Tears in Hell (UPDATED OCTOBER 11th)

[Puppy Kicker]

The game: We run a D20 Modern game. The rules for Chases and Backgrounds are pulled out of the Spycraft, the rules for Mental Stability are a mixture of D20 Call of Cthulhu and some hombrew. Magic is a mixture of D20 Modern Urban Arcana, D20 Call of Cthulhu, and Old Drew Id's Medallions.

The setting: "Tears in Hell", the introductory adventure, is set in eastern Virginia, modern day. The characters are all non-magical 1st levelers who have had little to no exposure to any of the dark magical nastiness that exists in the shadowy-nasty places. The characters hail from various places (CA to NY) but are all in Virginia when the adventure starts.

The characters: Each player decided which actor would play their character in the made-for-TV-movie version of our campaign. Inspired by Old Drew Id, I wrote up an introduction for each character to explain where they are right now and what got them there. Those introductions are shown in the next 5 posts.

For an easy and quick reference while reading, a character summary follows:

Armani Determan: (Strong Hero 1) Played by Clancy Brown. A street thug from New York. He got himself in some trouble in the City by stealing something too valuable for his own good and was forced to flee south. He's ugly, he's tough, he's ugly. Allegiances: None. Backgrounds: Hunted.

Devin Cole: (Dedicated Hero 1) Played by Nicholaus Brendon. A hard-working kid who's had one too many bad turns in life. He's up to his ears in debt as he tries to support himself and his little sister as well as pay off some money he had to borrow from a local crime boss. Allegiances: Family, Good. Backgrounds: Rival, Debt.

Meadow McLean: (Dedicated Hero 1) Played by Robbin Tunney. A young wicca and student of child psychology at the University of William & Mary. She's had some odd (some might say mystical) experiences in life and is currently struggling with both her grades and her sexuality. Allegiances: Wicca. Backgrounds: Forbidden Love.

Quinton Stark III: (Charismatic Hero 1) Played by Scott Speedman. Pretty, charming, rich, addicted to gambling. Quin's family is from New York and he's come down to Virginia, ostensibly to attend college far from his parents. In reality, he has some other things he'd like to investigate while he's down here. Allegiances: Family. Backgrounds: Vow, Defeated.

Rebecca Michaels: (Smart Hero 1) Played by Kirsten Dunst (4 years ago and 15 pounds heavier). Torn between getting good grades at William & Mary and making a lot of cash with Mary Kay, Rebecca's life is in an upheaval. She DID just get her first Mary Kay car though, and her romantic attentions to a cute professor WILL be noticed... any .... day .... now. Allegiances: Good, Mary Kay, William & Mary. Backgrounds: Mistaken Identity.

 

[Puppy Kicker]

Introduction: Armani Determan

Introduction: Armani Determan
11:25 PM July 12th, 2004

You’re a bad-mutha-(shut yo' mouth). You know this, and most of the people you meet know this. But damned if the cab ride from the Greyhound station to the McDonalds isn’t the most terrifying experience of your life! This foreigner is insane! He's driving through sheets of rain over a lake of water at somewhere slightly below the speed of sound. Dude probably wants to meet his maker as soon as possible and he has no problem taking you along with him. This had better be worth the trip. Your left hand rests on your leather briefcase – if you get in a car wreck this insanely valuable thing is coming with you. Your right hand, of course, firmly grips the oh-sh** handle. Car wrecks happen. This you know.

---​

Four Days Ago: You’d been hanging on the street, keeping it real with your posse. You were a little luckier than Johnny when the gunshots started. You jumped out of the way – to the right. Johnny jumped left. Johnny’s legs were messily removed by a large black sedan as it careened into a brick wall. The top of Johnny’s body was splayed across the mashed hood of the car, as were the bodies of the car’s driver and a passenger. Neatly resting on the hood of the car was your big break.

---​

You take your hand off the oh-sh** handle long enough to massage your right cheek. The gash there is scabbed over now, but very tender. You curse. You’re a bad mutha (shut yo' mouth), as everyone knows, and some little gash ain’t enough to make you pansy out. It’s a painful reminder of why you’re in Virginia now though. What a miserable state. All warm and wet. Probably not a lot of Corleones here though, and that’s priority number one, brother, staying the hell away from that bunch.

---​

Twelve Hours Ago:
“Where’s the rock, you little sh**?”

“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about, man!” Your lip was bleeding already and the various bruises were starting to swell.

“You’re going to talk, kid. You’re going to talk or you’re going to scream. And then you’re going to talk anyway.” The big Italian produced a pocket knife, flipped the blade open.

You weren’t scared. You've been telling yourself that. You were brave and you kicked that bastard in the nuts as hard as you could. It threw the guys holding you off balance and you ran, throwing a good kick into the ribs of the knife holder as you ran by. It was time to get your goods and get the hell out of town for a while.

---​

It will be good to get this damn thing out of your life for good. All you have to do is get to this McDonalds, make the trade, and get on with your life. There’s nothing left for you in New York anyway. Maybe this Yorktown area will work for you. Hell, you’ve already got yourself a contact here that you might be able to do some work for.

---​

Two Hours Ago:
“Mr. Nickels is interested in making the deal. Tonight, 11:30, the McDonalds at Route 17 and Victory Blvd.” The voice coming out of your cell phone was bossy and in charge.

“That’s in Virginia, right?” You were still on the Greyhound, making your way to some bus stop in Newport News.

“Where the hell you think it is? Yeah, Yorktown. Better be there, kid. Mr. Nickels doesn’t like to be disappointed.”

“F***er, I’ll be there!” Oops. You sometimes do that, just saying sh** without thinking about who you’re talking to.

“Watch your language, kid. I don’t like to be disappointed either. And I’m meaner than Mr. Nickels.”

“Yeah, man, I’ll be there and I’ve got the sh**. Who I looking for?”

“He’ll be looking for you. Combo is 5-3-5-2. Don’t open it in the restaurant, kid.”

“Bullsh**! How will I know it’s enough cash?”

Dead line. You slid the cell phone into your dufflebag and waited out the rest of the bus ride.

---​

The cab pulls into the McDonalds parking lot. The rain hasn’t let up at all and your dufflebag’s in the back. Damn, man, looks like you’re gonna get soaked. You flip the cabbie a few bucks, no tip, and get out. He waits a bit longer than necessary to pop the trunk, but you manage to get your dufflebag and sprint to the door of the McD’s without getting every part of your body soaked.

You open the door and look around. Some young dude at a table, a couple hot chicks with him and some old guy. Some guy sitting alone, a briefcase on the floor near his feet. That's your man. You order yourself a double-quarter-pounder-with-cheese-meal and head towards his table.

 

[Puppy Kicker]

Introduction: Devin Cole

Introduction: Devin Cole
11:15 PM July 12th, 2004

“It’s my liiiiiiiiife, it’s now or never. I ain’t gonna…”

You listen to FM 99 for hard rock. What the hell is this Bon Jovi crap? You flick off the radio in frustration and crank the windshield wipers up to high. The rain has always gotten you down, some nights worse than others. This is one of those nights. It’s pouring here in Williamsburg and it’s a crappy night to be out driving. In fact, it’s a crappy night to be out doing anything.

---​

Thirty Minutes Ago:
It was a crappy Monday to begin with, working for a crappy boss on a crappy construction site in the non-stop crappy rain. You’d just settled down with a crappy light beer to some crappy sitcom when you got the crappy phone call.

Your little sister started looking worried about the time you said “Look, I can’t pay that right now,” and she was already looking up the phone number for a babysitter by the time you said “Sure, I’ll do it. This’ll pay off the debt for this week, right?” You hung up the phone and asked her to get a babysitter for a few hours while you went out to take care of some business. She agreed of course. What time will you be home? Don’t know. She nodded. Good kid. Makes the crappy days easier to deal with. You stormed out into the rain and hopped into your truck. It started, eventually.

Some thug you’d seen a couple times before met you four blocks away. He handed you a locked metal briefcase and gave you the instructions you needed. “Go to the McDonalds at the intersection of Route 17 and Victory Blvd in Yorktown. It’s by the Wal-mart. You’re looking for a big guy, scars, brown hair, a leather briefcase. Make the trade. Meet me back here at 0200.” You took the briefcase and tossed it in the seat next to you. Probably drugs or money.

---​

The drive to Yorktown is wet and miserable and dangerous, but you survive. You pull into the parking lot of the Wal-Mart and look over at the McDonalds. Looks pretty empty. Good, you don’t want too many people seeing these transactions. You don’t know how your life ended up at this point, doing trades for Sammy in the middle of the night, but it’s better than being dead, or worse, losing custody of your little sister.

---​

Five months ago:
“Look man, I need the cash.”

“Everybody needs cash, Mr. Cole. If you understand the terms, agree to the terms, the money’s yours. I don’t care what you do with it. You're a big boy, I'm sure you'll use it wisely.”

“I understand and I’m good for it. Just got to get on my feet.”

Sammy Nickels nodded and pulled a paper bag from behind the counter. “It’s all here. You are welcome to count it if you wish.”

Of course you wanted to count it, but that’s not how you did business with Sammy. “Naw, I trust you.”

“Of course you do.” Sammy grinned, flashing two gold-plated incisors. “The first payment is due next month. I'd appreciate it if you do not force me to be aggressive in the collection process.”

“Of course not. I’m good for it.”

The money was gone by the end of the week – lawyers, doctors, mortgage. When the next month came and you couldn’t pay, Sammy was very understanding.

“All I ask is a small favor and I’ll let you off this time.”

“Sure Sammy, whatever you need. Thanks for being understanding.”

The incisors flashed again. “My pleasure, Mr. Cole. Don’t fail me.”

“Of course not, Sammy. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

---​

You sprint through the pouring rain and slam through the door into the McDonalds. No big guys with briefcases that you can see. A few college-age kids and an old guy sitting together, that’s all. Could have been you sitting there, joking with your college friends and getting all warmed up to make something of your life. Not in the cards for you, though.

You order a Number 1 with a Dr. Pepper (can't really afford to supersize) and have a seat in a quiet corner. The conversation at the student’s table is getting loud, but you ignore them as you munch your fries. A few minutes later a big ugly guy stumbles through the door, carrying a duffle-bag and a little leather briefcase. A little older than you, big and kinda mean looking. He gets something to eat at the counter then approaches you.

Guess it’s time for the deal.

 

[Puppy Kicker]

Introduction: Meadow McLean

Introduction: Meadow McLean
11:25 PM July 12th, 2004

You’re a little distracted right now. Of course, that’s why you’re here in the first place, because you’ve been a “little distracted” this entire term and your grade in this class pretty much requires some extra credit. But really, you’d think a professor would be a little more understanding of the problems you’ve been going through.

---​

Last Week:
“Hi, Meadow.”

“Uh… hi Jared.” Your eyes darted around. Escape path. “How’ve you been?”

“Good.” He was looking at her. A little suspicious. “Introduce me to your friend.”

“Uh… this is my…” You looked at Allison and then looked away. “This is my… friend. Alli.” Allison looked hurt. Of course.

“Yeah. Good to meet you, Alli.” Alli smiled and said hi. “Meadow and I used to date, y’know.”

Alli knew. “Oh really? How nice.”

“Yeah, it was good. Really good.” Jared stared at Allison a few seconds too long. “Anyway, good seeing you again, Meadow.”

You nodded. He walked away. When he was far enough away you wiped a tear off Alli’s cheek. You skipped class that afternoon - again.

---​

You’re not a big fan of McDonalds, but their salads are pretty good. You can smell the death around you though, all these animals slaughtered so people can make themselves fatter. The rest of the people at the table are eating meat, of course.

There's Rebecca – nice enough, but a little too pretty-girl for you. She’s often trying to “help” you bring out your inner beauty. Of course, that involves selling you cosmetics.

Then Quin – handsome and charming and smart and manipulative. He’s hit on you a few times, but then, he’s hit on every woman in the class at least a few times. Usually successfully.

Professor Gallivan – intelligent and very troubled. His daughter died not long ago, but he kept teaching. You may not be a psychologist yet, but you know that’s not healthy.

The door opens and some guy comes in, orders some food.

“So you all want some extra credit.” You all nod. Professor Gallivan reaches under the table and rummages around in his satchel. He sets a small stone figurine on the table, shaped like a bear. You spit out a mouthful of salad and almost vomit as waves of nausea sweep across your body.

---​

You were 16 when you last felt this nausea. Sitting in a circle with three other high school girls playing a little game of witchcraft. At least, it seemed like a game. All of you had your hands resting on the Ouija board, willing it to answer your secret questions about boys.

“Stop pushing it towards the A, Meadow. I don’t like Alan!” All the girls giggled.

“My turn! What will I be when I grow up?” At that point you really wondered. It was suddenly really cold in the room. You felt a little queasy.

The pointer moved. E -------- V --------- I ---------- L.

“Stop it, Anne!”

“I’m not doing it!” All four of you pulled your hands away from the board then. The pointer continued to move, faster and faster. E – V – I – L – E – V – I – L – E – V – I – L – E – V – I – L – E – V – I – L

You got sick, threw up all over the floor and the Ouija board. The other girls ran away. Nobody talked about it again.

---​

“Are you alright, Meadow?”

You nod at the professor. “Just a little bad salad, thanks.” You’re not alright. You feel like you're going to puke.

“I found this on my dig in Mexico last year.”

“Mexico? They have a lot of bears down there?”

“Not really, Quin. Interesting, isn’t it? Anyway, we’re all going to find out a little something about this artifact. I’ve…. done…” Professor Gallivan rummages through his satchel and pulls some papers out. “…some research already…”

Another customer comes in. Professor Gallivan tosses the note-scrawled papers on the table. Time to get down to some research.

 

[Puppy Kicker]

Introduction: Quinton Stark III

Introduction: Quinton Stark III
11:25 PM July 12th, 2004

Your BMW M3 takes the corners like a champ, even in this pouring rain. Good investment, if you do say so yourself, paid for with profits from a batch of finals. It looks hot. You tell yourself that’s why you bought it – for the girls. But it goes fast, and you know that sometimes it’s good to have something that will get you somewhere fast – or away from somewhere fast.

---​

Like John. Uncle John wasn’t fast enough. He died in a very messy manner, splattered across a Manhattan street with a “suicide” note resting on his desk, 12 floors above his corpse. It wasn’t in his handwriting, even the cops knew that. And the last line, “I shouldn’t have crossed the Nickels” gave you your only hint who was responsible. The cops didn’t care and the case was closed within days. Suicide.

Uncle John had returned from a trip to the North Carolina Outer Banks shortly before his murder. He was worried and secretive, even with his favorite nephew, when he got back. Guess he got caught. Should have gone faster. Perhaps that’s why you chose William & Mary. Someday you may find out whodunit.

---​

You arrive at the McDonalds a few minutes early and kick back the seat to relax and listen to the radio bump. You’re in no hurry to go in there. You need the extra credit to pass your Anthropological Study of Native American Cultures class, but you figure as long as you show the effort you’ll have no trouble getting a passing grade. Hell, you could talk yourself into a B without doing any homework in most classes. Professor Gallivan is a hard ass though. His classes used to be so much easier, but now he’s just a bit of a dick.

Enough thoughts about ugly old professors. You gaze at the photograph on your rear view mirror. Vanessa Steel. Daaaaaamn...

---​

She took you for a fool, took you for a ride, and took you for a load of cash. You never lost like that, and you never enjoyed losing more. Vanessa was an incredible woman with the types of talents that you only dream of. There have been plenty of women in your bed since she turned you down, and plenty before. But that’s the one you will have. Oh yes.

---​

Time to go. You sprint through the rain, thoroughly soaked by the time you slam through the doors of the Yorktown McDonalds. Meadow (she’s a cute enough girl who seems to think she’s a witch) and Professor Gallivan (hard ass) are here. Rebecca is, of course, not.

You’ve been waiting a while when Rebecca finally arrives, looking pretty hot. She comes to the table, carrying her backpack and purse and a soaked umbrella.

“Hi Professor Gallivan.” Oh, she’s totally macking on the old teacher. That’s disgusting.

“Have a seat, Ms. Michaels.”

“Thank you, Martin, I will.” She squeezes into a seat too close to Gallivan.

“Yorktown’s a bit out of the way, isn’t it, Prof?”

“A bit, Mr. Stark, but I wanted some privacy.”

“Privacy then, great. Well let’s get down to it.” You’re impatient to get this crap over with.

Rebecca nudges closer to Gallivan. “Yes, let’s get down to it.” Disgusting.

The door opens and some guy comes in, orders some food.

“So you all want some extra credit.” You all nod. Professor Gallivan reaches under the table and rummages around in his satchel. He sets a small stone figurine on the table, shaped like a bear. Yee ha, more boring anthropology crap. Suddenly, Meadow spits out a mouthful of salad and keels over.

“Are you alright, Meadow?” Professor Gallivan asks.

She nods at the professor. “Just a little bad salad, thanks.”

Gallivan nods and continues. “I found this on my dig in Mexico last year.”

“Mexico?” you say. “They have a lot of bears down there?”

“Not really, Quin. Interesting, isn’t it? Anyway, we’re all going to find out a little something about this artifact. I’ve…. done…” Professor Gallivan rummages through his satchel and pulls some papers out. “…some research already…”

Another customer comes in. You squirm uncomfortably. Rough looking guy. He doesn't look interested in your table though.

The Prof tosses the papers on the table and you deftly move your Diet Coke out of the way before it gets knocked over. Time to "show some effort."

 

[Puppy Kicker]

Introduction: Rebecca Michaels

Introduction: Rebecca Michaels
11:00 PM July 12th, 2004

You apply the final finishing touches to your face – perfect. Your hair is brown today, and it goes well with today’s face. Martin, er, Professor Gallivan, will probably pretend not to notice again, but you know he’ll fall for you eventually. He’s still hurting from his daughter’s death and you understand that you need to give him time.

You are especially careful as you run out to your car (shiny and red and new, the Mary Kay logo prominently displayed) to avoid the rain. It would just NOT DO to have your face ruined right before you see Martin.

Your phone beeps at you as you drive out of the campus parking lot. You pull over to check your messages. You’ll be a bit late to the “study group” but that’s all right. You know it’s best to keep the customer’s appetite wetted by letting them wait just a bit, and Martin is just a customer – a cute and bookish customer. Beepbeepboopbeepboopbeepboop… your answering service tells you that you have one message.

"Uh, hi. This is Tom again. Didn’t get an answer on my last call. Uh. Anyway, they said they’d buy it. Five hundred alright for you? Just let me know. They said it’s time… uh, a time issue. You know? So call me back soon. Beeeeep."

Whatever that means. “Tom”, whoever he is, left a message earlier this week too. You DO NOT give your cell phone number out, even to customers, so who knows how this L-O-S-E-R got it, but he had best stop bugging you or you’ll get a restraining order. You are mildly curious as to what he’s selling though.

You delete the message and pull onto the road. Someone honks at you as you cut them off. You flip a very well manicured finger his way and continue on your journey. Yorktown is a long drive, especially on a night like this.

It’s almost 11:30 when you get to the McDonalds. Martin’s Subaru Impreza is parked out front, and you recognize that sports car that Quin is so fond of. You rush through the rain, carefully positioning the umbrella, and push the door open. The rush ends there – you enter the McDonalds like a lady.

Martin is there, so is Quin (spoiled rich kid, but very cute) and Meadow (good skin, potentially good hair, could use some help to find that “inner beauty”). You nonchalantly walk over to their table.

“Hi Professor Gallivan.”

“Have a seat, Ms. Michaels.”

“Thank you, Martin, I will.” You squeeze into the seat closest to him, slightly pushing Meadow out of the way. You set your daypack on the floor near Martin’s satchel and your purse near his cheeseburger.

“Yorktown’s a bit out of the way, isn’t it, Prof?”

“A bit, Mr. Stark, but I wanted some privacy.”

“Privacy then, great. Well let’s get down to it.”

You nudge a little closer to Martin. “Yes, let’s get down to it.”

The door opens and some guy with a briefcase comes in. Cute, in a rugged, blue collar sort of way. You could help him with his hair, and he could probably use some skin conditioning. He orders some food.

Your attention returns to Martin. “So you all want some extra credit.” You nod, not entirely honestly, but whatever. Your grades are fine - that’s not the sort of extra credit you’re looking for. Martin reaches under the table and rummages around in his satchel. He sets a small stone figurine on the table, shaped like a bear. Suddenly, Meadow spits out a mouthful of salad and keels over.

“Are you alright, Meadow?” Martin asks. He’s always so thoughtful.

She nods at the professor. “Just a little bad salad, thanks.”

Martin nods and continues. “I found this on my dig in Mexico last year.”

“Mexico? They have a lot of bears down there?”

“Not really, Quin. Interesting, isn’t it? Anyway, we’re all going to find out a little something about this artifact. I’ve…. done…” Martin rummages through his satchel – he’s adorable when he’s concentrating – and pulls some papers out. “…some research already…”

Another customer comes in. This guy could really use your services. Horrible hair, facial sun damage, a couple cuts and bruises, the outfit is atrocious. He has a dufflebag and briefcase, looks like a vagrant. Probably can’t afford your makeover services.

You ignore him and get down to researching.

 

[Eyas]

*Sticks his head in to watch the opening scene* "Oh, this looks interesting. Think I will stick around for awhile. Now, where is ledded with that bottle? He is usually around for shows like this..."


Good stuff man. I am looking forward to seeing how it goes.

 

[Puppy Kicker]

“Tears in Hell” - McHoldup

“Tears in Hell” - McHoldup

11:30 PM Monday, July 12th
Yorktown, Virginia

Sirens blared in the background. Bad weather meant bad accidents all over town and the emergency vehicles were busy tonight. It was pleasantly cool inside the McDonalds. Even in this weather, the heat outside was formidable and most dining establishments kept the air conditioners pumping. A couple of bored employees relaxed behind the counter, pretending to clean up but mainly just swapping high school stories and discussing how many Happy Meals they'd spat in today.

The large, ugly man approached the table Devin sat at, opposite the restaurant from the students. He tossed his duffel bag on the bench across from Devin, set his bag of food on the table and sat down. A puddle of water formed on the seat around him - rain like this made everyone appear to be wearing faulty Depends.

“You here for me?” Devin nodded. Armani set the leather briefcase on the table between them. “Let’s get this sh** over with then. Lemme see the money.” Devin placed his metal briefcase on the table, facing the leather one. Armani looked it over once. A 4-digit combination lock was inset on the front. He slid the leather briefcase across the table. “Check it.”

The door to the McDonalds swung open yet again, letting in a gust of humid air and sheets of rain. Devin and Armani remained engrossed in their transaction. Across the restaurant, Professor Gallivan and his students rummaged through sheets of paper on the table, discussing the specifics of an archeological dig in Mexico. They tried to politely ignore Meadow's sudden flu symptoms.

Thus they didn’t really notice the new group who entered the McDonalds. The McEmployees did notice, and their discussion of high school problems and saliva stopped suddenly. There was something odd about this new group. What was it? Possibly that they were all dressed in dark clothing and masks and carried an assortment of deadly weapons. Yeah, that was it…

Their apparent leader, a short and lithe woman dressed in the same dark clothing as the rest, waved a gargantuan revolver in the air and shouted “Don’t move and nobody gets hurt!”

Everyone noticed the newcomers then. Rebecca, peripheral vision always slightly focused on her latest crush, noticed Professor Gallivan as he surreptitiously snuck the stone bear off and under the table.

There were six of them. All dressed in black clothing and wearing open-mouthed ski masks. The leader was waving her slug-thrower in the air. Two men wielded smaller pistols, which they pointed at the customers. Another held a sawed-off shotgun and he trained it on the employees. A short, muscular man held a less intimidating weapon – a metal baseball bat. Armani noticed that, poorly armed or not, he was the only one in the group who looked eager to use his weapon.

The last member of the gang was a taller woman, red hair peaking out from beneath her ski mask, who hid behind the rest of group. She held nothing more intimidating than a Palm Pilot. Rebecca noticed that she was looking at the PDA and whispering, but not to anyone in particular.

The newcomers fanned out at the entrance. The man with the shotgun hopped the counter and took control of the cowering teenage employees. The baseball slugger looked over at Devin and Armani’s table and noticed a briefcase. He approached the two men, menacing them with his bat. “You got something for me there, esse?” The rest of the gang seemed focused on the student’s table.

“There’s nothing of value here,” Devin lied. The man with the bat reached for the metal briefcase. The leather case nestled unnoticed on the bench, thanks to Aramani’s sleight-of-hand.

Under his jacket, Armani threaded the fingers of his right hand into his set of brass knuckles and tensed for action.

The PDA-wielding woman whispered something to the leader and pointed towards the students' table. The leader nodded and approached the table. The two pistol-men followed her, flanking her like obedient puppies who were proud to show of the new "heel" command they'd just learned.

“Professor, we know you have it. Give it to me or people start dying.” She thumbed the hammer back on her revolver and it clicked home menacingly. Her cronies to either side replicated her movement. The click from their semi-automatics was not nearly as impressive.

The normally softspoken professor stood then, a sudden rage appearing in his eyes. “MORE PEOPLE START DYING, YOU MEAN!?” His right hand reached under his tweed jacket. “F*** YOU, MURDERING B****!” He produced a small pistol from a concealed holster.

“Oh …” said Quin.

“Oh …” said Meadow.

“Martin, the language,” said Rebecca, shocked.

The sound of gunshots echoed through the McDonalds and was lost outside in the torrential downpour.

 

[Retto]

Fun so far--can't wait to read more! And good title, by the way.

 

[Puppy Kicker]

“Tears in Hell” - McGunfight

11:35 PM Monday, July 12th
Yorktown, Virginia

Armani Determan’s street-honed muscles tensed for action as his fingers clenched the brass knuckles in his pocket. Mr. Louisville Slugger glanced towards the action on the other side of the McDonalds, just for a second when the shouting started, but it was all the time the street punk needed. Armani leapt to his feet and propelled his brass-equipped fist towards the batter’s nose. Cartilage crunched and blood spewed through the air.

“What’s mine is mine, a******.” Armani struck a dramatic combat pose. The thump of the slugger’s body hitting the ground was drowned out as the bullets started flying.

---​

Professor Gallivan leveled his Pathfinder at the lithe woman, but in his hurry he displayed his ineptitude with the small pistol. The shot flew wild. The .22 round took out an innocent overheated Big Mac behind the counter.

The woman responded, the hammer on her pistol slammed home and propelled a .45 slug into Professor Gallivan’s midsection. The bookish man collapsed to the floor, blood dribbling from his clenched lips. “The bear….” Then his eyes closed.

“There goes my extra credit.” Quin slowly stood up and raised his arms to the flickering fluorescent lights.

A terrified Meadow tried to slide under the table, but it was too crowded! Backpacks, a satchel, Happy Meal wrappers, Rebbeca.

Meadow took a deep breath. What am I about to get myself into? She snatched the professor’s satchel from beneath the table and vaulted the back of the bench towards the door. She skidded to a halt at the door, fumbling to open it as her momentum and the slick floor carried her into the adjacent wall.

“She’s got the satchel!” The revolver-toting woman pointed at Meadow’s retreating back. “Get her!”

One of the gun-toting men leveled his pistol at Meadow’s back. “Drop the satchel or die, bitch.” The other man jammed his gun into Quinton’s ribs. “No funny stuff.” Quin shook his head.

Rebecca’s voice whimpered up from beneath the table. “Please don’t hurt me, just take my purse. There’s a cell phone… some money… a nice shade of lipstick?”

Meadow managed to get the door open and sprinted out into the rainy darkness, the satchel trailing behind her like an overfed tail. One of the pistol wielding men followed her, shooting wildly at her retreating form.

Putting her pistol to the side the gang leader approached the professor’s body and checked the pulse. “Good. Help me get him out of here.” One eye (and one gun) on Quinton, her crony helped her drag the unconscious professor towards the opposite door.

“Get out of my way,” the crony growled at Quin.

“Will do, sir. Just get my things…” Quinton began to grab handfuls of paper from the table with one arm while he reached under the table with the other and grabbed his backpack.

Rebecca dodged Quin’s groping hand and found her own backpack. Odd. She was pretty sure she hadn’t left it unzipped….

---​

The baseball batter scrambled between Armani’s legs, skittering across the floor and out of reach of the huge pugilist. He staggered to his feet several yards from where he’d fallen, readied his bat and turned to face Armani… and was again knocked on his butt. The little cartilage that was left in his nose disintegrated under Armani's powerful blow.

“Take it, punk. Take it all.” Armani struck another dramatic combat pose over the KO’d batman, then barely ducked beneath two bullets that whizzed by his head and shattered the window behind him.

The gang leader and her crony had dropped the professor and were aiming their pistols at Armani. He screamed in rage and charged at them. His powerful legs carried him to the leader in seconds and the brass knuckles slammed into her belly and chest. Somehow, she stayed on her feet, gasping for air. The injured woman stepped back, out of the way of the deadly fists. Her next shot didn't miss. Her crony's shot didn't miss either. The force of the two rounds propelled Armani backwards. A trail of blood sprayed the ceiling above him and lubricated the floor as he slid to a stop against a table. He did not strike a dramatic combat pose.

Quinton Stark III snuck quietly to the door, arms loaded with his backpack and reams of notes.

The top of a perfectly-groomed head, a well-powdered forehead, flawlessly plucked and penciled eyebrows, and faultless eyelashes appeared over the edge of the table. “Can I just go?” asked Rebecca. “Quin got to go.” Nobody answered, so she grabbed her purse and backpack and went.

---​

Devin looked around. Across the restaurant bullets were flying, brass knuckles were pummeling, people were falling. Over in his corner, not much was happening. “Looks like a good time to make an exit.” He picked up the metal briefcase. He looked at the leather one. “You work for crooks, Dev. That doesn’t mean you are one.” He left it sitting there and slid off the bench seat.

Standing between him and the exit was a woman holding a PDA. Standing between him and the woman was a man with a sawed-off shotgun. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I will.” The man raised the gun and advanced on Devin. Devin dropped the briefcase.

“There’s something we can agree on. I don’t want to get hurt.”

He saw two of the assailants drag the old guy’s body out the door. The leader stopped long enough to speak to PDA-woman. “We need the briefcases. Get them and get out of here.” Devin held his hands up and waited.

---​

From outside, more gunshots cracked. Meadow zigged and zagged and zogged and zugged, trying desperately to avoid the bullets hurling towards her back. She slid around the end of the McDonalds, dodged around a trash dumpster, and skidded to a stop on the other side of the restaurant. She peeked around the corner. Her assailant was nowhere to be seen.

Then a chunk of the wall an inch above her head EXPLODED.

Meadow leapt around the corner, sprinting for all she was worth towards the parking lot. She skidded to a halt when she reached it, looking around desperately for an escape route. The streetlights illuminated Quin. His butt was sticking out from the driver-side door of his BMW M3 and he was rummaging around in the glove compartment. “Quin! Help!” He backed out of his car and turned around, one hand grasping a small nickel-plated pistol. He waved at her. A shot rang out from behind her and she fell, muscle torn from her thigh by the bullet. The satchel skittered across the parking lot and landed under the bumper of a large white Dodge Caravan.

Quin looked around, eyes piercing the darkness for the source of the gunman. Nothing. He saw Rebecca, talking frantically into her cell phone, near the door he’d just exited. Then, from around the corner of the McDonalds a man sprinted into view. He ran towards Meadow, stopped over her body, looked around on the ground. The gunman’s eyes met Quin’s the moment Quin squeezed the trigger on his Ruger Service-Six.

---​

“Thank you for calling 911 emergency. What is your situation?”

“Guns! McDonalds! Martin! Victory Boulevard and 17th!”

“Has there been a shooting?”

Rebecca nodded.

“Miss. Are you there?”

Rebecca nodded again.

“Miss?”

“I said yes! People are shooting. Martin was shot!”

“Stay calm. Where are you?”

---​

Armani pushed himself up to his hands and knees. He watched some old man get dragged out the door by a couple of masked assailants. He watched the man he came to make the deal with back up with a shotgun in his face. He watched blood drip from two large and amazingly painful wounds in his chest and shoulder.

“It’s all I got.” He began to crawl towards the leather briefcase, a trail of blood marking his path like a gory Hansel and Gretel tale. “It’s all I got. It’s all I got.”

They were going to take the gem. And they were going to take the money. And he was going to die in this f***ing city with no money and no homies.

Armani watched the man with the shotgun glance at the table, just for a second. Armani watched in amazement as the man he’d come to make the deal with grabbed the shotgun, twisted the shotgun, yanked on the shotgun. “Oh, that’s some smooth sh**.”

Devin pointed his newly earned weapon at his ex-assailants.

---​

Quinton Stark III missed. The gunman fired a quick shot back at Quin, but the round flew wide as Meadow kicked at his leg. The gunman sprinted towards the Caravan, ducking for cover behind it as Quin fired another round. The bullet punched a hole in the van, but the gunman was unscathed. The gunman returned fire. He didn’t miss this time. Quin looked down at the blood ruining one of his favorite silk shirts. “Bad day at the tables, Mr. Stark.” He slumped to the ground and tried to crawl towards his M3.

Meadow scurried across the parking lot, desperately seeking cover. She saw Rebecca on the other side of some parked cars, yelling at a cell phone. “Help me!” Meadow cried.

Rebecca scanned the parking lot. Quin was on the ground, barely moving. Meadow stumbling towards her, in obvious pain. There was a man with a gun. He was looking on the ground for something.

“Just remain calm. Help is on the way,” the Verizonified voice droned on from the cell phone.

“People are shooting. Real guns! I DO NOT have time to chat right now!”

Rebecca dug through her purse, fumbling for anything to help her ailing classmate. The car keys! “Get in the car and drive!” From the passenger side of her Grand Am she underhanded the keyring towards Meadow. The Mary Kay keyring vanished into the night, somewhere well out of Meadow’s reach. Meadow failed to hide her irritation.

“Nice toss.”

The gunman found what he was searching for – the satchel. He picked it up and hopped in the driver’s side of the Caravan. The engine revved to life and the headlights glared at Rebecca and Meadow as they fumbled around the puddle-covered parking lot looking for keys.

“Found them!” Triumphant, Meadow held the keys up. More gunshots rang from the McDonalds, the sounds of shattering glass. Quinton saw one of the restaurant patrons fall to the ground.

---​

Devin menaced the two wanna-be ninjas with his newly earned shotgun. “I don’t want to kill you. But I will.” PDA-woman and the recently disarmed man backed up towards the door. Devin noticed the man he’d come here to meet crawling towards him. Glad he’s alive, though not by much. He waved the shotgun again. “Get out of here!”

Devin sensed it. Somehow he sensed what was about to happen. His head turned in slow motion. His eyes focused on the window to his left. Through the window. Focused on the barrel of a pistol. The woman with the revolver. He saw the pane of glass shatter. He saw the bullet in slow motion as it approached his head. He saw nothing.

Armani lunged at the shotgun as it fell from Devin’s nerveless fingers. Lying on the ground, half his body protected by a McTrashcan, he leveled the shotgun at the PDA-woman and her companion. “If you take a single step towards me I will blow both of your motherf***ing heads off.” He meant it, but he knew that in his present state the kick from the shotgun would probably finish him off.

The assailants didn’t know that. They rushed from the restaurant without a backward glance, leaving both briefcases untouched.

---​

The masked assailants dragged the professor into the back of the van as Meadow and Rebecca cowered in the Grand Am. The doors of the van slammed shut and its engine revved into reverse, turned, leapt forward.

Quinton, pulling an amazing matador maneuver, hurled himself out of the way as the Dodge Caravan squealed out of the parking lot and nearly overran him.

Rebecca spoke into her cell phone. “The bad guys are in a van. They’re heading down Victory Boulevard towards Jefferson. It’s a white Dodge Caravan. I can’t read the whole license plate… umm…. North Carolina. Last half is 544.”

Frustrated, the students watched as the van disappeared into the darkness.

“Thank you. Please remain calm.”

“People are dying. I’ll be a lot more calm if you can get a darn ambulance out here!”

Meadow and Rebecca dug through the trunk of the Mary Kay Grand Am, looking for medical supplies.

Quin groaned and leaned against his BMW, the rain washing blood down his silk shirt and onto his Dockers. “This is why I only eat at Burger King.”