The Last Stand


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Day 366 :
Mass panic is still ensuing throughout the world and many riots and revolts have been reported along with the typical pick pockets and mercenaries. The White House is in smoldering ruins still with no attempt to rebuild it in a year, and once again i find myself sitting in a run down bar trying to drown my troubles with another glass of whiskey. Its getting late but still more troubled souls flock around the bar listening to stories of the past. The past....when the world was still stable without every country fighting to the death and unions toppling every single time you turn your head. When you didn't have to live in fear and when you didn't have to bolt your doors and sleep with your gun loaded. "Bartender! Another glass over here!" I said with a drunken shout. As soon as i could snap a glass slid across the table into my hand. "Thank you." "Don't mention it, i've been in your situation many times, another glass won't do the trick but it will set you free for a few blissful minutes and keep me rich, enjoy."

Day 367 : He was right, i thought to myself as i lay sprawled in a back alley with my many wounds bleeding over the cobbles and mixing with the dirt. That sure was a fight last night, i thought. As soon as the pain ceased i stood up and limped away to my small shack in the worst part of town. As soon as i walked through the battered gates leading into the west side i heard the familiar screams and shouts of this infamous district that i call home. As soon as I reached the door of my house i was already feeling better. Who knows? Maybe i'd be out of here and with my family again. "Fat chance." I muttered.


Character Sheet :

Character Class : (Mercenary/Rioter/Slave/Bartender/Ruffian/Wanderer/Cyborg/Politician)
Weapon :
Age :
Items :
Name :
Biography :


Enjoy the RP :)


Character Class : Mercenary
Weapon : mp5 sd
Age : 30
Items : A water canteen, a bag to put his food in, and a knife.
Name : Michael
Biography : was born in USA.
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Character Class : (Mercenary/Rioter/Slave/Bartender/Ruffian-Wanderer/Cyborg/Politician)

Weapon : A Revolver and a Machete.

Age : 38

Items : A backpack which holds a pocket knife a rifle and some food along with a sleeping bag.

Name : Jim.

Biography : He was born an outcast and a fighter. His parents did not care for him at all and ignored him constantly until he decided to run away with his girlfriend at age 17. Soon they found an abandoned house in the wilderness of Wyoming. They settled down there and lived a happy life until he was separated from his wife and 2 boys in the great bombing of 2019. Now he is a heavy drinker and brawler living in one of the worst parts of the ruins of New York City.


Day 368 : Darkness had just fell on New York City. I stumbled through the cloak of blackness drunk as usual after another wild night. I heard footsteps behind me in the darkness, I spun around and drew my gun. "Watch where your pointing that" "Who the hell are you!" "Hired gun. And I would like to ask the same of you" "Alcoholic. Fighter. Wanderer. In one word I'm a loser." "Hey mate, i've been were you were millions of times, If you want to get out of this slump just come with me mate." "Why not, what do I have to lose." "Ok then, want to come to my place" "Sure, but first let me get my things, its time i bust out of my shack" "ok. meet me back here in 15" "Understood" I didn't know who this guy was or anything about him for that matter yet i was agreeing to drop it all and come with him? "yeah I drank to much tonight" I muttered. As soon as I had all my belongings packed up in my backpack I walked back to the alley where I met this strange man. He was there. As soon as he saw me he said "Come on follow me." "So whats your name mate?" "Jim" "Michael" "Charmed"
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Character Class: Wanderer
Weapon: 44. Magnum Revolver and Double-barrelled shotgun.
Age: 27
Items: Swiss Army Knife, Water, Food, Binoculars & Rope.
Name: Alan
Bio: Alan was born in Ireland, but at the age of 13 move to America. His parents were killed in a bar fight when he was 17 and from that time on wards he was alone. Even he doesn't remember the last few years.


Character Class: Rioter
Weapons: MAC-10, Combat Knife, Tire Iron
Age : 27
Items : Carries a battered satchel in which are; a Bottle of whiskey, Zippo, lighter fluid, mobile phone, an assortment of electronic components, small tool kit containing; Pliers, screwdrivers, soldering iron, wire cutters
Name : Ray "Spider" Bannerman
Description: 5'8" with a shaved head, Spider's face and body is covered with scars and he is missing several teeth from his numerous brawls. He has the Anarchy symbol tatoo'd on his forehead, and several other tattoo's (mainly of spiders and webs) on several other parts of his body.
He is dressed in a pair of faded jeans, a black t-shirt, combat jacket and a pair of steel toe capped boots.
Biography : An Anarchist, Spider revelled at the fall of society seeing it as the ultimate collaspe of the Neo fascist oppressors leaving the way open for the survivors to take control and pave the way for the New Dawn.
A member of member of the radical group "Golden Dawn" Spider see's it as his duty to cause as much chaos as humanly possible in order bring about his groups aim.
Day 368
Straining to see in the darkness, I quickly spliced the two wires together, a gap toothed grin spreading across my ugly mug when the red LED sprung to life.
"Hurry up Spider the damn pigs are getting closer!" I shoot a glare over at the seveteen year old kid i was lumbered with, well if he didn't shut his damn mouth then i would shut it for him. "Quit you're whining i am done!" i called across to him as i placed the bundle of crudely soldered circuitry into the vent, this place is going to go up like the Forth of July.
Grabbing my bag i follow the kid across the street trying hard to supress the laughter bubbling up my throat, i always get the giggles when i am about to blow something up.
Stumbling into the darkened alley, the Kobra Kid as he calls himself close at my heels i pull out the mobile phone and start to dial "Let me set it off Spider...Please let me do it" I shoot the kid another glare there was no way in hell he was going to steal my fun, pressing the send call button I watch as the side of the building explodes, a maelstrom of fire, smoke and flying rubble "The whole cities gonna hear that" I laugh as the pigs the kid mentioned earlier came running "Time to go kid" and with that i ran out into the night
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Day 368 : As soon as me and Michael had found a steady pace the whole city rocked and buildings shook until a deafening boom reached us. It was so loud it blew us backwards. "What the hell was that!" screamed Michael over the roar. "I don't know and I don't care, it isn't anywhere near us!" "Ok then" Michael said as we trudged on. After many slow minutes of walking through the dark dangerous and destroyed city we finally reached Michaels house. It was a gigantic mansion in one of the most high-class area of the city. As we approached its golden gates with the family crest branded into them Michael said "Welcome" and drew his gun "You arrogant drunkard fool, meet your death!"


Walking the darkened streets the smell of burning in our nostrils and the scream of sirens all around us we laughed together passing around a bottle of cheap whiskey. After the blast the Kobra Kid and myself had ran like the wind, coppers didn't pause between shouting stop police! and shooting these days, it was safer that way so boys like us found it wise to avoid them altogether.
We had met up with two other colleagues of ours one "Kill Joy" Malone a tall scruffy Irishman with bad breath and an even worse attitude and Goat Boy a twenty year old kid with a fixation with the devil, his greatest ambition was to get himself a pair of prosthetic horns, a pretty dumb idea if you ask me but hey I am not a satanist.
We walked slowly into the up market part of town fully intent on robbing some snobs mansion, no doubt there'd corporate soldiers but we were all packing so it didn't worry us.
Up ahead of us we spotted two guys outside one of the houses, quickly raising my hand I silenced the others just as one of them drew a gun on the other one "Hey do you think that guys going to waste the other one...cos...that'll be cool" Goat Boy whispered the Kobra Kid giggled drunkenly behind me "it would but i have a better idea" I said the gap tooth grin spreading once again.
Drawing the MAC-10 from my bag I approached them my crue following just behind me.
"Good Evening my fine fellows" I said in my best upper class accent the boys snickering behind me "Now be a good fellow and drop the iron...yes you... thats a good boy" with my gun covering the two shocked men Goat boy quickly grabbed the mans gun from the ground "Now we're going to play a little game...the first one to stick the other guy with this" I said producing the combat knife from my boot and tossing it to ground between them "...Doesn't get slotted...alright?... Sound fair?"


Day 368 : A trigger was pulled, a bullet whistled through the air and pierced through my soft flesh. Then a smoking gun was slowly whisked back into its holster. Then nothing. I awoke in a small room with my head resting on a stack of pillows. I heard footsteps and voices all around me and felt a searing pain. "That damned Michael!" I cursed him with all my heart. I had been such a fool to actually believe that good for nothing mercenary, all he wanted was my money, the little i had. As soon as i settled back down a young nurse walked into the room, her high heels clicking across the tiled floor. "Well what do we have here, it seems your awake so we must get you some food, i'll only be a minute" I was one lucky man to be alive right now, most would just lay there unnoticed until death decided to put them out of there misery. I'm gonna be stuck in here for a long time


After Michael entered his house, His three Doberman dogs came running welcoming him. " hey guys...did you miss me?" He went to the refrigerator, took out some meat, and gave it to the dogs. " Yah! rip those things! I hope you rip the people who break in the house like that!". He then went to his armory, took out a sniper rifle, and went down to his basement to shoot dishes. " one..two...three.." He was counting how many dishes he shot until he misses once. " fifty one! New record baby!" He yelled, then started over. While shooting he was thinking to him self," Damm...I really hurt that fool badly, I feel sorry for him. He was the first and will be the last drunken person I steal from, Maybe I have to go visit him sometimes. And how in the hell did he get all of that money? $5000? I hope he's not hurt badly..cause I could use a chuck like him. I even will pay for his surgery if he needs one, or pay him even." Then he stopped shooting and went up stairs. " stay here fellows, I have a job to do!" He kissed his dogs, got into his BMW, and went looking for JIM in the hospitals near him.
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Day 370 : I had been in the hospital cooped up in my room for 2 days now and was about to lose it when i heard a soft knock on my doors then i heard the handle turn and in walked Michael. "What in blazes are you doing here! You've already stolen what little i had!" "Cool it, i won't hurt you. I came here to say sorry." "Fat lot of good that will do." "You didn't let me finish." he said with his hand probing in his left pocket, soon he found what he was looking for and held out all my money. "Here, its yours" "Thank you." "Thats not all, I'm willing to make it up to you, if you want you can come over to my place later, we can just relax there." "Sure."


"And I promise, I won't shoot you like last time...Tell me, How badly are you hurt? I could probably pay for your surgery. by the way, When you get to my house, there are some rules I want to introduce you, Do not let anyone inside the house no matter who it is. Two, No smoking, drinking, or taking drugs to relax from the painful memories, welcome to the real world. Three, I got some dogs in my house, Treat them well or else.. and that's it" Michael waited for an answer.
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Name: Catherine "Kit" Fields

Character Class: Wanderer

Weapon: Stiletto, punch dagger, bolas, sawed-off Remington .12 gauge.

Age: 19

Items: Backpack, canteen, rope, grapple, sunglasses, angle head flashlight with several colored lenses, crowbar, various trade items.

Description: Kit is 4'9" and weighs 90 lbs. Her hair is black, and roughly sheered close to the scalp. She wears black combat boots, olive drab cargo pants, a black tank top, an army jacket with several bullet holes in it, fingerless leather gloves and a black stocking cap. Keen observation of the blotchy, red skin surrounding her unnaturally blue eyes, a constant tremor in her hands, and the occasional involuntary twitch or two, indicate she's one of the few survivors of the UC-87 nerve agent attack that wiped out Flagstaff, AZ.

Biography: Kit was born and raised in Flagstaff, AZ, until the UC-87 incident. When she was 12, the government or the radicals, neither claim responsibility for this sorry affair, released the nerve agent in the downtown area of the city. What was unknown, was just how fast and far the agent would spread on the prevailing winds. It successfully decimated near the entire population of the city and forever designated the area as "hot" within 12 hours of its release. Both sides quickly agreed to discontinue its use, as the mortality rate of 99.99%, and the continual contamination of the area, was deemed too heavy a cost. Kit was among a handful of survivors, but did not get away unscathed. Most everybody knows the side effects of the nerve agent; the blue eyes, the rashes, the nervous system damage, as it was big news when somebody had the audacity to unleash it, so she is therefor generally shunned as an outcast, most believing she can contaminate others by having been exposed. A life of roaming has taught her a tremendous amount of self-preservation techniques. Her size supports her lifestyle of entering places that were abandoned, cordoned off, or otherwise hard to get to. She ekes out a living by entering these places and gathering things obscure, in high demand, or impossible to find elsewhere to barter with.


Kit heaved herself out of the elevator shaft of the long abandoned apartment complex. She rolled onto her back and lay, struggling to catch her breath after having climbed the few stories from the parking complex below ground. She eventually sat up, and began digging into the pockets of her cargo pants. She ignored the sudden shudder that passed through her body as she withdrew a handful of D cell batteries from her left thigh pocket. She smiled and wiped her cheek with the back of her glove, which produced a new smudge of grease to join the other smudges that nearly constantly covered her face.

She examined the batteries and discovered no signs of corrosion, so set them in a small pile next to herself. She next withdrew a small orange plastic bottle with a white cap. She clicked her army issue angle head flashlight on, and held the bottle with her trembling left hand, so the narrow red beam illuminated the contents. She saw at least ten capsules within the bottle, before clicking the light off. She shrugged her backpack off, and concealed the newly acquired items deep inside its confines. She slid the backpack on and stood up, as she hung her flashlight back onto her jacket front. She crept down the hallway silently, until she located a door without signs of entry.

She studied the door for several long moments, and then tested the knob. She found it was secured, and slid a crowbar off of her belt. She jammed the sharp edge into the jamb and pried. The door locking mechanism gave way fairly easily, due to age mostly, and she slid the crowbar back onto her belt. She opened the door slightly, and paused, again searching the new opening for any indications of tampering. She'd known a lot of scavengers who became complacent and ended up dying in some horrific DIY trap the previous owner, probably long since gone or dead, had rigged for home protection.

After finding nothing, she stepped back, hugged her head and kicked the door completely open. She slowly lowered her arms after she wasn't immediately blown to smitherines, and entered the apartment. She was immediately hit by the smell of old death. She wrinkled her nose. She'd always hated finding corpses, but this was the Bronx, Anarch central, and there were a lot of corpses in a lot of places. She quickly went about ransacking the immediate living area of the apartment, giving it the facade of having been long ago looted. She moved further into the apartment, quickly located the laundry area, and tore the dryer tube out of the wall.

She reached up it, and scraped a great deal of dust and lint from the tube. She moved into the bathroom, shut the door, and slid a small window slightly open. She sat down, and dropped the pile of lint on the tiled floor. She tore small scraps of a nearby magazine into strips, and piled them on top. She shrugged her backpack off, and pulled out small pieces of discarded wood planking from shipping containers, broke them and soon had a small pile created. She pulled out a nine volt battery and piece of steel wool out. She pinched a portion of the steel wool off, set in in the lint, and touched the two prongs of the battery to it. The wool instantly reddened under the power, and lit the lint. She quickly breathed the small fire to life.

She grabbed a dusty towel from the rack, and stuffed it under the crack under the bathroom door, as she pushed the lock in. It was rudimentary security at best, but she needed sleep and warmth. She climbed into the bathtub, armed herself with her room clearing shotgun, and hugged it to herself as she faced the door.

Another involuntary shudder wracked her small frame, and Kit sighed. She closed her eyes, and immediately opened them as the entire room shook under the concussion of a tremendous explosion nearby. She covered her head as plaster and dust cascaded down, and looked up at the ceiling and the new cracks traversing its surface. She shook her head, and settled deeper into the tub. Another day down, and another trade looming. Welcome to NYC.
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Leaning up against the wall we laughed as the two yuppies fought, shouting encouragement and insults alike. Goat Boy shouted ecstatically as one mans fingers broke with a loud snap, he had five dollars and a lighter riding on the fight, personally I cared little as to which one survived they disgusted me...the high and the mighty hiding behind their walls and their guards whilst the rest of us starved, fought and died like vermin and yet point a gun at them and they were no different than the rest of us turning on each other just to survive a few minutes longer.
There was a scream of agony as one man fell clutching his stomach "You useless twazock!" Goat Boy screamed at the man as he grudgingly handed over his money to Killjoy, the man collapsing in a pool of his own blood. "Oh god...I killed him...I...I really did it" the other man stammered still clutching my blood stained knife his eyes wide with panic and fear "That you did and now you get to live another day" I spoke with a grin before smashing my gun into the side of his head, knocking the man out cold, i always kept my word just not the way they expected me to.
With our fun over we started wandering back into the ruins, we'd gotten a good haul from the two men although only one of them would be waking up once the sun rose up from behind the smog.
"Its getting early...we should really find somewhere to crash" Killjoy's thick Irish accent anounced, wearily i nodded my head in agreement "We'll go sleep in the underground no one will bother us down there.
There were several very good reasons no one went into the underground, we were one of them but we were by no means the most dangerous thing to call the underground home.


Kit was settling off to sleep, when she discerned the excited voices of several people. She crept out of the bathtub, and stood on the toilet to look out the small window she'd opened. She spied Ray, Killjoy, and Goat Boy hurrying down the alleyway, laughing about some fight or other. She narrowed her eyes, noting specific details which indicated they were part of a nasty gang that operated in this area. A shudder passed through her body, and her foot slipped into the bowl with a kerplunk. She stayed ducked down, listening intently to determine if she'd been noticed. She stood still for several moments, and then climbed down from the toilet.

She couldn't be certain she wasn't discovered, so she opted to vacate. Kit quickly spread her small fire out with a well placed swipe of her foot, ensuring it wouldn't spread further. She then picked up her backpack in a trembling hand and moved toward the door she'd kicked in. She checked the hallway, before creeping out into it. She slipped her backpack on and tightened the straps down as she headed for the elevator shaft she'd used to climb up to this floor.


"Did you see that numpties face when Spider socked him one?" Goat Boy cackled manically with his tattoo'd arm across my shoulders as we staggered drunkenly down the street I couldn't help but join in with the laughter despite how tired i was currently feeling...yes a kip in a subway carriage was just what I needed.
What was that? I spun around throuwing the unsteady Goat Boy off my shoulder he study the windows of an old apartment block from where the noise had come from.
"What was that for?..." Goat Boy started to whine from where he'd fallen to teh floor only to be silenced by a quick kick from Killjoy "You hear it too Spider?" Killjoy drawled in his thick Irish accent "Yeah...I did" in truth i didn't have a clue what i had heard but it intrigued me for this aread was a deadzone no one lived here, not anymore, not after the bombs and gas had fallen killing everything unforutnate enough to get in the way "Lets check it out could be a ganger sniffing around our turf" I spoke drawing the tire iron from my bag in order to emphasise such a persons fate should he be caught.
The four of us strolled casually up to the old building with its crumbling masonry covering the street Was it wise to enter? the place could drop on his head at any moment despite these nagging doubts i entered anyway, the stench of death hitting my nostrils as entered the darkened lobby, spider webs clung to the moldering walls like paper chains at Christmas "Where do we go now Spider?" the Kobra Kid asked in a whisper that somehow seemed appropriate in such a place after all this was a tomb when all said and done.
"We go up of course...Goat Boy sit here and watch the doors...holler if you spot anything" Goat boy nodded once in understanding, his long greasy air falling over his sunken eyes and pale skin.
We left Goat Boy sitting in the lobby as the three of us climbed the stairs, forever conscious of the tired creaking sounds it made beneath out combined weight and hoping that they would hold out long enough for us to catch the person foolish enough to encroach on our turf and make them pay.


Kit stood poised at the open elevator shaft, staring down into its depths. She unlooped a length of rope from the side of her backpack, and hooked it around the grime covered main cable. She twisted the rope around itself several times with her trembling hands. As she finished this task, she heard creaks from the staircase not far away from herself. She smirked.

If Kit was crazy to be contemplating jumping into an elevator shaft, the owner of the weight climbing the staircase she avoided as too dangerous was absolutely bonkers. She heard shuffling footsteps reach the floor she was on, and needed no further encouragement. She tightly held the rope, and lept into the elevator. She overcompensated for the distance and ended up swinging wildly around the cable, and slamming against the other side of the shaft.

She held tightly onto the rope, as she heard shouts, and loosened the tension just enough to begin a semi-controlled plummet down along the cable. She looked up to see heads poke over the egde, to watch her disappear into the blackness. She placed her foot tentatively out, and dragged it along the wall, and felt the jar each time she passed a floor, which her foot would strike. After she counted three such collisions, she braced herself and tightened her rope as hard as she could to slow her decent, until her foot landed on what should be the ground floor.

She maintained a death grip on the rope with one hand, and reached out with her other to blindly seek the manual door release mechanism. She pulled the protesting lever, and pulled her crowbar off her belt. She dragged it along the door until its edge slipped naturally into the small indentation between the two doors. She shoved it through easily, and torqued it to the side to push the doors apart enough to press her foot between. She heaved the doors apart, swung back and forth a few times to gain momentum, and lept for the landing.

Kit landed solidly enough to keep herself from plummeting backward back into the shaft. She unlooped her rope, and ran for the exit of the building. As she skidded into the lobby, she immediately saw the drunken Goat Boy, swaying as he stared at her in surprise.
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Name: Jack Clement

Character Class: Runaway Cyborg

Age: 25

Weapons: A duct tape and newspaper covered Steyr TMP, making the gun look like any other Saturday night special. Riding in a scuffed up combat boot, a five inch long Arkansas toothpick's brass cap is covered purposefully with grime. Most importantly, Jack is one of the 100 test subjects of the AIM.

The AIM, the Advanced Interface Microchip, which allows the user full use of the bodies core functions. The AIM is sheltered in a flip open metal box located inside of his skull. From regulating body temperature, to being able to give yourself an adrenaline spike, the Advanced Interface Microchip is still in it's testing phase, so there are quite a few bugs in the programing.

Items: A small supply of vacuum sealed food stuffs, all tasting of minerals and god only knew what else, a basic first aid kit, a few spare rounds of small caliber ammunition to use as trade goods and the heavily patched messenger bag all of it rides in.

Description: Jack stands at six feet tall, his usually short hair has grown long to conceal the indentation in his skull that shelters the AIM. He has pale blue eyes that auto correct when walking out into a bright day. Artificially enhanced muscles are perfectly sculpted, but are very conspicuous when compared to the lanky survival honed muscles of the rest of the population.

Biography: Order must be maintained, that was the way Jack Clement rationalized all of the atrocities he had committed under the banner of it. It was the shield and holy banner he wrapped himself in and hid behind, when the memories of stacking the bodies of innocent protesters came howling out of a long night. It was the mantra that he spoke under his breath, as the hideous boom of rocket propelled grenades and steady slamming of heavy machine gun fire drown out the sounds of their poorly or unarmed victims. Jack's conscious was never completely clear during his first years, even as he asked for prototype weaponry and equipment, slowly gaining bonus points with superiors as a man who would not hesitate when ordered. So it was only natural that the upstart young sergeant was one of the first recommended for the field testing of the newest Cyborg weapon of war and oppression. The Advanced Interface Microchip. A.I.M.


"I won't do it." Jack said, as he clutched the TMP close to his chest, shivering in the cold wind that blew through a broken out window. Rats, mice and the occasional house cat stalked around the abandoned ruins of the bombed out building that Jack set shivering inside. Ten years of training and conditioning screamed at him to go back to base, back to his life of oppressing the people. "I can't do it, do you hear me!?!?!" Jack screamed, as he kicked the self heat can of tasteless soup away, without having touched a bite. It wasn't long before the rodents scurried up to the knocked over can and began devouring every morsel of the foul tasting concoction.

Jack could have easily used the A.I.M. to warm himself, but he refused to. The cold was the least he could endure for all of the suffering and pain he had been an integral part of. The A.I.M. worked basically the same way a computer monitor did, it allowed Jack to simply will something in his body to work, such as scars to heal over again with smooth skin, or bones to strengthen momentarily for a long fall. Inside his eyes, Jack got flashes of text once in awhile, telling him what the A.I.M. was doing.

The same thing it was doing now, when the flashing text in his field of vision told him that his ears were being sharpened. Suddenly, Jack could hear the scuttling back and forth, the low growls and hisses of the house cats and, most alarmingly, the sound of many boots moving in on him in a very familiar pattern. His once-masters were here, they'd used their own systems to detect him. Jack could tell by the grating sounds of gun bolts being pulled back and the dreadful finality of a weapon being primed, that his masters were not here to help.

Standing, Jack let the Steyr TMP fall into his hands as he looked around for an escape. Jack was in a mostly concrete room, it was probably, before all this, some kind of storage warehouse where men and women who lived in apartments stored the things they couldn't fit anymore. There were still a few moldering cardboard boxes of belongings in the corner, which Jack slid in front of the door, before turning to the window. A few boxes of stuffed animals, dead electronics and assorted children's toys would not hold his pursuers for long, but it was better than nothing.

Jack used his hands to swipe shards of glass off the windowsill, before climbing up onto it and looking out onto the street, which was two stories below him, no way to climb down, there was only one option. Jack simply let go of the ledge and plummeted downwards. As Jack fell, he concentrated all of his willpower on hardening his shins, ankles, hands and elbows, the four contact points that would absorb most of the punishment from the fall. The stunt was over a few seconds, with he crash landing upon the pavement, his clenched fists pounds the sidewalk right after his boots. To Jack's relief, there was no sickening crunch of his bones splintering like rotten wood, no shooting pains.

Getting to his feet, Jack listened closely for the sound of the door to the room he had been in being smashed open and when it was, he ran as fast as he could, straight across the street and into the ruins of an old gas station. Jack didn't stay there for long, he simply ran out the back door, using the A.I.M. once again to give him the strength to hurtle a five foot tall fence.

Jack ran as fast as he could on his own strength, up alleyways, down streets and into apartment buildings, the chase lasted for a good hour and a half, before Jack used the A.I.M. to lift a two hundred pound iron grate off of a sewer entrance, before pulling it back over the top of himself.

Priming his TMP, Jack waited desperately trying to control his breathing, as he heard the pounding footsteps of easily ten men, as the ran straight past his hiding place. Cold sweat beaded Jack's forehead, as he heard the footsteps stop directly above him. Jack could all but hear the radio chatter above him, discussing where their prey had disappeared to. It was the longest five minutes of his life, before his master's dogs disappeared and Jack began making his way to a nearby manhole cover, which he would climb up and out of this stinking pit. In the morning, after he rested.


The reinforced concrete continued to creak and groan beneath us as we ascended the crumbling staircase, the rubble covering it crunching loudly under our boots in our haste. Had we been sober and our minds not completely devoid of sense then we probably would have realised how stupid we were being….but we weren’t and so on we went ignoring the dangers signs that surrounded us.
There was a noise, turning to look at the door just ahead of us, its once bright blue paint peeling off in long strips exposing the rotten wood underneath.
It fell with a crash as my heavy steel toecaps smashed above where the handled had once been; the girl startled by our sudden arrival stared wide eyed in shock, like a rabbit in a headlight before leaping into the lift shaft “Son Of A….After boys! Don’t let her get away!” I screamed as I charged after her to stare down into the impenetrable darkness of the lift shaft.
“What the hell are you still doing here? Get down the stairs!” I shouted cuffing Kobra Kid across the head as he came to join me at the lifts opening, the Kid ran clutching the side of his face with me hot on his heels.
My heart was pumping faster and faster as the thrill of the hunt took over, I practically dived down the decaying stairwell, taking them two at a time ignoring the showers of debris I sent flying with each step. Down below I could hear a shout followed by a brief shriek “Faster Boys we don’t Goat Boy to have all the fun now do we?” I laughed certain that out sentry had caught the girl, only to find him clutching the side of his face “She went that way….” He mumbled, a bloodstained finger pointing down the hallway deeper into the building “…She knocked me damn teeth out” he called after us, blood running down his chin in two great streaks, she may have gotten the drop on Goat Boy but she wouldn’t escape us.

The corridor was dark, and deathly quiet causing us to stop in the doorway “ Kid you stay here, Killjoy you take the right I’ll take the left” our boots crunched as the two of us entered the corridor, rubble spilling out of many of the doorways where the floor above had collapsed. “Come out, come out wherever you are” Killjoy called out mockingly moments before I began to whistle Singing in the Rain the corridors concrete wall gave the normally cheery tune a somewhat menacing air, which was just fine by me, we had all night and she couldn’t hide forever.


Kit warily observed Goat Boy as he grinned lopsidedly at her and began moving in her direction. She held her hands up in surrender, and she allowed him to get close enough to smell the alcohol emanating from his breath as he put his hand on her left shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something, and she shut it with a quick swing of her right elbow into his throat. He staggered back gasping for air, and at the same time she drew her crowbar off her belt and swung it at his head. She delivered a glancing blow to his mouth.

She wanted to head for the exit, but she heard the footfalls and creaks of the staircase as his friends bounded in her direction. She knew she'd never make it to the entrance, and if they were armed with loaded firearms, there was a good chance they'd be able to cut her down. She backpedaled away from Goat Boy, who was busy cupping his hand over his mouth and whimpering. She turned and fled into the corridor off the main lobby.

She traveled along it but a short distance, and remembered what she'd already knew from earlier. The hallway was barricaded by a collapse that had occurred. She spun, and heard the voices of the others, and the guy she'd struck telling them her escape route. She frowned and desperately attempted to locate somewhere to escape. She found it at the top of the rubble pile. She quickly scrambled up the pile, as she heard two men approaching. One mocking, the other whistling some tune she'd never heard before.

She got to the top, shrugged her backpack off and jammed it up the tiny opening she'd seen. She heaved against it as it became wedged, and finally was able to thrust it passed the obstruction. She looked back down, and saw the two, who in turn saw her. She squeaked, and scrabbled up into the hole her self. She shimmied left and right to quickly ascend to the next floor, as she heard the two rushing up the pile of debris after her. She nearly made it through, and cried out in dismay as she felt powerful hands grab her foot just before she could clear it, and heard a triumphant, "Gotcha!"


White specters slowly formed into existence, over the collapsed buildings and burnt out cars. Their translucency was only faint, and so it was only until there were many surrounding Jack that he realized, they were the ghosts of his victims. They slowly glided towards him, showing all manner of ghastly wounds the color of their forms making it seem like an old black and white movie, for some reason that made it all the more terrifying. They wept, moaned, groaned and gasped in pain and fear, as non existent hands grasped for Jack. On the wind, Jack could swear he heard the words "We're waiting for you." but it was almost impossible to tell whether it was figment or reality.

Jack fought the pull of the ghosts, backpedaling and trying in vain to push their hands away from his face and throat, from grabbing his ankles and tripping him. He shoved and flailed and kicked, but mortal blows landed upon non caring recipients and Jack soon found himself backed into a corner, desperately scrabbling at the rubble pulling himself up away from the specters, just as the destroyed homes and businesses he clutched evaporated in his grip and he fell backward into the steadily mounting wave of his own victims. Still the horrendous whimpers continued in the background, until he woke with a start, his head resting in the crook of his elbow.

As Jack tried to control his breathing and filter out the foul stench of the sewer he slept in, Jack heard a small whimper, and the scrabble of hands upon crushed stone. He also heard the footsteps of three others approach. Jack could hear mocking taunts and an eerie tune upon the air. He had to momentarily stop and make sure that his dream was not lingering in his mind, but now he was sure it was not.

The Steyr TMP was a comforting weight, as Jack sat up, looking up through a sewer grate in time to see a man walk over it, almost leisurely. Jack covered the action with his hand, as he primed his weapon, silencing the sound it would make. As Jack looked up through the grate, trying to see over the lip, he could hear a distinctly female gasp in shock, but what prompted this was lost from sight. Jack tested the grate to see if he could move it, however, he could not, until he told the A.I.M. to engage. With enough adrenaline and strength, Jack finally moved the grate far enough over for him to climb out. Jack then, as quietly as possible, moved the grate all the way to the side, allowing another exit.

The taunts and vulgarities continued mounting, as Jack silently padded towards them, the TMP held in a firing position. The corridor twisted and turned, with multiple blocked doorways, until Jack came upon the scene. Three rioters stood around a very short woman, whom they'd pulled down as she tried to scrabble her way onto the second floor of the building. No guns were drawn, though the woman was armed with a shotgun and the three thugs had firearms of their own as well.

Jack's mind suddenly clicked over again and he realized something. He could still change. It was up to Jack whether or not Jack left this woman to the cruel clutches of these men, it was time to change. Redemption is not given, it is earned and Jack began to earn his back that day, when he took aim on a man who'd been given a vicious clock to the face with something other than a fist. An ugly looking man, Jack didn't know his name was Goat Boy, Jack didn't really care at that point, as he aimed down the iron sights of the TMP and fired a triple burst into the satanic youth's right leg, dropping him to the floor in a crumpled heap. The first round hit dead center behind Goat Boy's kneecap, blowing bone fragments out the front, like so much grisly confetti.

Using the A.I.M. to amplify his voice, Jack yelled into the room "The first man who touches a gun gets to meet sweet baby Jesus, so help me god. Let the woman go and I'll let you go."