Bristol's Menace (Mike)

[Generalfoley]

Joe hated it when he had to run. He thought this as he was running, with Mike, towards the Jeep. And being chased by the settlement they had spent the night in didn't help any. Joe reached out with both of his hands, and pushed himself over a short wall fluidly. He hated when he had to free-run. Bristol was supposed to be a place they could stock up. Oh, and stock up they did. They had loaded everything into duffel bags they had brought with them, from mags for his M4 to his gunsmithing tools. But Mike... Joe shook his head before he leaped over another short concrete wall. He then skidded to a halt at the door of an abandoned mechanic's shop, opening it with a flourish. They had parked the Jeep a few blocks away from the settlement, seeing as how they would kill them on the spot for an armored vehicle with a .50 caliber machine gun on the back.

Joe ran inside, and jumped into the Jeep's driver seat, and looked over at Mike, who was now wearing some shiny new welding goggles. "Why?" Joe asked, buckling up. "Why, Mike? Why did you sleep with Irish's daughter?" Irish was the head arms dealer in the Bristol settlement, which was mostly made up entirely of gun dealers. The only reason he and Mike had gotten in for their supplies was because Irish and Joe grew up in the same orphanage in Dublin. Small world.

Joe started the Jeep as he closed the door. "Don't get on the gun just yet. I wanna try and outrun them." Joe had been getting better at driving the Jeep. He wanted to see if he could lose the people chasing them.

[God Mike]

Today was one of the more eventful days in Mike's life. It was one of those days that, after a long time of nothing interesting happening, was a welcome change. Especially after he got paralyzed by that creepy Para-Zom, as he called it, short for Paralyzing Zombie. He just needed to move, and this was great exercise.

The shiny new welding goggles on his forehead were glinting in the sun, his hood down as he ran. Sure, things looked bad now, but this was great exercise, he thought as he vaulted over the short wall. Joe just didn't realize that, so he was probably upset with Mike. That was just stupid. One shouldn't go through life being upset. Look on the bright side of life and all that, whistle, whistle, Monty Python reference...

Mike ran through the door that Joe had just opened, running straight over to the Jeep, jumping up on the hood, rolling over it, and landing on the other side, where he immediately shot into the passenger seat at the same time as Joe got into the driver's seat?

"Why?" Joe demanded. "Why, Mike? Why did you sleep with Irish's daughter?" He sounded mad... Mike was glad that those people in the settlement felt that bullets were too valuable to waste on people who weren't zombies. "Don't get on the gun just yet. I wanna try and outrun them."

"Yeah, like I'd get on the gun for people who aren't trying to kill us," Mike said, shaking his head with a scoff. They wouldn't kill the two of them. Just beat them up a bit. "As for why... Well, I was horny, she was horny, we found each other attractive... Oh..." Mike's voice changed from nonchalant to sympathetic. "Didn't they teach you this stuff in school, Joe?"

He chuckled to himself, then leaned back. "In any case, I would've thought you'd be glad I did it. This shows that at least some people maintain the spirit of the..." Mike scoffed "...old world... Don't see why anyone would like the old world, though..."

[Generalfoley]

"As for why... Well, I was horny, she was horny, we found each other attractive... Oh..." His voice changed into a sympathetic one. "Didn't they teach you this stuff in school, Joe?"

Joe rolled his eyes as he switched the gears to Drive. "Never really attended school." Joe muttered. He didn't exactly like that area of his past. He stomped on the gas pedal, and the Jeep tore through the metal garage door. Joe looked to the left, and his eyes widened as he saw several people brandish weapons. He turned to the right, the rubber of the wheels smoking as the Jeep accelerated down the road. He could hear the shots being fired, and the bullets popping off the armor plating. Joe turned another corner, the shots following.

Joe turned to face Mike, and said, “But why did it have to be Irish’s daughter ?! I mean, really, of every girl in the settlement, why her? We were all on good terms! I got ammo, you got ammo, and a pair of really shiny welding goggles that you needed.” Joe sighed.

Joe looked in the side mirror, and saw several of Irish’s armed guards riding on motorbikes and in several well armored SUVs. More well armored than the Wrecker, er, the Jeep. Joe weaved around the abandoned cars that were getting more frequent as they reached the outskirts of the city.

Shots were fired, and an SUV had pulled alongside the Wrecker. The window rolled down, and a rather nasty burst of fire from a Kalashnikov tore through the armor of the door, luckily missing Joe and Mike by mere inches. Joe growled, and unholstered his pistol, rolling down his own window and firing several shots at the man and his driver. The SUV swerved several times until it hit a lamp post. Joe put his pistol on the dash as he swore profusely. Joe looked into the mirror and saw several SUVs trying to find a clear line of sight to fire. Joe turned back to Mike, taking out a cancer stick.

“Hey, uh, Mike? You mind getting on the fifty-cal? We’re about to run out of road here pretty soon.” Joe turned another corner, which led to an old highway. He turned onto the highway, the SUV’s and motorbikes following.

[God Mike]

“But why did it have to be Irish’s daughter ?! I mean, really, of every girl in the settlement, why her? We were all on good terms! I got ammo, you got ammo, and a pair of really shiny welding goggles that you needed.”

Mike opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, several motorcycles and armored SUVs appeared behind them, all of them looking ready to kill. He gave Joe one of his patented 'are you really this stupid, or are you just faking?' looks, raised eyebrow and all. It was a look that he had found himself using more frequently lately...

"Good terms?" Mike asked in disbelief. Just then, gunfire came from Joe's side, and one of the bullets went right through the door, and missed gutting Mike by near half an inch. "Does this seem like good terms to you? Although I did sleep with his daughter, people on good terms with others don't try to murder the shit out of the others just for doing something that both his daughter and one of the others wanted..."

One of the motorcycles pulled up alongside the Jeep on Mike's side. He couldn't unsheathe his swords, with the roof of the Jeep being so low, but he could, however, reach into his backpack and unsheathe his piece-of-shit machete. Doing so, he rolled down the window just as the man sitting behind the bike rider raised his MP5.

Although the piece-of-shit machete wasn't sharp anymore, it sure as hell was pointy, and the passenger on the bike felt this when it pierced its way through his skull. Mike gave a triumphant cry. He'd never killed anyone with the piece-of-shit machete before. He immediately pulled it out of the fucker's skull, then stabbed it straight through the bike rider's neck, watching as the bike swerved out of control and straight into a, he had to admit, conveniently placed street lamp.

“Hey, uh, Mike? You mind getting on the fifty-cal? We’re about to run out of road here pretty soon.” Mike gave a whoop as he brought his head inside again, a big grin on his face. He was still very happy about actually managing to kill something with the piece-of-shit machete, so he put it down on the floor and climbed out of the back window without complaint, manning the .50 cal.

[Generalfoley]

"Good terms? Does this seem like good terms to you? Although I did sleep with his daughter, people on good terms with others don't try to murder the shit out of the others just for doing something that both his daughter and one of the others wanted..." "They were good terms, until you slept with Irish's daughter! And, last time I checked, that drunk mother fucker was a very overprotective father!" Joe saw Mike climb out onto the turret. "Channel Two, Mike!" Joe swerved out of the way of an old sand bag wall. An SUV accelerated past them, moving in front of the Jeep. Joe saw what they were trying to do, and swerved past the twisted wreckage of an old sedan. "Mike, SUV, right side!"

”Joe,” It was Irish on the radio. Joe picked up the CB and pushed the talk button. “Irish. What a pleasant-“ ”Cut the shit, you son of a bitch. It turns out that you’re rat of a friend sleepin’ with me daughter ain’t the only crime you two’ve committed.” Joe’s eyes widened. “It turns out that you took our entire incendiary fifty cal cache, ten boxes of our Frag-12 shells, a box of breaching rounds, one of our Franchi SPAS-12’s, and a bunch of other stuff! Those are our supplies, you thievin’ Mick cunt! When I get my hands on you I’ll-“ Joe started to panic.

“Uh, Irish, I can’t hear you, you’re breaking up, breaking up real bad.” As Joe said that, he had , only hearing bits of Irish’s ranting through the static. ”I’LL… IP YOUR BAL… YOU FUCKIN’ CU… AND YOU’RE PAL, I’LL SHOVE HIS… SO FAR UP HIS… HE’LL BE COUGHING UP…” The static may have covered the rant, but the message was clear. Joe looked around after he switched off the CB, and found a tunnel to drive into. Turning the wheel, Joe switched on the headlights as he drove into the tunnel. “Mike, get back inside the Wrecker, quickly!” Joe’s eye twitched. Damn slip of the tongue. Now Mike would never let this go. “It’s gonna get bumpy!” Joe pushed down more on the pedal, and saw the light at the end of the tunnel. The young Irishman looked at the speedometer, seeing it was little over a hundred and ten miles an hour. The Jeep exited the tunnel with a roar, and Joe switched off the headlights. It started lightly snowing, turning the air cold.

“Hang on.” The Irishman said as he hit the brakes and pulled a 180 before he pushed the gas pedal again, accelerating back through the tunnel. He didn’t bother to switch the headlights back on. Joe looked under his seat, and found the two grenades that Mike had obviously put there. He pulled out the other two he had put under Mike’s seat as well, grinning slightly before he handed his Swedish companion the two grenades. He held his own grenades out the window, hanging off of his fingers by the rings.

“On the count of three.” Joe said, raising his arm a little. “One,” Joe could hear the roar of the SUV’s and the motorbikes as they had entered the curved tunnel. “Two,” He could see the headlights of the vehicles approaching. He quickly switched his headlights on, to see their enemies turn the corner.

“Three!” Joe yelled as he jerked his arm down. The grenades rang free as their rings were pulled. Joe accelerated, violently pushing a motorbike out of their way as he drove to get out of the range of the blast. The grenades detonated, taking out much of the SUVs and bikes. Joe could see the fireballs of the SUV’s, but his eyes widened as the fireballs caught on the other cars in the tunnel, acting as a catalyst for a mass fireball racing straight towards them. The surviving motorbikes, since every SUV was already caught in the fireball, raced to get out of the tunnel. Several motorbikes rode at the sides of the Wrecker, not caring for the two survivors, only concerned with getting out of the tunnel alive. The fireball was closing in, taking two more motorbikes with him.

“Hold on!” Joe said, the large, shaped fire chasing them licking at the tail door of the Wrecker. The Jeep and the motorbikes burst out of the tunnel, the fire following them for a few feet before it stilled, burning the inside of the tunnel, and the bodies of those caught in it. Joe sighed before he looked around, the motorbikes surrounding them. The riders aimed assault rifles and shotguns at them, motioning to get out. Joe raised his hands as he opened the door, and jumped out. Mike, however, was dragged out by one of the bikers.

“Just do as they say, Mike. I’ve got a plan.” Joe said as one of them stepped forward. He took off his helmet, revealing it to be Irish, a man with black overgrown hair and a beard that matched. Joe visibly recoiled as the heavy smell of alcohol hit him. ”Joe and Mike. The Thief and the Man-Whore. Ya know, I don’t usually enjoy torture.” Irish walked up to Joe, wearing a shit eating grin as he took their weapons. “But, unfortunately, I just don’t have the time to make an exception. Things to do, people to see, deals to make, hands to shake. You know, that kind of thing. But my boys here,” Irish motioned to his bikers. ”Would be more than happy to accommodate ya.” Irish threw one of Joe’s pistols and one of Mike’s revolvers into the bed of the Jeep. He looked at the two he had with admiration. He them up to Joe and Mike to see. ”These are fine firearms you have here, fellas. I’ll just… take them off your hands.” Irish chuckled as he replaced the pistols in his tactical thigh holsters with Joe’s own pistol and Mike’s revolver. He looked over at his second in command, a large, burly man by the name of Big Al. ”Big Al, would ya do me a favor and kill these fuckers slowly?” Irish glared at Joe and Mike. Irish had a moment of realization. ”Wait a minute!” He walked over to the Jeep’s open driver side door, and yelled in triumph when he saw that the keys were still in. ”Oh, this is just icing on the fuckin’ cake, this is!” Irish yelled as he hopped into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. He shut both doors, and his men forced the two over to the side of the road. Joe glared at Irish as he drove by, a shit eating grin on his face.

“You know I’ll kill you, right Irish?” Joe yelled as Irish laughed. “I’ll snap your motherfucking neck!” Irish laughed as he pointed at Joe. ”You’d have to wait for me to see you in Hell!” “Trust me, Irish! You’ll get there long before I do!” Irish mock saluted the two before he drove off.

“So, Mike,” Joe said as the bikers had put away their firearms, instead pulling out knives and tire irons. A couple pulled out chains, in honor of the biker-esque beating they thought they would give Joe and Mike. The snow was gathering at their feet, falling quicker than before. “I take the twenty on the left, you take the twenty on the right?” Too bad Irish didn’t know that Joe and Mike were trained martial artists who kept grudges. Joe swore that Irish would pay.
Even if he had to blow up all of fucking England to do it.

[God Mike]

"Mike, SUV, right side!" Mike immediately reacted to Joe's words, swerving the .50 cal to the right and opening fire. The SUV's armor was nothing against the .50 cal's bullets, which tore it apart with no problem. The SUV turned sharply to get away, spinning out of control from the force of the turn. ”I’LL… IP YOUR BAL… YOU FUCKIN’ CU… AND YOU’RE PAL, I’LL SHOVE HIS… SO FAR UP HIS… HE’LL BE COUGHING UP…”

"Oho!" Mike said as he ducked, poking his head inside the back window, grinning behind his balaclava. "The dude sounds pissed, mate," he said in amusement. "I mean, really pissed. I don't think he appreciated our, er... purchases..." While most people would call it theft, Mike called it 'trading it for air without the owner's knowledge.'

“Mike, get back inside the Wrecker, quickly!” Mike gave off a triumphant laugh at that. He called it the Wrecker! He knew the name would stick! It was, after all, an awesome name, “It’s gonna get bumpy!” Mike was still chuckling as he climbed in through the window just as they entered a tunnel. Where the hell were they, anyway?

“Hang on.”

Mike only had time to mutter a "Whut?" before he had to grab onto the dash as the Jeep spun. He would have complained about it, but he was temporarily silenced by what Joe did next. He pulled out four grenades... two of which were under Mike's seat! Taking the two grenades Joe held out to him, he narrowed his eyes. "Touche, my friend... Touche..."

“On the count of three.” Mike really had no idea what the plan was, but he could guess. Therefore, he simply followed Joe's lead. However, he pulled the pins immediately, and held down the safety levers. “One,” Hoh... This was going to be exciting.. “Two,” A massive grin spread on Mike's face as he saw their enemies approaching. “Three!” Mike whooped with glee as he dropped the grenades.

The explosions rocked the Jeep, a sensation that left Mike all tingly inside. Maybe it was Erik's influence or something, but killing idiots was a very enjoyable pasttime, he had to admit. “Hold on!” Joe said, and Mike snapped out of his thoughts, looking back to see a massive amount of fire behind them. His excitement, which had already been massive, grew, and had he not been wearing his goggles, Joe would have seen Mike's eyes light up. This... was... awesome!

The Jeep, and a couple of bikes, blasted out of the tunnel, accompanied by Mike's excited whoop. This was definitely worth being abandoned by Mr. Viagra for! The excitement died, however, when they suddenly found themselves surrounded by bikes, and faced down a dishearting amount of weapons. The Jeep slowed to a stop, and no sooner had it stopped, before Mike was pulled out of the Jeep.

"Hey, watch it!" Mike yelled, as the two men who had pulled him out unsheathed his swords and upholstered his pistols. “Just do as they say, Mike. I’ve got a plan.” A plan? A PLAN?! What the shit kind of plan could Joe possibly have had?! Mike kept his eyes trained on his pistols and swords. There was no way he'd be parting with them. He payed no attention to the epic beard man, until he grabbed Mike's pistols, along with Joe's. ”These are fine firearms you have here, fellas. I’ll just… take them off your hands.” Alright, that was it, the epic beard man just signed his own death warrant.

"You put your hands on my guns..." Mike whispered, watching the epic beard man, who got into the Wrecker. Joe seemed a bit upset as well, judging by the, “You know I’ll kill you, right Irish? I’ll snap your motherfucking neck!” Yep, definitely upset. Though Mike doubted he was as pissed as the Swede. Mike was on the verge of entering the Red Zone.

"This was part of your plan?" Mike asked, watching the Wrecker as it drove off. "This was part of this brilliant plan of yours? The reason why I shouldn't do anything? So that we could watch Beardface drive off... with my guns?!" Mike was not pleased...

“So, Mike,” Joe said, and Mike looked around, to see the bikers pull out all sorts of clubbing and stabbing weapons. Apparently, they wanted to tenderize the meat before throwing it into the fire... Excellent... “I take the twenty on the left, you take the twenty on the right?”

"Sounds about right..." Mike hissed, a grin appearing on his face. Erik wasn't the only one allowed to go on a murderous rampage. His hand moved like lightning, and before the riders could react, he had already struck the one holding his swords with the base of his palm, smashing his nose bone straight up into his brain. Even faster, Mike grabbed his swords and sliced the other man who'd pulled him out of the Wrecker into three pieces before the first body had hit the ground.

"Heh... Come get some," he told the others, who had now tensed up, ready for a fight. With a wide grin, Mike charged the bikers, weaving in between them, slicing open stomachs, cutting heads off, dodging slashes, swipes and stabs with practiced ease. "Oh, come now, this isn't even a warm-up!" he taunted, saying 'warm-up' with much more force, as he chose that exact moment to cleave a biker in two straight down the middle.

[Generalfoley]

"This was part of your plan? This was part of this brilliant plan of yours? The reason why I shouldn't do anything? So that we could watch Beardface drive off... with my guns?!" "No, not really." Joe said, watching the bikers. Mike made the first move, smashing a man's face in and slicing another into three pieces. A rider moved towards Joe with a large, broad knife. He didn't get the chance to use it as Joe wrapped his arm around the biker's own, pulling taut and snapping the biker's arm. The rider screamed for about two seconds before Joe punched his throat, crushing his trachea. Grabbing the man's knife in a reverse grip as he fell, Joe left the man to suffocate. It would be slow.

"Oh, come now, this isn't even a warm-up!" Joe looked over at Mike, who seemed to be enjoying himself.

Another biker came at the Irishman with a longer, but thinner knife, but Joe spun smashing the knife away and forcing his own through the rider's jaw, penetrating the man's brain. Switching his grip on the knife, Joe flipped the man over his shoulder, throwing the biker onto the ground and ripping the knife out in a single move. Another biker came at him from the rear, and Joe punched the man twice, before coming at his throat with the knife, slicing his jugular and spraying Joe with his blood. Joe was disgusted, but had no time to show it as a biker attacked him from the side with a chain, wrapping it around his leg. Joe fell, the biker walking towards him. Joe, having gotten loose from the chain, jumped up, and punched the helmeted head.

Which, in retrospect, was a bad idea. Joe shook his hand in pain, an 'Ow!' etched on his face before he sucked in a breath. "Bad idea bad idea," Joe muttered as he turned to see the biker throwing his cracked helmet onto the ground. His pride in putting a large spider web crack was swapped for confusion. "You're a girl!" Joe yelled in surprise. He wasn't exactly sexist, or anything; he had met countless women before, but he didn't take it into account that he was fight a woman.

It didn't change anything though. Her delivering a swift kick to the groin, however, did. Joe's eyes widened, his mouth formed into that iconic "O" shape, but he tried to push back the pain to block her next hit, a punch to the face. He was successful, for the moment, as he punched her in the face, knocking her out. He instinctively blocked a punch to his face, and took the guy's Bowie knife. Facing the biker, he raised the knife up with both hands, and slammed the blade through his helmet, the crack of both the helmet and his skull permeating the air. The man fell as Joe released the knife. The young Irishman took in a breath to try and calm his heart.

Then the pain came back in a massive wave. Joe dropped to his knees, grabbing his groin as he slowly exhaled. "My god!" Joe yelled. He looked over at the woman, who was just now waking up. "Why?!" Joe asked, his voice just a bit squeaky. "Who kicks someone in the balls anymore?!" Joe slowly got up and limped over to a nearby motorbike, searching it for a bit of rope. Finding a good length, Joe limped back and tied the girl up. He looked over at Mike, then back at the Biker girl. He was about to ask her something when he heard loud footsteps behind him. He turned around, and saw that Big Al was right behind him. And Joe gathered up close and personal that Al was quite large. Joe blinked before he looked up at Al's face.

"Well," Joe started, and Al raised an eyebrow. "It seems we're at an impasse." Big Al smirked before he laughed. Then he picked up Joe and threw him into a bike, and the Irishman had to admit; being punched by a large man wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Joe chuckled, trying to put his opponent off guard as he searched for a weapon. Grasping firmly on the handle of a pistol, Joe chuckled some more as he quickly aimed and fired at the man's thigh, the bullet tearing through. Al screamed out in pain, and collapsed. Joe slowly got up and walked over to his fallen opponent, aiming the pistol, now identified as an H&K Mark 23 SOCOM .45 pistol, between his eyes.

"Tell me were Irish is now," Joe said as he pulled back the hammer. "And I'll let you live." Big Al seemed to think about it, before saying, "He's in Warehouse 887, down at the docks! He's doing some big arms deal with the Mynydd settlement from Wales!" Joe raised an eyebrow, and knelt down, pressing the barrel of his pistol hard between Al's eyes. He started to sob, "I swear, that's all I know!" Joe stared at him for a few moments more before he holstered his pistol and walked away, towards the girl.

"OI! You said you'd let me live!" Al yelled in panic. He had thought Joe would help him. Joe looked back at Al, no expression showing on his face. "I am letting you live." Joe said. "But I'm not too sure about the dead, though." Joe continued to walk away as Al yelled and screamed at his back. If Joe shot right, the bullet he had fired before would've ripped through the artery in Al's thigh. He would be dead in a minute or two.

Picking up the thin knife again, Joe knelt down and cut the rope on the woman, who seemed surprised. Joe motioned over to one of the bikes. "Get out of here. Take one of the bikes, and ride from the city as far away as you possibly can. And remember, if I ever see you attacking me or my friends ever again, I will shoot you and leave you for the zombies. Do you hear me?" Joe's tone was cold, angry, and, to the girl who hardly knew him, completely insane, from the blood that covered his face and upper body. She nodded quickly, and Joe looked at her as if she had grown two heads.

"Didn't you hear me?" Joe asked, before his expression turned angry. "I said RUN!" She got up quickly and ran to a bike, starting it up and driving off as fast as she could. Joe walked over to a bike, Al's swearing having toned down quite a bit. Joe looked over, and saw a corpse, before he returned to searching the bike for what he was looking for. Some kind of weapon that he could use against Irish when he tracked that mother fucker down. Joe pulled out an AK-74u, and checked the magazine. It was full, while he found one more magazine. Joe looked over at another bike, having slung the Kalashnikov around his shoulder and walked to it. He picked up a short-barreled RPK light machine gun with a drum magazine and a folding stock. The young Irishman looked over at Mike and put the RPK on the bike, before he returned to the other. Joe looked back at Mike, and motioned to the bike.

"When we get there, you kill everyone but Irish." Joe said, picking up a combat knife from a dead biker. "Irish is mine to kill, and mine alone."

[God Mike]

"Have you-" Mike dodged a swing of a crowbar from one of the bikers. "-ever-" Another dodge. "-done this-" Mike knocked the crowbar up with one of his swords, and stabbed the other one straight through the biker's helmet and head. "-before?"

"Ahaa..." Mike muttered with a smile as he looked around. So far, he had taken down seven, and the other three looked very nervous about continuing the fight. "Damn, I'm good, wouldn't you say, guys?" he asked, chuckling at the sight of the tense bikers.

"You're a girl!" Mike tore is eyes away from his opponents to look at Joe, who was facing down, that's right, a girl. The girl seemed to take advantage of Joe's surprise, and kicked him right in the nuts. Mike covered his own jewels and cringed in sympathy pain. Not cool.

The bikers noticed that Mike wasn't focusing on him, and charged. "That," Mike said as he turned back to the bikers, shaking his head, "was not cool..." Faster than most people could react, Mike's blades flashed, and the bikers dropped, one losing his head in the process, and the others separating at chest height. "But that, however, was awesomely badass," Mike admitted as he looked down at the dead bikers.

"Who kicks someone in the balls anymore?!" Mike looked toward Joe, who was crawling toward one of the bikes, and then stars exploded in front of his eyes, and he felt himself get lifted off his feet from the force of the punch. Slamming painfully into the ground, Mike shook his head to clear it and lifted up his welding goggles, blinking.

That big dude, Big Al or whatever his name was, was making his way toward Joe. Damn, that guy's punch had the force of a freaking donkey kick!

"Hold on, Joe!" Mike yelled, seeing Big Al lifting Joe into the air and throwing him. "I'ma comin'!" Mike pushed himself to his feet and took a step, only to fall down, still dizzy from the punch. "Any second now! Wear him down, and I'll cut him up!" Again, Mike forced himself to his feet and stumbled back a few steps. Just then, a gunshot rang out, and Big Al dropped, crying out in pain.

"Tell me were Irish is now," Joe said as Mike approached him. Obviously, Joe the cheater had gotten a hold of a gun. Not cool. "And I'll let you live." Mike made his way over to Joe and looked at the gun, then down at Big Al, and then back to the gun again.

"Dude, seriously, a gun?" he asked, shaking his head in disappointment. "Not cool, man. Not cool at all."

"He's in Warehouse 887, down at the docks! He's doing some big arms deal with the Mynydd settlement from Wales!" Mike watched as Joe threatened Big All further. "I swear, that's all I know!" Satisfied with the answer, Joe moved away toward the unconscious woman. "OI! You said you'd let me live!"

"I am letting you live." Joe said. "But I'm not too sure about the dead, though."

"That's funny," Mike said as he walked up to Big Al, smiling as he raised his sword. "I made no such promise..." Big Al wasn't even allowed to say a word, before Mike slashed his sword horizontally. Al's body was frozen in place for a second, and then his head fell off his shoulders, his body thudding to the ground shortly after.

Mike heard Joe yell at the girl and looked over to see her running away. "Hey, hey, I know you like being all noble and such, but is it really so smart to let her go?" he asked, sheathing his swords and reaching down, picking up a bloodied combat knife, dropped by one of the dead bikers. He flipped it in his hand, holding it by the blade and lifting it up to eye level, cocking his arm back. "I can still hit her, you know. It would be easy."

The girl seemed to have heard him, because she ran even faster, and Mike was sure he heard a sniffle. Was she crying from the fear? Wimp. Scoffing, Mike threw the combat knife into the ground at his feet, burying it deep into the dirt. Joe had apparently scouted out a couple of bikes suitable for use, and Mike quickly found one to his liking, black, as everything should be. Grinning, he knelt by a body next to the bike and dipped his finger in the man's blood, quickly writing 'Zombie Bike' on the tank of the bike, before getting on.

"When we get there, you kill everyone but Irish." Joe said, to which Mike raised an eyebrow as he examined a Steyr TMP holstered on the side of the bike. Full clip. "Irish is mine to kill, and mine alone." Mike gave off a laugh as he holstered the TMP again, shaking his head.

"Hey, hey," Mike said, putting on his goggles again. "First come, first serve, Joe," he said as he started up the bike. "I've got bones to pick with Beardface as well. After all..." Had Joe seen Mike's eyes at that moment, he would've seen that they'd gotten a Red Zone-level coldness to them. "...he took my guns..."

[Generalfoley]

"Hey, hey, first come, first serve, Joe." Joe heard Mike start up his bike as the young Irishman did a brass check for the AK. “Then I’ll make sure to get to him before you.” Joe said as he aimed down the sights of his AKS-74U. His eyes widened as he spotted a Jumper crawling around the highway. But something was wrong with it. It was sniffing around, not jumping towards them like it should've been. Maybe its hearing had failed. Joe sighted the zombie and pulled the trigger. But instead of the loud bang of a bullet firing, the satisfying of feeling of recoil, he heard a click. Joe’s brow furrowed as he did another brass check, and pulled out the magazine again, but nothing was wrong. He checked the fire selector, but it was on full auto instead of on safety. Joe aimed at the weapon back at the mutated ghoul, and fired again, but another empty click answered him. Joe set down the AK and picked up the RPK, aiming down its sights. He pulled the trigger, but it was the same thing. Empty click, no satisfying bang and recoil.

"Shit," Joe said as he put the RPK down. He looked back up, and saw the Jumper slowly turn its head toward the two survivors, hissing. Joe picked up a nearby rifle, a shitty looking Enfield L85 assault rifle, and fired at the Jumper with a three round burst. ’Finally, a weapon that-‘ Joe’s thoughts were interrupted by the assault rifle in his hands bursting from the ill-care of its former owner. Joe looked up to see a lunging Jumper, which had landed just three meters short of Joe. It snarled and hissed as it sniffed at the air. Joe’s eyes widened as he looked at his hands. The smell of gunpowder still hung on his clothes. Joe looked back up to see the Jumper’s head swiveling toward him, before it started looking around again. Joe saw the coagulated blood that had ran from its ears, which confirmed his suspicions that it couldn’t hear. But it could smell just as well, couldn’t it? Unless…

Joe looked around, seeing that the snow was falling fast now. It must’ve been covering their scent. The Irishman reacted quickly, pulling out his looted pistol. He pulled the trigger, and blew the Jumper’s brains out of the side of its head. Joe sighed as he holstered the pistol. It didn’t feel right without his real pistols. Looking down, Joe bent over and picked up an MP5A2 from the body of a biker, the one whose throat he had slit. He checked the mag, which turned out to be full, and did a brass check. A round in the chamber, Joe pulled a few mags off of the biker, and put them in his cargo pockets.

Joe got on the bike, turning the ignition and hearing the roar. He looked over at Mike, who had found a rather nice looking Steyr TMP. “Remember, Mike, channel three.” Joe pulled down his goggles and clamped on his gas mask, revving the engine of the bike.

[God Mike]

Mike saw the Jumper around the same time Joe did, taking aim immediately. However, he hesitated when he saw the strange behavior of the Jumper. It was using only its nose, and not its ears. The explosion probably completely destroyed his hearing. Heh...

"Aw, isn't that cute!" Mike cooed with a grin as he watched the Jumper. "The poor thing is deaf!" He slowly took aim at the Jumper, ready to blow its brains out. "This is almost too easy, I have to admit..." The Jumped was hardly even moving!

A click to Mike's right told him that Joe had been attempting to blow the Jumper's brain out, and he looked to see his Irish friend experience trouble with not just the AKS, but also the RPK and that other rifle he picked up.

"Trouble performing, Joe?" he asked cheekily with a huge grin, cackling. "Don't worry, it happens to everyone. Not me, of course, but everyone else." There was just no way he could pass up the opportunity to compare weapons malfunction to erectile dysfunction.

Finally, Joe gave up and simply used his recently acquired pistol to blow the Jumper's brains out. Seeing the pistol left a feeling of longing in Mike's chest. He wanted his own guns. He wanted them now! And all he had at the moment was a piece-of-shit TMP! He looked at the TMP, turning it in his hand and humming. "Well, it's not a complete piece-of-shit, I guess..."

“Remember,Mike, channel three,” Joe said looking ready to go. Mike nodded and revved his own engine, flashing Joe a thumbs up, before taking off to the sound of tires squealing. It was time to give Irish what was coming to him. Maybe even kill his daughter for good measure... No, that was an Erik-line if thought, and he shouldn't go there...

[Generalfoley]

"Well, it's not a complete piece-of-shit, I guess..." Joe shook his head as he slung the MP5 around his back, and took off after Mike, quickly overtaking him. The docks in Bristol were, from what he had seen on his maps in the Wrecker, ten or fifteen blocks away. They'd be able to get there within seven minutes, ten tops, given that nothing happened. Of course, with their luck, something was bound to go wrong.

But apparently Luck liked to screw with them in that aspect too.

There was practically nothing to oppose them, the streets eerily quiet, save for the sounds of their bikes. It was snowing lightly, the air growing colder and colder around them. They rode by the occasional common zombie, but nothing else happened. And that worried Joe. The Irishman slowed to a stop two blocks away from the docks. "Mike," Joe started. He waved his hand down another street.

"Before we go in, we're gonna need a plan. I know you're against planning, but Irish is smart. He's gonna be surrounded, both by armed guards, and armed clients, since he's making an arms deal. If we're gonna do this, I want to do it right. I don't just want to kill Irish. I want him to feel that uselessness, that utter helplessness that comes with having everything around him destroyed and killed, and not being able to stop it. I want him to fucking pay for what he's done." Joe looked at Mike.

"I want him to die with fear in his veins as I snap his neck."

[God Mike]

It's quiet... Too quiet... Immediately after thinking this, Mike snorted in amusement. He always loved saying and/or thinking that. It was fucking awesome! Joe was in front of him, and Mike actually pondered racing him for a few moments, but quickly thought better of it. Instead, he amused himself by decapitating any zombie they passed, humming a tune to himself.

Pretty soon, however, Mike ran out of fun as Joe waved him over, slowing down. "Mike," Joe waved him down another street, and they slowed to a stop. "Before we go in, we're gonna need a plan." Mike opened his mouth to object, but Joe beat him to it. "I know you're against planning, but Irish is smart. He's gonna be surrounded, both by armed guards, and armed clients, since he's making an arms deal. If we're gonna do this, I want to do it right. I don't just want to kill Irish. I want him to feel that uselessness, that utter helplessness that comes with having everything around him destroyed and killed, and not being able to stop it. I want him to fucking pay for what he's done." Was Mike hearing what he thought he was hearing? "I want him to die with fear in his veins as I snap his neck."

Mike stared at Joe for a few moments. Then, he chuckled and pulled up his welding goggles, giving Joe an amused look. "You know who you sounded like just now?" he asked, smirking behind his balaclava. "You sounded just like Erik. Did he hop over to you in our little drive here? It sure as hell sounded like it."

He grinned and turned his bike around. "But hey, if you wanna go terror tactics on him, I'm game. Let's just do what we always do. I run distraction, and you swoop in from the side. After all..." Mike took a deep breath and puffed his chest out, trying to look as macho as possible. "I don't fear bullets. Bullets fear me! So let's go kill us a disgusting Irishman!"

Mike gave off a whoop and revved his engine, but suddenly stopped and glanced back at Joe. "Er... no offense..." And with that, he took off. He could practically smell Irish as he approached the docks. A big-ass boat was docked near a boat house, and seeing as there were armed guards standing outside of it, Mike guessed that they were inside. And what a conveniently placed window they had there!

Mike gave off another loud whoop as he approached, raising his TMP and opening fire. The two men on that side of the boat house dropped way too quickly for Mike's tastes. He wanted a movie-style slow fall, squeezing the trigger and screaming from the pain. But hey, you can't have anything in life, Mike reasoned as he headed straight down the road, toward the boat house at the end of it.

A bunch of planks leaned against a wooden box served perfectly as a ramp for Mike who shot straight up it, toward the window. It was as if time froze for him a nanosecond before he crashed into the window, and he actually had time to think This is going to hurt... just before he crashed through it.

As he expected, the crashing through the windows didn't hurt him much, but his bike crashing into the ammo boxes stacked by the window, sending Mike flying over it, crashing into the ground and rolling a rather long distance did hurt... a lot...

"WOAH, MAMA, THAT HURT!" Mike exclaimed as he shot to his feet, feeling rather numb in his left arm as he took a quick look around. Joe was, disappointingly, right. There stood Irish, surrounded by an armed guard, and there stood the client... also surrounded by an armed guard...

"Ish..." Mike muttered, before immediately diving away as they opened fire. And there was the Wrecker, Mike noted as he rolled behind a couple of steel barrels in the corner of the boat house, parked near the door. "My baby..."

[Generalfoley]

Joe had thought about what he said. It was rather Erik-ish. "But hey, if you wanna go terror tactics on him, I'm game. Let's just do what we always do. I run distraction, and you swoop in from the side. After all..." Mike puffed out his chest, trying to look macho. Joe chuckled at the attempt. "I don't fear bullets. Bullets fear me! So let's go kill us a disgusting Irishman!" Joe raised an eyebrow at the comment as Mike whooped and revved his engine.

"Er... no offense..." Joe shook his head. "None taken." And, for all intents and purposes, Joe agreed with the Swedish Ninja. It was time to kill Irish. Mike had taken off, and Joe followed, but at a much slower pace. He saw Mike head for the boathouse, and followed him, his friend's bike masking the noise his own made. Joe had made it to the side of the boathouse slightly before Mike had ran through the window. The Irishman heard a crash, and winced at the possible sound of Mike's body rolling across the concrete, and climbed up the ladder with haste.

"WOAH, MAMA, THAT HURT!" Joe had heard Mike yell when he had reached the roof, followed by gunfire. Unfortunately for Joe, there was a sentry on the roof that, thankfully, hadn't noticed him yet. Joe ran at the sentry, who heard Joe's feet crunching over the gravel of the roof, and turned seconds too late as the Irishman tackled him.

They both fell to the roof, the wind knocked out of the sentry before Joe pulled out the man's knife and stabbed him in the neck, holding his hand over his mouth to muffle any sounds. He watched as the life left the man's eyes, and shuddered. He didn't like to kill the living, but it was a hazard of the trade. Policing the man's body, he pulled out a rope and a smoke grenade labeled 'Red'; perfect.

Joe quickly walked over to a hatch, and climbed down it's ladder into the boathouse, landing on the bottom floor. He bent down low and walked over to the edge of some crates, pulling out the smoke grenade. He saw Irish's and his client's men fire at the steel barrels Mike had hidden behind. The Swede's arm was bloodied up, but Mike didn't seem to noticed, because of the adrenaline. The gunfire stopped, and the client talked to his men in Welsh, who followed his orders and walked towards the barrels. Joe pulled the pin and threw the grenade into the midst of the crowd. Irish almost yelled, but the red smoke soon filled the air.

Running around the crates, Joe pulled out his looted knife and grabbed one of the Welsh guards, slitting his throat. He was gone before the man could choke on his blood, blending into the smoke. The client yelled out in Welsh, and that was his mistake. He was kicked out of the smoke, and landed face first next to Mike behind his barrels. The smoke started to dissipate as Joe was in the middle of it. The Irishman had stabbed the other Welshman in the back of the head, instantly killing him before letting go of the knife and pulling out his looted pistol. He fired several shots, killing three of Irish's men. By then all of the smoke had cleared, and Joe ducked behind a crate next to Mike, Irish's men unloading their weapons into their cover.

Joe looked again at Mike's arm, and then saw the crashed bike. He remembered the crashing noise and the sound of Mike's body impacting concrete, and his mind made the connections. He laughed as he looked back over at Mike.

"You've got to be joking!" Joe yelled over the gunfire. He grabbed his looted MP5 and held it away from him, blindly firing back at Irish's men. No screams were heard before the constant clicking of an empty magazine. "You crashed through the window? Like in the movies?" Joe laughed as he threw away the MP5 and pulled out the pistol. "I can't believe you tried that." The firing stopped, and Joe peeked out the corner, firing his gun and killing another of Irish's men. Irish himself had abandoned his guard, running down a flight of stairs into a basement.

"Fuck," Joe swore as he slammed his hand into the crate he was leaning against. The side panel of the crate fell to reveal a rather long revolver, with a few fifty-caliber rounds falling with it. Joe picked it up, and swung out the cylinder, revealing three shots. He loaded the revolver with the fifty-cals, surprised that they fit, and picked up the rest of the bullets, passing them over to Mike.

"Fifty-cal revolver. Seemed like your kind of gun." Joe said as he quickly peeked around again before he looked back at Mike. "Give me some covering fire, will ya? I'll fix your arm when you get back." Joe burst out of cover, rushing at the reloading guards. They hurried to reload faster as Joe ran at them, only to gain confused looks as he ran past them. Joe ran down into the basement, yelling, "Have a blast!"

Joe saw Irish, who panicked when he saw him. Irish took a potshot at Joe, missing. "How the fuck did you find me?!" Joe looked at the light switch beside him, and pulled it down, covering them in complete darkness.

Until the emergency lights came on, flashing red every few seconds. Joe thought this was rather fitting as he took cover, dodging another potshot from Irish. Joe emerged, running at the man, and tackled him, Irish's grip on the gun gone as it clattered to the floor. Joe rose up, punching Irish in the face. He was about to repeat when Irish headbutted him, forcing him off. Joe stumbled back into the wall behind him, and dodged a punch from Irish, who grabbed his bleeding fist after it smashed into the wall. He threw a punch at Joe, who blocked it and threw Irish into the wall again.

Irish elbowed Joe in the ribs, gaining the upper hand momentarily as he twisted around and punched off Joe's gas mask. The young and angry Irishman's nose was broken, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins helped him ignore it as he blocked Irish's next punch, twisting him around and placing him in a headlock.

Irish gasped as he tried to breath, but Joe wouldn't allow it, instead pulling on his arm with all his might, Irish resisting the pull. Joe pulled harder, bringing Irish closer as he tried to break his neck. Irish gasped for breath as he resisted, as Joe's arms started to tire.

But with his final ounces of strength, Joe roared as he pulled hard, snapping Irish's neck. The crack of Irish's spinal cord echoed throughout the small basement as his body collapsed.

Joe fell to the ground, leaning against the wall as he caught his breath. The gunfire above had stopped. Joe closed his eyes for a minute as he tried to compose himself, before the pain his body was blocking rushed at him.

Joe took a breath, groaning out, "Oooooooow," as he held his hands to his nose. Placing his hands firmly against his broken nose, Joe twisted them, hearing a resounding snap. "Ahahahaow!" Joe groaned out as he released his bloodied nose. He looked over to his mask, and slowly got up, tiredly walking over to pick it up. He put it in his cargo pocket, and walked back to the staircase. Not having the strength to climb up the entire thing, Joe relented to just sitting at the bottom steps, resting.

"Oi, Mike!" Joe tiredly yelled out. "You still alive up there?" Joe had a joking tone in his voice, a bit giddy from the adrenaline wearing off.

[God Mike]

A spark flashed up next to Mike as a bullet bounced off the cement floor, then bouncing off the wall, then the ceiling, and then straight into one of the few places of the Wrecker that wasn't armored. Mike's eyes widened. "I- What- That... AAAAAAH!" Mike gave an enraged cry as looked over the barrels firing a burst with his TMP at the client and his guards. "STOP BLOWING HOLES IN MY BABY!!!"

Then, the gunfire stopped. It seemed that Mike, taking out one of the guards, upset the client, who was heard speaking, and then... footsteps. "Huh..." Mike muttered. "Helvetes jävlar..." he cursed in Swedish, taking a deep breath. Alright, so what was he to do now? Luckily, a clang was heard, then another, and another, followed by a hissing, and Mike dared to look over the barrel he was hiding behind to see red smoke erupting among the Welsh and Irish fuckers, no offense to Joe, of course. Though he was a fucker, just not the back kind of fucker...

He heard several bloody sounds as Joe did his thing, and he peaked over his cover once more, in time to see Joe stumble out of the smoke, tripping and landing right next to him. "We-he-he-hell!" Mike said with a grin as Joe scrambled behind cover. "So glad you could join me! I was just..." Mike reached up and fired his TMP blindly, cursing when it clicked empty a second later. "...starting to get lonely."

"You've got to be joking!" Joe yelled, also firing blindly. Smart man. Wouldn't do to stick your head out when it's raining bullets... "You crashed through the window?" Mike grinned widely at that. Of course he did. Did Joe expect anything else from Howlin' Mad Mike. "Like in the movies? I can't believe you tried that."

"It... was... boss!" Mike exclaimed happily, raising his right arm in triumph. For some reason, his left arm wouldn't move. He heard Joe swear and pound the crate he was leaning against. Mike's eyes slowly widened in amazement when he saw the pistol that fell out. Sure, it wasn't his revolvers, but daaaamn! That was one hell of a gun! It looked like a snub-nose, but the cylinder was insanely long! What kind of bullets did that thing take?

"Fifty-cal revolver. Seemed like your kind of gun." Like his kind of gun? Hell, Mike was practically drooling at the prospect of using that gun. Slowly, he pocketed the bullets, and then picked up the revolver, an insane giggle escaping him. "Give me some covering fire, will ya? I'll fix your arm when you get back." His arm? Mike looked down at his left arm, his eyes widening as he saw how torn up it was. Holy shit... "Have a blast!" Joe exclaimed as he rushed out.

Mike grinned widely. "Fuckin' aye!" he exclaimed, before rolling out from behind his cover, taking quick aim at one of Irish's guards, who was in the process of reloading. Once more, time seemed to freeze, and Mike could clearly see the surprised look in the man's eyes as Mike pulled the trigger. An extremely loud boom echoed through the boat house, the man's head exploded, and Mike's arm was thrown back from the recoil.

"HO-HO-HOLEE SHIT!" Mike exclaimed as he rolled back behind cover as the others opened fire. "I LOVE THIS GUN!" Cackling gleefully, Mike jumped up again and fired. The recoil was amazingly powerful, but watching a man's arm get separated from the shoulder thanks to a pistol was pretty fucking badass!

His revolver clicked empty. Just three bullets, it seemed... A bullet tore through his side, though he felt nothing more than a prick. Thank God for motherfucking adrenaline! He ducked under cover and struggled to pop out the cylinder and reload. It was a bitch to do it with only one hand, but he managed. "COME ON!" he roared happily, shooting up once more. Three men left and three bullets. Good odds! A shot, and the one-armed man's head exploded. After his second shot, hitting a Welsh dude in the heart, he dodged to the side as the last Welsh opened fire with his AK.

Mike took aim, and so did he. Well, the Welsh didn't have time to take proper aim. As Mike's bullet exploded his heart, he got what he originally wanted. The finger squeezed the trigger, and a burst was sent from the AK, one bullet drilling its way into his thigh. Mike watched the man drop, and he stood there, panting. This was... fun... "I'm sorry, baby," he told the Wrecker, which had three more bullet holes in her. "But I made them pay, didn't I?"

"Oi, Mike!" he heard Joe call out. Humming, Mike limped off. The adrenaline was fading, and the pain was arriving. Luckily, pain and Mike were old friends, so he knew how to live through it. Didn't mean it didn't suck, though... "You still alive up there?" He reached the doorway at the top of the stairs leading down to the basement, and he found Joe sitting at the bottom of it, looking kinda beat up, if his posture was anything to go by.

"I..." Mike started, taking a deep breath as he started making his way down the stairs. "...am the motherfucking Highlander, dude. Fucking invincible! Ow..." he added meekly as he set down his wounded leg. "Ow... Ow... Ow... Ow..." Finally, he reached the bottom of the stairs and sat down next to Joe, taking another deep breath. "Well, the guards are dead, and I'm guessing Irish is dead... the Wrecker is alive and well, our things are here... and I think I may be bleeding out..."

He grinned widely as he leaned back, looking content. "But man, crashing through that window... I looked fucking badass!"

[Generalfoley]

"I...am the motherfucking Highlander, dude. Fucking invincible! Ow..." Joe chuckled at that, then winced and groaned at the pain it caused. Looked like a lot of the blows from Irish had done more damage than he thought. "Ow... Ow... Ow... Ow..." Joe looked up at Mike, who had sat down next to him.

"Well, the guards are dead, and I'm guessing Irish is dead..." "Fuckin' aye." Joe said, reaching up and turning the lights to the basement back on. Across the floor from them, Irish's corpse lay on the floor, the dead Irishman's head twisted completely the other way. The man's eyes were staring at the two survivors, which made Joe shuddered. Dead men shouldn't stare at the living.

"The Wrecker is alive and well, our things are here..." Joe gave a tired, "Whoo," before he took in a deep breath and pulled a pencil out of his pocket. He stuffed the eraser end up one of his nostrils, and his hand on the other side. A sickening snap was heard as Joe finished straightening his nose, which was now bruised and bloody. Joe removed the now bloody pencil, and stuffed it back in his pocket.

"And I think I may be bleeding out..." Joe looked at Mike and chuckled, then winced again. "Maybe you shouldn't have gotten shot then, eh?"

Joe sighed before he made the attempt to get up. "Ow. Ow ow ow ow ow ow." Joe finally got up on his feet, and tiredly walked over to Irish's corpse. He slowly bent down and took his pistol and Mike's revolver from the holsters of Irish, and he walked back to Mike, tossing the revolver to the Swede.

"There's your gun. Now let's see your arm..." Joe knelt down, and looked at Mike's bleeding arm, only to wear a shit eating grin a moment later. "Well, I've got some good news, Mike." Joe punched the Swede in the shoulder, a loud crack signaling that he popped the shoulder back into place.

"Your arm's not busted. But you're gonna be sore for a while, and I gotta clean up your cuts to prevent infection." Joe slowly ascended the stairs, sore from the fight. He reached the top, and walked over to the Wrecker, smiling. "Oh baby. I've got ya back." Joe hugged the Jeep, then pulled out the first aid kit. "Come on up, Mike, and I'll patch you up." He wasn't gonna make the trip back down. Too tired. Too sore. Too much of a dearth of Coffee...