12082004

Deckers Just Want to Have Fun

Part 2: "This is my boomstick!"

"I really love how heavy this thing is. Makes it feel so much more powerful. When everything else on this fragging muckhole is trying to get smaller and more efficient, good old slugtossers get bigger, louder, and a whole lot more efficient!" A loud blast rebounded off of the concrete walls as a heavy-set man in a security uniform is sent flying through the air, landing on the polished floor with a wet crunch. "See!!! I LOVE THAT!!!" A hysterical laugh went echoing down the hallway, making it sound as if an army of mental patients with shotguns was blasting it's way through the factory.

Creep happily skipped down the hall, prancing over the bodies of securitech and corporate personnel alike. "Let's see here. We gotta head over to B wing, then down hallway 7-2…" another guard went flying as he came running around the corner, only to receive a face full of shotgun slugs. "Ahem," Creep cleared his throat, annoyed by the interruption, "Down hallway 7-2, then take the North Western staircase down to the factory level. Okay!" He smiled, obviously pleased with his fine memory (thank god for cyberware) and reached down to snatch the keycard from a dead securitech guard.

He could hear gunshots from behind him, most likely Snakebite and Ricochet trying to blast their way out. The corners of his lips bent upwards in that queer smile of his again. He didn't really wish them any harm; he was just amused and quite pleased with himself. When Snakebite contacted him about the job, he knew it wasn't going to go to plan; extractions never go to plan. He accepted anyway, and when the drek hit the fan, he wasn't in the least surprised. That was when his plan got underway.

The first move, of course, was to kill the two corp workers manning the security office. That couldn't have been easier. With one's brains splattered about the whole room in a shower of red gore, and the other on the floor, slowly bleeding to death from the hole in his gullet, Creep had hefted his weapon and slowly walked into the hallway, to continue with the extraction. That was when Snakebite and Ricochet bolted. He couldn't blame them, wholesale slaughter wasn't at all the way those two preferred their jobs to go. Creep, however, was bored of sneaking around like a gutter rat, avoiding everyone and everything, just to clean up someone else's mess. He was going to make his own mess this time, and there wasn't going to be anyone left alive to clean it.

A large red "B" up ahead let him know he was getting close. Next he would find hallway 7-2, then the NW staircase. "This is just too easy! I should do all my jobs like this!" He let out a giggle as his shotgun barked at the two guards standing below the giant, red "B," spraying the wall with blood and little chunks of uniform and flesh. One of the guards somehow wasn't dead, and was able to squeeze off two bullets before the shotgun barked again.

"OF ALL THE DREK IN DENVER," Creep screamed as he marched over to the dead sec guard and dug his shotgun barrel into back of his head, "I…REALLY…LIKED…THESE…PANTS!!!" The blast knocked Creep onto his back, a large chunk of the guard's skull sweeping him off of his feet. Now covered in gore, his hair mussed and stained red, and his cybernetic leg showing through the holes in his ruined pants, Creep stormed off down hallway 7-2, finger twitching at the trigger of his cannon.

The guard on the staircase was the most memorable kill of the night, for Creep anyway, the guard didn't quite make it. He was sitting on a stair, sneaking a cigarette and a nip from his flask. Somehow this chummer had no idea there was a madman with a very large gun standing right behind him.

"'Ey there chummer! Got any smokes for me?" Creep asked aloud. The guard, however, didn't budge, his eyes examining the imperfections in the concrete wall opposite him. "Can ya hear me, chummer?" Creep asked again, "Is there something wrong with your hear-holes?" Again the guard paid him no mind, taking a slow drag off of his cigarette and another swig from his flask.

This made Creep a little upset. He tapped the guard on the shoulder with his shotgun, and the man jumped up, trying clumsily to hide the smoking cigarette and flask behind his back. His eyes widened at the sight of a blood-covered elf with a shotgun, and he turned to run down the stairs. Creep pulled the trigger, and three slugs flew out of the barrel, one catching the guard in the ankle, another in his back. The third slug buried itself into the wall, and the guard went rolling down the stairs, arms flailing, sending the cigarette and flask flying through the air.

When Creep reached the bottom of the stairwell, a small pool of blood had formed beneath the dying man. It was then that Creep noticed the warning on the man's identification tag, the poor slag was indeed deaf. This was obviously a wonderfully funny turn of events to Creep, who threw his head back and began howling with laughter, as the deaf guard squirmed about beneath him. When the hilarity had ended, Creep leaned down to the guard's face, "I'm real sorry about this, chummer, but I'm afraid I'm an equal-opportunity psychopath." What the guard said next was probably a "no," or a "don't," but Creep really didn't give him enough time to finish.

The factory doors flew open with a bang, and Creep barged through them, shotgun held high in the air. Another blast and all of the workers fell silent. "This," exclaimed Creep, waving the shotgun above him, "is my BOOMSTICK!" Another hysterical laugh followed, until Creep realized he was most likely the only person in this room that had ever seen any 20th century vids. He shook his head, and began going to work, lining up all of the factory workers. Scientists, line workers, the entire intellectual gamut was represented along this wall. When he had all of their attention, he spoke up, "Pay attention you sorry slags, I'm looking for Mr. Williamson." An older man with thinning brown hair came forward. His nametag read, "Mr. George Williamson."

"Good," Creep said, "Let's go Mr. Williamson." With that he led the man out of the factory, but not before tossing a small parcel to the man in the center of the lineup. The smile came back then, and he laughed all the way out of the building, prodding the older man in the back with his shotgun. When they reached his bike, Creep turned around and watched the factory below him.

"Hey, Willie, come watch this," Creep said, grabbing the man by the collar of his lab coat and dragging him over to the edge of the roof.

"What? What? What do you want with me?" The man asked as he shuffled over towards Creep, barely able to stand.

"Just watch, chummer," was Creep's reply, "or else you'll miss a good show." The smile came back again, and Creep and Mr. Williamson watched the factory carefully for a few minutes, until Creep looked down at his watch. "Four…three…two…one…"

Creep awoke to the smell burning building, little flakes of ash coming down all around them, like grimy sprawl snow. Mr. Williamson was unconscious, Creep wasn't sure whether he had been knocked out or if he had fainted, neither one would have surprised him much. He checked to make sure his bike was intact, and then he threw Mr. Williamson's limp body across the back seat and raced off to the drop point. After all, he had a fee to collect, and a valuable piece of corporate property to deliver.

Just thinking about the look on Snakebite's face made him giggle.