Taking Back The Fucking Night One Suit At A Time

The Rooftop
A set of stairs lead up from the loft apartment to this cozy little area on top
of the Four Winds complex. On either side of the door sits a potted palm tree,
miniature of course, but still tall enough to provide some bit of shade. This,
however, is just the beginning of the carnival of plants. In pots and long
planter boxes sit a myriad of flowers and trees. There are fragrant Calamondin
orange trees, lemon and lime trees, crabapples and cherries, all smaller than
their larger cousins found in the countryside. The boxes contain mostly
black-eyed susans, columbines, sweet peas, pansies, and snapdragons. All of
these planters seem to form a large semicircle around the door with two small
openings in the foliage, at the east and the west. Also within this
semi-circle, below two of the taller trees, is a cedar Adirondack chair and a
small matching table that's just big enough to put a few books, or a meal, on.
The fragrant greenery easily masks the horrible odor of smog that seems to
nearly choke the city at large, creating a small place of respite.

* Exits *
down - [ 466] A Loft Apartment - Bedroom/Bathroom
(Samuel) A lanky man in his midthirties, with brown thinning hair is sitting infront of his radio, smoking a fag-end (App 2) [ None ] |None|

After placing his equipment into a bag and searching through the apartment complex for his way to the roof, Samuel eventually finds his way to his chosen destination through an abandoned apartment that is entirely pitch black. The anarchist reaches the rooftop, through a set of stairs and a hatch. The hatch opens to reveal a starry night sky, surprisingly tranquil despite the current turmoil through the city. The rooftop is clear of all beasties, untouched by flora or fauna.

With shaking hands the man places the bag on the roof and lights a cigarette, making sure to keep a hand around the glow, hiding it from surroundings, muttering under his breath, biting, gnawing on the cigarette he begins setting up his equipment, "The fuck is going on, this fucking city's gone to the fucking crapper man, I should never have left fucking Chicago man, LA they said, superstars and porn they said, fucking jokers, cunts and jokers" mumbles the man, still a man in habit of speaking to himself he sets up his equipment clumsily, dragging the headphones over his head and carelessly wiping his glasses on his sleeve before raising the microphone to his mouth, "This is a Sam Dockery public announcement message, talking to you now from the heart of Los Angeles, the only radio station in LA currently on the Air, this is a talk radio station…seriously, this is the fourth day since the evac, and do I have shit to tell you listeners out there…" He quiets down, takes another drag from his cigarette and mumbles, "Fucks sake, let this work"

Looking out over the edge of the roof gives Samuel a view of the city and its jungle state, the horizon tinged orange at the edges as the sun makes its way to the other side of the earth. The radio seems to work, if the anarchist can really tell, and the last rays of gold slowly sink below the horizon.

"For people out there, you people who stayed in the city, this is what's what, spiders, going down Santa Monica yesterday, I saw 'bout a milion of them, big fuckers, like fists, so stay away from Santa Monica, then something in an alley, I dont know what that shit was killed some people, with something…hot I think. If you are in trouble, if you are in need of help, if you are hurt or out of food, I am at the four winds complex, I dont have much, but i'll share what I've got, if you have food, stay off the streets and keep your friends and family safe..I've seen shit today enough to turn my hair gray, but I know that if we work together, we can keep going and we can survive this bullshit. Dont despair." The man stands slightly, tugging at the microphone cord to be able to take in the scene of the sun sinking, "I see the sundown now, keep safe, if you need help, the four winds complex, and if you got em, please bring cigarettes. This is a Samuel Dockery service announcement telling you to stay off the streets after sundown, to watch after your neighbors and keep your cool"

As Samuel sweeps frequencies, he gets more than one bit of, "Holy shit, we need to get there.", and "Stay there buddy we're on our way,". These are momentary bits of sound, lost to the overwhelming static that seems to plague the city, even in its downfall. After the first sweep, though, nothing turns up. Only static. And then, rising from one of the frequencies like toe-nails dragged over concrete, broken and bleeding, comes the sound of shrill, blood-chilling laughter. Then, silence. The radio dies, as it would seem the batteries powering the thing have suddenly run out.

Samuel opens his can of beans, dumping a healthy portion of Hp sauce on them before starting to munch down, his nervous smile turning into a genuine of relief, tears gather in the corner of his eyes as the man realises he isnt going to be alone much more, as he laughter comes, he freezes, beans in tomato sauce dripping down his face as he stares at the radio, "The motherfuck was that? Maybe some kind of stoner or something, wont come here, he wont come here, No way he could come here…" mumbles the man and after a while it is obvious that he is only attempting to re-assure himself, his hands are sticky with tomato sauce as he attempts to put in extra batteries

Somewhere, down on the street below, comes the sound of voices. A few of them, traveling up through the air, rising out of the rhythm of clicking, rustling animals in the city jungle. The voices stop after a moment or two, before suddenly there is a startling bang, loud enough to echo through the trees and down the street outside, causing birds to unfold their wings and rise from their tree-top perches. The noise is nothing like a gunshot, however, as the sound of splintered wood soon follows it, as well as a few rough voices laughing in unison.

"What the fuck was that?!" Cries Samuel. getting out his videocamera and pointing it towards the disturbance, attempting to get the night mode on it to work, "otherfuckers chopping wood or something? What the fuck, What the fuck is going on?!" In the voice of the lonely desperately scared anarchist is panic, tears begin running down the mans grimy face, "Please, what the fuck is doing this to us?"

As the young anarchist points his camera down over the edge of the roof and at the scene below, where the edge of the apartment building meets concrete and nature, the night vision turns up only an empty, plant-infested sidewalk, with a few shards of wood on the ground. The doorway is hard to get a glimpse of, but it would seem that no door inhabits the threshold. The laughter echos up through the apartment building, along with the sound of heavy
footsteps on the stairs far below.

Samuels eyes get a hint of fear about them as he stares at the door, quickly butting out his cigarette and turning of the radio, taking a quiet step away from the door, obviously attempting to hide amongst the potted plants. He reaches up to one of the pots, a smallish one and brings it down, weighing it in his hand before hurling it as far away from the house as possible, the young anarchist obviously hoping that the sound of pottery crashing far away from his location is going to draw the gang of ruffians away.

Even if they had heard the sound of the shattering pot, which tumbles through some trees before smashing against a branch across the street, the men continue moving upwards. Samuel can hear the sound of the men going through rooms, thundering over the floor and pulling apart furniture, their laughter never fading. Then one of the voices becomes panicked, as it would seem the men begin to argue amongst themselves. The air becomes very quiet suddenly, before a gunshot breaks the silence, a scream of rage following it, something more bestial in nature than a petty human cry of pain. The gunshot, too, is far deeper and louder than the average pistol would allow. Two more shots follow, before two voices are left alone to laugh maniacally. Now the feet begin up the stairs leading to the roof.

Looking ever more nervous the anarchist quietly makes his way to the door, his face growing increasingly paler, as he gunshots are heard, he whimpers to himself, he seems to regain his composure though, as if the man was better at keeping his cool under pressure than perviously indicated. He lifts the heaviest pot onto the door, leaning it against the top rim of the door, so's that if an un-careful thief would push the door open, he would soon find his head bashed in by a few pound of pottery clay. He then reaches for a place to hide, attempting to do so behind the door.

After the anarchist settles back behind the door leading out onto the roof, hiding in whatever shadow is available, a loud gunshot can be heard, lighting up the roof as the door to the roof bursts outward, wood splinters flying through the air, the delayed sound of a pot crashing following the shotgun burst. "The fuck?!" Comes a voice from in front of the door as a man suddenly appears in front of Samuel, a shotgun in his hands, pottery clay on his shoulders, potting soil flooding over his clothes. "Little rabbit is gonna get it, now." As the man turns to scan the rooftop, the moonlight glints on a pair of sharp fangs coming down from his upper jaw, face dirty from soil and the trek through the nature outside. Another man follows close behind him, dressed in leathers, a dirty beard falling from his face, a fire axe in his hands. "You see anything?" He asks his companion in a dry, blood-thirsty voice.

The anarchist attempts to make love to the wall, so to speak, attempting for all he is worth to meld together with the wall, as so not to be seen, holding his breath even, sweat begins to form pearls upon his forehead

The first man's eyes turn to sweep through the darkness descending on the rooftop, and he takes a few steps in the opposite direction of Samuel's current position, towards the much larger portion of the roof. His partner follows closely after him, watching his back alertly. "I don't see anyone." The man in the back says, eyes narrowed, skin as pale as his partner's. Below, in the rustling sea of trees and foliage, comes a screech unlike anything heard tonight, a high-pitched, blood-curdling, vocal chord-tearing scream of bloodlust and madness. One might think the young anarchist has found himself lost in Jurassic Park. The broken pieces of door on the ground outside rattle, and the sound of quick, predatory footsteps thumps along the pavement before moving into the building below. "What the FUCK was that?" The man with the shotgun says, swerving to eyes his partner, who's eyes have widened so much that the whites are showing clearly in the darkness. As the shotgun-wielding man turns, his gaze falls on the shadow-stealthed Samuel, fangs glinting dangerously as the hunter grins.

The young anarchist bursts from behind the doors, in a grand attempt to push the man with the axe in the direction of the man with the shotgun, obviously wanting to keep a large biker with an axe between himself and another large biker with a shotgun. Attempting to push the man with the axe into the man with the shotgun, in some delusion that they are going to fall off the roof does not stop the anarchist from shouting "Not fucking more of this shit, that motherfucker, was what we in the business techincally call a bigger fucking fish! You universal soldier motherfuckers, I know what you are, I know the governments been experimenting with ya'll!"

As Samuel stands up, it would seem adrenaline has drenched his every movement with its splendor, because the anarchist suddenly moves with utter and complete confidence, his arms moving outward, hands slamming against the biker's back with a surprising amount of force. Just as Samuel does this, the shotgun-wielding biker raises his weapon, pulling the trigger hastily and showering his partner in buckshot. The axe-wielding biker yells in rage, despite the fact that the gun didn't seem to effect him much. The biker Samuel had pushed raises his axe, but, instead of turning around to slay Samuel, he brings the red weapon down on the shotgun soldier's head, spraying the area with blood, the scent of tainted life filling the area, a loud crack filling the fighter's ears as the biker's skull is split in two at the very top. The man screams and aims his shotgun at his partner's face now.

Bigger fish, up here man, UP HERE!" screams the anarchist, hope flashing in his eyes as the men turn on eachother he leaps backwards, away from the men and their fighting, instead he brings up his camera and attempts to film the mess, making sure the stay out of the mens way, and out of the way for what might come bursting up through the door at any moment

It would seem that Samuel's instincts are correct, because as he finishes the word 'HERE', something that could only be compared to a white blur with fangs flies out of the doorway, leaping in a blur of speed. As its powerful arms wrap around the shotgun-wielding fellow, it lets out a scream of triumph, the sound echoing down the street and far beyond, causing more birds and animals of the night to stir. The creature doesn't stop, though, it's single leap through the air carries enough momentum to bring it and its prize across the roof, through the night air, and off the edge of the building. The sounds of struggle can be heard as the two flail down below, before a loud crunch ends the eventful moment, and the two creatures fall silent below. The axe-man stumbles back after the last shotgun blast to his face, which had occurred right before the malnourished, vampiric creature had appeared. The shotgun, too, has slid across the ground and found its way right next to Samuel, gleaming seductively in the moonlight.

The anarchist picks up the shotgun slowly, aiming it very carefully at the axe wielding man, his face is a mess of emotion, blood, fear, vomit, saliva, never the less his voice is steady as he speaks, "Fuckers come into my house and start shit? Hell no bitch, this is what it is then, yeah? You turn the entire city of LA into a training ground for your goverment super soldier bullshit, with real peoples as targets? Fuck you and fuck your CIA superiors, that's fucking it, this is me, Samuel Dockery, taking back the fucking night, one Suit at a time, you fascist cunt" in the blast of the shotgun, one can see the small smile on anarchists lips as he attempts to indulge in some shotgun brainsurgery.

The biker turns around, teeth gnashing, features pulled into a grimace of hatred and anger after the death of his partner and the overconfident yelling of the anarchist. Expecting to smash something with his axe, the man instead gets a face full of buckshot, tearing off pieces of his clothing, his torso riddled with tiny metal balls. His head snaps back, one of the shots smashing through his eye. The damage seems to effect him well enough, but to show his own combat prowess, the man only grins and steps forward, tapping the axe against the palm of his upturned hand. "I'm gonna rape ya and drink ya until you're just a shitty little corpse, you little sniveling…." The rough man trails off, stepping forward once more and getting his axe ready.

At this point, after seeing a man take three shots of buckshot to several, less than pleasant places to get buckshotted, Samuel looses his cool, his grin turns into a grimace of pure panic as he begins to unload whatever is left in the shotgun at the man infront of him, "DIE, DIE, WHY DONT YOU FUCKING DIE?!"

This shot seems to do a greater amount of damage to the large biker as the buckshot slams into his chest, causing him to nearly fall backwards, though he regains his footing. The shot rips through his torso, letting out a sickening rip of flesh and crack of ribs. The man screams in pain and throws his axe at Samuel. The weapon's blade clips the young anarchist on his leg, letting out a bit of blood and causing the sensation of pain to creep up Samuel's leg. The biker looks rather drained at this point, his clothing ripped up, his hands empty, and his buckshot-riddled body standing in the way of a twelve gauge shotgun with three shots left.

The anarchist curses and sways as the blade clips him, raising his weapon again, a pleading in his voice, "Why dont you fucking die man? Why wont you fucking die? This cant be good for anyone, just fucking die already" His voice cracks up slightly as he let's a shot fly agtainst the biker

Third time's the charm, it would seem, as Samuel pulls the trigger for the last time, the gun shares his anguish and emotion, the blast lighting up the night for a single second as buckshot smashes through the biker and sends him flying back, a look of surprise and defeat on his features. The gunshot literally carries the large man up and back, sending his body flying off the roof and down to meet the bodies below, where another crunch is heard. No doubt the corpses will be finishes by some sort of creepy crawly something.

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