A flame from the past

Tom shot the manager a weary expression. "Start holding out on me and I'll have to hit you again."

"It's just that I'm thinking... you came in with your buddy, right? I saw you try and call him." He licks his lips. "But he didn't answer, right?"

He turns and studies the treeline near the motel with purpose, slowing up.

"I left Freak one and Freak two at the motel. There is a chance that they made you. "

"Yeah. Freakzoid has everything all set up at the gas station if any one comes at him there. But if they moved on your friend, they're going to move him to the gulag. Now the gulags locked up tight now- but not then, if you get my meaning."

"Your call. You're the one with the knife." Chen replied, resuming his walk. He leads you back to the man hole and climbs through smoothly. You can't deduct if any one else is already down there, but he doesn't raise an alarm.

"If we meet any of your associates, just tell them I hit you and forced you to take me to the Gulag, and that I'm there right now trying to bust in."

Tom slowly followed Chen into the hatch, trailing him at a discrete distance in case he heard any noises to indicate the manager had encountered any of his co-conspirators.

Chen looks skeptical, but does not voice any objections. As you climb into the tunnels, you can see that the manager has waited for you by the ladder. With you behind him, he now begins to hesitantly walk down the tunnel.

"The closest way to the gas station would be up through the office." Chen leads the way, climbing up and poking his head through hesitantly. After a moment, he pulls himself up through the hatch and waits by the desk for you.

"We just going to walk over to the station?" He calls down the ladder to you.

"Not just yet, gonna try Rick one more time" Tom replied as he climbed back up into the office. He glanced around to see if he could find any trace of Rick nearby as he dug out his cellphone and hit "re-dial." He was holding out hope that Rick had managed to stay out of trouble, and he wouldn't have to worry about hauling his ass out of the flames along with Christie's.

Seryna wrote:
Glancing around, you can not see Rick. There is no sign of the two gas station attendants. Its a small rest stop, you reason. There aren't a lot of places to go- the motel, the gas station, the restaurant attached to the gas station. As you try to reach Rick, you once again are directed to his voice mail. Checking your phone reveals that you had not recieved any calls while occupied with the hotel manager. What should the net step be? Assume Rick is fine- or assume that this David is as bad as the hotel manager is clucking?

"Damn," Tom muttered. If David was as dangerous as the manager let on, he'd probably need something better than his pocket knife. He looked around, searching for anything more threatening than a stapler in the office area. "You got anything I can use as a weapon around here? Or were you expecting me to just cold-cock David too?"

Seryna: Glancing around the front desk involved overturning a lot of papers and old food wrappers. It appears to be a needle in a haystack endeavor, but you implore the manager for help. He edges over towards the wall filing cabinent before questioning. "And you won't be smacking me around with it?"

Justin Sengstock: "If I felt the need to hurt you some more, I'd just punch you again."

Seryna: "Uh... good enough, I guess..." The manager reaches for the bottom drawer. He tosses some files aside onto the floor before drawing something out wrapped in a T- shirt. Unwrapping the T-shirt, he holds out a billy club. "Louis dropped this in the hotel a few days back.."

Justin Sengstock: "Better than nothing," Tom replied and took the club. "Does David keep anything I should know about over there at the gas station, or is it all down in those tunnels and in the Gulag?"

Seryna: "David's a freak, man. A killer. He probably has lots of stuff back there, but I don't ever go over there. Don't intend to, either."

Justin Sengstock: "And you want me to hit him with a stick, just wonderful...." Tom trailed off, considering the next move. "Alright, trying to sneak over there through an open parking lot is no good. I'm thinking we stick with the same story. You head over there and tell David that I clobbered you and forced you to show me the Gulag, and that I'm there now trying to find a way in. That should get him heading in the right direction, and I'll try and jump him."

Seryna: "See, this is how that works. I tell him you hit me and told you where the Gulag is, he guts me like a pig and I lay dying in that nasty ass gas station. His two pet freaks come over here and lay into you..." Chen shakes his head. "This isn't thier first time to the rodeo. You think you're the first one to come play hero?" He shakes his head. "David knows I don't go
over there. He sees me, he's onto your little plan. You go down the tunnel, get in the woods. You can hide better there than any where around here. I'll... make up some story about the Gulag. "

Justin Sengstock: "Some story that explains why your nose is crooked and you've got a faceful of dried blood?"

Seryna: " Yeah, the 'you hit me' part is solid. The 'I cried like a bitch and showed you all of his dirty underwear' leads somewhere that I don't want to be, man. I'll fucking call him. I'll try and hold Dumb and Dumber up here, but I make no gaurantees, man. Sometimes David gets them to fall in line with him." Chen shivers, obviously afraid of what that had led to in the past.

Justin Sengstock: "Fine, we'll play things your way. You try to fuck me on this though and it'll either be me beating you unconscious and leaving you in a burning building later, or I'll let David know you tried to sell him out right before he gets me instead. We clear?"

Seryna: "Shit, man." Chen looks as though he might be sick."You suck. " he opens his cell phone and punches in a quick dial number. "Go on, get."

Justin Sengstock: "Yeah glad I met you too," he replied sarcastically. He turned and rushed towards the hatch into the tunnels, wanting to be in position before David headed out to the woods, hopefully without his cronies in tow.

Seryna: As you drop down, you hear Chen explain that when he was out in the woods earlier, he noticed something was wrong with the fence. It looked as through something had blown into it... He mentions nothing about you; and you don't dare stay long enough for the whole conversation. Having to trust some creep you just met, bullied and now relied on not to rat out the plan wasn't a great place to be. Yet Christie had been here- and so had Rick. Now, it was just you... You reach the hatch and pull yourself up. Glancing behind you, you see the gas station light flick to 'off'. Good faith that David was leaving the store, at least...

Justin Sengstock: Rushing through the tunnel, Tom climbed the ladder leading aboveground near the treeline. Casting a quick glance back towards the hotel, he reassured himself that David wasn't yet in sight before climbing up and hauling ass for the treeline. He pushes several yards into the treeline before dropping flat behind some cover, to watch for David's hopeful approach.

Seryna: The minutes tick by. Doubts start to creep in. Perhaps Chen turned on you just as he'd turned on David. Perhaps David wasn't all that worried about a fence, after all. The trees whisper as the wind blows through them, creating a dozen sounds that sound exactly like a footfall advancing on your position. Yet you always look and no one is ever there. The woods themselves are a great place to hide- for you, perhaps for David and his crew. How much better do they know these woods than you? Crack. There. You turn and spot two men moving through the woods in your direction. One appears to be an Italian- American in his mid thirties, athletically built and wearing a white button up shirt and jeans. The second man is average looking, broad shouldered and wearing a green gas station shirt and jeans. Neither man seems to see you.

Justin Sengstock: Tom inwardly kicked himself for neglecting to ask what David looked like. Stupid, extremely, maybe terminally stupid. He does his best not to even breathe as the two approach. The billy club is clutched tightly in his hand. Knowing he's still a good distance from the fence, he hopes they have little reason to get too close to his position. Waiting for them to move off so he can eventually trail them, he scrutinizes both men, trying to see if they were carrying any weapons or showed any telltale bulges of concealed ones under their clothing.

Seryna: "You ever question me again, I will slit your throat." One man speaks quietly to the second. "If some fucking tree is there, I need you to help move it. You don't need the other two for every fucking thing. 'Sides, Chen says this shipment might buy some of the movies, so someone ..." The voices trail off as they pass your position, moving in a straight line to the Gulag. No hesitation or indecision. The one in the button down shirt holds something closed in his fist, but you can't make out what it is. The gas station attendant, however, has a tell tale bulge by his ankle. Gun? Billy club holster? Or a knife, perhaps? The jeans obscure the item, leaving you to wonder.

Justin Sengstock: Based on the conversation he assumed the guy in jeans and a shirt was David, though he couldn't be sure. The gas station attendant definitely looked to be packing something, though at least ankle holsters weren't real quick to get at. Might give him a chance. He waited a moment longer before slowly rising to his feet and creeping off after them as quietly as he can manage. He'd like to be able to eavesdrop on more of their conversation, but he wasn't willing to risk giving himself away to do so.

As he follows the pair, he notices that they move quickly as though they have walked this path often. The man in the white shirt swears.

"What the hell is Chen talking about? The fence is fine!"

The men grow agitated, but the one in the white shirt reaches into his pocket. "I'm going to check on the product. Go truss the other one up and get him out here."

Tom frowned. The product? Was he referring to Christie? Shit, that sounded bad. The other one had to be Rick.

He assumed the man in white was David. If he stuck with this one he could get access to the gulag and would have surprise on his side for trying to jump him. And he could find out what had happened to Christie. But if he went after the attendant he'd have Rick to help him, and the attendant looked to have some sort of weapon he could use. Too many angles to consider.

If they were going to tie up Rick and bring him down here, then he was still alright. He had to know about Christie. He stayed quiet and lurking a short distance away, waiting for the pair to separate. When they did, he'd stick with the one in charge and try to find some answers to what the hell was going on.

The second man obeyed without a word, turning and doubling back on the path. There was a tense moment when the man neared Him- but he continued without a hitch in his step, so Tom must have escaped his notice...

The other man unlocked the fence via a key and pulled it closed behind him. You were reassured that he didn't lock the door behind him. Did that mean that the second man didn't have a key?

The first man walked towards the building, pausing at the door to draw out another key. He unlocked this door and opened it wide, stepping inside. Utter darkness within yielded no clue as to what had happened to Christie...

Tom gripped the billy club tightly as he watched the other man proceed inside. He didn't know how far away Rick was, and he wanted to be finished with the first man, if possible, by the time the attendant returned. Waiting only long enough to be sure that the first man had proceeded inside, Tom got up from where he was hiding and followed him into the Gulag.

As you enter the Gulag behind this strange yet certainly devious man, a change occurs. With a click, a small battery-powered lantern overhead floods the darkened room with light. The light does nothing to dispel the sour sensation here: sour air, sour feelings, sour memories. The condensation leaks slowly down the walls, as though the water itself is struggling to sink its grip in deeply enough to tear the place up by the roots. The distant dripping is omnipresent, and other, stranger sounds lurk just on the edge of perception.
You half-expect to hear sobs of despair or cries for help, but instead there is
only the dripping and that unpleasant feeling of desperation.

The man has his back to you and is slowly progressing forward through the room. You spot a second door way in his path. This door way is beaten and scarred, stained with old dried blood and other dark, unknown substances. Someone has haphazardly reinforced it with a few planks of new wood.

The man moves with quiet confidence, apparently oblivious to your presence. You step after him- and hesitate. Turning your head, you are struck by a sense of wrongness. It takes a second to place it. The shadows are wrong here. The stranger had lit the little lantern, yet it only lights a very small, very tiny circle immediately underneath it. The room seems to swallow the light, long, finger tip shadows stretch out at you. Darkness is pervasive here. Your mind seems to skip along them, half expecting to see some thing dangerous step out from one.

You turn your attention back to the man you had followed, yet when you do, your palms grow clammy. The man himself seems to be wearing the shadows like some odd cloak; they caress his body and partially cloak him from you. You feel a pressing urgency as though he may vanish right before your eyes.

Tom swallowed through a suddenly dry throat. This place was making him claustrophobic. It reminded him of the time he got stuck in the elevator in a high rise apartment building he'd lived in several years earlier, when a power outage occurred. The feeling of being trapped in a dark metal box suspended over a several story high chasm only by a few wires was not one he'd relished. This was worse, because even the darkness had a malevolence to it.

He exhaled slowly and as quietly as he could manage. He was in control of his fear. He ran into burning buildings for a living. He went into worse places than this to save people's lives, and that's what he had to do here. He had no doubt that if he didn't find Christie, he'd never see her again. This was what he did, and there was no time for hesitation. With the flames rising in front of you, you don't stop or go back. You push forward.

He gripped the club in his hand with renewed vigor and broke into a sprint, rushing at the man in front of him with the weapon raised and ready to strike.

As you move, the shadows seem to blossom outwards from your quarry like petals opening around a flower bloom. You reach the odd man - yet he is already turning around towards you.

You have screwed up your courage and are prepared for this outcome. The billy club lashes out, cracking across the man's jaw. A burst of air mingled with flecks of blood and a wordless, angry utterance immediately rewards you. You are moving in for another strike when the man moves aside from you.

Spoiler:

You turn your head and discover with alarm that the shadows have enveloped him. Completely. You are primed for a fight, the billy club in hand, your eyes and ears searching for your combatant. Your senses aid you in the mazes fires create, you are prepared for this odd shadow boxing.

Yet as you turn, you feel an odd fluttering touch on the back of your neck. Cold fingers!. Whirling around reveals no one. No white shirted man who has vanished like a ghost. No light, cold fingers- which on reflection was exactly how that had felt.

There! The white shirted man strides out, head on towards you. There's a terrible grimace on his face; yet his eyes seem... odd. Empty. You are reminded of a shark, mindlessly trolling for the next meal.

The blue eyes lock onto you and stride in, a flash of metal jutting out at you. The machete slices a new cut on your shirt; yet thankfully you feel no pain. The machete darts out again....

Spoiler:

OOC:
Anne, what's this guy's defense so I can roll some dice for an attack against him? Haven't had much luck catching you online to ask.

[Yeah sorry, work doubled my hours. His def is 2. Go ahead and do PBP, I'll be sure to post in at least once a day!]

OOC: No worries. Wish my job would do the same.

IC:

Tom dodged backwards, bewildered. How had this guy disappeared right in front of him? And where the hell did the machete come from? He flinched as the blade grazed his side. He was no stranger to pain, but this was nothing like fighting a boxing match. He had no experience fighting people with weapons.

He circled warily, eying his opponent. He'd been lucky so far, but he had no desire to get cut with that blade. He wanted to end this fight as quickly as possible. Having no experience to fall back on, he'd probably have to rely on brute force. He spotted what looked to be an opening and wound up and swung with the club. The swing felt like when he was aiming to knock a ball out of the park when playing on the department's softball team. The stroke would probably crack this guy's head open when it landed...

Spoiler:

Except the other man ducked his head and Tom hit nothing but air. The momentum of the swing knocked him off balance, and he stumbled, trying to right himself and keep his opponent in sight. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach as his limbs moved in slow motion, knowing he'd given his opponent a bigger opening than the one he'd just hoped to exploit seconds before.

OOC:
Epic fail. Stupid dice. *hangs head*

D'Angelo swoops in, the loose folds of his white shirt billowing outwards as he moves with quick, startling speed. Impossible speed.

With a grimace, he arcs the blade towards you. In his hand, the machete seems as light as a feather, its stroke as precise and controlled as a pen gliding on paper. It moves directly where he wishes it to, a baton in the hand of a conductor.

Which means right now the machete was arcing for Tom's side. His liver, to be precise. The wound that this forceful cut hopes to cause would ooze dark, nearly black blood. Life blood.

"Stop!" A voice commands. A woman's voice. Certainly not Christies, this voice has an unnatural, unearthly feel. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. Your skin crawls at a sudden drop of temperature...
She is a Caucasian woman in her early 20s who is almost skeletal in her slenderness. The victim - for how cans he be anything else but a victim?- is covered in a patchwork of scratches, bruises, rope burns and sores. She suffers a slightly skewed nose and sunken dark eyes. Her hands hang by her sides, horribly misshapen from broken bones and swollen bruises into claws. She stares out at you from beneath thick, matted tangle of light brown hair.

An odd aura surrounds her.... The shadows that swallowed D'Angelo gather by her feet like faithful and unnatural pets, twisting into serpentine shapes. The light that was so feeble before glows around her, casting her in a back light.

Her word halts D'Angelo's motion immediately. He lowers the weapon awkwardly, glaring at you with pure, undiluted hate. You see your death in those eyes, eyes that seem devoid of any human virtue. Gone is the soul less, empty gaze.

Looking back at the woman, you see that gaze staring at you. D'angelo's earlier expression shines out from this woman's face, how can that be?

While D'Angelo breathes heavily through his mouth, his shoulders bunched with muscles taunt for a fight, the woman moves forward to you with jerky motions. She drags an unresponsive left foot behind her.


"He's mine." She declares, her voice husky. "Leave D'Angelo with me."