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| As the Dust Settles . . .; . . . and the sun rises once more (solo) | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 11 2009, 06:56 AM (284 Views) | |
| Run4 | Nov 11 2009, 06:56 AM Post #1 |
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Iron Crow
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((As usual, solo thread broken up into several posts)) Caleb lay on a sturdy timber bunk, staring at the ceiling. His snow-shovel-like hands rested under his head, his feet were crossed at the far end of the bunk, his heavy boots soaked with blood from the massacre he inflicted on Corroto's gangsters two days previous. The man he captured in Corroto's office was in a makeshift cell under Gerade's church, being confessed by the Preacher himself. Caleb had washed and shaved most of his stubble. His beard was trimmed and his Dreadlocks were cut a little shorter by some strange barber Gerade had brought in. Apparently, Gerade wanted him looking somewhat respectable for something. Hadn't bothered to get Caleb's clothes cleaned though. Apparently, the Mad Monk, as Caleb had taken to calling him, wanted those to stay on Caleb's clothes as a reminder of the men he had butchered. Caleb flashed back to all he'd done for this town. Or, to be a little more accurate and a lot more honest, to this town. Breaking up the brawl in Bobo's. He'd put how many people in Nance's Infirmary? In theory, that was self defence. He'd told them to clear out, and then things got worse. Miguel's buddies? Likewise, life or death. He had dealt them some serious hurt. The one he'd hamstringed would never walk again. He'd tortured and executed Miguel. There was no way to pass it off as killing. There was no fight. No nothing. He'd shot Miguel between the eyes as his judge, jury and executioner. And then that last run for O'Boyle. Himself, Bill and Josef, who Caleb had barely had a chance to bury before being arrested, had done some serious harm to Corroto's operations, or so Caleb assumed. Caleb himself had killed more men than he dared count. He had massacred them. A rampage was all he could describe that action as. His guns and club were locked in a chest outside his cell. He'd kept his hard-knuckled gloves. He sighed and sat up, staring at the gate of his makeshift cell. The dirt floor, the pig iron bars of the cage, the tin roof, the stodgy timber wall behind him. He could break out of this place unarmed if he wanted to. Although he'd probably get shot by the guards. The idea of a breakout without his gear was getting less and less inviting all the time. He heard footsteps. He saw a pair of black-shod feet, topped by grey slacks, in turn mounted by a torso in a snappy jacket and clean white shirt. Topping it all off was a young-looking face with the look of a wizened old man in the eyes. That head wore a neat fedora. He looked the part of a leg-breaker. Caleb looked at the man's hands. Too smooth. Not enough callouses or cuts. He wasn't a hardened fighter. This guy had seen deaths, but he hadn't killed much. "The town is still recovering, Mister Wolff. We need peacemakers and peacekeepers. Father Gerade could use a man of your talents," said the stranger, with no small amount of contempt laced with the word talents. This guy detested Caleb's acts in Bucket Town. Caleb could relate. "My freedom in exchange for my trigger finger?" Caleb asked, raising his head and locking eyes with the man. The visitor shifted awkwardly, licking his lips nervously at Caleb's ferocious stare. "In a manner of speaking, yes. You may have your freedom for some services to the town. And then, between you and I, you will find some reason to leave, and you will leave," the visitor said, returning Caleb's angry look for just a second. "Is this bible-beater threatening me?" Caleb thought to himself, matching the man's look as he stood up, like a bear waking from hibernation. Do some work, then get the hell out of the town he had essentially freed from the grip of Corroto's mobsters (at an admittedly unnecessary level of bloodshed)? Caleb sighed. He wasn't this town's biggest fan, and this town was far from his biggest fan by now. "I'm in," Caleb growled. |
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Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory) Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align] | |
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| Run4 | Nov 11 2009, 11:31 AM Post #2 |
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Iron Crow
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Caleb stretched and paced, getting back into the rhythm of carrying his gear. They were still in the jailhouse, Caleb awaiting the visitor to prepare his briefing. He was shifting through a small folder, leafing through sheet after sheet. Some of them looked like nice jobs. Designs for common houses and a well. The visitor put that folder away, a little exasperatedly, and retrieved a new one. This one was thicker. It had pictures of people. Charcoal sketches of mean-looking folk with missing teeth and scars and tattoos. Unsavoury types who'd sell their own mothers for Jet money. Caleb folded his arms as he waited. He was trading a prison sentence for what amounted to more vigilantiism. Except this time, he'd have the Mayor behind him, rather than a wannabe sherrif. The stranger settled on a few sheets of paper. "Well, Mister Wolff, it looks like we have something that will suit you down to the ground. There are three brothers holed up in the remains of a villa not two miles southeast of Bucket Town. They are using the villa's basement to cook Methamphetamines for adding to Jet to make it more potent. It also makes it more addictive. They cannot be allowed to push these drugs into circulation. It will undo much of Gerade's good work from before the election," the visitor said. He handed Caleb the sheets of paper with an annoying smile. "We want you to evict them, in a manner of speaking." "Right, get in, shoot the trio, burn the place to the ground," Caleb said flatly. The visitor shuddered. Apparently, Caleb's cold attitude startled him a little. Caleb seemed to have hardened to murder. He looked over the sheaf of paper. Looked like an easy job. "How many guards have they hired and how heavily armed are they?" "Well, you are a perceptive one, Mister Wolff," the visitor said, sitting back, before continuing, "We don't know. An operation some of our workers performed would have crippled Jet trafficking in the region, or at least locally. Their income should have been heavily restricted as a result. If you are careful, you should not even need to reload that pistol. Gerade insisted we supply ammunition. A fresh magazine should suffice for each weapon, yes?" "Fine by me," Caleb said. He hadn't been expecting that at all. Gerade probably thought he'd emptied every gun he owned rampaging through Corroto's henchmen. Admittedly, his BAR was always short on ammunition, but he had plenty for his 10mm Pistol. This was an unexpected boon. Although it implied that Gerade expected stiff resistance at the villa. This job was looking less amazing every second. |
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Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory) Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align] | |
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| Run4 | Nov 14 2009, 06:28 AM Post #3 |
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Iron Crow
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Caleb walked back out into the sun, for the first time in two days. He blinked and winced. His cell didn't have any windows, and was down the back of the makeshift jail. The sun was painfully bright on this surprisingly cold morning. Caleb winced as he stepped out into the town, to some dirty looks and a few approving looks. Others responded like a wild animal had just been let loose among them. They walked quickly in some other direction. Caleb scratched his head, popped his knuckles and neck, and then looked at the map the visitor had given him. "So, fella, what's the timeframe for the job?" Caleb asked. No response from the visitor. Caleb looked up and repeated the question in case the visitor hadn't heard him. Caleb turned a full 360. The visitor, Caleb's only goddamn lead on this job, had just disappeared. He might as well have sunk into the dirty street for all the traces he left. Caleb shook his head and walked towards the town gates. Stragely, the prison sentence, though cut short, had given Caleb some time for R&R and a bit of bed rest. He felt better than he had all through the weeks of working for O'Boyle. That or whatever god there was, America that Was or the Corps, or whatever god Gerade believed in, was giving him a little jump-start. Caleb quickened his step. He wated to catch these Meth Burners off-guard, early morning, preferably with the sun behind him. He unslung his BAR from his back as he walked out through the town gates, drawing a horrified look from one of the guards. He nodded to the other, recognising him as another of O'Boyle's hunters. So some of them had stayed in the town. Caleb oriented himself with the town and the two visible mesas illustrated on the map. It dawned on him that he kew where this Villa was. He'd scouted the place for a fat little guy in a suit five years ago and cleared it of a Mole Rat infestation. "Fuck!" Caleb thought, "I helped these guys!" Caleb growled. This had just become very personal. He had helped these guys, inadvertantly, and they had supplied Bucket Town, and no doubt Corroto, with a more addictive form of Jet. Caleb was sickened that he had helped Corroto, his de facto nemesis. He took off at a light jog, noticing what had once been agonizing muscle pain in his legs fade to a dull remnant of what they had been. His shoulder had been given some time to heal without constant action and was but a shadow of the excruciating wound it had once been. Hell, Gerade's "police" had even given him some decent medical treatment to keep him alive, no doubt to employ him for this job. Caleb stopped in his tracks. Was he going to be one of the first of some kind of Special Branch police officers in Bucket Town. He grunted. Permanent employement wasn't all that appealing to him. His wanderlust would drive him insane if all he did was patrol Bucket Town and crack ganger and animal targets too tough for the retacops in the town to handle. Not if that visitor booted him out of the town anyway. Caleb shrugged off the idea and got moving again. He was approaching the train yard where he had tortured Miguel. He walked through those old chain link gates, sighing at the sight of the rusting hulks of freight trains and the faded glory of the Texan Express. America that Was. Heaven for Caleb's Tribe. These things were still alive and kicking like mules there. Caleb shook off the notions of the afterlife and moved along, looking away from the shed where he had tortured Miguel as he passed it. The less he thought about that, the better. He flexed his hands around the chainlinks as he reached the fence at the back of the train yard. He had forgotten someone had added a padlock the size of a child to the gate at some point, and it was now rusted shut beyond the ability of any lockpicker to break. Caleb slung his BAR again, feeling suddenly naked without the brutal power of that gun in his hands any more. Then, with a nerve-jangling burst of speed and agility, especially for a man of his size, Caleb scaled hand-over-hand up the twelve foot fence and vaulted the top, not using his feet even once. He landed in a crouch, drawing his BAR as he touched ground. Nothing watching. He stood up and started walking again, following a stony ridge that would eventually shield him from view of the villa. He was resting his BAR over his shoulder now, walking in great, easy strides. It wouldn't be long before he was back doing what people assumed he did best. Breaking heads and ventilating chests. |
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Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory) Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align] | |
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| Run4 | Nov 18 2009, 08:07 AM Post #4 |
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Iron Crow
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Caleb settled himself in a small rocky outcrop a little bit off from the north corner of the villa. He squinted to get a better look at the upstairs windows. Nothing. He counted three heavies outside. Real squadie types. Thick-set bullish men with more guns than common sense. One of them held onto a nice Carbine, while the other had a tatty-looking Rifle rested over his shoulders. He couldn't see what the third one was carrying. One was stood at each visible corner of the villa, which probably meant there'd be another at the corner he couldn't see, and maybe two at the front doors. Six men at least. Caleb wasn't removing people for Gerade. He was slaughtering them. He eased the safety off his BAR, setting it to that one click someone had added beyond burst fire. Single shot mode. Probably added by some special forces veteran at some point. Caleb knew those guys aimed with machineguns for effective fire, rather than suppression. He sat back, resting his gun on the rock in front of him as he stared down the sights at one of the men at the far corners. The Eastern Guard. Compensating for the drop, what little drop there'd be at this range, Caleb took a deep breath and touched the trigger. As he exhaled, he gently pulled the trigger back, producing the BAR's characteristic roar and splattering the unfortunate guard's skull. He dropped flat to the ground as the North Guard looked in his direction. Didn't doge fast enough. He heard the crack of a carbine and the boom of a rifle as bullets chipped his cover and showered him with little chunks of broken stone. Caleb flicked the fire selector up to burst fire. No sense trying to aim the thing like a rifle if there were people shooting at him. Caleb sat up when he heard the sound of an M1 Garand ping on empty. He aimed as quickly as he could and fired a burst. Only one bullet hit the mark, winging the guard and spinning him to the ground. A shot grazed Caleb's forearm, skimming the flesh and barely missing his face. The second one had flanked while his friend kept him pinned. Caleb rolled and fired a haphazard burst from the hip. The BAR was a little light to be easily controlled on burst and full automatic. No chance of hitting the wide side of a barn with a snap shot like that. He shifted awkwardly, squeezing through a gap in the rocks he had been using for cover as the one with the carbine kept his head down. Caleb fired another burst on the fly to keep the carbine weilder pinned while he relocated. Just in time for a burst of fire from a Bren Gun to chatter around him. He dropped flat to the ground, feeling where one bullet had grazed his shoulder, and where another had somehow clipped his upper arm without hitting his chest in the process. He swore, rolled and fired a burst at the Carbine shooter, catching him out of cover. By some miracle, all five shots hit him, blasting his chest apart and severing his spine. The body fell to the ground, cut in two through the chest. Caleb rolled back into cover. He was in no mood to get into a machinegun duel with the fourth man to arrive. He slung his BAR and drew his 10mm Pistol. He popped cover and squeezed off two shots in quick track, flattening the approaching machinegunner with two to the chest. Caleb vaulted his rocky cover, winching as the bullet grazes bled down his left arm. The one with the rifle, who had been winged earlier, was lying on the ground, pale, taking quick, shallow breaths. Shock. He wouldn't last long. Caleb planted a foot on his chest, pointed his gun between the man's eyes, and jumped back as the gurgling man tried to stab his foot. Caleb roared and fired three times into the man's chest. Caleb shrugged and started moving around the side of the house, pistol held in two hands. That had been too easy. Although, if Gerade had cracked down on these guys before, and they were only getting back onto their feet, that was probably going to be the worst he'd have to deal with. |
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Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory) Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align] | |
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| Run4 | Nov 24 2009, 08:45 AM Post #5 |
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Iron Crow
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Caleb took a deep breath as he stepped up to the doors of the villa. He leaned against them for a second, listening for any sounds inside. Nothing. People probably hiding or already pulling a runner out through some window. Caleb sighed and took two steps back. He held his gun up level and then surged forward, kicking through the decaying doors and bursting into the atrium in a shower of rotting splinters and dust. The place stank to high heaven. Nothing moving. Caleb scanned the atrium and a room off to the right. He heard something behind him. Caleb spun to face it, raising his BAR. . . . CLICK . . . Caleb's eyes widened. How many shots was that outside? Was his mag already empty? Twenty bullets on four men? "Oh hell no . . ." Caleb thought as he saw the lighter attached to the paint gun. A flamethrower in a Meth Lab? Caleb wasn't into drugs, but he knew this stuff burned like there was no tomorrow. Just how desperate were these people to make it out of here alive. Caleb rushed backwards as fire erupted from the gun at him. He kicked the door shut as he sprinted through. He heard a whoosh outside. Smoke leaked under the door as the place went up like a match. No windows in this room. Only one door out. Caleb stood at the back of the room, reloading furiously. He sprayed the door as the handle turned. The door was already starting to crumble as the tortured timber gave way to the heat of the flames. Caleb gagged as smoke flooded the room when the body fell against and through the door. Dropping to a crouch, Caleb rushed back out into the now-flaming atrium and bulled through a door leading towards the back of the Villa. He knew those rooms had big windows (he'd shattered one in the gunfight outside). Meant less smoke, and an easy out if he had to bolt. |
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Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory) Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align] | |
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| Run4 | Nov 30 2009, 08:14 AM Post #6 |
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Iron Crow
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Caleb slammed the door shut behind him, coughing and spluttering as he staggered to the shattered window, taking in merciful gulps of clean air as he stuck his head out through the shattered pane. Grabbing the nearest heavy object, a chair, Caleb moved to the next window and launched the chair through it, creating another outlet for the smoke and another inlet for clean air. He had a moment of revelation. "Air flow. In a burning building. Smooth move Caleb!" he thought as the flames in the hallway beyond roared louder. The heat from the far side of the room intensified as chunks of plaster dropped from the ceiling, followed by lumps fallen from burning beams. The door burst inwards. Two men, one thrashing as his shirt burned. Both froze on sight of Caleb, who was halfway through raising his 10mm to fire. One of them went left, the other went right. Caleb followed the bigger one with his aim, firing twice. Both shots only grazed the man, but he went down nonetheless, clutching at his shoulder. Maybe that one was worse than it looked. It was Caleb's turn to dive as he heard the oh-so-familiar fwock-fwock-fwock of a hatchet spinning through the air towards him. Caleb dropped, as the Hatchet embedded itself in the wondow frame where his head had been a second ago, burying itself in the timber with a dull thunk. Caleb fired one last shot at the downed Meth Burner, this time clipping his head and smearing it across the burning floor. Caleb rolled away from a stomp as the other man attacked him. Caleb holstered his pistol and drew his club, backing towards the centre of the room as the Meth Burner swung his newly-recovered hatchet wildly. Caleb sidestepped the man, taking advantage of his reach and striking into his floating ribs. The Meth Burner swung his hatchet up instinctively, catching the edge of Caleb's gunstock club just below the elbow. With Caleb's weight and strength behind the strike, his elbow broke. His hatchet fell to the ground with a clunk. Before he could recover, Caleb had broken his left leg at the knee with a follow-up strike. He fell to the ground, sobbing and mumbling as Caleb stood over him. Caleb pulled the man's grounded hatchet from the floor, looked the Meth Burner in the eyes and shook his head. Caleb turned and jogged to the window, turning and waving a mock salute at the crippled, helpless Meth Burner as he lay begging in the middle of the burning room. Caleb planted his foot on the windowsill and jumped out into the clean air. He smelled the smoke and the meth. The Burners were finished now. He looked at the hatchet in his hand, debating whether or not to keep it as he turned to head back to Bucket Town. Looking at the blood-induced rust on the edge of the blade, Caleb decided against keeping the hatchet, throwing it down into the sand. He'd get his reward from Gerade, do some law-giving, and get out of Bucket Town. |
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Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory) Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align] | |
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| Run4 | Nov 30 2009, 09:12 AM Post #7 |
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Iron Crow
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Short, I know, but ready for grading. |
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Caleb Wolff, Level 7 Tribal Ranger. (Inventory) Jackal, Level 5 Glowing Ghoul. (Inventory)[/align] | |
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| Zilabus | Dec 5 2009, 05:28 PM Post #8 |
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Er'ry day I'm overseein'
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Your rusted Mounted machine gun is now in good condition! It fires more accurately, has less jams, and loads easier then the common version of it. Put a (Good) tag next to it in your inventory, and let it be known to the wordl! |
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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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