>howdy
>the name’s Walker, middle name Anonymous (long story), first name, DELETED FOR OPSEC
>great-grandpa was a deputy Texas Ranger way back in the ‘40s, racked himself a killcount of 12 cattle rustlers over 5 years, all with his Thompson M1928A1, according to him, he always had it set to full-auto 
>they let him keep the badge and the Tommy, even after he moved on to more profitable careers
>when he peacefully kicked the bucket back in 2005, I got his badge
>too bad a cousin of mine up in Maine got the Tommy, but at least he didn’t sell it, or hang it on a mantlepiece
>I wasn’t smart enough for college scholarships, and I flunked out of a carpentry apprenticeship
>no hard feelings, just wasn’t my style, ya dig?
>thankfully an old high school science teacher of mine, was able to use the power of nepotism (God bless it)
>landed me a decent clerk job at a research institute
>work is easy, pay is alright, but once I landed that job, I knew what had to be done
>I had to buy a early-90s Cadillac Brougham D’elegance, with the Matrix green neon dashboard display
>then guns
>so I did, scored me that Cadillac for $11,000 off a sucker from Craigslist who didn’t know what he got
>come next paycheck, I bought the basics for home defense, a simple 9mm pistol and 12 gauge shotgun
>pysch, I went full retard
>bought a Glock 17L and an Ithaca 37, had it modified with the weird ring in the buttstock, just like in Aliens
>me and my dad shared them
>I’d get a SIG TREAD M400 as my next purchase, but before THAT, I had a clear-cut plan
>I had to get a cowboy gun
>so I drove up to Fredericksburg, and got a Cimarron reproduction of a Colt Walker
>then I paid extra to have them convert it to .45 Long Dong Colt
>arrived at the LGS yesterday
>bought some stuff from there, and the nearest Academy, to get all the parts I needed, to set up a reloading bench for .45 LC
>also bought about 400 rounds worth of .45 LC and 200 shells of 12 gauge, I left the Glock with Dad, who was going with Mom to a meeting in the northeast of town
>the /K/onvergence came quietly, for me
>not a peep
>not after it had started for a while
>slept in, little did I know that shit had been going down for about 3 hours at that point
>ate breakfast, showered, didn’t bother to turn on the TV, Wi-Fi was down, but that had been a semi-regular problem
>I assumed that it would be right back to normal when I returned
>grabbed my range bag, some water bottles, and some snacks, put on my western LARP outfit, proudly attached great-grandpa's badge to the vest
>walked out the door, almost forgetting my knee/elbow pads, one of my best decisions, as you'll find out
>went down Highway 90 to the nearest range, I had a membership and discount
>and that’s when it started for me
>at first I noticed a bunch of fires coming from the north and west, but I had stupidly assumed it was weird early morning fog and low-flying clouds
>and as I pulled off Highway 90, I was almost at the range, I then noticed that the sky had suddenly turned orange
>and that’s when it hit me
>not a revelation that something was fucky
>a wyvern flopped out of a bunch of thick pine trees and hit me
>I flew out of the car, flopped a bunch on the streets, thank God I already had those pads on
>the last thing I heard before passing out, was the sound of a nuclear alert siren
 
(Now playing: Orange-Colored Sky by Nat King Cole https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=muveWXwyr78 )
 
 
 
 
 
CHAPTER 1 : DIFFERENT SHIT, SAME DAY
 
(Now Playing : Snake Arrives/Deportees by John Carpenter and Shirley Walker from Escape From LA https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpVoUi_MKk8 )
 
>after what felt like days, I woke up
>felt really groggy, and my limbs were aching all over
>like I had been roughly massaged with sledgehammers
>took me a long hard minute to remember where I was, and what I was doing
>would have done a double-take at the memory of getting slammed by a small dragon
>but it’s torn and smashed corpse was right there on the side of the road
>looked like I’d have to walk home, the front of my sweet Cadillac was totaled, no chance of starting up now
>guess I’d go to the range and use their phone to call my parents, tell them I was gonna need a tow truck
>where did that dragon come from
>what was it fighting?
>had to be fighting something, they wouldn’t be stupid enough to just RAM me
>they’d flip me over with their talon-claw-hand-thingies, peel the roof off like a sardine can, then roast me like a 1944 MG-34 gunner on the wrong side of a coastal bunker
>the sound of that siren was over too
>was I imagining that sound? Or not?
>whatever, I’d ask the folks at the range about it, I was only about 3-4 blocks worth of walking away
>grabbed my range bag, mounting it like a backpack
>stuffed as much ammo as I could inside, along with all the random items I had in my glove compartment
>put on my light brown Stetson
>as I walked over, I had the oddest feeling
>a feeling of isolation and solitude, like there was no one in the homes and ranches out here
>I found out a while later, that about 65% of everyone around here had been poofed out to God knows where
>as I came to the range, there was only one car at the front office, the door was open, and there were several sets of fresh tire tracks exiting the parking lot
>assuming the worst, I hid behind the outhouse, pulled out my Walker, cursing myself for having picked this for a starter gun
>loaded it, all 6 shots, because I’m not a wimpy fudd who pisses themselves at the mere mention of using all 6 chambers, instead of 5 for sAfEtY rEaSoNs
>I kick the door to make noise, attracting the range’s owner
>aw hell
>he was hip-carrying that rental M1919 that I’ve never actually seen anyone use
>he asked me what the hell did I want, pointing the LMG right at me
>Slowly decockeing my gun, I politely asked him if he had any .45 Long Colt, also slowly reaching for my pocket with my other hand to pull out my wallet.
>he backed a few steps, said that if there was anything left, I was free to pay and leave
>Took a look in the backroom, the place was ransacked, no guns left
>and no ammo, except for 7mm Mauser and a little bit of .32 ACP
>there went my day
>yelled down the hall asking what the hell happened here
>range boss replied from what I assume was his panic room, “Goddamn punks and liberal faggots robbed me blind! Once the sky went orange, the power went out! Took only an hour or so, before a whole train of wackos busted in here to smash and grab everything!”
>I said I understood, and walked out the door.
>so this is how it is
>what happened to me wasn’t some random incident
>this is affecting more of this part of town
>I’ve got to find a phone
>gotta get to the bottom of this
>gotta call mom and dad, see if they’re all right
>or not
 
(Now Playing : Nicaragua by Jerry Goldsmith https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9a8HwoMEGY )
 
>with my car busted, I had to walk all the way up Grosenbacher to get to Potranco Road
>felt like an hour, all this ammo in my sorta-ruck was holding me down
>once I got to the Walgreens on the corner, I went inside for a much-needed drink from the water fountain
>not what most people plan to do, before getting into their first firefight
>because once I walked in, I saw a rather large goblin with a crossbow, chugging cartons of milk out of the frozen food aisle
>he looked at me with killer intent, raised his contraption, and pulled the trigger
>the bolt was fast, but I was faster
>leaped sideways into an aisle, cocked back the hammer, popped back out, catching this asshole loading another bolt
>I screamed at the top of my lungs like Rambo, and shot him twice
>both bullets ripped right through him, shattering the glass behind with a even louder sound than the gunshots
>as he laid bleeding out on the ceramic floor, I slowly walked over, my teeth chittering, my legs quaking, and my mind on full-panic mode
>I pulled back the hammer again, aimed right at his head, and fired one more time to be sure
>his head popped like a soda can, splattering my clothes and everything else around with his blood and brains
>it was sickening
>ran to the bathroom to wash it off
>didn’t make it to the door before I collapsed by a shelf, and started feeling hyper-nauseous
>grabbed a bag of maxi-pads on the shelf, ripped a bag open, and hurled my breakfast all over them
>did an internship at a hospital a few years back
>working at the ICU kept me up at night, many many nights
>and all those horrible, disgusting memories I locked away all came crashing back, like a busted levee
>was cringing in mental pain for like 20 minutes
>finally went to the bathroom and tried washing my shirt, pants, and face
>then I went into a stall and took the biggest fear-induced shit of my life
>this is not what I had in mind today
>after wiping off and washing my hands again, I curled into a ball in the corner and hyperventilated for another 20 or so
>lost track of time, what with no electricity in the building
>eventually I pulled myself together, telling myself that it was just a freak with a crossbow, no biggie, I can do this, I can make it to someplace with a phone
>I realized that there must be more creatures like those lurking across the city
>that must have been what the orange sky was
>some giant rip in space and time
>I bet the Swiss did this, with their fancy-ass Hadron Collider
>my best bet, or what I thought would be my best bet at the time, was to walk down Potranco Road, until making it to the highway
>if the powerlines have been all cut, then I’ll flag someone down and ask to borrow their cell phone for a single phone call
>as I went eastwards, I walked by a barely-legal fireworks store, plenty of them just right on the edge of city limits
>hand-wringing pussies in the city council were too afraid of the city going Chicago, circa 1871.
 
(Now Playing : The Man With The Harmonica by Ennio Morricone, from Once Upon A Time In The West https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m6BQKFs3-VM  )
 
>a voice came from inside the store, asking me if the monsters were gone
>I said that I got rid of them all, as far as I could see
>the side door opened up
>and a fat guy in a Dunkin Donuts uniform came out
>he asked me if I had a gun
>I said, “well, how else was I gonna get rid of the goblins?”
>he took a long breath of relief
>then asked me if I’d escort him to the Academy on Loop 410 and this street
>”to get a gun?”, I asked
>”Hell yeah, buddy. help me out, and I’ll pay you in all-you-can-eat donuts, forever!”
>I don’t trust him with my pack
>not that he’d run off, or that this was a trap
>I just thought that it’d be too much for him, and he’d slow us down
>I asked him what a guy in his line of work was doing all the way out here, at a time like this
>he honestly tells me that he has a side hustle of stealing fireworks, to re-sell at the back of the DD he works at, once his shift ends at 1:30 AM
>the walk wasn’t so hard
>we saw a few other people cowering in garbage bins, and behind counters
>only thing of note, was two giant buzzards eating some guy who crashed his car into a telephone pole
>when they saw fatboy, they did a beeline to cruise for that fresh meat
>they say killing gets easier the more you do it
>and it did feel easier, but the fight itself?
>that was harder
>clipped the wings off one with the first bullet, but I was trying to aim for for it's head
>the other flew low to the trees, out of my view
>swooped in for the kill, Donutlord had already dropped to the ground
>came to grab me, barely missed, slashed my left leg with one of it’s talons
>my adrenaline was far too pumped to notice, until some time later
>but as it flew around for a second circling, it made a critical mistake
>it flew straight for a few seconds
>and in those few seconds, I lined up a shot
>one trigger-pull, and a nice handload of .45 LC went straight up it’s ass, carved through its body, and came out the head
>what a way to go
>it’s corpse went through the windshield of a flipped-over truck
>alarms went off, me and DD both knew it was time to haul ass
>before something even worse was attracted by the sounds
>making our way further down, DD made a point to go inside the Shipley’s Donuts, said “he needed to do something, for the sake of company pride”
>I spared a bullet to shoot the lock off
>and he went inside to piss all over the front counter, register, and as much of the kitchen as he could
>it was darkly hilarious
>the world as we know it is ending, and all he can think of, is to vent out some rage at a rival company
>neither of which are probably going to exist after all this is all said and done
>there’s some big-shot philosophy quote that could fit this, something about the pettiness of man
>can’t remember it right now
>we talked a bit about what other creatures were probably around, he said he’d seen the dragons too, and some mountain lion with a weird head that ran by him fast, chasing a normal jackrabbit
>I’ll need to stay on my toes for that one
>as we made it to the Wal-Mart on the highway corner, we had earlier noticed a large stack of smoke coming from across the street
>once we got there,  we saw what it really was
>a Kiowa helicopter, all black, no markings, had crashed into the Pizza Hut across the street
>I tell DD we oughta run over, and see if there’s any survivors
>we’ve got to check it out
>it’s the right thing to do
 
(Now Playing : Main Title from The Comancheros by Elmer Bernstein https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5oUkQEYHsgY )
 
CHAPTER 2: OH, THE NOT-QUITE-HUMANITY
 
>I easily outrun DD to the Pizza Hut
>and kinda felt bad later, to be honest
>must’ve been one hell of a flex on him
>half of the building, along with the helicopter itself, was blazing with an unusually bright intensity
>and there were corpses strewn across the parking lot
>all wearing the same outfit
>dead ringers for the Shadow Company from Call of Duty, but with plain black PASGT helmets, not FDE bump helmets
>although some of them were wearing sun-goggles
>entering the other side of the building, I grabbed a rag and stuffed in my hat, covered my mouth and nose with it, on account of all the smoke
>I tried yelling to see if there were any survivors
>some muffled yelling came in response, from the bathroom
>I grabbed a fire extinguisher, carving a path through the flames to reach the door
>then used the bottom of it, to push the door open
>in the large handicap shitter-stall, was one of the “operators”, blood stains on the floor around him
>one hand on the hat, I dropped the extinguisher, and slapped him, he looked pretty bad, but still alive
>had to slap him, I told myself, he probably thought I was a hallucination until then
>he left all the faucets running, probably to keep oxygen pumping into the room
>I yelled through my hat that we needed to get the fuck outta here before the building collapsed
>I stuck out my hand to help him up, and I held him by the shoulder as we tried to run out
>kicking the door back open, he slowed me down with a bad limp
>but we made it outside
>DD arrived right on time, helping me lower Mr.Ghost Recon, seating him upright against the back of a Miata on the other side of the parking lot
>we were finally able to take a look at his damage
>bad gash on his left ankle
>broken left foot
>another gash on the side of his head, had to remove his helmet and balaclava
>and that’s where things REALLY started getting weird
>I recognized him
>his name’s Mike, and he’s on the security team at the institute I work at
>we played poker on our lunch break 4 days ago
>and that asshole Sam, who works with the gorillas, dunked on all of us
>lost $300 to that prick
>but back to Mike, we were able to stabilize the bleeding, but he was gonna need a real doctor for the head wound
>DD juiced him up with some morphine we found in a lower-left pocket in his plate carrier
>I was getting sluggish, and my adrenaline from the buzzard fight was wearing off
>or maybe it was the smoke getting into my brain
>never found out about that one
>but it was far too much of a coincidence, running into one of my coworkers, this far from the office, at a time like this
>he got back to thinking coherently, about 5 minutes later
>first thing he asks, “Hey, Walker, thought it was your day off, the hell are you doing here?”
>so I said, “You tell me, Mike. I’m not the one who crashed a chopper into a pizza joint?”
>Mike says that the situation is classified, and puts his hand on his holstered and suppressed USP to drive the point in
>DD pointed out that in case he hadn’t noticed, by now there might not be a government to classify things anymore
>Mike sighed, and gave us a partial rundown
 
(Now Playing : Addio Colonnello from For a Few Dollars More https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sD_4p13gTLM )
 
>early this morning, a little after 9:00 AM, a chopper showed up at the institute, with a pilot and co-pilot
>the co-pilot was calling the shots, a CIA bigwig who gave out orders to grab the emergency flash drives and SSDs that we use as server backups, presumably for the classified stuff
>even he was kept in the dark as to what info was on them
>about 2 hours after all hell had broke loose, they found the last of the data, and everyone had climbed onboard to get to the rendezvous point, Laughlin AFB, about 150 miles west, with a stop for fuel in Uvalde
>then they had a series of fatally unfortunate events
>first, a pack of dragons came up and grabbed one of them, shrugged off their 9mm SMG ammo like pebbles
>after closing the side doors to save themselves, a wyvern, probably the same one that smashed me, damaged the tail rotor and lit the chopper on fire with it’s breath
>then some purple energy wave, coming from the south, fried all the electronics and took out the controls
>poor bastards couldn’t get the doors to open before crashing, except the pilot and co-pilot
>they had it the worst
>jumped too early, missed the treeline, smashed their legs on the parking lot
>they were already dead when we got here, had to be blood loss or shock
>didn’t occurred to them to bring parachutes, and they paid the ultimate price
>Mike had also sent out a text, warning everyone to stay away from the institute, but the EMP probably meant most of us won’t see it
>I asked him why did we need to stay away
>he said he didn’t know either, the CIA big-shot told him to warn us
>he also said they flew on the altitude of a regular news chopper to avoid getting tracked by the NSA, across the highway
>that gave me chills
>what the fuck was going on, that we needed to hide from another agency?
>and how’s the Langley Gang involved with us?
>I didn’t tell Mike, but I had to get to the bottom of this
>at the time, I thought the worst case scenario would be a ordinary chemical leak
>boy, was I wrong
 
>altogether now, we walked and limped through a small forest, crossing Loop 410, to get to a emergency 24/7 clinic, that was luckily right in front of our original destination
>me and Mike had our guns drawn, there were definite signs of looters in the restaurants along the highway
>the clinic was still open, 3 doctors were still there, waiting on anyone who came for help, God bless their hearts
>we left Mike with them, they said he’d be fine after a few days on painkillers, the head gash wasn’t lethal, but he’d need a cast for his foot
>they bandaged up my leg, and gave me a morphine shot, saying that I’d be fine in a few hours
>with that settled, me and DD went to the sporting goods store
>place had NOT been ransacked, to our surprise
>instead, a pack of bird-people had settled in the store
>and they were wailing on a poor possum-lady, thought she was a cat-girl at first, until I saw her tail
>they didn’t notice us, so we crept around the edges until we reached the firearms section
>they were all out of .45 Long Colt, to my dismay
>but there WAS a Taurus Judge, and some .410 slug boxes still on the shelves
>DD grabbed a Mini-14 and some magazines, I whispered to him, why that of all things
>he said he helped his grandpa who hunted deer with a M14, so he kinda knew how the Mini works
>I was in no position to judge, seeing as how my weapon of choice until now, was a modified oversized cavalry revolver designed in fuckin’ 1847
>we loaded up our weapons
>and DD came up with a plan
 
(Now Playing : Hot Zone Preparation from Rainbow Six : Rogue Spear https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dm1tCLZxoFQ ) 
 
>I’d shimmy and shuffle in-between the women’s athletic clothing, and the bicycling sections, distracting them
>DD would then use the distraction to run behind the sunglasses/energy drink stand, and proceed to mag-dump into their backs
>sadly, no plan survives contact with the enemy
>their hearing was too good, they heard my boot-stomping from a mile away
>they yelled at me to ask who the hell am I
>I panicked, drew the Judge and tried to dump 6 slugs in their direction
>I missed the first one
>on the second one, the Judge’s cylinder exploded
>Luck1.jpeg
>my hand felt singed, but not burnt
>but my face felt like fire
>I dove behind a jegging stand
>3 of the birds surrounded me and started kicking me, too
>one pulled a knife and held it to my face
>telling me to wait my turn until after they were done with the other mammal
>possums aren’t mammals, but this was NOT the time to educate them
>plus, these assholes looked a lot like humans to me
>are avian-mammal and marsupial-mammal hybrids possible?
>yes, yes they are
>the birdmen are right here and they’re about to slit my damn throat
>I begged them to stop, yelling in between kicks that I had tribute for them, in my vest
>they stopped, told me to take it out
>quickly pulled out my Walker with my non-singed hand
>cocked the hammer while still in my vest
>pulled it out
>fired at the knifer
>bullet went through his knife-hand
>then through his neck, all the way into the ceiling
>the knife was ejected with such force, that it went into the shoulder of another bird-brain
>one dying, one bleeding out, and the other tried to run
>I shot him in the back
>felt no pity for a bitch who picks on the weak
>then runs like a bigger bitch when a real fight starts
>I yell for DD, who pokes his head out from the stand
>he had a BANG Champagne-flavor energy drink in one hand
>a caramel Stroopwaffel in the other
>and the rifle still slung over his shoulder
>goddamn that fat faggot
>point and yell COVERING FIRE at him
>only then does he drop the shit and help out
>the other 4 birds had already scattered
>2 ran out the door
>leaving 4 more in the store
>followed their muddy three-toed tracks into the women’s restroom
>wait, birds don’t have toes, they have talons
>whatever
>and there, we had our first ethical dilemma
>do we let these pricks survive to bully or even kill another day
>or do we get rid of them
>I looked into DD’s eyes
>and he into mine
>we both nodded, understood what had to be done
>we raised our guns
>he took the safety off
>42 shots of .223 Remington
>and 5 shots of .45 Long Colt later
>and it was over
>the bathroom, now one massive mess of gore
 
>after a few minutes of staring dumbfoundedly at what we did, DD spoke up first
>asking if what we did was really necessary
>it took me what felt like ages, to come up with an answer
>didn’t have one, then
>we walked away from our first (technical) war crime
>the blood had streamed across the room under our feet
>we left quite a psychologically-fucked trail of bloody footprints
>went to check up on the girl who got us into this mess to begin with
>she hugged DD, then me, thanking us for saving her life
>I couldn’t stay
>something in my heart was screaming at me that we had to go
>somewhere, anywhere, but here
>I walked up to DD and asked him if there was anything else I could do
>we HAD arrived at his destination
>he grabbed my hand, shook it, and told me he owed me his life
>but this was the end of the road for him
>he asked me if I was going to the institute, even after Mike’s warning
>told him I had too, I needed answers
>and from what Mike was saying, my place of employment might have those answers
>DD walked to the workout-food aisle, grabbed some energy-chew fruit gummies
>the possum-girl gobbled at them, still clinging to his arm
>there was a ton of .223 and 5.56 ammo here
>had a feeling they were gonna be okay
>as I started walking out the building, I finally came up with an answer to his restroom question
>told him that as far as we know, we’re among the last humans around
>it’s up to us now, to keep the peace, and maintain civility
>it might be up to us to get everything back in order
>or the next best thing, at least
>he asked if that meant we were basically self-deputized cowboy marshals or something
>As I stepped out the door, I told him one last thing
>”Yes, yes we are.”
 
(Now Playing : Memories from Top Gun https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHgsqdmZWGc )
 
CHAPTER 3 : SCHOOL’S OUT, FOREVER 
 
(Now Playing : Track 15, Siddle Sack from Red Dead Revolver https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3TRaq2FNus)
 
>walked northwards, along the side of Loop 1604
>my game plan so far, was to get to the Nardis Gun Club
>stock up on whatever they had that I might need
>then round up a posse of whomever was willing to see what laid ahead at the institute
>I’d get there by walking down Culebra road
>now you’re probably looking through a map and telling yourself “why would Walker take such a long path?”
>in my defense, I had a very bad feeling about going down State Highway 151, at the time
>that also ruled out cutting through Potranco road
>passed by a Shell gas station off of West Military drive
>a bunch of normal folks were grabbing what they could from there
>they were paying for it, the 2 cashiers, armed with rifles, made sure of it
>my help was not needed
>the Circle K across the street looked like something really big, sat on it
>and across the highway, a Walgreens was destroyed
>smashed and crashed into, by an F-16 Fighting Falcon
>my best guess was that the pilot accidentally dropped some ordnance on the gas station
>then after crashing into the pharmacy, he hit some button on accident and blew his ass up
>the rubble had all the signs of a violent explosion
>poor bastard was certainly blown to kingdom come, the place was so thoroughly wrecked
>there was nothing I could do here
>and so I kept walking
>but I began to feel tired
 
>the adrenaline rush from that 2-man firing squad action, was wearing off
>and my hand was starting to sting again
>so I decided to make a detour at the Northwest Vista community college
>it’s a college, so there had to be a medical office, somewhere in there
>passed by a skatepark, in the shadow of SeaWorld
>12 kids there, just skating about, like it was just another day
>far be it from me to rain on their parade
>passing them by, I decided to cut through the waterpark
>or I did at first
>turned out, crossing the parking lot would be a straight shot to the college
>but I hadn’t expected it to be so huge, when it’s empty
>it felt so much smaller, at least when it was packed with park-goers and tourists
>in hindsight, crossing that lot nearly became the biggest mistake of my entire life
>I spotted snipers on the top of the Journey To Atlantis ride
>and they spotted me
>being in a giant empty parking lot, there was nowhere to hide, nothing to cover behind
>I was dead to rights
>and for reasons I never found out, reasons that to this very day, make me often wake up at 3:AM in a cold, cold sweat, they didn’t shoot me
>the cynical section of my little gray cells say that they didn’t register me as a threat, and I would have been a waste of a good bullet
>the hopeful section says it was the spirit of mercy
>not wanting to push my luck any more, I speedwalked my way into the treeline, heading north
 
(Now Playing: My Name Is Nobody - Main Theme by Ennio Morricone https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vqMQ0gkEyt0 )
 
>there was plant people in the woods
>a few were trees with wooden faces
>most looked like normal people, but with light green skin
>and crusty looking white veins all over their bodies
>inside I assumed, was chlorophyll
>they ignored me
>all but one
>it was some plant-kid, hanging around a branch
>inquisitive little bugger, he was grilling me
>grilling me on where I was going, then why I was going
>what was the funny looking piece of metal hanging from my shoulder
>asked me if I knew what the weird metal and glass boxes on the road were
>I was not in the mood for bullshit, after what went down in the parking lot
>and my hand was really starting to hurt
>so I gave it to him straight, but not too much details
>told him that it was a learning place, and that I needed a healer
>that I had a one-handed six-bolt crossbow, but no bolt comes out, just the tip
>and that the metal boxes were horseless carriages that needed to be fed a special kind of oil, to move
>by then we had made it to the western parking lot, by the Pecan Hall building
>the doors were open, I yelled out for anyone, but the place was empty
>I showed the kid how to use a water fountain, at least those were still working
>shoulda seen the look on his face when he figured out this was a limitless source of water
>him being a pod person, that must’ve been really important
>he spit into his hand then grabbed my hand to shake it, telling me how grateful he was for the tip
>and that he needed to show the others about this
>as he ran off, he wished me good luck
>I wondered how he’d react when he found out what sprinklers and hoses are
>aw hell
>oh, that’s nasty, but cool
>his spit was aloe vera
>the stinging had lessened a bit, but I was gonna need bandages and some painkiller injection
>to my surprise, the display map of the campus had no dedicated nurse office
>but it said there was a plain cabinet on the 2nd floor of the Juniper Hall building
 
>walking across the campus, I finally encountered more humans
>a bunch, probably around 300
>a tent city was beginning to form, the grass and woods covered in portable abode after abode
>people cooking meat with charcoal grills
>folks setting up dutch ovens using rock piles
>from outside, the Redbud library was full of people just…..sitting around, reading
>it was one huge camping jamboree out here
>a crowd of people were sitting in a circle around this one bench-resting fellow, telling a story
>I noticed his pointy ears
>and I started to think that these non-human people, that walking lizard from the Walgreens, aren’t mutants
>this shit might be magical
>I never understood the fear, the subconscious reverence, that people give to the supernatural
>maybe it’s the spirit of Manifest Destiny in me
>the inner voice that told those pioneers of so long ago, that those Injun spirits aren’t real
>if they were, they’d stop your bullets and save those buffalos
>if some magic wizard crap was going to gun for me
>then I’d gun back, with a hateful 325 grain bullet to the heart
>sneeringimperialistperk.jpeg
>entering from the 1st floor, I stupidly pressed the elevator button, waited around for about 2 minutes
>until some fellow who I assume had just exited a restroom, reminded me that everything electric’s been fried
>so I took the stairs
>the cabinet was intact, but I wasn’t the first to go through it
>but there was enough bandages for one hand, and a bottle of Ibuprofen
>I didn’t want to be too much of a parasite, so I took two pills, used both
>it’d kick in any minute now
>and the pressure from the bandage was another slight pain relief improvement
 
>After about 20 minutes of resting my legs, I decided to go to the Prickly Pear parking garage’s 5th floor, reloading my revolver along the way
>Prickly Pear parking, hah, that’s a good pun
>I wanted to get a better view of the area from higher ground
>looking back, I should have just climbed to the roof of Juniper Hall
>it wasn’t like there were any campus security on duty, to stop me from going there
>I walked over and made it up the 5 flights of stairs
>by God, I was getting tired
>it was about to be sunset by now
>but there was still more bullshit that day
 
(Now Playing: Close The Gate from Mad Max 2 : The Road Warrior https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dkublz-bEtg )
 
>as I made it to the top, a fat bald jackass in a really thick jacket, pulled a Glock on me
>said he was ready to put one in me
>I had no clue who this guy is or what he was talking about
>as I stood there in silence, he went on a rant about how he challenged me to a rumble on Twitter
>for making too much fun of his favorite girl in some anime navy video game
>some rant about the HMS Warspite, then some unsolicited remarks about the Dreadnought Texas
>aw hell
>some other guy was supposed to be here, at the exact place, and this exact time, and exact day
>this chub-a-lub thinks I’m the gaslighter
>I buy time, by challenging him to Bangkok rules
>no one draws until this discarded McDonalds large cup I just picked up, hit the ground
>we both took 15 steps, backs facing each other
>we turned to face each other
>Fats Domino tossed the cup into the air
>we both cheated and tried to draw before the rock hit the ground
>but he waited until the cup’s trajectory hit its apex
>and I drew immediately
>but the time it took for me to draw, cock back the hammer, and aim well enough, bought him enough time to draw and fire
>he missed
>I didn’t
>got him right in the chest
>I thought it was over
>turned out he was wearing armor plates
>man, that’s double cheating
>I slid over a Chevy Sonic’s hood for cover
>my opponent magdumped into the car, in the hopes of a round punching through, into me
>in his defense, a few rounds did go through the car, but none managed to tag me
>as the sound of gunfire stopped, I made a risky guess that he was reloading
>and so I took my chances, and lined up another shot
>two more shots, I tried aiming for his head, but they still hit his chest
>oh god, why did I take classes on hitting center mass
>all he did was stumble backwards a bit, then fumbled a magazine onto the ground
>I missed the 2nd shot
>ducked again to reload
>but I didn’t hear the sound of a slide-cocking
>20 seconds passed, I got antsy, so I poked my head out
>and the fatty was dead, crumpled against the passenger door of an orange PT Cruiser
>a wooden spike, jammed right through his skull
>standing by him was some freaky-looking chick with tribal paint on her face
>she was glaring at me, then smirked at something behind me
>I turn around, and that story-timing elf was right there, a bow strung back, and an arrow pointed right at my head
>I had no beef with these dudes, so I placed my gun onto the hood
>got on my knees, put my hands behind my head, and told them he attacked me
>they said they believed me
>but I had a “bad aura”
>the girl, whom I assume was some warrior-druid, said that I was a “false-front”
>a deception of warm civility, that masked a darkened heart of cold natural justice
>I told them I was just passing through, and that I needed to get to a store up north
>so they told me to get going and buzz off, before I “contaminated the settlement’s souls with iron-fist energy”
>ew, so this place is a magic hippie commune now
>screw ‘em, I would have left anyways
 
>I grabbed my gun, put it back into the holster, and exited via the northern stairway
>damn, I had thoughts of trying to bum a night in someone’s tent
>eh, there’s a Dick’s Sporting Goods and a Lowe’s, not far from Nardis
>I’ll get my own tent over there
>it’s only another 10-15 minutes to walk, after the gun shop
>it’s getting dark now
>and it’s getting cold
>suddenly, I felt very stupid, for wearing just a button-shirt and a polyester vest, on a day like this
>but I survived 3 fights, saved a friend’s life, made a new friend
>I held my head high
>confident that whatever was waiting for me along this knowledge-quest I’ve chosen, I’d find a way to beat it, or evade it
>the world is going to shit
>but at least, I am alive
 
(Now Playing : Love is Blue by Paul Mauriat https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_tPE3o5NWk )
 
CHAPTER 4 : I Have No Tent, And I Must Sleep
 
>walk the equivalent of 2 blocks, to get to Nardis
>nothing much happened, other than seeing a normal coyote chase a chihuahua across the road
>go coyote go
>chihuahuas are just rats that can bark
>get there, hear the muffled sound of gunfire, coming from the indoor range
>how are they still open
>open the door
>get buttstock-smacked on the left cheek
>fall on the floor
>a fully-armed crowd of 14-15 folks surround me
>someone in the back is walking the dinosaur
>the guy who smacked me, points his Norinco 84S right into my face
>I could tell it was a 84S, because of the 5.56 mag sticking out
>several of them demand an answer as to what the fuck am I doing here
>I tell them I don’t really know, thought I’d just pop in and see what they had
>Norinco prick does a double-take
>smacks my cheek again
>two of the others, big brotrucker dudes, pull me up ,then hold me in the air
>toss me out the door like Jazz in the Fresh Prince show
>bastards bruised my cheek, the fall nearly dislocated my left shoulder
>wiggers, it’d be a shame if someone were to put a crowbar through the door handles
>then get on the roof
>then dump a gas tank down the vents
>then drop a lit match
>but I had neither a crowbar nor a tank of gasoline
>so I pulled out my swiss army knife, and slashed the front tire inflation valves
>of every single car in the parking lot
>I was too upset, too sleep-deprived, and in too much pain to just let this slide
>call me a nigger, but they drew first blood
 
(Now Playing : Scorpio’s View, from Dirty Harry https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_QMgi1tPQuQ )
 
>left the gun shop, with extreme prejudice
>cut through the woods to get to the strip mall
>these woods were mostly normal, no plant-folk
>just some normal squirrels, birds, stray cats
>there were some camping folks there too
>campfire alight, I walked over with my hands up, asked them how the weather was
>they were out of food, but I still sat around for a bit, to talk to them
>turned out, they were in the same boat as me, turned away from the college
>they also gave the hippies “negatives vibes”
>some of them had guns, but nobody here had shot anyone yet, save me
>the chilly air wasn’t just me, everyone was feeling it
>with all the freaky monsters and elves and shit, a cold snap didn’t seem so weird at this point
>I pointed out that the theater right by, has got to be full of concession stand food
>they call me a genius for thinking of that
>after resting for a while, sundown had passed by
>everyone who was packin’ heat, drew our weapons right before getting to the back door
>I kick the door down, Hollywood style
>psych, it took me 6 tries to bust the hinge
>feller behind me, brunette lady with a Mossberg 930, runs in
>the rest of us panic, we were so hungry and distracted
>we hadn’t thought up a real plan
>out of the 14 of us left, 4 run off to flank the front doors
>2 run to take the left emergency exit
>leaving 8 of us to rush in after her
>I take point since no one else seemed to have the guts
>only one guy had a flashlight
>and it wasn’t me
>in my defense, I had planned to go home from the range around 4:00 PM
>had to have been around 9:30 PM by now
>rushing into the hallways, the guy in the back of our conga line barks out some orders
>telling us to search every showing room for hostiles
>I took viewing room 7
>according to the sign, a re-showing of Seraphim Falls was going down right as everything went wack
>how fitting, sending me in here
>I run into the room and start yelling into the darkness, to get the fuck outta here
>two weird-ass redskins stood up from behind seating row 18
>and I don’t mean Injuns
>I mean like the not-demon demonpeople from D&D
>the exact name escaped me at the time
>clearly some hanky-panky was going on, so I gave them time to put their clothes back on
>then another one from row 3, jumped off a chair and lunged at me with a knife
>I ducked
>he missed and smacked his head on a railing
>I shot him twice in the chest
>fuck, I didn’t even think twice about that
>I’ve shot, like, 5 people in one day
>and this is just the first day
>is this just the beginning to even more excessively crazy and violent bullshit?
>don’t answer that
>a rhetorical question
 
>the two horny horned people came up to me, hugging me out of the blue
>thanking me for getting rid of that other guy
>some stalker who was probably about to pull a Voorhees and stab them in the middle of their business
>then I was grossed out, ‘cuz I could smell their arousal
>I’m not getting involved in this, no sir-ee
>I left them to their business, and awkwardly walked out the room
>rest of the guys all trickled out of their rooms, all clear
>save for one crackhead who tried jumping one of our guys
>took him down with his .40 S&W RIA 1911
>but not before the junkie stabbed him in the right arm with a piece of glass
>the guys that busted in the front had no problems, found a first aid kit quick
>he got patched up, and we congregated in the lobby
>no real food left, guess the staff took what they could and scram’d
>but there was tons of popcorn, candy, and frozen snacks left around
>enough to tide us over until the authorities came
>or at least, that was THEIR logic
>I wasn’t betting on the calvary arriving anytime soon
>asked them about the Target, Walmart, and HEB nearby
>they said the Target was looted dry this afternoon
>the Walmart had been flattened by something, then the food section looted dry
>and they had a bad feeling about the HEB
>I didn’t take their warning seriously
>I wanted real food so badly
>they invited me to stay, pointing out that I had the most “combat experience” out of the group
>some of them looked like ex-military, and I called them out
>but they were honest in being POGs, none of them ever even went to the Sandbox
>I told them about my personal quest, and that I wasn’t against having a posse to back me up
>maybe even storm the institute 
>but they put it to a vote, and the majority agreed that I was cruisin’ for a bruisin’
>so once again, I was all alone
>fuck democracy
>I gave them advice, that they should seek shelter in some barricaded place, like a fort, or a house with a big basement
>and then I shook their hands, wished them luck, and went back on my merry way
 
(Now Playing : I Still Can’t Sleep from Taxi Driver https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gJ9SvXXgnE0 )
 
>it was a cakewalk to Dick’s
>Lowe’s parking lot was empty, save for more fried cars
>saw some folks still looting the Best Buy6
>only working things they’ll find in there are the boxcutters and shopping carts
>after that, an OfficeMax, where 3 bums were using their industrial-size printer-paper stacks to light a fire out of a trash can
>smart move, not gonna lie
>a lucky day for them
>but not for me
>noooooooooooooo, I get to Dick’s, and what do I find
>a ton of teenagers all climbing over each other to get their grubby mitts on the sports clothing
>the ones with guns had already came and gone, some corpses on the ground were proof that some shots had gone down
>I drew my revolver, kept to the sides to avoid any trouble
>although I have to admit, watching some rancher kid with a 9-iron, seriously dueling some baseball bat-wielding Mexican?
>that was the funniest thing I’d see that day
>arriving at the camping section, there were no tents
>no sleeping bags
>I was 200% pissed
 
>an employee walked up to me
>seemed he had the last sleeping bag, and he was sleeping out of the break room
>sadly informed me that the camping equipment had been cleared out
>first by the Northwest Vista students, around 2:00 PM
>then about 30 minutes later, the leftovers were taken by an armed gang of Taft high schoolers
>who were bragging about bugging out to Government Canyon
>which by now, looked like it was all going down in a literal blaze
>I’d say it served them right
>but nobody deserves to go out like that
>incinerated by a monster
>I went out the backdoor emergency exit, and climbed up the roof
>wanted to get a better view of the fires
>and by golly, I got it
>Government Canyon was a Dresden-tier wildfire
>Helotes had to be utterly gone by now
>I highly doubted that any fire department was in any shape to deal with this
>only a rainstorm from God was gonna fix that
>despite being hungry, my legs were getting tired again
 
>I sat by the edge of the roof
>a gentle tap to my back
>turned around, a bird-woman shyly asked if I had a light for her cigarette
>I had no lighter, but I did have a box of matches in my range bag
>her feathers mostly light brown, with some shiny dark purple to her lower parts
>bird-hybrid or not, she was a woman, of course I looked down there
>surmised she was a Brewer’s blackbird
>tons of their non-sapient kind lived in this part of the country before and after the /k/onvergence
>only had about 4 matches left, I lit one up and ignited her smoke
>she would have offered me one, but the one smoke was all she had
>I told her it was fine, no hard feelings
>introduced myself
>she tells me her name was Betty
>had a vaguely New Jerseyian accent
>her feathers drooped, and said there had to be something she could do in return
>she looked tired and beat-up, same as me
>the lightbulb in my head flicked on immediately
>no, not for sexy time
>ain’t nobody got time for that right now, go to horny jail
>I asked her to fly me to the HEB across the highway, where there’d be food and maybe warmth
>her face perked up at the second I said food
>and so we flew, picking me up by the shoulders with her talons
>it hurt a bit, but it was necessary
>more wild animals on the highway
>guess this is how it starts
>nature reclaiming it’s old turf, and all that Al Gore shit
>we land on the roof of HEB, she lands fine, I try a roll, but crash flat on my ass
>ouchie
>she giggled at me
>said something under her breath about how being unable to fly is massively cringy
>okay, hollow-bones
>I pop open the rooftop ladder to descend inside
>ladder goes to a innocuous door in the back of the 2nd floor break room
>how very Umbrella Corporation to build it like that
>room’s empty, some assorted snacks are scattered around
>vending machines near empty, broken glass was all the answer I needed
>only the outside moonlight, and the light pollution of the northwards blaze, pierced the darkness inside the building
>no flashlight, but I beelined for the aisle with the candles
>lit one up, 2 matches left
>we dined like royalty on the veggie aisle
>seems every looter wanted the long-lasting food, and fruits
>looking back, I’d bet good money that some of them were smart enough to use the fruits
>to get their seeds, to make more trees, to make more fruits, the Johnny Appleseed cycle
>I must’ve chomped through a whole bushel of celery, then 2 bags of carrots
>Betty went all out on the eggplants, cabbage, and turnips
 
>after that hearty dinner, we walked over to a bench by the pharmacy section
>used the flame of the candle to light up a few more to have around
>we talked for a while about ourselves
>she was a 2nd-rate scavenger who’d usually wait for others to do the fighting for her
>flew over to a field where she’d heard a battle had gone down a few hours earlier
>then right before she landed at the site, poof, she hit Loop 1604 asphalt
>hurt her feet-talons pretty bad
>leaned up on the side of a highway barricade for a while
>she saw Mike’s chopper get attacked, in her own medieval worded-way of description
>then wandered around looking for food, found a lone cigarette in a trashcan by the Red Robin
>then she saw me climb up that ladder, and here we are
>she says there aren’t many humans where she came from
>asks me if I know any dwarves that can get her a weapon
>she did a double-take when I told her there are no dwarves on this world
>and sputtered about how that makes no sense
>everyone knows humans are a sub-race of dwarves, on the other side, she says
>I regretfully inform her that the only intelligent land creature in this world, is humans
>it took her about 5 minutes to soak that in
>she curled into a fetal position, whimpering that she might be the only harpy in this world
>I put my arm around her, telling her to keep up some hope
>that since I saw a bunch of other non-humans today, there must be more of her kind somewhere in the city
>or around it, at least
>she cheered up a bit at that thought
>guess birds of a feather really DO stick together
>after a few more awkward minutes of silence, she decided to head up north
>we walked together, out the west entrance
>she told me that if she found help, they'd come find me
>I told her if she did, the rescue party had better be fast enough to catch up with me
>Betty laughed, then did a running start through the parking lot
>lifted off, did some circling and loop-de-loops, probably to see if she still had the skill
>flying away, she turned her head around to have a last glimpse of me
>and I smiled and waved back
>2 seconds later, my eardrums exploded at the sound of a 12 gauge going off
>Betty's shredded by buckshot, falls to the ground like a paperweight
>crashes through the sunroof of a Honda CR-V
>I horrifically screamed a huge AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH at the top of my lungs
>look to the right
>and there he was, standing at the entrance to the Party City next door
>a freak in some urban splinter camo pants
>Fu Manchu t-shirt, orange-faded brown moto jacket 
>in his hands, a smoking-barrel Ithaca 37
>and on his head
>a motherfucking eye-bleeding Michael Myers mask
 
(Now Playing : Theme From The Fog [Classic Themes Redux version] by John Carpenter https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0Fyf_fFHZQ ) 
 
[to see what happens when Walker goes with Betty, read this https://pastebin.com/g02ASCWu ]
 
 
 
 
Chapter 5 : Blessed Are The (Colt) Peacemakers
 
(Now Playing : Halloween Triumphant from Halloween 2018 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uRKKfaWGZ2c )
 
>he looks right at me
>his shotgun pointed downwards
>I can’t see his eyes
>must be wearing some one-way goggles inside
>he’s probably on drugs
>yeah, just some junkie
>we’re at a standoff
>he tries to point and pump his shotgun at me
>but my draw was faster, my motivation was silent rage, my tunnel vision solely squared on him
>blast him once, right in the chest
>falls over, his trigger finger pulls and fires into the air
>get wrecked, you evil fuck
>we weren’t bothering anyone, just minding our business
>what did he have to gain from killing us
>walk over to the Honda
>pull Betty out by one of her taloned legs
>check for a pulse
>she’s gone
>I was devastated
>felt sparks, between us
>if only we hadn’t left so soon, we might have avoided that wacko
>if only we took more time
>I felt like we could have had something, at least to keep each other company in this disaster pile-up
>maybe something even more
>I held onto her body, tightly
>held and started crying
>must have been about five minutes, before I realized that I needed to get a grip
>I don’t think she would have wanted me to stay out here in the open
>began to feel a little too exposed
>I saw a nice bottle of Vitamin water in the Honda’s cupholder
>reached in for it
>it was drenched in Betty’s blood
>probably would have vomited, had I not done that earlier today
>couldn’t stay here any more, I was feeling sicker and sicker by the second
>as I walked away, I noticed something
>something that took the heated anger coursing through my mind and bloodstream
>and froze it
>Betty’s killer was gone
>a simple tiny blood stain where he was laying
>the sound of a pump to my left
>my monkey-reptilian atavist genes took hold, the instinct of survival
>without fully comprehending, I pushed myself to duck-jump behind a Escalade
>the now-familiar blast of the Ithaca was all I needed to know
>that this guy wasn’t you average murderer
>my legs went lightspeed, doing the best crawl-run I could do
>three more racks, three more shots
>all missed, hitting parked cars that I was zipping, bobbing, and weaving through
>2nd-to-last shot almost hit me, blew off a rearview mirror in front of my face
>scraped my cheek with a piece of glass shrapnel
>whatever bullshit drugs, armor, magic, or parlor tricks he was using, he still needed to reload
>after everything I’d seen today, I knew it was best to consider that literally anything is now possible
>guy could be an android from the future, sent to kill Betty because she or a descendant would do something HUGE, for all I knew
>or maybe I’M the target
>no time to dwell on that
>I needed to kill this piece of shit
>so I took my chance, shot his chest again
>caught him right in the middle of reloading another shot, dropping the shell
>this time, I glue my eyes to him
>my bad feeling was right
>he just got up again
>shot him four more times, all hit center mass
>he was still squirming on the ground
>oh my god
>this guy just ain’t going down
>so I ran like a bat outta hell, southwards, but parallel to Culebra Road
>told myself I’d lose him in the neighborhood, then proceed to the institute
>thankfully, unlike the movies, Mr. Myers over here didn’t have some bullshit teleporting movie magic
>I took a quick peek behind, saw him move his hands to reload while still lying on the ground
>try to pick up the pace, but not too much
>he’ll catch up if I exhaust myself too quickly
>almost tripped over a dead guy with cow-horns and legs
>crossing Rogers Road, onto Mountain View, I tried to use the lack of sidewalk to my advantage
>blend into the trees and brush, I tell myself
>didn’t work, brush was so loud, a bat could spot me from two miles away
>make it to the end of the road, zipping through the backyard of a lonesome home
>he’s far, but he can see me in the pale moonlight
>as I turn to look forward, I hear a pump
>a slug punches a massive hole through a truck door I had just passed by
>pushing through some bushes, I was now crossing Helotes Creek
>completely out in the open
>an idea popped into my head
>once the assholes pushed his own way out of the bushes, I shot his leg
>he fell over, dropped his shotgun, and tumbled into the creek
>didn’t even bother turning back, I had my opening to lose him, and I wasn’t gonna blow it
>getting onto Easterling, I ran into River City Ready Mix, a concrete quarry
>a few dunes of sand and industrial stone would hide me, without making too much noise like running through bushes
>decided to take a break by getting inside a boat parked by the southeast edge
>but soon enough, I could hear HIS footsteps
>a methodical one-two slow tempo, as he scanned the parked cars around
>he could sense I was here
>or maybe I left a trail of fresh footprints
>loaded 3 shots and fully cocked my revolver
>he heard, then climbed up the boat ladder
>the second his head came up, I shot him right in the head
>no jokes, no one-liners
>not after what he did to that harmless cute avian
>he’ll find nothing here but righteous fury and cold rage
>I tried to shake him down for anything in his pockets
>nothing
>not even body armor
>how the fuck did he take 5 shots of .45 LC and still move like nothing was wrong
>I then took his shotgun and shot it out of anger
>had a white knight moment
>thought to myself that maybe I ought to go out and gun down all the freaks that try to kill cute animal-ladies
>yeah, I like Touhou and Monster Musume
>that one blue birdy from MM was waaayyy too flat for my tastes 
>Monster Girl Encyclopedia had some good ideas, but holy shit, that artist had really outta dial back on the XBOXHUEG paws and feet
>how are they supposed to hold anything with “hands” like that
>or put on pants, panties, and shorts, with “feet” like that
>I jumped over a fence, then walked through an open backyard gate onto Gemsbuck Chase
>then it hit me, on how cringy was that white-knightery I just said
>there’s no chance that I can save everyone
>sure, I helped DD, Mike, that possum-woman, the two red chicks in that theater
>but I was completely helpless to save Betty
>why didn’t he shoot me before her, I had a gun and she didn’t
>after what I did at Academy, it would have been poetic to die hours later in a random murder
>what if I wind up helpless to save Mom and Dad
>what if I’m too late
>what it they’re already dead
>oh get the fuck out, inner doomer
>I don’t have time for you right now
>I got a institute to check out
>two parents to find
>and I need to figure out what to do after that
>actually, I’d cross that bridge when I get to it
>I was at the end of Gemsbuck, right at a water trough that led to another neighborhood, after a short clearing of trees
>but right as I jumped in the trough, someone smashed right through a fence on the corner of Gemsbuck and Sable Arrow
>it was the Halloween cosplayer, armed with a fishing spear, and two spearguns
>probably took them from the boat
>still alive, a good part of his mask was now covered in blood and brain fluids
>okay, this is beyond drugs
>he’s hopped up on magic bullshitium, and he’s got a voodoo-hoodoo lock on me
>I shouldn’t have spaced out, should’ve kept running
>need something that’ll really shake him off
>I’m gonna need a bigger gun
 
>now that I was on Ramblin River Road, I noticed that there was plenty of people around this neighborhood
>some pressed to their windows, some on their porches, waiting for some asshole to trespass
>some are unarmed, but still staring
>one guy tries to grab me, to ask what’s going on
>smacked his hand away, then screamed at the top of my lungs
>not some cryptic unclear warning like the first victim in all those horror movies do
>no, I kept looking forwards
>yelling out to everyone, “THERE’S A MASKED GUY TRYING TO KILL ME, AND HE KILLED TWO ANIMAL PEOPLE ALREADY, AND I SHOT HIM LIKE 7 TIMES AND HE JUST. WON’T. DIEEEEEE!”
>along the houses, a few dogs were chained to fence posts, lamp posts,  and trees
>more than just the usual barking, they were going rabid at the masked freak
>that proved to me, the theory that dogs can sense bad juju and get bonkers from it
>two dogs, a Doberman and a mutt Shepherd from different homes, managed to bust loose and attack him
>one poor woofer, I had my head turned, but I could hear the very loud crack of a neck-snapping
>the other got shot in the face, right before it passed by me, with one of the spearguns
>immediately ducked after guessing that if that dog was close enough for a shot, so was I
>and the other spear whizzed right over my head
>so close that I felt the air move from that one
>hit a bystander in the arm
>she got fuckin pissed, pulled a compact Glock out, magdumped with her good hand
>stopped running to see if she could pull off the kill
>she didn’t
>I saw him get hit 14 times, all upper body hits and he just kept coming
>went back to briskly jogging, I heard her yell about how he should be dead
>then a louder scream of panic
>ending with a crack of 12 gauge, followed by silence
>at a right turn on the street, I tried to think if I knew anyone around here
>I did
>one of my coworkers, a computer tech guy named Ed Weinthraup, lived on Great Basin’s cul-de-sac
>hosted last year’s Christmas party, about two months after I started working at the institute
>right on the other street
>with the turn, I had lost my pursuer for a few seconds
>took my chance, ran through the open backyard fence at house 9943, closed the fence quietly
>staying still, breathing softly and slowly, I could hear him speed-walk by
>after what felt like a few minutes of waiting, I heard what sounded like a door open
>on the other side of the street
>seemed that he can’t sense my exact location, only the general area where I am
>now was my chance to get to Ed’s house, number 9911, without being followed
>speed-walked myself right up to the fence
>lowered my pack over the side
>then carefully hopped onto the fence, slowly getting down without making a loud smack on the ground
>didn’t need to do that, Ed had a lounge chair with a thick pillow right up to the fence
>landed on that, then walked quietly over to the house
 
>his garage’s sliding door was unlocked, so I went in
>then I pulled the curtains down, locked the door
>before the next phase of my hasty plan, I made sure to pull down every curtain and lock every door on ground floor
>almost forgot the garage door
>now with that solved, I could safely search his place for anything that could clue me in on the classified stuff Mike had warned about
>checked his bedroom, found nothing but a raise decline from Dr. Paisley 
>but on the kitchen counter, I found an invitation to work at the NSA’s facility across the street
>folded the invitation, and put it in my right buttpocket
>if the institute’s been abandoned, then I’ll have to ask the privacy infringers across the highway for help
>went up to the 2nd floor
>here was his empty guest room, his sister’s bedroom, and a hobby room
>he had the good shit in that last one
>his 11-grand custom PC that he bragged a lot about, a fancy joystick for simulator games, that one Valve VR headset
>in his closet was a gunsafe, locked
>the lock was a plain black/silver dial combination one
>the Master Lock ones that you can get at Office Depot for 4 bucks
>normally I would just shoot the lock, but that would alert Mikey Myke out there
>so I closed the curtains on that floor too, then sat down at his PC desk to think
>if I was a piece of paper with a safe combo, where would I be?
>first guess was the restroom, checked the upstairs one, the downstairs one
>zilch
>then I checked his room, nothing
>checked the kitchen, zip
>checked the living room and dining room, diddly squat
>that left only one other place
>his sister Emerald’s room and bathroom
>really didn’t wanna go there
>she was nice, sure
>but Emmy had gonorrhea, passed it on to two CDC higher-ups from Atlanta about 5 months earlier
>met them after Paisley asked her to be a eye candy tour guide
>so I grabbed a MSA Millennium gas mask (clear-lenses) that Ed had under his bed
>along with 5 gas mask filters, attached one, put the others in my bag
>then some yellow rubber cleaning gloves from his kitchen
>I didn’t know if The Clap could be transmitted without sex, but I wasn’t taking chances
>nothing under her bed, but shoes, slippers, unopened sock bundles, and high heel boots 
>nothing but clothes, a few stripper-tier halloween costumes, and stuffed foxes/giraffes in her closet
>her restroom was normal by women tastes
>hairspray, perfumes, 8 different shampoos, gel body wash, and conditioners
>the undersink cabinet was all sex and genital cleanliness stuff
>like dildos of varying sizes, and even “shapes,” if you know what I mean
>along with lube, tampons, a little black book of phone numbers for DTF guys, and a bag of enemas
>ran through the book, in case she wrote anything that was secretly important
>nothing, but I did find my own cell and home phone numbers crossed out
>under that, my name, circled and crossed out, a little sidenote labeled me as “SEXY BUT JACKASS”
>I’d been flattered if this wasn’t coming from a walking plague vector
>if she was clean, I don’t know if I’d be able to resist myself from having a bedsheet ball with her dirty laundry basket
>this also assumes that I’m not being seeked out by a unstoppable killer
>her bathroom clear, I then went to her cabinets
>really hoped it was in here
>too much noise would be made, if it was in the garage
>by the 2nd cabinet, I found a combo diary-scrapbook
>flipped through it, nothing of note
>except again, I was in it
>it was that one time I gave a tour for anthropology students from UTSA, through the monkey zone and the Thunderdome
>and she showed up, somehow
>I thought she was just taking pictures of the primates
>a half-truth, she was also taking pictures of every guy who worked there, married or not
>her pics of the tour were all at angles that had me in them
>I remembered that I had tight pants on, that day
>and their professor, well she had quite the golden globes on her
>every picture she had of that day, she circled and had arrows pointed at my blood-rushed bulge
>okay, that was it
>this must be destroyed, fuck you Emmy
>Ed’s cool, and I’m not gonna let him get wrecked by our NDA because you have borderline files on all of us
>phone numbers were one thing, but names, faces, AND addresses?
>so I put the scrapbook in my backpack
>reminded myself to later give it the ol’ trash can incineration
>and right under the scrapbook, was a scrap of paper labeled “EMERGENCY”
>there was 4 phone numbers, the direct line to our security team’s office
>a direct line to the NSA, and the chief offices of the two closest police stations
>under the numbers, was the lock code
>4 right, 5 left, 1 right
>tried it out
>bingo, the lock came off
>opened the safe
>Ed had got to be fucking kidding me
>it was a .50 BMG, 22-inch barrel, Bushmaster BA50 carbine
>that’s it, no ammo boxes, nothing else
>at least it had one full 10-round magazine
>already locked and loaded, I now had 11 shots of truck-killer bullets
>after scrounging through his hobby room for any extra ammo, I found no bullets at all
>but I did find a personal note for his work PC, had his username and password
>maybe my answers were at his workstation
>I’ve handled one at a gun show
>bullets eject from the right, but you work the bolt on the left
>uh-mazing, isn’t it
>now, I was ready to fuck an mechanized platoon up
>but I had to make my shots count
>folded the note, pocketed it with the invitation
>after chugging a water bottle from Ed’s fridge, I quietly opened the front door
>the masked asshole was nowhere in sight
>so I walked two houses down
>layed the Big Fucking Gun onto the side of a truck parked on the street
>I had guessed that he was still on Ramblin River
>guessed wrong
>he was in the house right to the left of me, 9902
>busted right through the garage door
>went at his usual pace right for me
>pulled out the last spear, raised up his arm
>I pulled the BFG
>right when he tried to lunge, I had to point shoot
>the sounds definitely woke up everyone in a 6 block radius
>after getting my senses back together from the recoil shock, I saw that I had blown his right arm clean off
>his shotgun was slung over that now non-existent arm, falling to the ground
>he then grabbed me with his left arm, right on the neck
>tried to strangle me, fuck if he didn’t have a grip like an aggressive Swedish grandma
>he underestimated my neck gains though
>willed enough strength in me to rack the bolt and fire again, this time the cannon was pressed right up to his waist
>literally blew him in half
>my pants were splattered with his blood
>his upper body was about 4 feet away
>his legs were right in front of me
>and his leaking intestines were all over the place
>it didn’t make sense
>.50 BMG is tough, but even at point blank, it shouldn’t be THAT powerful
>but my pursuer was dead, so I’m not gonna question this
>fuck, jinxed it
>he really was on magic voodoo
>his body parts were still moving, and were now glowing a yellowish-green
>the street started getting misty
>his intestines were going back inside, his legs were moving towards the rest of his body, so was his left arm
>he looked at me, started crawling towards me
>I screamed at the top of my lungs
>and this time I really did piss myself
>left the Bushmaster on the ground
>started running, and yes I do mean RUNNING 
>had to make some distance before he pulls himself back together
>ran eastwards, back towards Culebra
 
>what in the actual fuck is any of this
>why me
>why was no one helping me
>why didn’t I just take Potranco Road straight east, then a left on Southwest Military
>would’ve already made it to the institute by now
>instead here I am, going through STD-infectee panty cabinets, getting chased and strangled by a regenerating magic serial killer, running into burning pizza joints, executing bird bandits, getting shot at by sweaty fatasses, having pretty ladies violently killed all around me
>my pants and boxers are soaked in my own pee, my legs are getting sore and numb
>my feet hurt, my neck hurts, my hand and ankle wounds are hurting again
>this is shit, all of it, this sucks, I wanna go home
>I just wanted to have a fun time at the range with B.C.
>why couldn’t I have turned on the TV for five seconds
>would’ve stayed home or gone to Lackland to volunteer, if I had known that the world was falling apart
>would’ve called Mom and Dad, told them to head for the nearest police station
>would’ve gone to pick up B.C., so we could get through this like a team
>all the possibilities, all the choices and ways this day could’ve gone down
>and I probably took the worst path of them all, besides actually dying
>but I had to keep moving
>I had to live
>Betty took a shell of buckshot for me
>I couldn’t let her unintentional sacrifice go to waste
>zipped past house number 9726
>this fence was tall and locked, but my patience had ran dry
>shot the lock, then pushed on through
>hopped the metal fence leading to a house on Del Mar Trail
>ran my ass down the street
>didn’t stop to talk to anyone
>made it to Westover Hills Boulevard, in what felt like only a few minutes
>my fight-or-flight instinct was running the show now
>turned left, “Myers”, was nowhere in sight, but that thinking gets plenty of people killed in his movies
>had to assume he was right behind me
>that he could pop out of any bush, any closet, any car trunk, anywhere, anytime
>I need something that can destroy a body
>acid, fire, liquid nitrogen, something like that
>made it to the 7-11 on the corner of Culebra and Westover Hills
>I needed a pick-me-up, a boost
>the energy drinks were picked clean, but the coffee machines still had the body fuel
>the machines weren’t working, so I popped the top off, dunking a cup into the cappuccino
>it was room-temperature, flat, and there was no creamer in sight
>but it would have to make do
>at least I wouldn’t have to wait for it to cool down
>chugged it, then heard a noise coming from the office behind the counter
>cocked my revolver, went to take a look
>no possible way that “Myers” caught up with me, had to be someone else
>unless he really CAN teleport
>kicked the door down
>candles lit the office
>and behind the counter was a black guy, hugging a woman tightly
>she was brown too, but her lower half was the kicker
>a pure black snake for a lower body
>thought she was some kind of cottonmouth
>when she opened her mouth to beg for her life, I found out my hunch was right
>the dude saw my badge, thought I was a real Texas Ranger
>got his snek-lady to calm down, assuring her that I was a law enforcer
>I asked them how long had they been in here
>he said they just got here about two hours ago
>then I asked them if they had any food
>he said no, the place was already looted before they got here
>so I warned them that there was a magic psycho in a Michael Myers mask, killing everyone in his direct path
>lied that he was probably targeting cops and feds, like “me”
>so I told them to run over to the neighborhood northeast of here, to go from house to house
>to not get shot, I told them to just act casual, knock politely, if they tell you to scram, then scram
>but if they got lucky and found a house whose occupants got poofed, then feel free to settle in
>we all left the gas station
>my mood got lightened up a bit, seeing the guy get on that lamia’s shoulders
>slithering away across Culebra, onto Ensenada Road
>hah, guess she really put the culebra in the streets name
>nice globes on her too, lucky guy
>but my path was southwards
>since the street was mostly straight all the way to Loop 410, I’d need to stick to the neighborhoods, running parallel
>I also made up my mind to hit up the NSA and the police station before going to the institute
>if I wanna shake off my pursuer, I need to find people with more firepower
>national guard, state troopers, and the REAL Rangers were nowhere in sight, the Army was quite a ways up north, and the Air Force, a ways south and eastwards
>cops and feds are my best hope
>running south, I got off Culebra at the church on the corner of Village Parkway
>passed by some more snakefolks cooped up in a Dollar General
>gave them the same warning
>the church had outside water fountains and open door restrooms
>chugged a ton of water, then rinsed my underwear and pants, if only to slightly get the stench of piss out
>back on the run, went through a small junkyard, then finally, another neighborhood, Timber Ridge
>one of my cousins used to live here, before she moved to Lewiston, Maine to teach French classes, about 8 years before
>yup, 2506 Jade Hill
>I remembered that the new tenants were nice
>told my parents where the spare key was, just in case my cousin had left anything
>hoped to God that the same folks were still living there, and kept the spare key in the same place
>inside a fake gypsum rock, right behind the AC unit, buried under a layer of fake cement chippings
>while heading down Shoal Creek, I decided to zip through the elementary school at the end of the road
>might’ve helped with losing the killer, at least by a bit
 
 
(Now Playing : Submarine Launch from Escape From L.A. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sr-bnNX8Cg0 )
 
>once I got there, it was a shitshow
>candles all over the place
>hybrid-human kids of all shapes and sizes were playing outside
>we’re talking lamias, bipedal horsefolks, cowguys and girls, birdpeople, dogfolks, even a few kittyfolks
>the human kids were teaching them how to play baseball and soccer
>some adults were around, armed
>some of the “newcomers” had swords, war-hammers, magic staffs, the works
>and some had guns, along with what I assumed were Earth humans like me, locals
>a lot of them were singing songs about freedom, some I knew, some I didn’t
>and some of our folks were teaching post-slavery gospel songs to the hybrids
>real John Henry stuff
>I had to shoot a round into the air to get everyone’s attention
>showed everyone my badge, ordering everyone to seek shelter as a regenerating psycho was heading straight this way
>I flapped my gums a little too much, after telling them that “Michael” was targeting law enforcement people
>one minotaur dad grabbed me by the shirt, lifted me up
>stating that since I was the only policeman around, that meant I was putting everyone here at risk
>putting his mate and kids at risk
>he was right, dammit
>decided to take a longer route, get my pursuer away from the school, away from the kids
>apologized, then told everyone to run into the classrooms, lock the doors, barricade themselves
>then wait an hour, by then I would be far enough away that the coast would be clear
>went onto Timber View Drive, heading westbound
>ran a few blocks until Meadow Forest Street, taking a left onto it, now southbound
>seemed like a good enough distance away
>fired a few shots into the air, draw his attention away from the school, without fully revealing my location
>making it to the end of the street, house 2806, I then hopped a fence
>peeked through a small hole, there he was, also taking a left onto Meadow Forest
>and he had the Bushmaster BFG, slung on his back
>no clue how he was able to carry it
>no clue where he even found a sling
>wasn’t even trying to be sneaky, he was just walking down the middle of the street, cloudy moonlight and all
>found a good sized rock, threw it northeast-wards, toward some other house
>it worked, the rock made a loud racket when it hit the metal sheet backyard patio roof
>drew his attention over there, two houses away
>when he shot the front door lock with the Ithaca, I took the noise to my advantage, hopping the fence into another drainage canal
>trying to keep a fast pace, but without making too much noise
>crossing Reed Road, I found an open backyard-driveway gate to house 2451 on Echo Fork
>climbed a ladder to the roof of the garage, then jumped onto a trampoline
>now on Echo Fork, I ran down, seeing more lamias, some inside homes, some outside
>stopped for a few seconds, to warn them to get back inside, wait about 10 minutes
>one snekdude, a brown, white, and yellow Texas rat snake, didn’t take me seriously
>said that if it’s just one human, he could strangle it with his tail
>ballsy yet retarded, but it gave me an idea
>Wolverine’s weakness is drowning, since you can’t regenerate your way out of a water-clogged lung
>if we could incapacitate him for at least a few minutes, then we could shove his head into a pool
>then use the lamiabro’s weight to hold him down so he can’t move or breathe 
>all we had to do was to find a pool
>a bathtub could also work, but being in an enclosed room with the pursuer was waaaaaay too risky
>some other panicky cottonmouth lamia spoke up
>said she saw one over on the next street, backyard of the second house down from the left corner
>we quickly made our way over there, house number 2438
>the normal people in this house were still around
>pretty awkward conversation
>to be fair, imagine shitting yourself in your house, surrounded by weird animal people from another planet
>then a suspiciously young Texas Ranger and one of the animal people knock on your door
>and ask if they can use your pool to drown a regenerating felon who already did at least 5 homicides this very night
>they agreed to let us in, but decided to hide in the attic until we were done
>so we got ready
>I fired two more rounds into the air, then ran out of bullets and had to reload
>took him about a full minute to come on down
>busted in through the north fence
>now with a better look, I could see the purple-ish magic “stitches” where his arm and waist reconnected with his body
>less like stitches, more like coagulated blood
>I aimed true, shot his hand before he could shoot me with the Ithaca
>snekbro moves to wrap him up, squeezing the Bushmaster out and onto the ground
>he was surprised by how strong the stalker was struggling, barely managed to get him to the pool
>he held onto the body, while I used all the force in my legs and arms to keep his head dunked in the pool
>I didn’t even have time to take off the mask
>took us a while, felt like about 10 whole minutes until he stopped moving, and we couldn’t feel breathing or a pulse
>it was over
>Betty, that lady with the Glock, those two dogs, that cowman, all finally avenged
>my arms were exhausted
>he was sore all over his tail
>out of courtesy, we dumped the body over in the drainage canal-stream that went under Reed Road, a block down
>unmasking him, he was a buzzcut pale ginger
>sifting through his pockets, I found his wallet
>Eion Wright
>26 years old
>license address says he was from Texarkana
>so he’s basically an Arkansas man
>this explains everything
>we let the family keep the Bushmaster as compensation for using their property
>the lamia, fellow named Relan, kept the Ithaca as a trophy
>I took the $206.32 from Wright’s wallet, and his real nice, studded, leather, long boots
>a great coincidence that we had the same shoe size
>the boots even had lower knee-padding, front ankle pads, and little spikes at the front toes
>swapped out right then and there
>much comfier than my last pair
>I invited the lamia to join me, but after warning him about the institute, he declined, but wished me good luck
>he was just gonna go to another neighborhood further north
>where he’d hopefully find less maniacs, and someone to show him how to use the Ithaca properly
>now relaxed, I calmly walked down Field Wood, took a left onto Forest Fox Street
>with the smile of a winner, I waved at everyone looking at me
>some assholes scowled, some waved back
>everything was looking A-Okay from here on out
>at the end of Forest Fox, I decided to walk through another backyard, to hop the fence in a straight line to Jade Hill
>house 2351, the back gate is open
>walk in
>jacuzzi on a patio to the left
>some dude and a dolphin mermaid were banging in it
>the dude was screaming in fear AND pleasure, and she was clutching his arms like he was trying to get her off
>remember, kids
>stereotypes exist because the visible majority are a part of it
>I don’t think they even noticed me
>opened the back metal fence, and walked out
>another short open field
>then back to suburbia
>went through the house parallel to 2351, now I was on the corner of Crown Hollow and Crown Ledge
>one more stick of bullshit came my way before making it to Jade Hill
 
(Now Playing : Night by John Carpenter )
 
>at 7702 Crown Ledge, some Army vet dweeb faggot got off his porch wing bench to hassle me
>I don’t go to Reddit
>but this guy struck me as what a tactical redditor probably looks like
>small plate carrier with barely any mags
>nice one-eye night vision goggle, I’ll admit
>but clearly, more money went into his AR-15 attachments and radio than the gun itself
>unarmored short bus helmet
>all his shit was light grey
>6’4 fatass, must’ve been about 29, maybe 30-ish
>though he WAS mogging me on the leg game
>kid you not, he tried to “detain” me for “trespassing”
>I was on the sidewalk, that son of a bitch
>sidewalks are public property here
>with another fight on my hands, I had no choice but to utilize the nuclear option
>pulled out my CDC ID from my wallet
>informed him that I was a federal employee on my way to deal with a biohazard at the institute
>not even a lie, but a half-truth, though 
>he stumbled over to metaphorically suck me off
>invited me to take a seat in a folding chair
>I bluffed, said I wasn’t in too much of a rush, lied that I was technically supposed to be there at zero-five-thirty
>it was about midnight at that point
>so he offered me a drink from an ice cooler
>I took a Rip-It, chugged it right then and there
>asked him if he ever saw combat
>so he tried to regale me with the “old soul” PTSD schtick
>I wasn’t falling for it
>he went on and on, about how he was a teenager craving violence and action
>only to see the horrors of Afghanistan
>IEDs, receiving and delivering psyops, kids walking up to you with live grenades, getting pot-shots from insurgent vets
>the kind that popped their cherries while dodging Mi-24 Hinds in the ‘80s
>it was interesting at first
>but then he started getting super duper cringy on how he was a peaceful man now
>how he “wished violence on no one, but would do everything to defend his property”
>about how we needed to come together as one, to avoid another civil or world war
>about “unjust wars”, how he hated accelerationism, how his craving for action was all burnt out 
 
>after a little over 10 minutes of listening to his paradoxical hippy polesmoker crap, my gaydar was overclocked
>I blew up on him
>went on a rant myself, about how staying home and digging our heads in the sand will get us nowhere
>how evil would only triumph if good people do nothing
>we had to go on the offensive
>we had to strike hard, strike first, show no mercy
>blitzkrieg, in the simplest terms
>I am NOT going to go home, and wait for someone to start shit
>I’m gonna go actively hunt for scum, and execute them right where they stand
>after the bullshit I saw while being chased by Wright, all the bystanders who kept to themselves and did NOTHING to help me?
>they were just going to gawk and let him kill me!
>the only person who went out of his way to help me was Relan, and he’s not even from this planet!
>they’d have done it to DD, to Mike, to those nice college exiles, those red ladies in the theater
>to those families at that elementary school
>and they’d have done it to Betty
>my patience and tolerance for moral-high-ground, clean-handed, cowards had just ran dry
>the time to build a better world on the bodypiles of sickos, hostile invaders, and monsters, was NOW
>now’s the day, now’s the hour
>it was time to bust heads, to seek and destroy
>to go shoot-on-sight for the high-profile criminals who run free because of shit like their prosecutor’s evidence getting rigged
>the cops have abandoned us
>the military is sitting on their asses
>nobody was stepping up to the plate of justice and order
>which meant that anyone could call themselves the top cop around here
>and I called dibs, at least until someone stopped me, or when I could find real cops
>I was going to be the jury and executioner
>we both went full retard, the conversation got heated like a high school debate class
>he accused me of being a moto LARPer who hasn’t seen real violence
>I told him to get bent
>I’d seen enough LiveLeak combat videos of Kurdistan and northern Mexico to know what dead bodies, instant & random death, shrapnel, torture, what all that crap looked like
>and I’ve certainly seen enough death today to get the picture, live and in Technicolor
>so he moved the goalposts, admitted that my concern for the lives of others was proof that I wasn’t a sociopath
>and that he “sympathized” with how I nearly died several times today
>but my disregard for the lives of the bad guys, my craving for violence, despite seeing and knowing what that truly meant?
>for that, he called me a straight-up psychopath
>told me that I was just another Siege fanboy, brainwashed by Fox News, Hunter S. Thompson, and Bret Easton Ellis
>brainwashed into dehumanizing my neighbors to fuel a superiority complex
>and that he could understand why no one helped me
>because this is the real world, and in realityland, barging into someone else’s fight never ends well, he said
>oh, cut the bleeding-heart Jane Fonda crap, I said
>and exuuuuuuuussseeee me, for having a conscience and a hero complex
>I had more help and appreciation today from literal non-humans, than I got from any human after reaching Culebra Road
>and he was just kissing ass because he thinks I’m a peacekeeper, a kindred spirit
>we were NOT the same
>everything he said was a cope, for fuck-you-got-mine fencesitters
>I’m an offender, not a defender
>I didn’t come here to keep the peace, I came here to MAKE the peace
>and who was he to talk about LARPing, he who had six years of soldiering, but no kills under his belt
>save for one Kabul child who tried to toss a basket full of landmines into his MRAP
>hardly a real fight
>while in this single day, I had 7 kills, 4 executions, and one stolen kill under my belt
>and I was proud to say that I was hungry for more
>again, he changed the goalposts, saying that I was a young guy, clearly single and responsibility-free, nothing to truly lose but my own life
>maybe I would understand if I had a scared wife and 2 daughters hiding in the attic, a home to defend
>that’s no excuse, I said
>we’re up against literal horrors and creatures from beyond our world
>there’s no POW rules anymore
>we need every available person to grab a weapon, child or adult
>make the streets run red with blood until there’s no more assholes to kill
>we had to act NOW, before the invaders can pick up steam and organize, even turn our own toys against us
>excise the tumors while they’re still benign
>I wasn’t some holier-than-thou poser-Punisher-fan threeper giga-retard
>I know reality all right, and reality is knowing that justice is the same thing as legally sanctioned revenge
>the reality that knows how political power comes from the barrel of a gun
>the reality that knows how firearms were now the equalizer that kept us from being outmatched by all the “newcomers”
>the reality that knows that no one ever won a modern war without going on the offensive
>and the reality, that knows how fortune favors the bold, and that you can’t win if you don’t play
>I’ll either die shiny and chrome, or I’ll be making speeches about my accomplishments, writing the history books
>and he’ll still be sitting at home, getting validation on his forum circlejerks
>doing a tell-all, on how he narrowly missed going on an adventure with a deranged gloryhound who accomplished more in a day than he did in years
>I ended with an ad hominem
>said that it was too bad, that after all that time and effort Uncle Sam put into making him a killer, he still wound up bitchmade
>he was no soldier, no defender of the flag
>just another retard who begs for action, but when the military-industrial complex gives him a war, he bites the hand that fed him because his heart began to bleed for the enemy
>if this was Vietnam, I’d have put serious thought into fragging him
>I’m a live-action roleplayer, I knew that, and it didn’t really bother me at that point
>I’m a walking anachronism
>a desk jockey pretending to be an agent while pretending to be a Ranger, while also pretending to be a hardass
>he had some custom wannabe SOPMOD Block 2, and a Glock with one of those new-fangled 3d-printed lowers
>built from the latest and newest parts that got shilled on a Youtube gun-celeb video, I would bet
>and all I had a modified Colt-ripoff six-shooter, first designed in fucking 1847
>he was more prepared than me in every way
>but what’s the point of preparation when you don’t do anything with your stuff
>one gun in the open is worth two in their holsters 
>he was a coward, a pussy, his kids will not survive the winter, and all his kind would ever amount to, is a statistic on a casualty list
>I was done, nothing left to say
>he had no words
>just a grimace of pure rage
>but I could see what he really felt, through his eyes
>he pitied me, the self-righteous prick
>decked me right in the nose and told me to get the fuck away from his house and family
>I was deep in thought as I walked away, zoned him out
>but he was still ranting, something about how he’d raise a generation that could finally put the guns down
>and how I’ll be dead in a ditch with all the other Red Dawn, Stargate, and Lone Ranger fans
 
(Now Playing : Back To The Street from They Live https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-D5vG0LPXKM )
 
>with a new pep in my step, a bloody nose, and the desire to get this day over with, I made it to 2506 Jade Hill with no more interruptions
>and my luck ran dry
>it was now a trap house
>time to put my money where my mouth was, on the topic of street scum
>a drug deal was going down upstairs, heard three separate voices
>with no cops around, they could afford to be loud
>a hand-cranked generator kept some lights on, in the ground floor kitchen and living room
>I scoped the place out from across the street and around a corner
>two junkies on the couch, passed out or maybe overdosed
>a nappy-hair pothead on the other couch, sharing a blunt with an tatted-up lady elf
>she was more of a light yellow than a Tolkien pale white
>a brilliant idea then popped in my head
>saw something like this in a Punisher comic
>I took a pizza box from house 2522’s garbage bin, then made sure I had six shots in the Walker
>held the box low to conceal my cocked revolver (no pun intended)
>knocked on the door, the elf answered
>bluffed that their neighbors from house 2526 didn’t want any trouble
>so they sent me to offer this to the guy in charge, as tribute
>she was too high to even consider questioning my story
>told me that a Enith was making a deal with some local humans upstairs
>I was free to head on up, but I had to wait outside the door
>so I went up, once her back was turned, no chance of her seeing my gun
>stood in front of the door, quietly putting the box to lean against the wall
>they were in my cousin’s old guest room
>heard them shaking hands and congratulating each other for entering a whole new world of opportunity
>we’d see about that
>heard someone turn the doorknob
>immediately fanned the revolver, fired all six shots into the door
>dived into the restroom, locked the door, then reloaded
>exiting to enter the old guest room, I saw the couch potatoes bolt out the door
>the nappy head was yelling about being unable to find something
>kicked the guest room door open
>surveyed my carnage
>five shots went through the chest of an elf, must’ve been Enith
>two shots went through the elf, and into the gut of an Eminem lookalike
>and the last shot hit the other dealer in his left chest
>a Hispanic dude, gauges, ‘60s Beatles mop, nose ring
>looked like a grade-A homo if you ask me
>no words
>no one liners
>I saw the fear in his eyes
>game over
>should’ve gotten a non-junkie to play guard dog
>put one more bullet through his head
>this seemed too amateur
>too easy
>and it was
>another guy busted out the closet with a knife, a real lanklet
>bloodshot eyes, had to be another junkie
>part of his veins were purple, too
>slashing at the air, he wasn’t fully in the zone
>took six slashes to almost hit me
>but I grabbed his arm and squeezed his wrist, till he dropped the knife
>tried to bite me, so I wasted him with a Mozambique Drill
>two shots left
>a girly scream pierced my ears
>the elf chick was at the door, muttering something in another language while caressing Enith’s corpse
>then HER eyes, hands, and face veins began glowing purple
>fuck
>I wasn’t fast enough on this draw
>she went full Jedi, some kind of Force Push
>felt like a donkey kick, flew straight out a window, onto house 2510’s roof
>she raised her hands to do it again, but I rolled and dodged it
>instead she force-grabbed some roof tiles and pelted me with them
>knocked me off the roof, landing onto some backyard dirt, which also knocked the wind out of me
>she floated down, and started Force-crushing my stomach with her right hand, while flailing her left hand towards my face
>still yelling in what I guessed was her native language
>or so I thought, until I distinctly heard her finish a sentence with “...espece de salud!”
>sufferin’ succotash, these elves were French
>she was too close to me though
>and she should have kept her eye on my legs, fatal mistake
>launched my revolver into the air with my foot
>grabbed the Walker, cocked it
>then pulled the trigger right at her face
>bye-bye bitch
 
>with her death, I was almost in the clear
>went back into the house, right on time
>the last guy finally found what he was looking for
>a 7.62x39 drum magazine for a Mini-Draco AK
>with my last shot, I blasted his right arm, making him drop the gun
>screaming in pain, he fell over, then backed into the living room’s east corner
>my revolver re-cocked right at his face, I asked him if he knew anything about Dirty Harry and lucky punks
>oh, he knew
>with that mutually understood, I showed him my Ranger badge
>told him that he was a small fry, not worth hauling off to jail at a time like this
>he’d get to walk away, one chance to go home and pray that he won’t run into me again
>all I wanted was to know what they were doing upstairs
>he said they were testing a new “flavor” of edibles
>baked in fake sugar cookies, he claimed that it’d give you a bath salt experience, without the brain cell rotting
>like crack with no negative side effects
>save for the obvious addiction
>that would explain the junkie in the closet
>I kept the revolver pressed to his forehead
>told him he could keep his AK, but leave the magazine
>and to charge the handle, in case it was loaded
>no bullet chambered, carbine was clear
>before you, dear reader, get all semantic-y with me about pistols and carbines
>shut your bitch ass and slobber my knobber
>just because the ATF said that a pistol is any stockless rifle with a 16 inch or shorter barrel, doesn’t make it true
>I reject their reality, and replace it with my own
>and in Walkertown, every schmol rifle in a rifle caliber is a carbine
>and every schmol “rifle” in a pistol caliber is a SMG or a PDW
>with the exception of Derringers, which are a category of its own
>but to get back on track, the terribly-groomed afroman left the house in an understandable hurry
>leaving me alone in the house with 4 dead bodies upstairs, and one in the backyard
>decided now was a good time as any, to get some real grub
>checked the fridge, there was mostly booze, but also two dimebags of cocaine, a huge Ziploc bag full of marijuana, and two Hustler magazines
>who would put porno mags in a refrigerator?
>forwhatpurpose.jpeg
>and shouldn’t the coke and weed be switched, in their baggage
>but at least there was some real food
>a uneaten cheeseburger, a already opened bag of baby carrots, and a box full of blueberry Go-Gurt sticks
>had to use a hot plate for the burger, seemed they were probably going to use it to make crack out of the cocaine
>had to be quick, before the generator ran out of juice
>not quite the eleventh-hour, it was about 7 minutes after I finished eating the burger, that the power went out again
>tasted like Dairy Queen leftovers
>but the blueberry yogurt was the cherry on top
>ate like 6 of them, along with the rest of the carrots
>sue me, I missed lunch on account of being out cold for hours in the middle of the road
>that HEB wasn’t enough
>my pecs and arms ain’t getting bigger on a small appetite
>I did need to work on my legs though
>my adrenaline and that 7-11 caffeine rush finally ran dry, and my thighs felt like lead, but also jello
>I was getting tired, but at least my wounds weren’t hurting as bad as before
>still had to get to the NSA before going to sleep
>flushed the weed down a toilet
>tossed the bodies out the window that I smashed through
>put the Miami sugar packets in my pack
>I don’t do drugs, except painkillers
>but stimulants have been known to be a good bargaining chip, ever since Marco Polo went to China
>leaving the house, I walked by a raccoon-ma’am looking through mailboxes
>her bushy tail and thick black eyeshadow was how I noticed
>she probably didn’t know that mailboxes weren’t trash cans
>so I told her that those boxes aren’t for disposal
>and the house that I just left, had plenty of alcohol, some yogurt, and at least one clean room with a warm bed
>told her to avoid the first door to the right, on the 2nd floor though
>lotta blood and guts in there
>she hugged me fast
>then she ran over and reached into the nearest trash bin, pulling out two normal raccoons
>hugging them tightly, she thanked me for showing them a safe place to hide at
>cute
>but I was getting fed up with distractions, I was on 2 missions
>this should not have been this difficult, I thought to myself while walking down Micron Drive
>southbound would take me straight to the National Security Agency
>if just trying to go down one street would be this much trouble, then at this rate, I’d reach my parent’s office in a week
>I was getting sad, but also mad
>mad at myself, for constantly getting sidetracked, every minute I wasted, my parent’s hourglass thinned more and more
>but also sad, because I know Mom and Dad would be disgusted with me, if they found out that I let good people die, to rescue them faster
>and even more disgusted if they found out that I skipped out on stopping…. whatever it is, that’s going down at my job
>a Catch-22, B.C. would call this
 
>the streets were becoming less empty
>I passed by other people, some were probably looters looking for their next score
>some looked like they were patrolling their neighborhood
>they had the right idea, but they were thinking too small
>like before, there was an unusual concentration of lamias
>and they all corresponded to the kinds of snakes native to central and southern Texas
>this was weird, too coincidental
>but it made sense
>these folks had to have been teleported in from this region’s counterpart on the other world
>either that, or someone had been taking animals from our world, then splicing them with humans
>or something that looked like humans
>something something convergent evolution, parallel timelines, alternate universes
>the elves speak French, the animal-people at the school seemed pretty familiar with guns
>I’d liked to see this other planet, once I was done with my personal missions
>hope the portals are two-way
>that be such a boring cop-out if they weren’t
 
>right before the intersection of Potranco Road and Micron Drive, I noticed a couple of lamia kids
>they were hanging around the parking lot of the Westover Oaks apartment complex
>and they were messing with a bunch of sports equipment
>trying to make heads or tails about what they were
>using soccer balls for monkey-in-the-middle
>treating football padding and helmets, as actual armor
>trying to catch insects with lacrosse sticks
>they did correctly guess what street hockey was, though
>but it’s hard to play that, when the bigger kids use their tails to fill up the entire goal
>maybe I’d come back later to show them what baseball’s all about
>crossing the intersection, I could see that there were a few lights coming from the NSA facility
>and they had lit up torches around the now-empty northern parking lot
>along with a trail of other torches that lit a path to the front door
>I was gonna do something ballsy, but stupid
>I’m going to walk right in, find the H.N.I.C., and state or file a request for backup
>the guard booth was in business, like it was just a normal day on the job
>two security guards in rain ponchos
>sitting there with raspberry-scented candles lighting the night and paperwork
>one with a slung M16A4, was pacing where they’d normally search your car when you’d drive in
>the other was lounging in the booth, wielding an M240 on a very short tripod, which was in turn, on top of his desk
>I greeted them, pulling out Ed Weinthraup’s invitation
>the pacing guard told me to stand still or be treated as a hostile
>I complied, he gave the paper a good look
>then the other guard took it, went into his booth, then shut the door and windows
>soundproofed, and he turned his head around so I couldn’t read his lips
>I can’t actually do that, but he was being better safe than sorry
>mouthed something into his radio
>then he exited the booth, said I checked out, and that the director wanted to have a chat with me
>I walked up to the entrance
>and as I opened the door
>somebody was blasting a remix of “Walk The Dinosaur”
 
(Now Playing : Walk The Dinosaur by The Goombas feat. George Clinton https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pi65vFG3gqQ )

End of Day 1 



Day 2 


CHAPTER 6 : National Security, Disease Control, Central Intelligence, & All The Wonderful Things In-Between

(Now Playing : Hollywood from the film Falling Down https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hVXv7-6kdlQ )

>took a nap in the lobby, right where guests would normally wait to be called up
>leaving my pack on a coffee table
>sat right in a extremely comfy leather reclining chair
>the nap turned into a sound sleep
>next thing I knew, I was woken up by some pasty intern, Mexican-looking, with a thick Los Angeles accent
>he said that it was exactly 9:04 AM, and that I was lucky that the boss-man didn’t slide me in for a specific time
>after grabbing my stuff, we had to walk up to the top floor
>the lights were all off, there was no more intercom music, but the emergency generator was still on
>to save power, the facility director had ordered that only the computers and mainframe should be on during the day
>and to only turn the lights on, from dusk till dawn
>the agents still on station, were lucky that no one cared to loot any candles from the Walmart across the street
>it was mostly civilians on deck, but there were a few stranded Navy and Marine Corps stragglers around
>intern was speedwalking towards the stairs, barely holding on to some files and a clipboard with his left arm
>asked him what was the rush
>all in due time, he said
>I got annoyed, and said that this wasn’t a good time for cryptic bullshit, to no response
>once we got to the fourth floor, he regaled me on that this facility’s technical name is the Texas Cryptologic Center
>and on how the massive Data Storage Complex next door used to be a National Stockpile Site
>the stockpile didn’t actually move though
>they just added more basements to put that shit in
>a smorgasbord of mil-spec ammo, standard issue M16A2’s, M9’s, first aid, PASGT armor systems, even some leftover M14’s and 1911’s
>unfortunately, despite Henley’s demands to update what was in the stockpile, he kept getting his requests shot down 
>”to cut unnecessary budget drains”
>the weird thing was that his requests were placed about two weeks ago
>a helluva coincidence, maybe
>arriving at the director’s office, the intern knocked on the open door, waving to a leather padded seat
>as I sat down, the director overdramatically turned around in his chair, like this was SPECTRE or something
>light-skinned Asian, dark brown hair, late ‘50s I guessed, obvious toupee on top of comb-over was obvious
>noticed his desk name-plate, Hank Henley was the name
>Director Henley offers me a tall glass of water
>I chugged it, no hesitation
>he starts the conversation off by stating that quite frankly, I smelled bad 
>and looked like I’d been sucked through a jet turbine
>then blasted through a dirt farm
>I was too nervous to laugh
>this felt like getting called to the principal’s office
>Dr. Paisley never did this shit
>no, if he had a problem with someone, he’d call you out, right in the break room during lunch
>especially in front of everyone else
>Henley could read my face though, decided to cut to the point
>he wanted me to get his employees into the TBRI’s administrative building
>my part was to clear a path to the admin building, then blow the front door shutters with some C4 from the stockpile
>like Henley, Doc Paisley had a EMP-proof backup generator installed
>right after he was appointed to facility director, back in April of 2012
>after blowing the doors, my next job was to gain direct access to the system
>he correctly guessed that my SMART card was still in my wallet
>after gaining access from inside, his own hacker-programmer-whatevers would open up the rest of the facility
>why he wanted to do that, I didn’t know
>I asked him what was the big deal at my place of employment anyways
>he said that at approximately 6 AM today, right in the middle of my sleep, a biohazard incident occurred at the Institute
>he didn’t know which part of the complex it occurred in, or how it started
>but he sent two armed agents to the admin building only minutes before I woke up
>the NSA facility’s rooftop guards all confirmed seeing alarm lights go off, and they heard a barely-audible alarm siren too
>and they also saw metal shutters slam down, closing off every window and door to every building except the Thunderdome
>those agents are now trapped inside the admin building
>which brought them to the third objective they had for me, to get those agents out
>yare yare daze, as the atomic bomb targets say
>what happened?
>my life is becoming a “Greatest Hits” John Carpenter film collection
>I just walked out of Halloween
>now I’m being pulled into an Escape From Los Angeles one-man rescue operation, that somehow involves a WMD
>what’s next?
>gonna run into a carnivorous shapeshifting alien?”
>gonna put on some magic Wayfarers that let me see aliens?
>gonna read a Lovecraft-style reality-warping book
>that shows me how I’m just a complex character in a semi-contrived story
>made up by some guy on /k/ who read the fantasy general threads and thought he could do better?
>gonna throw a knife into the forehead of a Chinese wizard with a fetish for blue-eyed women?
>gonna get decapitated by the angry ghost of a leperous loser who lost his gold?
>actually, considering what weird shit I saw yesterday, and will continue to probably see today?
>the carnivorous shapeshifting alien is actually plausible now
>my weapon autism was finally overcome, in that moment
>I needed a real modern gun
>I needed to get into the Stockpile Site
>lost in thought about what I’d find in there, Henley interrupted me
>asked if I had any other questions
>OH BOY, DID I                                                                                         

>I plainly asked him to explain what in the actual fuck is going on around town
>so he gave me a short rundown
>portals started opening up in Bexar County, around 8:00 AM yesterday
>downtown went dark within an hour, all contact with police HQ lost
>the rest of the city was slowly getting re-militarized, getting it’s shit together
>until a missile of some sort exploded over the southwestern end of Lackland-Kelly’s main runway, at about noon
>whether it was designed for it, or because of magic fuckery, it caused an EMP effect
>said effect was while long-ranged, was also kind of weak
>there were plenty of reports of electronics that were shielded from the blast wave by light layers of concrete 
>all hell broke loose after that
>Henley wasn’t sure, but he had trustworthy sources of the full picture
>his information had confirmed that the blast wave was a little over 14 miles from end-to-end
>the equivalent of a 1.5 megaton airburst nuke explosion
>missile itself was non-atomic, so no radiation, thank Grudd
>the blast wave also blew upwards into space, which was not expected
>so now the National Reconnaissance Office has a working theory that either the missile was tampered before launch
>or something magical fucked with the electromagnetic part
>which explains why it exploded out of nowhere
>took out a few satellites, thankfully none had any people on board
>Henley then opened another folder, showing me high-definition satellite photos of Bexar County and the surrounded area
>nighttime pics, showed that the entire county besides the far northeast, had gone dark
>the inferno of Helotes was very much visible from outer space, smoke AND fire
>reminded me of history book satellite photos of 9/11 and the Persian Gulf War
>the proof was in surveillance imagery from a U-2 that flew over, at 1:00 AM this morning
>along with pics from NROL-39
>that’s right, the infamous “Nothing Is Beyond Our Reach” octopus logo-patch spy satellite
>when the pics were taken and from what altitude, was classified even to Henley
>so much for cross-department cooperation
>file also said that a military comm satellite called USA-169 was being moved on request from the Texas Air National Guard
>to a geostationary orbit over south Texas
>heh
>sixty-nine
>nice
>got moved because a shit-ton of civilian satellites had been destroyed, compromised, and/or jammed since yesterday
>but back on topic, the missile was a case of friendly fire
>missile had stayed on a low-altitude path the entire time, tons of witnesses across the state had seen it
>the NRO corresponded the locations of where all these witnesses had reported from
>the missile had been launched from somewhere in the vicinity of Wichita Falls
>possibly from a mobile launcher, maybe from an aircraft
>Henley had added a note, said his best guess was that it was launched from an unmarked underground silo
>hacked National Guard comm records proved that they had no clue about any EMP rockets in the Panhandle
>which meant that if this was a silo missile, it came from the regular Army
>Henley didn’t have enough clearance to be told why the launch happened, or what exactly was in the missile
>his trail ended cold at that point
>every other detail had been so hush-hush, there was no trace on any digital database
>this is the NSA we’re talking about, so if they couldn’t find something online, a pants-shitting was on its way

>It then occurred to me that I could just hand over my ID, username, and password
>leave this problem to someone else
>I have parents to find, and it sounded like the NSA had a good enough plan for the institute
>so what if I work there, this really was not my problem
>I’m just an administrative clerk, not a scientist, and certainly not facility security
>but before I opened my mouth, Henley somehow knew just about exactly what I was thinking
>gave me a glare, typed up something on his office’s PC
>pointed at a paper on the wall
>he had a master’s degree in behavioral psychology, he could read me like an open book
>so he turned the PC screen to face me, his glare turned into a Cheshire kitty grin
>I looked at the screen
>it was a file
>on me
>as I began to read it, Henley started on a rant
>about how a civilization can only flourish and prevail, if all the line-steppers and troublemakers are known & cataloged
>they’ve had my workstation bugged since 2011
>they’ve had the whole administrative building bugged since that time
>and they’d seen everything I’d ever done on that PC, incognito mode be damned
>he said that it would be a shame if my superiors in Atlanta found out just how much I lollygagged on the job
>all the biology stuff I read off the internet, the shitposting on /k/, /fit/, and /an/
>all the hentai
>most importantly, the sarcastic advocating of terrorism outside of the USA
>and my many, many inflammatory shitposts on forums all over the World Wide Web
>”hell, it might make a good 30 minutes of infamy on the 9 'o clock news”, his exact words
>of course, this leverage would only work if society could bounce back from all this
>but I was convinced he could ruin me
>and I was pissed at myself
>all this trouble that I went through, to come here
>only to be blackmailed into a suicide mission
>I am not, never was, and never will be, leader material
>the big picture shit, I left to people like Doctor P, my buddy B.C., my dad, the list goes on
>I’d prefer to reign in someone else’s heaven, then rule in a hell of my own making
>so since I’m not retarded, I cooperated, for now
>reached for my ID to prove that I could get in
>Henley thought I was reaching for my gun
>the intern saw this coming
>his Beretta M9 was already drawn, I felt the barrel bump the back of my head
>the intern tells us that it’s a decocker-model
>he pulls that trigger, game over
>with no choice but to cooperate or get a hole in the head, I said that my ID could get them past the shutters
>WITHOUT needing the C4
>but only from the inside, so I needed to get in some other way
>I’d have to open a vent and crawl in, to get inside
>working on behalf of the NSA, sneaking my way into a (probably) guarded facility, to find out secrets?
>there’s a joke to be made here
>something about echelons, break-off units, and triple-lense night vision goggles
>asked Henley if I could re-equip myself at the Stockpile Site
>he agreed, said I could take whatever of that obsolete crap I needed
>before I left, he had one last thing to tell me
>well, two things, actually
>first, to return to his office after I was done at the institute, for a full debriefing
>secondly, that if I failed the mission, if his agents were both dead, or if I ran off?
>I had better pray to God that I find the deepest darkest hole on Earth to lay low
>the price of failure was that I’d be exposed, then hunted down any corner of the globe like vermin
>what an overdramatic asswipe
>faked a smile, told him not to worry, that I’d either succeed or die trying
>got up, left the room with that intern still escorting me around
>asked the intern if Mr. Hank was always like that
>intern was an asskisser, bopped me on the back with his gun
>said that he wouldn’t tolerate any insults about Director Henley
>so I changed my tune
>politely and calmly asked why did they have to be so aggressive
>this really, really, isn’t the right time for us to have inter-departmental pissing matches
>we all work for Uncle Sam, can’t we just get along?
>so he said that sounded exactly like what someone who’d made a massive fuckup would say
>it’s every group for himself, he said
>when the dust clears, every facet of the government would be rearranged
>and the NSA had every intention of coming out on top
>to finally knock the CIA and Department of State down a few pegs
>and since the CIA was in cahoots with the CDC, it was necessary for them to shit on me
>nothing personal, they’d have done this to any of my coworkers
>but if I kept my mouth shut, and did whatever they said?
>then they might offer me a nice well-paid obscure bureaucratic cubbyhole, for my services
>I didn’t hear no guarantees
>and this IS one of the most corrupt and anti-patriotic three-letter organizations in the country
>fuck ‘em, they’re bluffing
>and if not, then whoop-de-doo, there’s a whole ‘nother planet to run off, and try my luck again
>as long as these portals were two-way

>once we left the main building, that intern pointed me towards a backdoor to the Stockpile Site, right on the south part
>informed me that the entry password was 4589
>so I walked over, punched the numbers in
>ring-a-ding, the door opened, leading downwards into a long stairway
>stairway got darker and darker the further down you went
>only light was from the faded window, on the door that led to the outside
>must’ve been a four-story downwards walk, leading to a single door
>door was heavy-built, like a solitary confinement cell
>tough enough to stop a moving car, but probably not enough for thermite
>the door was unlocked, but heavy to open
>room was pitch-black, but I could hear the sound of concrete getting chipped, and what sounded like people whispering
>if this was ghosts, I was going to keep my mouth shut, do a 360, and moonwalk right back out the door
>tried feeling up the wall by the door, trying to find a light switch
>found a circuit breaker about 5 feet left of the door
>hit all the switches
>lights, camera, action
>the room was huge, had to be about the size of a high-school football field, not counting the spectator stands
>a ton of bat-people were in the rafters, screaming their lungs out at me for blasting the lights in their faces
>the concrete chipping had come from a pack of seven mole-folks, smacking pickaxes at the north wall
>they were also yelling at me to ask why the fuck did I do that
>so I went back and turned all but one of the lights off, while apologizing very loudly
>explained that I was a human, I can’t see in the dark, and I didn’t know anyone was in here
>and that I was just passing through, just needed to grab some equipment in here
>then I asked if they had permission from the owners of this building
>not that I was going to snitch, was just curious about how they got in here
>one lady spoke up, said that they don’t even know where they are
>one minute they were all sleeping in their cave, the next minute, they’re in this room
>not that they wanted to complain
>the ceiling girders were much more comfy than the cave they were last living in
>not to mention that they grabbed sleeping bags and pillows right off the shelves
>and there was more than enough packaged food in here to last for months
>with that learned, I told them that I was just going to grab some weapons from the armory shelves
>they didn’t seem to care, went right back to sleep
>moles went right back to chipping down the wall
>so I walked over to explain to them that this was also a very, very bad idea
>told them that the door I came in from, went straight to the surface
>where they’d have all the dirt they could possibly want, for digging through
>they looked at me like a pack of hobos that were just told where a gas station with rigged lottery tickets was
>they scrambled for the back entrance
>they had pure autism energy, but the funny kind of autism
>as I walked around, I got into the center of the loading bay
>had a huge freight elevator to get from the 1st floor to down here
>large enough for an V-22 Osprey, but I dunno if it could support that weight
>a box was laid right in the center, labeled CHAFF GRENADES in glossy white highlighter
>I opened the box
>oops, all confetti bombs!
>ok, I was laughing too at this marvelous prank
>none of the boxes were labeled, so I combed through the aisles from south to north, starting with the southwest corner
>halfway through the first aisle, I had found a box of Redcon1 MRE protein bars
>all blueberry cobbler-flavored
>having missed breakfast, I dug into the box, grabbed two bars
>then sat down, leaning up against the wall, and closed my eyes to enjoy my meal
>once I finished the first bar, I heard footsteps
>pulling out my revolver, I opened my eyes to see one of the bat folks
>she had to be a Honduran white bat, due to being basically albino, but with yellow ears
>holding a jar of strawberry jam, she nervously asked if I could open it for her
>she had no clue that I was holding a hand-cannon
>so I holstering my revolver, and opened the jar
>it was piss easy, but to be fair, her wack-ass hands weren’t conditioned for jars, probably
>she then started digging into the jam jar with her bare mouth
>at first it was kinda hot
>since the jam started dripping from the jar onto her well-endowed chest
>and those giant cute yellow ears, oh man
>whoanellie.jpeg
>wait, no, stop it, boner
>we’re on a real mission now
>the NSA will probably clock my lights out if they find me down here, making moves on a Barbara Gordon
>she ate fast, finishing the jar right as I finished the other protein bar
>as I got up to restart my search, she stuck her hand out, introducing herself as Bahlee
>shook her hand and introduced myself
>after having read Henley’s sizable file on me, I was getting sick of seeing and hearing the name Walker
>so I just gave her my first name
>Jonathan
>yes, that’s Jon without an “h”, don’t forget it
>walked back to the shelves, making small talk with Bahlee as she watched me do my searching thing
>she’d never met a human until me, except technically one
>I asked who the other human was
>it was her mother, her father was a Bruce Wayne
>lost her mom when she was an infant, from a cave-in
>dad disappeared without a trace about two winters before today
>the other bats here were her cousins and some mutual friends
>who tagged along to what was basically a cavern block party with the mole-people

>we talked about each other’s dads for some time, then I asked her if she knew what caused her group to come to this world
>Bahlee had no idea about being on another world, until I blabbed that out
>she and the other bats, who had overheard our conversation, all started freaking out about being trapped here
>they wanted to go home, some of them were afraid of never seeing the rest of their families again
>I could certainly sympathize with that
>but I had no clear answer, despite how much I wanted to help these people
>all I could guess was that if they went outside, they’d have a good bird’s-eye view to find a portal to go back
>I did warn them that daylight had just started
>wasn’t sure if they were nocturnal like Earth bats or not, but I gave out a fair warning anyways
>either way, these folks were tired as shit from pulling an all-nighter, hanging around up there
>so they wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon

(Now Playing : Max’s Nightmare from Max Payne  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WpzfV8OtLHI)

>my patience was running thin with going through what felt like an endless aisle after aisle
>felt like getting groceries for someone you don't even know
>so I went to the only office in this underground warehouse
>a single room with nailed-in plexiglass windows
>turned the lights in the room on, hoped it wasn’t enough to piss off the bat-people again
>since I never heard a fuss from them, it probably didn’t
>hoped to find a inventory list so I could cut to the chase
>all I needed was a rifle, ammo, magazines, and some body armor
>real body armor with plates, didn’t care whether it was an IOTV, slick carrier, or even Ranger armor from the ‘90s
>this wasn’t a time to be a choosy beggar
>in the office was an intercom, with switches that linked to other places in the complex that had their own speakers
>two desks with Dell personal computers, looked to be Windows Vista-era
>the green lights from their system units, indicated that the spooks had probably forgotten to unplug these
>it occurred to me that I should get on a computer to send out some kind of distress message to the whole-ass world
>and e-mail my parents to ask them where they are, and to tell them that I’m not dead yet
>but there were three security cameras on this floor
>two in the not-warehouse, one right behind the desk that was closer to the door
>it was obvious that the computer glowies wanted to keep everything around here hush-hush
>doing anything with the computers could get the IP traced
>and for that alone, I had a bad feeling that the NSA would “liquidate” me once I’d outlive my usefulness
>so I decided to stick to playing by their rules
>there was an X-Files quote that I remembered at that moment
>“You can’t play poker if you aren’t holding any cards”
>each desk had 3 cabinets on the left side, one wide cabinet in the middle
>looked through the desk closer to the door, first two left-side cabinets were empty
>last one had a orange bag of emergency water, a booboo kit, and some charging wires for phones and shit
>middle wire had a bunch of personal knick-knacks
>lip balm, Black Ice air freshener,  pens, pencils, a notebook, and some blank paper
>took the notebook, chugged the emergency water
>moved onto desk number two, which faced the “warehouse”
>a clear view from behind bulletproof windows
>started with the wide cabinet
>bingo, there was a detailed inventory list
>not too specific on where the exact locations of items were
>but everything was categorized by numerical order
>I was afraid that Henley wasn’t exaggerating when he said that the equipment in here was obsolete crap
>but he was, thank goodness
>latest body armor they had was called an Eagle Industries MBAV, NSN confirmed that they were all made back in 2008
>list said that there were 175 of these vests, all in khaki color, inside of Containers 37-40
>fully loaded with soft armor inserts from the get-go, but the hard plates came separate
>so I walked over to the nearest of those containers, number 40
>the light from the office was enough for me to be able to tell which container ws which
>as predicted, 37-40 were cheap-ass wooden crate
>more fit to carry gunked-up 1903 Springfields, than almost-modern body armor
>tried the large on for size, fit like a glove
>fuck leg day
>everyday is upper-body conditioning in Walkertown
>autists and homos ‘mire glutes
>but the hoes and bros-of-culture ‘mire chest & arms
>okay, so my ass was a little fatter than I’d have liked it to be
>and my legs were less “tree-trunk” and more “yam” than I’d have liked
>but time is short, and sacrifices had to be made to achieve Johnny Bravo mode
>but before I got too cocky, I’d need to put some real hard plates in
>so I went through the list, and the best hard plates they had was something called “XSAPI” plates, 2009-dated
>from a company called ArmorWorks Enterprises
>the list said that large Eagle Industries MBAVs could hold XL-size XSAPI, but it’d be a tight fit
>along with 6x8 inch ESAPI side plates, also from ArmorWorks
>now I could feel the weight of the XSAPI, but it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as I’d heard on the Internet
>I barely even felt the side plates
>all-in-all, I realized that the /k/ plate-weight complaints were all just seething and coping from fatties and twinks
>goes to show that you really outta try before you buy, or not buy
>if these really are Level IV armor-rated, then I should be good against even .30-06 and 7.62x54R
>though it’ll probably hurt like a motherfucker to take either one of those in the side plates
>now that I was loaded for armor, I then went to look for a bandana in case I ever needed to cover my mouth
>grabbed a khaki one from container 7
>deciding to free up space in my pants-pockets, I went to find a dump pouch for storing my .45 Long Colt ammo
>containers 41-46 were designated as “plate carrier accessories, MOLLE-only”
>everything I needed was inside container 41, even had a few manuals for the EI MBAV carriers
>found out that I wouldn’t even need an external dump pouch
>there was a built-in velcro pouch in the front, right behind where the rifle mag pouches would go
>the built-in velcro pouch was normally meant to hold pistol mags or a full-size pistol
>turned out that it was also perfect for stuffing with .45 LC
>did a quick recount of how many .45 LC bullets I had in my pack
>3 boxes of 250 grain Underwood, 50 rounds per box
>1 box of 230 grain Remington JHP, 50 rounds
>and 1 more box of 225 grain Hornady FTX, 20 rounds
>that, plus the six in the chamber, plus the 8 rounds that had just been jingling in my pockets
>brought me up to 234 rounds
>more than enough to kill anything that moves
>dumped the pocket rounds, the Remington, and the Hornady into the pouch, 78 bullets in total
>all I needed to do, was to stick to one rule of thumb
>stay away from flat lead ammo, that’s range-toy crap for boomers with arthritis
>not that anyone would think I was some kind of pro, once they got a good look at my wheelgat
>on the other hand, they also might think that I was a super-badass for carrying that piece at any point after 1873 AD
>but I wasn’t giving up this gun
>paid way too much money, just to toss this away
>same went for my Stetson boots
>but that didn’t mean the Walker would be my ONLY gun
>with the revolver ammo problem fixed, I went and grabbed a double-stacked mag pouch to put in the front of the carrier, holding 4 magazines
>then I put on two 100-round SAW pouches, one on both of my sides
>those could also hold up to 3 mags each
>now that the plate carrier was all set up, I had to get an M4 Carbine
>now the M16 is cool and all
>but I really didn’t think I’d be shooting at anyone past a quarter-mile in the San Antonio suburbs
>didn’t really need, nor care, for an adjustable stock
>so the dealio was to grab an M4 upper, then put it on an M16A2 lower
>the list had all the rifles inside of containers 11-29
>no specifics, the list literally said “M16 & derivatives”
>so I went from first to last, dropped the idea of an A2 lower
>because the first thing I found were actual OG M16’s, and the even older Air Force-marked Model 601/602’s
>must’ve been about 16 of them, how poetic
>pre-A1, but there were plenty of those too
>leaving that container open, I continued down the row
>container 12 was full of M16A1’s
>continuing on to container 13, which had A1’s along with assorted less-commonly-issued variants from the days of ‘Nam
>Model 605’s, GAU-5’s, GUU-5’s, Model 608 Survival Rifles, M231 Firing Port Weapons, going into container 14
>now I REALLY felt like a kid in a candy store, after-hours
>but deep down inside, I knew that I should hold on for an upper with modern bells & whistles
>with the EMP having fried everything NOT underground, I’d have an edge over almost everyone in town
>so I kept moving, containers 15-22 were all M16A2’s
>a request had been made for some Diemaco Model 750 LMGs, but the green light hadn’t come by now
>jackpot was made at container 23, some M4’s in there had attachments, some didn’t
>grabbed one without a carry handle, flat-topped with an Aimpoint Comp M3 & Surefire G2X combatlight
>the Surefire, which came in OD green, ruined the perfect grey/black color coding I had going on
>but fuck it, beggars can’t be choosy
>so then I detached the upper from the lower
>really simple, just push out the back-pin, then push out the front pin
>did the opposite once at the monthly Saxet gun show, tried to look cool in front of a chick I’d just met
>man, was that embarrassing
>took the upper back with me to container 11, finger-fucked and dry-fired the OG M16 and the M16A2 against each other
>M16A2 was nice, but the OG was better
>plus the OG had full-auto, and the chance that I’d run out of 5.56 or .223, in this city?
>that’s so unlikely, that I refuse to even explain why that’s unlikely
>I’d rather bet my life on something with full rock-’n-roll mode anyways, on account of all the magic critters and monsters running around out there
>there had to be tough wack-ass monsters that defy biology and anatomy
>still a few things left to do with this rifle, though
>first, I would never call myself an expert at putting together an M16
>but it had occurred to me that I should do some “upgrades”
>that is, to get to the last box, and cannibalize some parts from whatever the latest Stoner rifle was in storage
>so I went to container 27, popped that shit open
>my God, it’s full of stars
>or rather, 1st gen HK416’s
>with my upper and lower not yet together, it was easy as apple pie to replace the buffer tube & spring, along with the charging handle, with their superior HK416 counterparts
>a new bolt carrier group would also be easy-as-shit to replace, but the HK416’s BCG was 100% proprietary
>fucking Jerrys
>thus I went to container 25, which I’d correctly guessed had M4A1’s inside
>since they were the latest military model in this warehouse that was designed with full-auto in mind
>swapped the BCG in seconds
>now only three things left to do
>first, to go to the battery containers for three extra CR123a batteries for the Surefire & two extra lithium 1/3N’s for the Aimpoint
>second, to get a sling that wasn’t complete manure, also known as un-padded nylon
>third, to get a backup rear sight for this M16 abomination
>just in case the Aimpoint gets wrecked
>every dang ‘ol M16 from the Model 601 to the HK416 had basic-ass nylon slings
>so I went down the list for other long guns that had ought to have slings
>first one was the winner
>container 67 had FN M249’s, ripped a Bulldog Tactical two-point bungee sling with padding
>the padding was black, but the rest of the sling was OD green
>then I went to container 29, which was labeled as “assorted M16 accessories”
>grabbed a black Magpul BUS rear sight, attached it using a little mini-wrench-screwdriver-thingy that was also in the container
>with Knight’s Armament rail covers & the M249 sling attached right after that, my setup was complete
>just needed to get the batteries
>and then I shit you not, right as I had moved my right finger to scroll through the list one last time
>a phone rang
>nearly shat myself, the ringing was coming from the office
>right from the phone on the desk that faced me and the containers
>the door to the office was left open
>trying not to piss myself, I prepared myself to get chewed out by Henley for taking so long
>walking towards the office, I could heard some of the bat-folks above, yelling at me to stop that noise

(Now Playing : Techno MixFull from Sid Meier’s Civilization 3  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vQiq578BzII)

>closing the door to the office, I answered right as the third ring ended
>it wasn’t Henley
>it was some deep distorted voice, sounded like a man
>sounded a lot like the ED-209 from Robocop
>the voice asked if I was Jonathan Anonymous Walker
>I asked who wanted or needed to know
>the voice tells me to calm down
>explained that his IT goons had the security camera set on a loop, once I exited it’s cone-of-vision the first time
>and they had temporarily shut off the listening bugs inside of the PC towers in this room
>that still didn’t answer my question
>so I repeated louder that this person had ought to identify themself before I’d hang up
>the voice paused for about five seconds
>then he said that he was “just the fly in the ointment, the monkey in the wrench, the pain in the ass”
>he was trying to be smooth
>but I recognized that exact sentence from the first Die Hard
>I then told him that I knew what movie he was making a joke about
>so should I call him Bruce Willis, John McClane, or Roy Rogers?
>the voice asks me to refer to him by the other nickname McClane had
>took me about 15 seconds, but it hit me
>The Party Crasher
>his voice got much friendlier after that
>the pop culture jokes were to confirm that I was who I really was
>Party Crasher said that he’d personally caught two shapeshifters already
>by making pop culture jokes that the people they impersonated would have known
>it turned out that Mister P.C. was the case officer in charge of the CIA’s stake in the TBRI
>along with being Agent Michael’s handler
>Mike had managed to Escape From Bexar County, 4 hours earlier
>even with a splint, he had eminent domain’d a bicycle, rode all the way from that clinic I left him in, to Medina Lake
>out of range from the EMP, he had been rescued from the roof of the Red Cove Cafe & Marina
>a private helicopter with a working phone was flying by, saw his flares and picked him up
>called Mr. Party Crasher at 2:00 AM, told them that he was pretty sure that I’d ignore his warning and head to the Institute
>which was perfect for P.C.
>he needed my help, and needed it bad
>seemed that I was the only trustworthy asset that Langley had, that could still be communicated with
>I stopped him there, saying that I really didn’t like the idea of being a spook asset, no personal offense
>P.C. says I have no logical choice
>Henley and his associates have no real reason NOT to ice me the minute I give them what they want
>even if I don’t know shit, the possibility that I’m lying about not knowing shit, was too high
>P.C. said that the CIA had intercepted an email conversation of Henley’s
>7 minutes ago, to be exact, he had received permission to terminate every employee of the TBRI
>with extreme prejudice, of course
>cover stories were in the making, saying that we were all asymptomatic carriers of a biological WMD, and had to be put down to “save America”
>that utter and complete nigger of the highest level
>I’ll fire a full cylinder right into his beer-gut, if I ever catch him alone
>so P.C. says that I have three realistic options
>one, I can pretend to go along with Henley
>but instead, don’t go to the Institute
>just walk away once I leave, just don’t do anything I said that I would do
>lay low, roll my dice that the NSA doesn’t put a “Wanted: Dead or Even More Dead” bounty on me
>option two, I can go to the Institute, get into the servers, copy EVERYTHING onto flash drives
>then run off to meet with a rendezvous who can get me out of the city, and into a safehouse lickety-split
>if I do this for the CIA, I’ll be allowed to wait out the worldwide chaos from inside the safehouse
>or until Henley and his friends were themselves “terminated with extreme prejudice”
>option three, they’ll fake my death and I’ll go into a DEA or ICE Witness Protection Program until further notice
>an FBI or CIA WPP would be too obvious
>I also pointed out a fourth option, to run off to The Other Side after I give them the data
>P.C. says his agency won’t stop me if that’s what I want
>but then I realized that if I did that, I’d kiss most of my odds to find my parents, goodbye
>now I might be stupid enough to attempt to out-chess glorified computer nerds, but the CIA?
>you are an utter fucking retard, if you think I’d try doing THAT
>worst case scenario, I’ll just go work for The Company instead
>bet they’ll be running entire hiring fairs when there’s a whole new planet to put the squeeze on intelligence
>but our shop talk was dragging on, and I wasn’t taking chances on how long this counter-hack would last
>so I accepted the deal, all I needed to know was how to communicate with them afterwards
>so P.C. had a simple plan
>he knew about the colored flares in the TBRI’s furthest-west toxicology lab’s storage room
>all I had to do, was to pop off a white flare if the mission was a success, and I was the only one with the data
>or a red flare if the mission was a total failure
>or a blue flare if I had copied & acquired the information, but so had other people
>red flare, the deal’s off, I’m on my own
>white or blue, he’ll make the call, and a 4-door Dodge Charger from the Texas Highway Patrol will be sent for me
>the driver’s orders will be to wait for me at the parking lot of the Gold’s Gym in the Medical Center
>I have one day after I pop the flare to get there
>and if I pop a white flare, there’ll be a Cayman Islands bank account with my name on it
>but if I took too long, I’ll be considered dead
>my only counter-demand was that the driver will also make a quick detour at my parent’s office, to rescue them too
>the Crasher accepted, he already knew that my folks worked right off of Loop 410, near the international airport
>it was basically right on our escape route anyways
>the driver would fill me in on anything afterwards
>I fully accepted those terms
>he then said that I had 30 seconds before the counter-hack was over, and that I’d better leave the door open
>and get back to the security camera’s blind spot
>so I did, seemed to work perfectly
>since there was no reasonable excuse to punish me for using the phone for a certain reason, I went back into the office

>called my home phone, just to double check if the power was still out
>it was
>then I called my buddy B.C.’s home number
>nothing
>tried his cell phone
>dead
>tried Mom’s cell phone
>zilch
>tried Dad’s cell phone
>nada
>tried Dad’s office
>zip
>tried the conference room of his office
>that was a negative, Ghost Rider
>tried Mom’s office, just in case they went there instead
>nope
>well, there went all my ideas on how to contact my parents
>but to keep the NSA from getting pissed from all these personal calls, an idea popped in my head
>hit the intercom, asked if I could call my office
>in the off-chance that someone’s still alive in there, we could just get them to open the door for us
>either from a button on the underside of my desk
>or a backup-to-the-backup circuit-breaker switch in the janitor closet
>or the backup’s backup’s backup lever, hidden behind the diaper changing station at the primate lab
>that last one was another one of Paisley's strokes of genius
>had it installed in case of a Die Hard incident
>if someone inside were to close the “blast” doors and take us all hostage, the authorities would arrive, pull that secret lever, then save the day
>Paisley didn’t even know that I knew, but he’d let it slip about 4 months earlier
>he was sitting in the lobby, waiting on an Atlanta HQ bigshot for a personal tour
>and I was taking a fat shit in the guest restroom, since it was closer to my desk than the employee one
>the Doc was grumbling about how the construction folks were charging rip-off rates to keep that lever off the books
>and he never found out how thin the walls were, between the lobby and it’s guest restroom
>Henley’s voice crackled, said it was worth a shot
>So I called my own desk-phone, a wired landline one
>and from what felt like a miracle, someone actually picked up
>some exasperated Halle Berry-sounding chick, screaming into the phone about who the fuck was calling at a time like this
>without context, I’d believe you immediately if you randomly told me that this person was a computer-glowie
>I tried to hold back a giggle, saying that I should be asking that question
>seeing as how she’s at MY desk, using MY phone
>after 10 seconds of silence, her brain-bells rang
>realized that I’m J.A. Walker, as per my desk plate, a nice glass acrylic one at that
>she yelled a bunch of expletives at me
>to sum it up, she blamed this whole mess on me
>I disregarded her rant, since there was no chance that this was my fault
>other than some small samples of a few biological WMDs, I wasn’t aware of anything else that could cause some kind of mess
>unless this bitch is high enough to actually think that a few loose primates, cats, and domestic dogs are a threat to national security
>now the WMDs sound bad, but to be fair, they were just small samples
>and in closed vials, each one was barely enough to kill one conference room’s worth of people
>small potatoes, considering what’s going on everywhere else
>and the samples were at an entirely different building from Administration
>so I decided that it’d be better to see in person what the hubbub was all about
>I told her about the desk button to open the shutters, politely asked her to open it so her NSA pals could reinforce her
>she yelled“No!” like twenty times, fast
>then told me to go fist myself if I thought that she’d even consider opening the doors with THEM running around
>I asked who the fuck was “them”
>she said nothing but “terrorists”
>then hung up
>I called again, a busy line, she probably sliced the line
>terrorists?
>in my facility?
>looked like it really WAS more likely than you’d think
>the intercom had stayed on, Henley had heard the whole conversation
>filled me on how that woman was one of his agents, a Francine Lane
>she was already scheduled for a psych evaluation after she got kicked out of the LA Fitness, next door
>on account of pulling a gun on some ho that made passes on her boyfriend while they were doing squat reps together
>great
>not only do I have to solve a mystery on who the fuck are these terrorists, but we also have a screwball-John McClane on the loose
>did The Party Crasher know about this?
>couldn’t have been a coincidence, it couldn’t be
>and did that make me Al Powell in this whole thing?
>felt more like I was Argyle the limo driver, to be honest
>total amateur, first day of any real action, completely in over my head
>and like him, I was underground, with action going on (literally) over my head

>now that all the puzzle pieces were out on the table, I needed to put them together
>didn’t need to use the computers here
>since Agent Lane answered that phone, the emergency generator must’ve came online
>which meant that I could use my own work computer to email everybody
>only one last call to make
>asked Henley if I could make one personal call
>he said sure, as long as I didn’t say anything about you-know-what
>so I called the only other number I could remember off the top of my head
>Uncle James’s home phone, all the way out in Bangor, Maine
>and to my surprise, he answered
>well, not him specifically
>my dear cousin James Jr. had picked up the phone
>my previously-mentioned cousin, who’d inherited Great-grandpa Harrison’s M1928 Thompson SMG
>we were both surprised to hear each other over the line
>I thought he still at his dorm at the University of Kentucky, the main campus in Lexington
>and he thought that I was out in the middle of the west Texas desert, and dead by now
>instead of calling him from a 210 area code, which even he’d heard by now about how San Antonio had gone literally dark
>Uncle James must’ve misunderstood, when Mom told him two days earlier over the phone, that I was going to drive west to try out my Walker revolver
>I filled him in on my quest to rescue my parents
>then I lied, told him that I was calling from a payphone at the Six Flags Fiesta Texas parking lot, and that I was going to go look for a working car
>also told him that we needed to make this quick, I had been standing in line for 3 hours to use this phone
>and there were at least 40 more people waiting behind me to tell their own families that they were still alive
>James Jr.’s story was that he found out that none of his professors this semester took attendance
>so he paid a trustworthy classmate to share notes
>and so J.J. had been living it up on trips all over Kentucky
>he could afford all the extra miles, him and his 50 MPG 2015 Honda Accord hybrid sedan
>so he lied to Uncle J and Aunt Maureen, about this week being a study week
>then he hopped on a route of cheap Greyhound buses to Bangor, for relaxing and fucking around with old friends
>now, here he was, stranded at home while a legion of abominable snowmen (led by an actual fucking skinwalker) were running a train on his neighborhood
>with limited ammo, his current plan was to stay quiet and sit tight
>until his friend Edgar would come and pick him up in his semi-armored Hummer H1
>right on time, he said he saw the Hummer pull up
>his cell phone had gone missing, probably slipped out of his pocket on that last Greyhound
>quickly told me not to worry, Uncle J and Aunt M were safe at the Aroostook Centre Mall in Presque Isle
>the locals there had seen Dawn of the Dead too many times, banded together to fortify the shopping center
>it worked so well that the local authorities and their Canadian counterparts were using their roof as a series of helipads
>while J.J. and Edgar were headed to the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, to volunteer for the Navy
>whatever gets them a huge amount of firepower, and as far away from the towns of Etna & Durham, as possible
>before I could ask him to elaborate on what’s going on with Etna & Durham, he quickly told me not to worry
>once he got Edgar’s cell phone, he’d call the rest of our extended family to tell them that he, his parents, and I were still alive
>and that the jury was still out on my own parents
>and J.J.’s younger brother and twin sister, Dennis and Alice, who both had busy lines when he tried to call
>then he said he heard some noises coming from the backyard
>then he yelled out to something, said to “say hello to his little friend”
>the full-spray of a 100-round drum roared, I could barely hear the dining room’s windows shatter
>I’d seen it on his Instagram, son of a bitch had collected three of them, along with seven 50-round drums, God knew how many 30-rounder sticks
>and one 20-rounder to top off his collection like the cherry on a sundae
>and a few loud squeals could barely be heard in the background
>it really did sound like a typewriter, with regards to Chicago
>his home phone had been on speaker this whole time
>when his drum ran dry, he yelled a good luck to me
>the sound of his loud footsteps on his creaky wooden floor followed, along with the rustling of a duffle bag, and the rattling of the rest of his drum mags
> the sound of a opening door followed, the slam of a car door, then the screech of a redlined Detroit Diesel V8
>the roar of that XXL-sized SUV faded into the distance, and with a now-empty house, I hung up

>well, the plot had truly thickened now
>God, this entire situation had spiraled completely out-of-control 
>and into wacko-loopy-5d-Backgammonland, from the minute I walked into this facility
>my life is becoming a HBO miniseries
>I had just walked away from drowning a regenerating serial killer, then raided a trap house
>then got roped right into the center of a conspiracy war being raged across multiple agencies
>all of which, were fighting over who’ll get to be the American Praetorian Guard
>we are going beyond the kind of society-degeneration that you’d see in Mad Max or The Stand
>this is full-ass early-20th century Chinese warlord shit
>I was beginning to think that very soon, we’d be seeing the country split up
>not on state versus federal legal supremacy, no, not this time
>this time, it’d be on the lines of “which politicians and military leaders swear fealty to which three-letter agencies”
>all of whom, seem to be fighting over who’ll get to run the Pentagon and White House in this new age
>and if not, heads are literally going to roll when the general public finds out which D.C. bigwigs appointed these power-grubbey assholes
>who definitely ain’t doing their jobs at assisting in restoring order
>coming here was officially the 4th worst mistake of my entire life
>after the poor decisions of : deciding not to go to college
>buying this revolver BEFORE buying that Sig TREAD rifle
>and walking away from Sierra when she gave me that relationship ultimatum, three months earlier
>instead of talking it out like a better man would
>like a real man should
>but enough about the past
>right now I had a quest-within-a-quest-within-a-quest to do
>and by golly, I was going to get it done
>I no longer had any fucking clue as to what the future would hold
>but I knew that with some guts and luck, I’d come out on top of all this
>or die trying

>after waiting out on the cameras to start back up, I left the warehouse
>I had everything I needed
>almost forgot to grab those previously-mentioned accessory batteries, though
>the CR123a batteries were in container 97, the lithium 1/3N’s were in the next one
>tossed them into my pack
>waved goodbye to the bat-people, wishing them luck before I turned out the office lights
>the only light left was from the same way I came in
>the single ray of light from the door’s window shined down on me as I opened and closed the blast door
>like I was a crusader getting acknowledged by a higher power
>I wouldn’t call the CIA and NSA higher powers, in the original definition of the word
>but from where I was standing, they sure came the closest
>opening the door, I returned to the surface 
>the sky was still covered in clouds
>clouds themselves had gotten a bit darker, from a light grey to plain grey
>felt a little colder too
>but a little chilly air wasn’t going to stop me
>no sir-ree
>I’m going to the police station nearby on Culebra, not even a mile away
>i’m gonna gather a posse of cops to help me fight these “terrorists”
>and then I’m gonna grab the data, and leave this whole mess behind
>what could go wrong?
>not a rhetorical question
>I knew for a fact that anything, and everything, could go wrong

(Now Playing : Billy the Kid by Brandon Fiechter https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GLYGAt-2zqY )