Re: DEATHGAME 9000 [S!3] Round One: Gamexus X99
02-23-2012, 01:31 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by momatoes.
With a grunt, the two pushed the cabinet against the doorway. Cigarette ash crumpled underfoot, the sudden explosion of dust causing Jolene to cough uncontrollably. "Nice shop you've got," she panted. "Real world-class."
The man spat in reply. "Missus would've cleaned this out but -" he stopped, wiping his mouth with a dirty arm. "Anyway, what the hell do you care?" He turned to look at her, glowering from within the folds of fat that made his face. "You come in, ruin my store, make one big freaking ruckus - do you know how those bastards operate? They hunt you down when they see you, when they hear you, little missy. And now we're like one big honking target for those freaks."
"I'm sorry," Jolene said.
There was an awkward silence.
The man, with eyebags to match Jolene's own, meandered back to the rest of the room. A single, low light illuminated the wracked mess that decorated the floor. Ammo boxes, used casings, bullet shells. Cigarette stubs, twisted like dancers frozen in mid-jump. A long bar dominated the eastern side of the shop, with shelves at the back acting as resting places for rifles. Light traveled across its edges, reminding her of her own vulnerability. She could barely feel the steel of her own gun, strapped and tucked in her waist. But God.
One whole city, overrun with monsters. No guns were enough.
She took a deep breath, and approached the shopkeep. "Again, I'm sorry. I should introduce myself. My name is Jolene Kamiensky and I'm..." She paused, struggling. "I'm with the police. Undercover...undercover detective. I didn't know anything about Raccoon."
"Figures," he replied. The stool made a screeching sound as he dragged it across the floor. He sat down. "Media blackout's happened. Right before all the TVs died, they were trying to contain us all in. Keep this a dirty secret. Damn democrats."
He made a short grunt. "With the police, huh? You've got your work cut out for you. I've told you. We're overrun with these zombie things." The shopkeep rubbed his face, somehow spreading the grime and dirt even more. "Truth be told, you surprised me. I would've shot you, you know." His hand made a stabbing motion towards the armaments on display.
Jolene stayed quiet. She stared blankly at the bar, her gaze coming to rest on a patched-up frame. The glass was broken, and the frame blended in with the rest of the city's disrepair, but the picture was startlingly clear.
"Do you have a family, mister...?" she asked. Softly.
"Joe, call me Joe, I don't give a rat's ass what you call me. And no," he said, standing up and snatching the framed photograph. "I ain't got a family, I ain't got anyone in this condemned shithole." There was a sound of glass breaking as Joe dropped it into a trashcan. "I'm the only one left, you hear me? You hear me?"
"Yeah, Joe. Yeah, I hear you," Jolene replied, staring at the face of a smiling woman, peering from the lost edges of the bin.
* * *
"Split up. Find survivors. Find anything. No -- split into three. Spread out."
The Others went their way throughout the roads, faces tilting at the sight of the half-rotted figures mindlessly making their way. Slinking, lurching, crawling, the three moved among the undead, covering east, north, and west of the gun shop. There was nothing to see that Jolene herself hadn't already witnessed, but for the Others, it was mildly entertaining. If only they had popcorn to complement the ordeal.
One of them stopped. Sniffed. Something was happening. Mists were rolling in, helicopter rotors thrummed against the sky (wait--did something fall?) gangsters suddenly appeared out of nowhere, but the thing that interested the Other most was the motorcycle whizzing by.
Hot damn, it thought. It started running, all limbs akimbo, quickly following the speeding teenager. "Jolene, I've got something. Something about to go wrong. In a funny way. In a very funny way."
With a grunt, the two pushed the cabinet against the doorway. Cigarette ash crumpled underfoot, the sudden explosion of dust causing Jolene to cough uncontrollably. "Nice shop you've got," she panted. "Real world-class."
The man spat in reply. "Missus would've cleaned this out but -" he stopped, wiping his mouth with a dirty arm. "Anyway, what the hell do you care?" He turned to look at her, glowering from within the folds of fat that made his face. "You come in, ruin my store, make one big freaking ruckus - do you know how those bastards operate? They hunt you down when they see you, when they hear you, little missy. And now we're like one big honking target for those freaks."
"I'm sorry," Jolene said.
There was an awkward silence.
The man, with eyebags to match Jolene's own, meandered back to the rest of the room. A single, low light illuminated the wracked mess that decorated the floor. Ammo boxes, used casings, bullet shells. Cigarette stubs, twisted like dancers frozen in mid-jump. A long bar dominated the eastern side of the shop, with shelves at the back acting as resting places for rifles. Light traveled across its edges, reminding her of her own vulnerability. She could barely feel the steel of her own gun, strapped and tucked in her waist. But God.
One whole city, overrun with monsters. No guns were enough.
She took a deep breath, and approached the shopkeep. "Again, I'm sorry. I should introduce myself. My name is Jolene Kamiensky and I'm..." She paused, struggling. "I'm with the police. Undercover...undercover detective. I didn't know anything about Raccoon."
"Figures," he replied. The stool made a screeching sound as he dragged it across the floor. He sat down. "Media blackout's happened. Right before all the TVs died, they were trying to contain us all in. Keep this a dirty secret. Damn democrats."
He made a short grunt. "With the police, huh? You've got your work cut out for you. I've told you. We're overrun with these zombie things." The shopkeep rubbed his face, somehow spreading the grime and dirt even more. "Truth be told, you surprised me. I would've shot you, you know." His hand made a stabbing motion towards the armaments on display.
Jolene stayed quiet. She stared blankly at the bar, her gaze coming to rest on a patched-up frame. The glass was broken, and the frame blended in with the rest of the city's disrepair, but the picture was startlingly clear.
"Do you have a family, mister...?" she asked. Softly.
"Joe, call me Joe, I don't give a rat's ass what you call me. And no," he said, standing up and snatching the framed photograph. "I ain't got a family, I ain't got anyone in this condemned shithole." There was a sound of glass breaking as Joe dropped it into a trashcan. "I'm the only one left, you hear me? You hear me?"
"Yeah, Joe. Yeah, I hear you," Jolene replied, staring at the face of a smiling woman, peering from the lost edges of the bin.
* * *
"Split up. Find survivors. Find anything. No -- split into three. Spread out."
The Others went their way throughout the roads, faces tilting at the sight of the half-rotted figures mindlessly making their way. Slinking, lurching, crawling, the three moved among the undead, covering east, north, and west of the gun shop. There was nothing to see that Jolene herself hadn't already witnessed, but for the Others, it was mildly entertaining. If only they had popcorn to complement the ordeal.
One of them stopped. Sniffed. Something was happening. Mists were rolling in, helicopter rotors thrummed against the sky (wait--did something fall?) gangsters suddenly appeared out of nowhere, but the thing that interested the Other most was the motorcycle whizzing by.
Hot damn, it thought. It started running, all limbs akimbo, quickly following the speeding teenager. "Jolene, I've got something. Something about to go wrong. In a funny way. In a very funny way."