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[5E IC] Stormy waters subcampaign Black Bart (Hell in the plex)

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Black Bart

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« Reply #15 on: <02-02-16/2254:06> »
It had been three days since the surgery, the weight in his arm oddly off putting. Even stranger that with a clinch of his fist and a signal from his brain that the metal embedded in his arms slid out. The feeling was still awkward, sharpened steel coming out of your hands. I flexed my hand and the spurs went back in, my hands and arms still sore. James and I had run the plan over and over. He would take a group of three and assault the front, leaving me to take the back entrance alone. We had done some drive-byes getting a feel for the area. Physical security was light in the daytime, night was different. They had four watchmen at night, three in front of the building one in back. The back was overlooking a hill, so they must’ve figured one would do. Roth stayed on the third floor, his routine was simple. Every hour on the hour his light would click off, he’d take ten minutes to get to the first floor, do an inspection of the guards and then go back inside taking fifteen minutes to get back to his room and click the light on. We traded shifts, casing the area deciding a two way assault would stagger them.
   “James, you think we’re gonna be enough? I’m all for getting dirty, but hell man there’s gotta be twenty or more. He laughed, “Yeah Black, we’ll be enough. I called in a favor.” “Hurray, more of James’ famous favors,” he gave me a sour look. “Don’t worry Black, we’ll be golden.” We left for the club house, and I thought about the back door. We waited until dusk loomed over the city. It’s orange and pink hues fogged by ash. I stared out the window at it one more time, maybe my last. Taking in the grandiose feeling it gave me. Some guy out of one of the old books lying around said “The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are filled with doubt, and the stupid ones filled with confidence.” His name was Chinanski, or Bukowski, some weird name anyhow. I felt both, and wondered what that meant.
   The night was still, no birds cooing to each other. The only noises were from my footsteps and his groans about being stuck on this stupid post. He was blind to me, glare of the sun being in his eyes. He kept staring at the ground spitting now and then. I crept closer, waiting for the moment to strike. My headphone chirped,
“Three, two, one…” An explosion rocked the structure. The guard jumped up and went for the door, I sprang toward him spur out. He let out a cry, as I stabbed into his right ribs. He sank to the ground face first I shot him in the skull splattering grey matter on the wall. Another explosion ripped into the building, the sound of gunfire started not long after. I was inside though, the halls dimly lit and cramped. I had my Defiance at the ready, slinking toward the door on my left. I tried the door handle and it was locked. I put my head to the wall and listened. People shouting and gunfire, but the room sounded clear. I moved further down the hall, another explosion this one close enough to feel the concussion. I crossed the hall to another door, hearing voices inside. I raised the shotgun and kicked the door in. The two men had been gathering weapons; one had a machinegun slung around his shoulder. I peppered him first, the shell exploding inches from his face. The second drew on me firing twice; I had backed into the hallway as the bullets punching the wall and frame. I leaned in and fired back not giving him time to go for another gun. He collapsed into himself, falling to the ground. Further down the hall a young kid was shooting blindly out of a window, his face and hair burnt. I didn’t give him a chance, putting a slug into his stomach. More shouting and gunfire drawing closer, I bounded to the stairs. Gunfire clattered across the terrace, I shot twice and stepped down to reload. “Hey, you fuckin trog. How bout you come up here and we’ll talk this out?” I stepped back up and fired another shell into the darkness. Bullets smashing into the floor and wall of the landing, I was stuck no way I could get past them without getting gunned down. I moved to the nearest door and kicked it open. Ducking in I called James “Hey man, I got heavy fire on the stairwell, can’t move past it.” “Got you covered man.” The headphone clicked and I stood leaning out of the doorway. A whirring noise approached and two drones the size of bowling balls came flying by. The first went to the top of the stairwell and slung a small canister over the rail. I couldn’t hear the bang but I saw the flash. I ran for the stairs and cleared them by twos. The next drone went up and threw another grenade. This one being an incendiary, fire leapt up towards one of the men. He was still clutching at his eyes before he realized he was on fire. He ran toward his buddies and caught one on fire. I shot into the group twice, one dropped and the other leaned to the wall. I shot him again, watching the blood smear as he sank. I called James back “Nice going with the drones, do we still have the target in his room?” “I don’t know if he’s still in there, as soon as the first rocket hit, his light went out.” I bounded up the next flight, expecting more gunfire but received none. This floor was quiet, no movement, or guns being fired. It was unnervingly tranquil. I moved to the third room on the right. The door was solid steel, a passcode protecting it. I stared at it, wondering if it was hidden in a room somewhere in the building or on someone. I stared, and then I punched into it with one of the blades of my spur. The door clicked open, quieter than a heavy metal door should’ve I pushed it open with my foot and saw him. Caleb Roth sat behind his desk; it looked orderly for the chaos around him. He was smoking a cigar and waved me in.
   “Welcome, I don’t know your name, but would you like a cigar?”  I stared in disbelief, the man was trapped in a room with me, and offered me pleasantries. “No, how bout you stand up and come with me.” “Well sir, I’d have to say you didn’t ask.” Again I was in shock. “It wasn’t a question. You’re coming with me one way or another.” He smiled at that, “How unbecoming of a gentleman, I dare say you don’t know who you are dealing with.” I saw it his eyes flicked across the room, a bead of sweat building. I moved further into the room, a bookshelf sat in the corner at a precarious angle. “I know who you are Roth, and you’re no gentleman. At best you’re a racist serial killer.” His eyes betrayed him again, looking at my gun. I moved closer to the bookshelf. “Well sir, I would say I’ve done some awful things, but murder, it’s not my forte.” I raised the gun toward him as I stood next to the bookshelf. His eyes widening, “I will say though, the men in my employ do what I say, even if they take it to extremes.” I pushed my hand behind the bookshelf. “You don’t say.” I rammed into the bookcase knocking it down and spun into the hidden room. Roth, the real Roth stood staring at me, gun leveled at my chest. He fired into me, bullets slamming into my hide. I landed flat on my back staring at the ceiling. Roth took a step over me and fired into his double. He turned back to me, “You know Trog, I’ve been doing this for years. Not once has anyone got this close to me. Not once has a dandelion eater, or a squat or your kind ever step foot in this place. I just hope we can clean your blood off my floor.” He pointed the gun at my face. I whispered to him “You talk to much.”  “He leaned in, “What did you say?” I repeated myself still quiet. He leaned in again “Spit it out Trog.” “You talk to much!” I raised the Slivergun to his temple and fired. Blood sprayed me, like a hot shower. I lie there, thinking about the bullets inside me. Somewhere in that room I blacked out.
   Sounds of a Docwagon pulling up stirred me awake. I was lying outside of the building, a fire was raging. I stared and watched the heat burning through the air, ashes flying everywhere. James was there, talking to police officers. They strapped me onto an industrial sized gurney, and wheeled me into the meat wagon. The E.M.T.’s were talking to each other, “Man this guy’s lucky as hell, a bullet lodged into just anybody probably would’ve killed them.” I fell out of conscience again. Time passed, dreams of my childhood, being in jail again. I dreamed and dreamed until this morning. My eyes were slits, against the halogen above me. “Charles?” Someone was holding my hand, I squeezed back. “Charles thank god.” I forced my head to turn and there he was Caleb, my Caleb. The closest thing to a father I’d had. “Charles they told me about the gang fight, how you were shot down in the crossfire. They said you might not ever wake up. I took all my sick days to be here, I wanted to see you again. I heard the scanner that a troll named Charles Bowles was being transported here and I flipped.” He kept on talking, tears streaming down his face. He was my father, he loved me that much.  “We talked and talked until the night, and he looked sad. “I’ve gotta go Charles, work is breathing down my neck and I gotta get to it. I’m glad you’re alive, and safe. Keep yourself out of trouble and give me a damn call sometime.”
   I fell back asleep, dreaming again. A nurse came and woke me, “I need to fill you in on what happened to you. You were shot three times, one in your stomach causing a ruptured cavity. We stitched you back together on that. Another went through you, fragmenting on the way out. We picked it all out and noticed if it’d been just a few centimeters to the left you’d be at least a quadriplegic. But the last,” She paused, looking down at my chart, “The last bullet lodged itself into your heart, we got it out, but the problem was fixing your heart. We applied an accelerated growth hormone replacing most of the damaged tissue, but there was a complication.” I sat stunned waiting to hear the worst. “We diagnosed you with Disseminated Intravascular Coagulopathy” I blinked a few times “What does that mean, ma’am?” She sighed, “In laymen’s terms one of your platelet factories was destroyed. If you get cut or shot, you’ll bleed faster and your platelets won’t be as much help. You still have some but you’ll be a slow healer. I laughed, “That’s it? I thought you were going to say I was terminal.”
   
   
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