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Daireem - Perrenor |
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Leon Mecheeto Ex-Soldier 5/17/2007 2:05:17 AM Level: 1 Experience: 0 Total Posts: 45 | Why does Valerie care? Gral Myiro steps off a small transport. It's taking off almost before his feet touch the ground. The captain doesn't want to be here any longer than he has to. Gral's been here before and doesn't blame him. He hates Perrenor. He may be a stone-cold bounty hunter/assassin, but he does have standards. He was in the Crown District. On every corner, there was a drug deal going down. Drug-addict kids selling drugs to other drug-addict kids. This place was a dead end. Perrenor's social problems weren't his concern however. He was told by someone on Fierra Mesa that Fate Mecheeto was spotted here recently. He had no reason to believe the guy, but, having no other leads, he decided to check. Breaking the information bar cliche, he enters a--needless to say--run-down motel lobby and approaches the front desk. The clerk on duty looks like he hasn't slept in ages. Clerk: You want a room? Gral: No. I'm looking for someone. Clerk: This is a motel, buddy. Gral: Obviously. And the person I'm looking for may be or have been staying here. Fate Mecheeto. Clerk: Hey, I can't just go giving out names of people who stay here. What if you're some kind of hitman? Gral doesn't look amused. His hard stare makes the clerk uncomfortable. Clerk: Look, no one by that name has stayed here. Ever. So buzz off. Gral normally wouldn't give up, but his gut has been telling him the whole time Fate is not and was never here. Without another word, he turns and leaves. He stands outside upon the cracking sidewalk, taking in the surrounding slums. He tries not to breathe too much. Behind him, the sounds of voices talking and chuckling can be heard. He glances over his shoulder and sees what can best be described as "ballers" exiting the motel. They are clad in pants hanging around their ankles, stained wife-beaters, sideways and backward baseball caps, and cheap handguns stuffed in their under drawers. Suddenly, a car parked a block down the street roars to life and begins rolling in his direction. He knew something bad was about to happen. He turns to head in the other direction when a bunch of similarly-dressed males armed with Jennings pistols and one 9mm Kel-Tec Sub 2000 hang out the car windows. They're apparently a rival gang. Gral has just found himself in the middle of a drive-by shooting. He knocks his trench coat aside, drawing his suppressed MK23 from its thigh holster, and moves for a nearby concrete barrier. The gangsters in the car open up on the gangsters emerging from the motel. Front sights undoubtedly snagging their britches, the gangsters on foot struggle to draw their weapons. Half of them are mowed down in a barrage of .380 ACP and 9mm Luger. The survivors manage to find some thin cover and return fire. They hit one of the drive-by shooters, his body slumping back into the car and out of view and his weapon clattering to the street. The guy with the Sub 2000 mistakes Gral for a rival gangster and opens up on his cover, concrete chips shooting in all directions. Gral blind-fires his MK23 but only manages to knock off the driver's side mirror, which was already dangling. He lets out a growl. This isn't his fight. He really hates Perrenor. The car is now past him, giving the occupants a clear shot at him. He moves around the barrier, strafing across the street and unloading .45 into the back window of the car. He gets to the other side of the street and ducks into an alley while reloading his weapon. He runs down it, unsure of where he'll end up, but he doesn't really care. Back on the street, the car, now driverless, plows through a rusted-out, graffiti-laden mail box and into a lamp post. The remaining living occupant stumbles out, only to be finished off by the gangsters he sought to kill. The remaining gangsters look back toward the alley into which Gral disappeared. Uppins: Who the crud was that dude? B-Strife: Dunno, man. Never seen 'im before. But his gun was bigger than ours. Uppins: Slag right. B-Strife: Shoot. They waddle on over to some strip joint or something and blow all their tape after a long day's counter-drive-by shooting. They apparently left their friends' bodies at the door step of the motel. That's what Gral figured went down anyway. He exits the alleyway on the next street over. It appears to be a residential area. The only people on this street are a few meager drug-addict types. Gral knew semi-normal people lived here, but they must spend most of their time inside. The gangs controlled the streets. Giving into the cliche, he sought a bar to mine for any information on his bounty... |
Leon Mecheeto Ex-Soldier 5/20/2007 4:01:07 AM Level: 1 Experience: 0 Total Posts: 45 | RE: Why does Valerie care? Gral stepped through the front entrance of Paulie's Pool Hall. There was a rough-looking bunch occupying the billiards tables. Gral sat down at the bar, directly across from the bartender. Bartender: What'll it be? Gral: I'm looking for someone. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a wrinkled photograph of Fate. Gral: Have you seen this woman? The bartender looks for a moment with a thoughtful expression, but then shakes his head. Bartender: Nope. Gral grumbles, glancing over his shoulder for anybody who may be getting too close. He looks back at the bartender. He's not going to leave empty-handed. Gral: Give me a Silmaria to go. The bartender pulls a can out of a refrigerator and slides it across the bar, announcing the price. Gral slaps the currency onto the bar and picks up the soda, exiting the druggie-infested establishment. He opens the can and goes to take a swig when suddenly he's hit over the head with something hard. He hits the pavement, dazed, and so does his soda. Now he's mad. Who's the clown who just hit him? His vision finally clears up and he sees four gangsta-types standing over him. One was holding an aluminum pipe. Gangsta: You're sure dis is da guy? Gangsta with Pipe: Fo' shizzle, dawg. He was dumpin' nine milly into Kenny's car. Lez wax diz foo'. It was .45, you intards. Gangsta with Pipe pulls his Glock 25 from his waistband. Gral kicks him hard in the shin, knocking him to the ground. Gral jumps up, grabbing another and heaving him to the street. He clotheslines the remaining two, draws his MK23, training it on them, and kicks the Glock 25 away from the bunch. Gral: Lie face down and put your hands behind your head. DO IT NOW. Moaning and groaning, they all face the pavement and put their hands on the backs of their heads. Gral turns and leaves, holstering his pistol. Gral: Maybe I should continue my search in another dome... He begins his search for a Fast Express Tube station with the intention of traveling to another dome. A little while later, he ends up a couple streets across from where he had his last run-in with gangstas. He marches down the sidewalk past another seedy bar when suddenly quite a loud ruckus emanates from within. Gral: Oh, slag, not again... He made an effort to vacate the vicinity, but it was too late. The commotion poured out of the bar's front door and into the street. It was a full-on gun battle between four men armed with expensive assault rifles, some with under-barrel grenade launchers, and the rest of the bar patrons. Gral notices one is leaving a trail of Skittle bags as he goes. This somehow struck him as odd. He got the heck out of dodge and continued his search for the station. As he rounds the next corner, gun fight moving out of view, an explosion echoes off all the run-down buildings. He does not react in any way. Up ahead, at last, was a Fast Express Tube station. Now he could get out of this dump. He approaches one of the tubes. He looks through the list of possible destinations and recognizes Yasiere. He selects that, inserts the required amount of tape, and steps into the compartment. He is shot through the tube at a vulgar speed and arrives in Yasiere only a few seconds later. He looks at a couple nearby compartments and sees people who appear to be in shock lying in them. He proceeds down a sidewalk in an arbitrary direction. |
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