Berek Dralken
Dec 8th, 2008, 07:13:27 PM
Bullets flew overhead. Not beams of light, not gas, but BULLETS.
RAT-A-TAT-TAT
They punched holes in the metal siding lettings rays of light spill into the dark little shack. The intended target of the attack crawled below them in a desperate act to survive and escape death.
In an attempt to buy time the individual had barricaded the door knowing the only way to escape was unthinkable, through the plumbing. It would be the only chance and the attackers would never know of it.
Their voices could be heard outside.
"I'm not wasting any more rounds, or a grenade. These things cost credits y'know. You're the brute so break down the door and check it out. I'll watch from here."
A woman, soft and muffled, probably wearing a scarf. The second was a man, deep and clear, with a lot of anger in his tone.
"Lazy, fraggin' merc. Why the boss hired you is beyond me. I could have done this job myself and cracked this joker's skull back at the casino tables."
Mud sucked when the man pulled his boots up and they crashed down with a splortch and crackle of dry dead leaves. His steps were heavy in the damp ground as he drew close to the door of the shack. This man was a beast.
"Yeah, but that's bad for business. This guy is trouble and your boss knows it. He'd cream you in a brawl anyway. That's why he hired me. I'm the only fragger on this rock that's good enough with a slugthrower to kill someone."
A hope. This man was an overwieght thug.
Or not.
"Don't think 'cause you can shoot a pebble makes you a killer. I've broken men in two. That's killin'. Plus I just got this, so shut your yap about slugthrowers or you'll be tastin' lead for the last seconds of your life."
She laughed at him, the kind of laugh that would get under the skin. She was wicked and could play on a psychological level. That added with the fact she was a marksman made her the deadliest person on the planet.
Second deadliest, anyway.
The man reached the door and began to beat it with his fists. Massive fists.
"You couldn't even hit a target a meter away with that slingshot. Better off throwing a knife, or even a brick, instead of using a pistol like that. I'd be embarassed to even admit owning it."
She hit home. He pounded harder and the door began to pull at the hinges. The barricade jumped a millimeter. It would withstand the barrage for a while.
"Maybe I will use a knife. The urge to shank you is overwhelming right now."
He continued his onslaught on the door and her laughter subsided. Button pushing had its limits.
Each second between punches was now silent except for the breathing: laboured breathing from the brute, slow calm breathing from the gunwoman, and sharp panicked breathing from the trapped.
The insider, the card shark, the doomed crawled on his stomach and followed his nose through the darkness. He tried not to make any sound, but the urge to gag was overwhelming. He made it to what he knew was a wooden bench when she spoke up.
"There's a wood axe leaning against that log pile over there. Stop bangin' your knuckles and pick it up."
Panic. Get out. Now!
"If you wasn't a looker, I'd make you do the grunt work."
"I'm paid to be professional."
RAT-A-TAT-TAT
They punched holes in the metal siding lettings rays of light spill into the dark little shack. The intended target of the attack crawled below them in a desperate act to survive and escape death.
In an attempt to buy time the individual had barricaded the door knowing the only way to escape was unthinkable, through the plumbing. It would be the only chance and the attackers would never know of it.
Their voices could be heard outside.
"I'm not wasting any more rounds, or a grenade. These things cost credits y'know. You're the brute so break down the door and check it out. I'll watch from here."
A woman, soft and muffled, probably wearing a scarf. The second was a man, deep and clear, with a lot of anger in his tone.
"Lazy, fraggin' merc. Why the boss hired you is beyond me. I could have done this job myself and cracked this joker's skull back at the casino tables."
Mud sucked when the man pulled his boots up and they crashed down with a splortch and crackle of dry dead leaves. His steps were heavy in the damp ground as he drew close to the door of the shack. This man was a beast.
"Yeah, but that's bad for business. This guy is trouble and your boss knows it. He'd cream you in a brawl anyway. That's why he hired me. I'm the only fragger on this rock that's good enough with a slugthrower to kill someone."
A hope. This man was an overwieght thug.
Or not.
"Don't think 'cause you can shoot a pebble makes you a killer. I've broken men in two. That's killin'. Plus I just got this, so shut your yap about slugthrowers or you'll be tastin' lead for the last seconds of your life."
She laughed at him, the kind of laugh that would get under the skin. She was wicked and could play on a psychological level. That added with the fact she was a marksman made her the deadliest person on the planet.
Second deadliest, anyway.
The man reached the door and began to beat it with his fists. Massive fists.
"You couldn't even hit a target a meter away with that slingshot. Better off throwing a knife, or even a brick, instead of using a pistol like that. I'd be embarassed to even admit owning it."
She hit home. He pounded harder and the door began to pull at the hinges. The barricade jumped a millimeter. It would withstand the barrage for a while.
"Maybe I will use a knife. The urge to shank you is overwhelming right now."
He continued his onslaught on the door and her laughter subsided. Button pushing had its limits.
Each second between punches was now silent except for the breathing: laboured breathing from the brute, slow calm breathing from the gunwoman, and sharp panicked breathing from the trapped.
The insider, the card shark, the doomed crawled on his stomach and followed his nose through the darkness. He tried not to make any sound, but the urge to gag was overwhelming. He made it to what he knew was a wooden bench when she spoke up.
"There's a wood axe leaning against that log pile over there. Stop bangin' your knuckles and pick it up."
Panic. Get out. Now!
"If you wasn't a looker, I'd make you do the grunt work."
"I'm paid to be professional."