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Zombies D20 Modern (Updated 8-12-05)
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<blockquote data-quote="rich_fiorella" data-source="post: 2119379" data-attributes="member: 30141"><p><strong>Dantalion's appearance (2/end)</strong></p><p></p><p>It had been his right shoulder that was hit, and the numbness traveled down the arm into the hand on the knob. Work, turn, he demanded of his hand, but it slipped against the smooth surface. He glanced back, saw Gabe grinning, his Beretta balanced at arm’s length. </p><p> </p><p>“Surprised, Fiorella?”</p><p> </p><p><em>It’s him!</em> wailed the girl in his head. <em>Idiot, why didn’t you leave when I told you? </em></p><p></p><p>Terror surmounted the numbness; he clenched the knob, flipped the deadbolt, and fell out of the house as he heard the gun again fire. This time Gabe missed; Rich landed at the base of the three short steps, crabwalking backward onto the sidewalk. On his feet again, snatching for his gun.</p><p> </p><p>“You sure you want to do that, Rich? Firing on an officer’s a pretty serious offense. They’ll never believe you.” </p><p> </p><p>Rich and Gabe fired simultaneously: Gabe took the shot, unflinching, in the thigh, and Rich felt a bullet graze his ear. </p><p> </p><p>Rich ran for his car, Gabe right behind him. He leaped into his old sedan, fumbled for his keys, and turned the ignition so hard that the engine groaned. Gabe had gotten into the other car. Rich yanked the gearshift into reverse. Halfway out of the driveway Rich felt himself flung sideways; the crunch of metal. Gabe had jammed him into a tree. He scrambled to the other side of the car and out the back door. He flipped open his cell as he ran, calling for backup as he panted: “Something’s wrong with Gabe; he just fired on me; acts like he’s drugged up – on crack or something – got a bullet in him, acts like it’s not even there.” <em>They’ll never believe you, they’ll never believe you.</em></p><p></p><p>Another shot. Rich screamed obscenities and dropped the phone on the asphalt. At least the dispatcher was hearing this. “Hell, Gabe, what the f-ck are you doing?” </p><p> </p><p><em>It’s not Gabe anymore,</em> Rich, said the girl’s voice. <em>The demon took him.</em></p><p> </p><p>Rich brought his Beretta around behind him and let off another shot. It took his partner in the shoulder and Gabe just shook his head. “Bad idea, Rich.”</p><p> </p><p>And came after him. Rich turned and ran; he was not particularly good at running. Hell, he’d been little more than a traffic cop until that incident in the swamp. Slightly overweight, high-school education, mediocre job performance. But it had been okay. Really, what was wrong with a decent house and a decent roommate and the occasional barbeque in the backyard? Did you need more than that? Why on earth had he ever wanted to be a detective? Why had he ever decided to go back to school? </p><p> </p><p><em>Are you really this f-cking stupid?</em> the girl was screaming at him. <em>Get off the street, move your fat ass!</em></p><p> </p><p>Rich turned and cut between two houses. Beautiful houses, really: the whole neighborhood was two-story buildings with manicured lawns, similar façades. He ran back along the high wooden fence, across a yard with a pool in it, scrambled over another fence, was running through yards that had automated security lights and plastic swingsets in primary colors. </p><p> </p><p>He emerged onto yet another residential street, indistinguishable from the other save for the lack of yellow crime scene tape. He could still hear Gabe behind him. Then, with relief, he heard sirens; saw blue lights reflected against white siding. </p><p> </p><p>The car slewed to a stop and two cops jumped out. Rich saw Gabe run past him, now focused on the newcomers to the scene. “Hold it right there!” shouted one of the men. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey! Hold it!” He leveled his gun.</p><p> </p><p>Gabe swung his own firearm up. Rich knew Gabe had only two bullets left: just enough. The first cop dropped. The other man fired on Gabe, but it was, of course, useless. He had bent to rip the sidearm from the downed cop. Rich saw the other policeman, too, go down. It was obvious that both the men were dead.</p><p> </p><p>Gabe went around the car, presumably to get the other weapon. Rich knew now that there was only one option for him. If he didn’t succeed, there was really nothing left to do. So now, all or nothing. He ran straight for the open driver’s-side door. He jumped over the dead man. Gabe spun around, now holding two Berettas. Rich dove into the car as the shot whistled overhead, and, not bothering to close the door, wrenched the car out of park, slammed his foot onto the accelerator, and screeched down the street. A bullet shattered his back windshield. He pressed the gas pedal harder.</p><p> </p><p>The men were dead because of him. Because he had called for backup, they were dead. Rich pulled one door shut, leaned across the passenger’s side and slammed the other door. The car swerved slightly. </p><p> </p><p>He sped out of the neighborhood; didn’t let his heartrate down until he’d made it onto Warwick Boulevard. </p><p> </p><p>What had just happened? Where did he go now?</p><p> </p><p>“Who are you?” he tried out in the cold interior of the car. Orange fluorescent light from streetlamps pulsed across his windshield. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe he was insane. Maybe he was honest-to-God schizophrenic. Maybe he had been the one who shot those cops, and he was just too much of a mess to realize it.</p><p> </p><p><em>You know that’s not what happened.</em></p><p> </p><p>The girl’s voice again. </p><p> </p><p>“Who are you?” </p><p> </p><p>A pause.<em> I’m…my name is Mary.</em></p><p></p><p> </p><p>“Where did you come from?”</p><p> </p><p><em>I…I don’t know. You were just…there and I just…I don’t know. I needed a place to go.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Are you…were you…that girl in the living room?”</p><p> </p><p>The voice was emphatic: <em>no.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Then, one of those others, under the house?”</p><p> </p><p><em>I told you I don’t know.</em> Her voice became caustic. <em>Why are you worrying about</em> that? <em>You’ve got a demon chasing you.</em></p><p> </p><p>“All right, so, what the hell is going on? What happened to Gabe?”</p><p> </p><p><em>You saw what they did to that girl. You saw the circle and all that mess on the walls. They called him in. That f-cking moron thought he could handle a demon. He couldn’t, and now he’s loose. </em></p><p></p><p>“Are you saying Gabe’s…possessed?”</p><p> </p><p><em>Are you slow or something?</em></p><p> </p><p>“So Gabe’s possessed by this demon. What now? Where do I go?” He thought, suddenly, to go to a church. Demons couldn’t stand holy ground, could they?</p><p> </p><p><em>Dumb, dumb, dumb. Doesn’t work that way, Rich. He can kill you just as easy in a church as anywhere else.</em> </p><p> </p><p>“I thought—”</p><p> </p><p><em>It might work if you actually believed, but I don’t think you do.</em></p><p> </p><p>“I <em>could</em> believe…”</p><p> </p><p>A sensation which felt rather like a rolling of eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“We need to get rid of this car, for one thing.” He was already thinking in terms </p><p>of “we.” </p><p> </p><p><em>Get used to it, Rich. I haven’t got anywhere else to go. </em></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="rich_fiorella, post: 2119379, member: 30141"] [b]Dantalion's appearance (2/end)[/b] It had been his right shoulder that was hit, and the numbness traveled down the arm into the hand on the knob. Work, turn, he demanded of his hand, but it slipped against the smooth surface. He glanced back, saw Gabe grinning, his Beretta balanced at arm’s length. “Surprised, Fiorella?” [i]It’s him![/i] wailed the girl in his head. [i]Idiot, why didn’t you leave when I told you? [/i] Terror surmounted the numbness; he clenched the knob, flipped the deadbolt, and fell out of the house as he heard the gun again fire. This time Gabe missed; Rich landed at the base of the three short steps, crabwalking backward onto the sidewalk. On his feet again, snatching for his gun. “You sure you want to do that, Rich? Firing on an officer’s a pretty serious offense. They’ll never believe you.” Rich and Gabe fired simultaneously: Gabe took the shot, unflinching, in the thigh, and Rich felt a bullet graze his ear. Rich ran for his car, Gabe right behind him. He leaped into his old sedan, fumbled for his keys, and turned the ignition so hard that the engine groaned. Gabe had gotten into the other car. Rich yanked the gearshift into reverse. Halfway out of the driveway Rich felt himself flung sideways; the crunch of metal. Gabe had jammed him into a tree. He scrambled to the other side of the car and out the back door. He flipped open his cell as he ran, calling for backup as he panted: “Something’s wrong with Gabe; he just fired on me; acts like he’s drugged up – on crack or something – got a bullet in him, acts like it’s not even there.” [i]They’ll never believe you, they’ll never believe you.[/i] Another shot. Rich screamed obscenities and dropped the phone on the asphalt. At least the dispatcher was hearing this. “Hell, Gabe, what the f-ck are you doing?” [i]It’s not Gabe anymore,[/i] Rich, said the girl’s voice. [i]The demon took him.[/i] Rich brought his Beretta around behind him and let off another shot. It took his partner in the shoulder and Gabe just shook his head. “Bad idea, Rich.” And came after him. Rich turned and ran; he was not particularly good at running. Hell, he’d been little more than a traffic cop until that incident in the swamp. Slightly overweight, high-school education, mediocre job performance. But it had been okay. Really, what was wrong with a decent house and a decent roommate and the occasional barbeque in the backyard? Did you need more than that? Why on earth had he ever wanted to be a detective? Why had he ever decided to go back to school? [i]Are you really this f-cking stupid?[/i] the girl was screaming at him. [i]Get off the street, move your fat ass![/i] Rich turned and cut between two houses. Beautiful houses, really: the whole neighborhood was two-story buildings with manicured lawns, similar façades. He ran back along the high wooden fence, across a yard with a pool in it, scrambled over another fence, was running through yards that had automated security lights and plastic swingsets in primary colors. He emerged onto yet another residential street, indistinguishable from the other save for the lack of yellow crime scene tape. He could still hear Gabe behind him. Then, with relief, he heard sirens; saw blue lights reflected against white siding. The car slewed to a stop and two cops jumped out. Rich saw Gabe run past him, now focused on the newcomers to the scene. “Hold it right there!” shouted one of the men. “Hey! Hold it!” He leveled his gun. Gabe swung his own firearm up. Rich knew Gabe had only two bullets left: just enough. The first cop dropped. The other man fired on Gabe, but it was, of course, useless. He had bent to rip the sidearm from the downed cop. Rich saw the other policeman, too, go down. It was obvious that both the men were dead. Gabe went around the car, presumably to get the other weapon. Rich knew now that there was only one option for him. If he didn’t succeed, there was really nothing left to do. So now, all or nothing. He ran straight for the open driver’s-side door. He jumped over the dead man. Gabe spun around, now holding two Berettas. Rich dove into the car as the shot whistled overhead, and, not bothering to close the door, wrenched the car out of park, slammed his foot onto the accelerator, and screeched down the street. A bullet shattered his back windshield. He pressed the gas pedal harder. The men were dead because of him. Because he had called for backup, they were dead. Rich pulled one door shut, leaned across the passenger’s side and slammed the other door. The car swerved slightly. He sped out of the neighborhood; didn’t let his heartrate down until he’d made it onto Warwick Boulevard. What had just happened? Where did he go now? “Who are you?” he tried out in the cold interior of the car. Orange fluorescent light from streetlamps pulsed across his windshield. Maybe he was insane. Maybe he was honest-to-God schizophrenic. Maybe he had been the one who shot those cops, and he was just too much of a mess to realize it. [i]You know that’s not what happened.[/i] The girl’s voice again. “Who are you?” A pause.[i] I’m…my name is Mary.[/i] “Where did you come from?” [i]I…I don’t know. You were just…there and I just…I don’t know. I needed a place to go.[/i] “Are you…were you…that girl in the living room?” The voice was emphatic: [i]no.[/i] “Then, one of those others, under the house?” [i]I told you I don’t know.[/i] Her voice became caustic. [i]Why are you worrying about[/i] that? [i]You’ve got a demon chasing you.[/i] “All right, so, what the hell is going on? What happened to Gabe?” [i]You saw what they did to that girl. You saw the circle and all that mess on the walls. They called him in. That f-cking moron thought he could handle a demon. He couldn’t, and now he’s loose. [/i] “Are you saying Gabe’s…possessed?” [i]Are you slow or something?[/i] “So Gabe’s possessed by this demon. What now? Where do I go?” He thought, suddenly, to go to a church. Demons couldn’t stand holy ground, could they? [i]Dumb, dumb, dumb. Doesn’t work that way, Rich. He can kill you just as easy in a church as anywhere else.[/i] “I thought—” [i]It might work if you actually believed, but I don’t think you do.[/i] “I [i]could[/i] believe…” A sensation which felt rather like a rolling of eyes. “We need to get rid of this car, for one thing.” He was already thinking in terms of “we.” [i]Get used to it, Rich. I haven’t got anywhere else to go. [/i] [/QUOTE]
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