:10 PM (982 Views)
Cain
Vault leader
[ *  *  * ]
As Bill finished dragging Josef's body to a more dignified location, he looked into the house and saw Caleb and a mobster in a scrap. It seemed that he wanted to continue infiltrating the house, albeit in a more rambunctious way than Bill had hoped. Caleb was wailing on the mobster something terrible. It was obvious that he and the late Josef were good friends. Such a shame.

Caleb finally dispatched the goon and took cover behind a table just in time. Bill motioned for him to play dead as the bullets hit the wood. Caleb did so.

The two mobsters shooting at him cautiously advanced towards the table, guns drawn. They were oblivious to Bill's presence, which worked to his advantage. He checked his revolver. There were six shots chambered thanks to the earlier thug's "donation." He silently clicked them back into their rightful place and climbed through the window discreetly.

He crept up behind the mobster on the left. He was a mountain of a man but he was at least smaller than his counterpart, and therefore, Bill judged, more vulnerable to a sneak attack. He was also a bit of a coward and motioned for his friend to go first. His friend did indeed advance, and Bill took his opportunity. He would have to be fast and silent. Fast he could handle, silent he could handle, but could he strike hard enough to disable his foe?

Bill grabbed his revolver by the barrel, stood up, and dealt the mobster a sideways blow across the back of his skull. With a thud like falling lumber, the man slammed into the hardwood floor.

His friend turned around and looked Bill right in the eye. "Who the hell are you?" He leveled his shotgun at Bill's face.

A certain passage from a pre-War author came to mind. Bill, with his bloodied face, must have been a sight. "I am the red death," he said.

The mobster swung at him with a baseball bat. Bill was not a slugger himself but he was fast, and Louie had given him extensive lessons on how to defend himself without weapons. His first target would be the man's swinging arm. If he could hit it at the apex of the swing it would disarm him and level the playing field at least somewhat.

Bill put both fists outward in front of his face. It was the diplomat's strongest weapon, after all. Weaving backwards past the mobster's considerable reach, he gave the man's elbow a right hook. The blow did not look like it hurt, but it inconvenienced the thug at least enough to knock the weapon out of his hands. "You should give up now. What are you fighting for? Some misguided sense of revenge?"

The mobster laughed as he took a swing at Bill with his meaty fist. Bill gave the man's chest a one-two punch, attempting to wind him. It was like punching a wall. "If I kill you, pipsqueak, I get a shitload of money."

Bill had to admit, the mobster was at least sporting. He did not expect wasteland fighting to be as clear cut and...enjoyable as training with Louie and his brothers. Then a massive fist crashed into his chest, sending him to his back. The mobster loomed threateningly over him, winding up for a punch. He sent his fist down like a hammer. Move, man! Damn your old bones, if you don't move you'll be one with the floor! Bill flailed on the floor before sluggishly rolling over not a moment too soon. The floor splintered around the mobsters fist, yet he did not utter a single yelp despite the blood. Was he using med-X?

Bill got to his feet clumsily. "All....I have....to do....is slow...you...down."
He leaned against the minibar, the cover of smoke slightly hiding him. It was beginning to dissipate. One slow gasp after another, and he could get his precious breath back. The mobster came lumbering through Bill's smoky sanctuary, fist reared back. Bill slid to his right as the man's fist crashed through the mahogany bar. This man was some sort of juggernaut!

Finally, his lungs took the cue as the man yanked his hand free and broke a bottle, attempting to use it as a makeshift cutting implement.

"You look like a rich little fucker. Imma bleed the caps out of you, fucker." He swung sideways, reveling in the fight, a wicked grin across his face. Bill gracefully swooped back, then advanced at the conclusion of the swing. He had to keep hitting the man, surely his body would give out before his will would.

He advanced, giving a right jab to the man's face, slightly jarring him. The man staggered back ever so slightly, dropping the bottle on the floor. Keeping both fists in front of his face, Bill took one step forward for every backwards step the mobster took. He kept a steady supply of right jabs up, giving the mobster hell. Bill hoped this was as tiresome for his foe as it was for him, because his little display was taking a serious toll.

If I make it to the end of this fight I'm going to help myself to some of Mr. Corroto's liquor, he thought. Finally, the mobster was against the wall. Both Bill and his enemy were gasping for breath. Bill leaned against a barstool, gasping for air. He tried to stand, but the barstool would serve as his legs because his real ones were fed up with his gallivanting and showboating. He heard the mobster gasping, too. It was a good thing air was free in the Wastes, because Bill felt that between the two of them they could suck it all up in the next few minutes.

Where was Caleb? Bill rotated on his temporary legs, attempting to locate him. He was no longer behind the table. This made Bill grin, ever so wearily. Was he cooking up some grandiose finale to punch the mobster's lights out? He felt a warm, wet fist on his shoulder and wheeled around.

"Lllllllights.....*GASP*ooout..." the man made a pathetic swing at Bill that barely nudged his cheek. However, the stool could not support their combined weight and clattered to the floor. The mobster lay panting and huffing and puffing, on top of Bill, doing more or less the same.

"Caleb! Get this miscreant off of me before he crushes my poor lungs!"

William "Bill" Beauregard
SPECIAL: 3 5 1 10 7 5 9
Level: 2
Karma: +50
EQUIPMENT
Weaponry: .32 Revolver
Armor: Pre-War Businesswear

INVENTORY
One traveling suitcase, currently empty.
One comb.

LOOKS
5'9'', dark brown hair, hazel eyes. Old-west-style mustache. Skin aglow with vitality and eyes alight with zeal. Excellent posture.
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Iron Crow
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Caleb heard Bill's calls for aid. But he had more pressing issues at hand. The knife flashed towards him again as gangster numero dos attacked him. Caleb had stabbed the first one in the lumbar spine and left him bleeding and spasming on the ground, but know he was pitting Josef's switchblade against a kitchen knife. Caleb arched his back to get his gut away from the incoming carving knife. He twisted his upper body to avoid a thrust and snapped his elbow into the gangster's face, sending him stumbling away. The blow didn't have any strength in it though. Not enough space to get momentum. That was the problem with knife-fighting. Either too close to use your hands and feet, or too far to use your own knife. Caleb grabbed the man's knife hand and tried to go for a stab. The gangster dodged backwards, evading Caleb's stab. The gangster then worked his arm against Caleb's thumb, then pulled back, extricating himself from the Tribal's grip. Caleb followed through with a kick, knocking the mobster's left leg out from under him.

The gangster fell on his face, rolling rapidly as Caleb's heel crashed into the floorboards where his head had been a second ago. The gangster was just up on one knee as Caleb grabbed a ceramic jug from a nearby table and swung it at him. The jug shattered against the mobster's guard arm, showering both men with shards of delff and dust. Caleb brought his knife up under the mobster's guard, aiming for a strike under the chin and up into the skull. The mobster jumped upwards and backwards, avoiding the killing strike by the barest margin. Caleb swung through, reversing his grip on the switchblade and following up with a downwards stab aimed at the mobster's neck. Missed again, and jumped backwards, arching his back to avoid the gangster's counter-slash. Caleb rebounded the mobster's next attack with the hard knuckles of his gloves and stepped in with a stab towards the gangster's groin. The unexpected attack caught the gangster off-guard, barely giving him time to dodge. He would have, if Caleb hadn't stepped on his foot and pinned it.

The switchblade slid into the mobster's thigh, splitting the femoral artery. Caleb grabbed the gangster's knife-hand as the stricken mobster went for a last-ditch revenge strike, then brought Josef's blade up and sliced it across the gangster's throat, splattering blood over his face. Caleb shoved the twitching body away and jogged over to Bill, who was still politely asking for Caleb to get the big gangster off him. Caleb grabbed the big heavy's hair and lifted him off Bill, rolling him to the side. Before Bill could get up, Caleb had stabbed into the unconscious mobster's neck twice, severing his carotid arteries.

"I'm impressed Bill, never took you for a prize fighter," Caleb said as he helped Bill to his feet and dusted the benighted "diplomat" off. He offered Bill the mobster's kitchen knife and nodded towards the stairs in the hallway beyond. It was time to get a move-on.
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HenchmenF
 
"Anyway. Then me and CP were like "Lul, wut?" and then Run had to step in and use his e-peen as a riot baton and then Doffa sorta left."

Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory)
Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align]
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Cain
Vault leader
[ *  *  * ]
Bill stood up and graciously accepted the knife. He preferred revolvers and fist-fighting, because he had been raised to believe they were more becoming of a gentleman. However, with some cleaning and customization, it could be sold for a small amount of capital, at least. Besides, who was he to refuse this good man's charity?

"Yes, well, my father and our manservant had quite a few things to say about life in the wastes. I wasn't sure what to think, and I was initially afraid to fight the butler, Louie. He's what we call a 'ghoul' and I was afraid his age made him delicate. I must say that for someone who looks that old his punches pack a wallop. I've been winded many a time in my day. I was just happy that Louie could find a way for me to fight that didn't require brute strength. I was also pleased to learn that it has its own set of rules, which I follow despite the lack of a judge."

Bill leaned on the minibar. "Enough of my long-winded bragging, though. I need to take a rest. I'm not as youthful as I used to be, myself. Why don't we have a silent round of drinks, and we can get the jump on any of Corroto's men that burst through here? See, there's still some smoke and the bar is out of sight of the adjacent room." He motioned to the doorway and back to the minibar, taking a seat on an upright stool.
William "Bill" Beauregard
SPECIAL: 3 5 1 10 7 5 9
Level: 2
Karma: +50
EQUIPMENT
Weaponry: .32 Revolver
Armor: Pre-War Businesswear

INVENTORY
One traveling suitcase, currently empty.
One comb.

LOOKS
5'9'', dark brown hair, hazel eyes. Old-west-style mustache. Skin aglow with vitality and eyes alight with zeal. Excellent posture.
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Run4
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Iron Crow
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"Rest a little while. Can't hang around too long, in case Corroto gets away. And we don't want that happening," Caleb said, lifting a stool, setting it down and sitting on it with a bottle of Corroto's bourbon. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth and started drinking, leaving his 10mm Pistol lying on the bar, in easy reach in case a mobster poked his head around the corner with the intent of tearing himself or Bill a new, structurally superfluous asshole. He passed Bill a bottle of Scotch and a bottle of rum, giving him the choice between the two as he leaned on the bar, his body creaking, and his hands aching from beating the mobster's skull to a mangled heap.

"So, where'd you come from anyway? O'Boyle sent you along and all, but where'd you come from, with a Scavver for a father and a Ghoul manservant?" Caleb asked Bill, leaning forward as he asked the question. What was supposed to look like interest in Bill's response looked more like adding aggression to the question as the big, burly Tribal leaned in, towering over Bill. Caleb took another swig of bourbon, letting the burning spirit course down his throat and warm his stomach. It tasted good. It tasted like victory, vindication. Revenge for Josef and the other hunters, everyone Corroto and his thugs killed.

In his free hand, Caleb was spinning and flipping Josef's switchblade over and over in his grip, avoiding cutting his own hand after years of experience with blades. He slugged some more bourbon and took a quick gander around the room and into the hallway beyond with the stairs in it to check for any gangsters. Maybe between him, Bill and the ill-fated Josef, and the two other Hunters, whatever had happened to them, they'd offed the gangsters, or at least forced them to retreat upstairs to find positions to defend Corroto. Or not, Caleb thought as he heard footsteps in the room above. They abruptly stopped, as if someone upstairs was waiting for Caleb and Bill to ascend the stairs.
[align=center]Posted Image
HenchmenF
 
"Anyway. Then me and CP were like "Lul, wut?" and then Run had to step in and use his e-peen as a riot baton and then Doffa sorta left."

Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory)
Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align]
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Cain
Vault leader
[ *  *  * ]
Bill took the scotch , nodding gratefully to Caleb. He walked behind the bar.
"Rest a little while. Can't hang around too long, in case Corroto gets away. And we don't want that happening," Caleb said.

He shook his head in agreement as he searched behind the bar. Did Corotto have any amaretto?...Yes, that was it. Bill grabbed a short little bottle, filled with an amber-colored liquid. He took a glass from the shelf and poured the glass about a quarter full of amaretto and a quarter full of scotch. He stirred the mixture up, returning the scotch and amaretto back to their respective places.

Taking a seat back at the bar, Caleb asked him a question. "So, where'd you come from anyway? O'Boyle sent you along and all, but where'd you come from, with a Scavver for a father and a Ghoul manservant?" He didn't mind being asked this, but it was a little unnerving the way the tribal leaned in.

"Well," Bill said, sipping from his mixed drink, "my family has lived for generations, since before the war, in a mansion located in the Florida Everglades. You see, one of my ancestors was fooled into buying land there. It was not prime real estate back then, either. He had no place else to go and was not an honest man, so he built a fortune on swindling. For all of my family but me, any crime but murder or rape is acceptable as long as there's profits to be made. I used to be like that as well, but I fear that my brothers' self-destructive *habits* are bringing an end to the family, and I want us to be remembered well. Perhaps I can find happiness by helping the people of the wastes and making an honest living."

Bill continued to savor his drink. He could feel his strength returning the longer he sat down. He was oblivious to the sounds from the stairs, quietly contemplating his life.
William "Bill" Beauregard
SPECIAL: 3 5 1 10 7 5 9
Level: 2
Karma: +50
EQUIPMENT
Weaponry: .32 Revolver
Armor: Pre-War Businesswear

INVENTORY
One traveling suitcase, currently empty.
One comb.

LOOKS
5'9'', dark brown hair, hazel eyes. Old-west-style mustache. Skin aglow with vitality and eyes alight with zeal. Excellent posture.
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Run4
Member Avatar
Iron Crow
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Caleb hauled Josef's body to another room in the house, away from the charred floor and smoke in the room where the smoke grenade and molotov went off. He lifted Josef's body out the window and set it down against the wall. Mostly, it was so he wouldn't have to look at his dead friend, but also to give Bill some more time to recuperate. Even to give himself a little time to recover from the hits to his ribs and face, and the cuts and bruises from diving and rolling around on the floor and on broken glass. First checking that there was no one around to see, Caleb stretched and knuckled his pained back and stretched his shoulders, producing an audible crack. He shook his head rapidly to clear the haze of pain and injury that was starting to set in. Possible concussion.

He checked his pistol over, chambering a round, taking the safety off and striding back into the room with the minibar. He nodded to Bill as he stepped back in, grabbed his bottle of bourbon from the minibar and drained it. Staring at the bottle for a second, Caleb absently spun his gun in his grip, then tossed the bottle aside. Gripping his gun in both hands, Caleb moved to the doorway leading to the stairs, carefully poking his head around the corner. No one. Place was clear of any gangsters, the ones upstairs were probably hanging around waiting for them to move upstairs, or covering Corroto's retreat. Caleb turned back into the room, waving Bill over.

"Time to get going Bill. We don't want the fish slipping the net," Caleb said, edging slowly out of the room, gun trained on the stairs as he moved up towards it.
[align=center]Posted Image
HenchmenF
 
"Anyway. Then me and CP were like "Lul, wut?" and then Run had to step in and use his e-peen as a riot baton and then Doffa sorta left."

Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory)
Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align]
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Cain
Vault leader
[ *  *  * ]
"Time to get going, Bill. We don't want the fish slipping the net," said Caleb as he re-entered the room.

"A wise decision," said Bill. He found it to be agreeable. His lungs had finally stopped their complaining and he could sit up straight. He savored the last bit of his drink and got up. This was just what he needed. His fists ached from the fight with the bruiser, but he didn't expect to be boxing anyone again. He checked his pistol. The four from his house and the two from the guard who he had scared off made six.

Bill noticed Caleb leaning up against the wall with his pistol drawn. It struck him as being ridiculously huge. He obviously perceived some threat behind the doorway

As he approached the doorway leading to the stairs, Bill stopped. Where were the hunters? The house was silent. If they had reached Corroto there would be some sign of a struggle. Had he missed it? No matter. He would join Caleb, not standing against the wall but slightly behind him.

He tapped Caleb on the shoulder. "What's the plan," he whispered. "why are we waiting like this?"
William "Bill" Beauregard
SPECIAL: 3 5 1 10 7 5 9
Level: 2
Karma: +50
EQUIPMENT
Weaponry: .32 Revolver
Armor: Pre-War Businesswear

INVENTORY
One traveling suitcase, currently empty.
One comb.

LOOKS
5'9'', dark brown hair, hazel eyes. Old-west-style mustache. Skin aglow with vitality and eyes alight with zeal. Excellent posture.
Offline Mini Profile Goto Top
 
Run4
Member Avatar
Iron Crow
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"Right now, the plan's to get to Corroto and not die in the process. I'd be willing to bet his office is in the attic. Too many windows on the floors above us for him never to be spotted by anyone," Caleb asnwered as Bill tapped on his shoulder. "And we're waiting here right now because I can see a gangster with a Bren Gun in that mirror there."

As Caleb finished, he indicated a mirror at a bend in the stairs, which showed a man in a suit of tattered leather armour, weilding a large gun. He looked none too happy, but spun rapidly to face another direction as gunfire erupted down from the far end of the floor above, echoing through the house as the other hunters, or at least the ones who had survived, had taken a back stairs and were mounting their own assault on the first floor. While the man's back was still turned to them, Caleb slapped Bill on the shoulder and spurred himself up the stairs, taking the steps two and three at a time. The gangster with the Bren Gun spun back to face them, but not quick enough as Caleb fired twice. One shot was a little off, clipping the mobster's shoulder, but the second struck true, piercing the man's eye and dropping him.

Caleb sprinted up the stairs, grabbing the guard's Bren Gun and pulling the magazine from the receiver. Lucky. A 7.62 model. Caleb swung his BAR from his back and forced the Bren's magazine into the BAR's receiver, leaving the mobster's Bren gun where it lay. Caleb hauled the corpse closer and started going through the pockets, ignoring Bill's raised eyebrow as he rifled through the dead man's possessions for any more ammunition. One more box magazine. Not bad. Not bad, but Caleb had been hoping for more. If he wasn't careful, his BAR would eat through those magazines before he knew what was going on. Regretfully, Caleb switched the BAR from burst fire to semi-automatic. He and Bill creeped along the hallway, staying close to the walls as gunfire echoed further into the house, around a corner on the landing. And then, all of a sudden, all hell broke loose as the gunfire burst around the corner after one of O'Boyle's hunters came charging around, carrying his wounded compatriot in a fireman's lift. Caleb crouched and started snapping off shots at the mobsters as they charged around the corner with their pistols and carbines, killing one and sending the others diving and fumbling back to cover as Bill pitched in with his revolver.

Caleb waved the other hunter over and back down the stairs, motioning for him to get the wounded man to safety. So it was down to Bill and Caleb. This was going to get difficult.
[align=center]Posted Image
HenchmenF
 
"Anyway. Then me and CP were like "Lul, wut?" and then Run had to step in and use his e-peen as a riot baton and then Doffa sorta left."

Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory)
Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align]
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Run4
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Iron Crow
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((OOC: Right, Cain has not posted in a week. Until such time as he returns, it looks like I'm going solo on this one :o ))

Caleb ducked back to avoid incoming fire. As it turned out, a pillar was not a good hiding spot. Shots were bouncing and ricocheting off the tortured concrete and bouncing against the wall next to him. Caleb waited for a lull in the fire before diving across the hallway and crashing headlong through a door on the far side. He rolled to dissipate the impact as he crashed through the flimsy plywood door panels and hit the floor bayond. He rubbed his nose from where his face had impacted on his BAR when diving through the door as he scrambled to his feet and along the room, which looked to be something of a large dining room, with a table easily large enough to seat two dozen in the centre and myriad cabinets covered in old dusty decanters dotted around the walls. Caleb stopped for a quick sip from one of them, gagging at the sharp taste of Absynthe that was long gone past its best. Caleb hawked and spat out the stuff, leaving a nice stain on Corroto's carpet where it landed. Caleb grabbed a small stool and launched it across the room, smashing the window across from him and ducked behind a cabinet as Gerade's thugs burst in the door.

All they heard was a smash, saw a broken window and an empty room. There was a shrubbery below that window. They looked at each other and two wandered over to the window. One of them shouted that one of the dogs had got something. Another shouted that it had a stool. Two began combing the room, while the other two at the window started firing indiscriminately into the bushes below. Caleb shifted ever-further into his hiding place, drawing his 10mm Pistol and cocking it.

"Now or never," Caleb thought as he erupted into a standing position and fired once into the nearest Gangster's face, and fired twice into the other room-searcher's chest. The two at the window were in cover before Caleb could draw a bead on them, and he was diving back in to his mahogany cabinet as they opened fire, not quite hitting him as they tried to stay behind a drinks cart made from thin steel sheets that had gone to rust. Caleb fired twice more, missed, and heard the annoying click of an empty mag. Dropping the offending article from his pistol's grip, he pocketted it and pulled another mag from his belt-pouches and slid it into place. Caleb opened fire to keep the gangster's heads down more than anything else as he charged back down the room and jumped out through the door he'd entered by, smashing the pitiful remains to matchwood.

With a heavy "uff", he crashed into something large, heavy, and decidedly un-Bill-like. Bill probably would have kept his language clean as Caleb and the stranger went crashing to the floor in a tangled heap of flailing limbs, foul language and discharging firearms. Caleb kicked and punched instinctively, raining hits down on his unfortunate aggressor's guard as they wound up in a dishevelled heap against the far wall. Caleb headbutted, contacting the man's defending forearm. He screwed his eyes shut against the impact and recoiled sharply, his stab wound ((O'Boyle on a Mission)) firing spikes of pain through his chest as he strained it. Caleb punched out of frustration, catcing his quarry high on the head and bouncing the mobster face-first into a doorframe. The man had recovered by the time Caleb's pain had resided and punched the big Tribal in the gut. Caleb grunted and grunted as the mobster hit and hit. Caleb knew he could take hits like that to the stomach all day and be no worse for wear. If the ganger moved on to Caleb's ribs, which he seemed intent on doing, there'd be trouble.

Caleb twisted where he lay, getting some momentum with his rolling knee-strike, connecting with the gangster's shin with the glorious crack of breaking bone. As the gangster tried to hit out, pain lending him strength, Caleb pressed the advantage. He hit the broken leg again, and again, and again. The simple break was rapidly moving into the region of complex, and finally compound fracture as a final knee-strike forced the lower halves of the broken bones out through the back of his calf. The mobster howled in pain a d tried to disengage. Caleb sat up and pinned the gangster, administering a quick ground and pound bafore taking a fistful of the gangster's hair in each hand, lifting his head, slamming his face against the floor and repeating. Caleb heard footsteps behind. He rolled over, rolling the mobster's comatose body on top of him.

The two gangsters who had been hiding behind the drinks cart emerged slowly from the room, spotting a pair of corpses. One of them had a wounded shoulder, the other was boasting a wounded leg. As they cast quizzical glances towards the stairs, their eyes not even registering the gun in Caleb's hand, Caleb sat up, rolling the stricken mobster off him and firing twice into each standing man's chest, killing them both. He rolled over and fired once between the eyes of the one he had beaten against the floor, then stood up, his knees shaking from the adrenaline comedown and pain of the fight on the floor. His right hand was shaking uncontrollably as his injured shoulder screamed protest. He let out a heavy sigh and moved up the hallway, keeping close to the wall, gun pointed up ahead.
[align=center]Posted Image
HenchmenF
 
"Anyway. Then me and CP were like "Lul, wut?" and then Run had to step in and use his e-peen as a riot baton and then Doffa sorta left."

Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory)
Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align]
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Iron Crow
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Caleb stalked along the hallway, tense, ready. Like a coiled snake ready to strike or a Hellcat about to pounce on it's prey. He spotted a mobster standing alone up ahead, leaning on a wall, nursing a flesh wound to the outside of his shoulder. Probably clipped by a ricochet from one of the earlier gunfights. Caleb crept his way along the corridor, quiet as a church mouse, taking slow, easy steps towards the man's back. The mobster only noticed Caleb's presence when things really went down for him. Caleb bullrushed him, plowing the unfortunate man face-first into the far wall of the stairwell. Before the man could recover, Caleb had his neck in a solid chokehold. Caleb jerked the man's head to the side, forcing a grunt. He twisted again, another grunt as the man forced a hand between Caleb's forearm and his neck. Caleb twisted the other way, bouncing the gangster's face against the wall again. This time, there was no grunt as Caleb twisted his body and wrenched the man's head. There was a quiet crack and the man went limp as Caleb hyperextended his neck and crushed his windpipe. Blood leaked from his nose and mouth.

Caleb tossed the body aside and worked his way up the steps in front of him. Caleb came to a small landing lined with extravagant paintings. Caleb edged his way along, not entirely sure what to make of the place, finally coming to a door. He turned the handle slowly and pushed. Nothing. A dull clunk as the lock bounced against the frame. Caleb stepped back and made the ill-advised move of trying to shoulder-barge the door. He reeled back, swearing under his breath as his stabbed shoulder ached. After a short period of bouncing on his toes to dissipate the pain, Caleb turned back to the door. Drawing his 10mm Pistol, Caleb took a step back and rushed at the door, crashing his foot against the handle-side and swinging the door aside, hanging off the hinges.

He burst into an office of some kind. Lined with more paintings with a large, well-polished desk at the far end. Behind the desk was a large, leather office chair facing away from the door. Caleb inched his way along the room, wary of any attack from the stairwell. None came. Yet. He reached the desk, and the chair swivelled slowly. Like a villain in a bad book. Corroto really was crazy. Caleb levelled his pistol at the mobster and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you've made it this far. I admire your persistence, Tribal. I guess I'll have to come quietly the-," Corroto began before Caleb cut him off with a pistol whip. Before Corroto had recovered enough to groan, Caleb had taken a fistfull of his hair and slammed him face-first into his desk. He pulled Corroto from the seat by his hair and kicked the office chair away. Obstacle removed, Caleb threw Corroto face-first into the back wall of the office. The mark suitably subdued, Caleb went about tying Corroto's hands and heaving him to his feet. He could have sworn he heard a muffled sob.

Caleb grabbed a hold of Corroto's collar and pointed his gun at the back of his head. It was time to get out of this place.
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HenchmenF
 
"Anyway. Then me and CP were like "Lul, wut?" and then Run had to step in and use his e-peen as a riot baton and then Doffa sorta left."

Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory)
Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align]
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Zilabus
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Rewards:
Quote:
 
Bill: Level up! 2 large hides!
Caleb: Level up! 2 large hides!
Eli "Slim" Ambrose
SPECIAL: 3, 9, 2, 7, 9, 3, 7
Level: 5
Bucket town reputation: -175
Equipment
Weaponry: Molotov, Cherry bombs, Combat Knife, Laser pistol, Tack Mines, Smoke grenades, Syringes.
Armor:Post-war suit Tattered leather jacket
Inventory
Homemade shotgun, Gumballs, Bedspread
Mentats x3, Psycho x2, Jet x1, Wiskey x2, vodka
4 1/2 x Hides, 15 LSB dollars
Appearance
Caucasian
Very tall, lanky, and slim, jet black hair in a greased into a subdued pompadore style. Dark eyes and a cleanshaven face. Brown Windowpane suit.

Kelly "Featherweight" Capozzi
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