The Warring States of NPF - View Single Post

DFM · 08-10-2008, 03:34 AM

It is very late and I am very tired. There are probably like shit ton of instances of me saying things like "Gablar went hedd in to buldig" but man UGH/

I meet Jack at the end of the maintenance tunnels, just below the warehouse. He's laughing.

"Fucking humans. Gang Bangers protecting their turf. I'm busting my ass, thinkin' a damn company of Sabbat are moving up here and it's the fucking locals about to take one for the hood."

"So we leave them?"

"Nah, they probably seen too much. Here, take this. Fuckin' peashooter but it'll take down a human."

I drop the tire iron and take the gun.

"I don't use guns much, they're noisy, they're clumsy, practically useless against vampires but whaddareya gonna do? Kindred's gotta keep up with the times."

Smith & Wesson Model 36 Revolver. Carbon steel frame. Nickel finish. Three inch barrel. Thirty eight caliber. Six round cylinder. Lethal range of twenty three meters. Commonly used by law enforcement, security personnel and private, undead citizens.

I've moved a few.

I walk past Jack towards the service elevator at the end of the hall.

"I'm gonna want it back, so don't go dying on me."

I press the button for ground floor when Jack's words start to sink in.

Humans.

It's funny. I've got the blood of at least fifty thousand people on my hands. Civilians, soldiers, men, women and children from every race and creed and economic background you can imagine. But I've never actually fired a gun at a living thing.

The doors slide open with only the slightest whine. Rationally, I know, this doesn't really make me any more of a murderer than I already am. In fact, self defense is probably far nobler a form of bloodshed than war profiteering. But I still can't shake the feeling that I'm crossing a line. That somehow this will make me a worse person than I already am. I turn a corner around a rack of boxes and come face to face with one of the thugs Jack mentioned. He shouts and starts to raise a baseball bat. I'm startled. I fire and my shot misses wildly. My skin hardens again. The Louisville slugger bounces off my arm and I can feel a sting come from what might otherwise have been a broken bone. The immunity inflates my confidence and I calmly level the revolver with both hands, lining up the iron sights. He's still clubbing his toy against my side.

He twitches on the ground for just a moment. I don't feel anything. Just a dull ache in my side. I'm not sure how worried I should be about that.

I turn down another aisle and see a second man raising a gun towards me. I'm already in a firing stance, and I've got the luxury of time to aim.

He doesn't twitch like the first one. Just lies there. I hear Jack shout, and I turn around.

"The Sabbat's falling back into the city and the rest of the humans are making a run for it. most of them right into the Sabbat. Poor bastards. Haha."

"So that's it? It's over?"

"Yeah. Well, until the Camarilla marshals together for a counter attack on the Sabbat. Then until the Sabbat counter-counter attack. Dodge and parry and thrust and all that."

"...Is it always like this?"

"Well, actually, you've joined the party at... well, at an interesting time. Let's just say that."

There's the blare of a car horn from outside the warehouse.

"Ah, Christ. Sounds like they're waiting for you. Don't worry about the driver, he's a friend of mine. I was hoping to fill you in a little more but... hell, you handled yourself decent enough, you should be okay if you keep your head. Meet me at the Last Round once you're done with your little merit badge test. We'll swap life stories."

Chapter One: Santa Monica

I've been given an apartment by the undead king of Los Angeles, one Sebastian LaCroix. I'm not sure if it was supposed to be charity or an insult. The news on the cab ride to Santa Monica hadn't helped anything. The DRS launched a major military offensive into South Sarahni and wiped out three NATO bases and the US embassy in the very first wave of strategic attacks. A lot of dead soldiers and a lot of dead dignitaries. The US needed a scapegoat and since they were our missiles, we won the ballet. The company was shut down, half the board were in jail or under house arrest. They found me dead in my bedroom of a self inflicted gunshot wound. I don't know how, but I'm pretty sure the Prince and his ilk were behind it. The government seized all our holdings, froze all our assets and probably already sold off our inventory to whatever compliant dictatorships they're keeping in power these days. It took me seventeen years to build that company from nothing and twenty four hours to lose it. To go from a penthouse in every major city on the globe to a cockroach infested hovel on the outskirts of Santa Monica's urban decay.

Not to mention I'm actually technically dead, I think.

I stand by a pile of disease that might once have been a mattress and for a long time I do nothing but stare out the window while a late night radio DJ blathers the background. Eventually I step away. It doesn't matter. If I built a company out of nothing, I can build an empire from its ashes.

This time I've got an eternity to do it.

First thing's first.

I don't know if I like that.

I head out the door and down the hall. The main door of the apartment building exits into an adjoining alley. I follow it up to the street, and I catch someone dragging themselves up a flight of stairs.

I turn the corner.

Twenty four. Fuck me.

I pass through the unlocked double doors and follow the trail of blood inside.

Fuck me.

08-10-2008, 03:34 AM	#150
DFM Om Nom Nom Join Date: Sep 2005 Posts: 3,850	Wherefore art thou, Mercurio? It is very late and I am very tired. There are probably like shit ton of instances of me saying things like "Gablar went hedd in to buldig" but man UGH/ I meet Jack at the end of the maintenance tunnels, just below the warehouse. He's laughing. "Fucking humans. Gang Bangers protecting their turf. I'm busting my ass, thinkin' a damn company of Sabbat are moving up here and it's the fucking locals about to take one for the hood." "So we leave them?" "Nah, they probably seen too much. Here, take this. Fuckin' peashooter but it'll take down a human." I drop the tire iron and take the gun. "I don't use guns much, they're noisy, they're clumsy, practically useless against vampires but whaddareya gonna do? Kindred's gotta keep up with the times." Smith & Wesson Model 36 Revolver. Carbon steel frame. Nickel finish. Three inch barrel. Thirty eight caliber. Six round cylinder. Lethal range of twenty three meters. Commonly used by law enforcement, security personnel and private, undead citizens. I've moved a few. I walk past Jack towards the service elevator at the end of the hall. "I'm gonna want it back, so don't go dying on me." I press the button for ground floor when Jack's words start to sink in. Humans. It's funny. I've got the blood of at least fifty thousand people on my hands. Civilians, soldiers, men, women and children from every race and creed and economic background you can imagine. But I've never actually fired a gun at a living thing. The doors slide open with only the slightest whine. Rationally, I know, this doesn't really make me any more of a murderer than I already am. In fact, self defense is probably far nobler a form of bloodshed than war profiteering. But I still can't shake the feeling that I'm crossing a line. That somehow this will make me a worse person than I already am. I turn a corner around a rack of boxes and come face to face with one of the thugs Jack mentioned. He shouts and starts to raise a baseball bat. I'm startled. I fire and my shot misses wildly. My skin hardens again. The Louisville slugger bounces off my arm and I can feel a sting come from what might otherwise have been a broken bone. The immunity inflates my confidence and I calmly level the revolver with both hands, lining up the iron sights. He's still clubbing his toy against my side. He twitches on the ground for just a moment. I don't feel anything. Just a dull ache in my side. I'm not sure how worried I should be about that. I turn down another aisle and see a second man raising a gun towards me. I'm already in a firing stance, and I've got the luxury of time to aim. He doesn't twitch like the first one. Just lies there. I hear Jack shout, and I turn around. "The Sabbat's falling back into the city and the rest of the humans are making a run for it. most of them right into the Sabbat. Poor bastards. Haha." "So that's it? It's over?" "Yeah. Well, until the Camarilla marshals together for a counter attack on the Sabbat. Then until the Sabbat counter-counter attack. Dodge and parry and thrust and all that." "...Is it always like this?" "Well, actually, you've joined the party at... well, at an interesting time. Let's just say that." There's the blare of a car horn from outside the warehouse. "Ah, Christ. Sounds like they're waiting for you. Don't worry about the driver, he's a friend of mine. I was hoping to fill you in a little more but... hell, you handled yourself decent enough, you should be okay if you keep your head. Meet me at the Last Round once you're done with your little merit badge test. We'll swap life stories." Chapter One: Santa Monica I've been given an apartment by the undead king of Los Angeles, one Sebastian LaCroix. I'm not sure if it was supposed to be charity or an insult. The news on the cab ride to Santa Monica hadn't helped anything. The DRS launched a major military offensive into South Sarahni and wiped out three NATO bases and the US embassy in the very first wave of strategic attacks. A lot of dead soldiers and a lot of dead dignitaries. The US needed a scapegoat and since they were our missiles, we won the ballet. The company was shut down, half the board were in jail or under house arrest. They found me dead in my bedroom of a self inflicted gunshot wound. I don't know how, but I'm pretty sure the Prince and his ilk were behind it. The government seized all our holdings, froze all our assets and probably already sold off our inventory to whatever compliant dictatorships they're keeping in power these days. It took me seventeen years to build that company from nothing and twenty four hours to lose it. To go from a penthouse in every major city on the globe to a cockroach infested hovel on the outskirts of Santa Monica's urban decay. Not to mention I'm actually technically dead, I think. I stand by a pile of disease that might once have been a mattress and for a long time I do nothing but stare out the window while a late night radio DJ blathers the background. Eventually I step away. It doesn't matter. If I built a company out of nothing, I can build an empire from its ashes. This time I've got an eternity to do it. First thing's first. I don't know if I like that. I head out the door and down the hall. The main door of the apartment building exits into an adjoining alley. I follow it up to the street, and I catch someone dragging themselves up a flight of stairs. I turn the corner. Twenty four. Fuck me. I pass through the unlocked double doors and follow the trail of blood inside. Fuck me. __________________ [14:26] ManoftheRus: YOU GODDAMN SNEAKY DEE Last edited by DFM; 08-10-2008 at 03:43 AM.