Bay 12 Games Forum

Quote from: King Zultan on December 22, 2019, 04:19:02 am

A Lighthouse base!

+1

GM

"Now now, brother," you whisper to the fallen raider. "It won't be long now."

*CRACK*

The raider jerks once, and lies still. Knocking people out is a vicious sort of thing-- you've probably dealt this raider some severe brain damage in the process-- but at least this way he won't be awake for what's coming.

You turn and run. You quickly glimpse back and see a crowd of misshapen viciousness descend upon the unconscious raider.

People called them dɛbul...demons
Fellow men and women who had given up their human nature and had reverted to something more primal, more feral. Some say they are possessed by the dark spirits. Other say that the radiation melted their brains. All say that they should be avoided at all costs.

Mentally retracing your footsteps, you run and run and run. Out of your peripheral vision, you estimate that roughly three or four dɛbul are pursuing you; the others likely distracted by the less than fortunate fella left behind. You hoof it though the lobby of the Sam Bangura Building and back onto the ruined streets of Freetown. The mad screeching dies down as you see the figures hiss at you and retreat back into the dark shadows of the rubble pile. You close your eyes and let and glow of the setting sun warm your face. Perhaps this is the grace of God, for the demons shy away form his light. But who are you kidding?

It's time to go home.
Where is home?
Well it's a bunker...

a) below the Cape Sierra Lighthouse, reachable by boat.
b) hidden in the forest that was once the Tacguma Chimpanzee Sanctuary just outside Freetown.
c) built into one of many mining shafts in the area.
d) in the back yard of some deceased mining magnate that you just happened to 'borrow'.
e) Bunker? What bunker? It was taken over by raiders some days ago...
f) Something else?

GM

The screams from below bellow louder with each passing moment. They're coming closer and its readily apparent that whoever 'they' are, they outnumber you by an uncomfortable amount. There's no glory, no point, no recognition standing here and fighting a fight that you can't possibly win.

^{ɛn i dɔn ɔganayz di dɛbul dɛn, i dɔn gi dɛn pawa, ɛn mek dɛn de rul di wɔl.}

Blood flows slowly in the hallway. Breaths that grow quieter and heavier. A futile scripture quotation won't save this wounded raider from his ultimate fate; his final destination. You ignore him and his lamentations in Krio as you hastily relieve the other body of its firearm and remaining ammo. The unholy stew of screaming reaches a fever pitch. It's time to go.

^{kil mi... kil mi}

He begs.

a) Put him out of his misery:
        1) With your gun.
        2) With his own machete.
        3) With something else?
b) Make him suffer.
c) Let fate deal with him.
d) Something else?

Just as expected, more company. That would explain their boldness in attacking someone armed. It's almost as if these raiders don't realize they're fodder for their leaders to swoop in.

You suppose some things never change, even now that human civilization is gone.

There's no use having a last stand here, so you make your way past the corpse and soon-to-be-corpse to leave, pocketing the pistol for some reasons. The shots rained down on you seemed to be half-hearted at best, and the voices disappeared as you take the detour around the city.

CA

Can't we just notify her that we know, and give her that liberty so long as she doesn't go further?

GM

These cramped, dark corridors make for a natural choke point. If anyone wants to get to you and the stairwell, they gotta transverse this singular hallway.

Easy pickings, you think. Your shotgun hungers quietly on your back. It has always hungered.
Trust nobody. Kill everyone you meet. They are the enemy. It's you or them. It's you or them. It's you or them.
You. You. You. Them. The enemy. Them. The enemy. Bullets. And silence.
...
 
You spread small chunks of rubble and debris throughout the hallway, jury-rigging a primitive alert system. The shotgun rests contemplatively in your hands; an old friend and an old comfort in this heartless hellhole. Sounds of movement come closer. Closer. You are able make out two muffled voices coming from the direction you previously came from. Your hunch was right: Mr. Pistol had backup.

^{"Wetin yu de du? Boss-man sabi never come here"
"Shut up, pussy. He's a scavenger. He's nothing. They do all the work for us."}

The strong take from the weak. It is what it is. Your grip tightens in anticipation. The movement comes closer. You hear the rocks being kicked aways. It's time.
The mousetrap closes. You roll into the hallway and empty three shells into the unfortunate saps pursuing you. The thundering booms echoes throughout the building. The pistol pursuer is barely able to let out an expletive as his head bursts apart like overripe papaya. The rest of his body falls over with a wet thud. The other fella, a typical machete wielding goon oh so common in this day and age, takes a direct hit to the thigh and is blasted to the floor, forever separating him from one of his legs. He isn't dead but clearly he's well on his way.

You carry a blank expression, ears still ringing, as you walk to the fallen raider. He can only belt out a pitiful "N-No!' and he feebly tries to grasp his machete. The ringing gives way to the sound of labored breathing.

It's the sound of a man bleeding to death. A heart slowing down. How sweet the sound.
You consider finishing him off. Mercy. Or maybe a waste of ammo.

Before you can complete that thought, you immediately take notice of a chorus of bloody screams in the distance. Sounded like they came from below.
Uh oh.

10/10

Was active, probably still active.