06-04-2014, 04:59 PM
Hood's hand had barely reached the door when it surged open to reveal the biker, still wearing that blasted helmet. Hood frowned in obvious irritation as the fellow's gaze seemed to take in the scene at Hood's back, and Hood stepped aside to let the fool stagger dumbstruck into the corridor, fully revealing the carnage Hood had left in his wake.
Soft hearted vigilantes. That was what he was dealing with here, apparently. If this bleeding-hearted liberal had made it up the steps in one piece, it probably meant the remaining slaver had either hoofed it to safety or...a burst of weapons fire outside drew his attention, but it seemed more panicked then anything before stopping abruptly. Someone had dealt with the last slaver, apparently.
"Connor your boyfriend? You just missed him. First smart thing he did since you two got here; ran as soon as I showed up, but one of these shits followed him."
He glanced at the last shooter, laying half through an open doorway and riddled with bullets from his dead friend, "From the sounds of it, your boy dealt with him."
The man was still breathing; barely. A chunk of his skull had vacated the premises and taken up residence on the door and wall. Not quite dead yet, but would be soon. Probably. He pulled his pistol and put a round through the man's throat; really, it was the merciful thing to do rather then let the bastard bleed out. And now there was no chance the slaver would make a recovery and be able to finger Hood to his friends.
"Police will probably be here soon thanks to you idiots. Next time, just call the police. Or bring a fucking gun."
He glanced at Jensen, then knelt long enough to dig out another dead man's wallet and flick it open, pulling out a wad of CCD cash. One thing he liked about greasing weasels like these was that they carried paper money still. Professional types, while far more interesting to deal with, never did.
A quick perusal showed that a visit to the butcher shop was in order. A few triple-A steaks and a case of beer was in his near future. "Of course, if those kids end up with the police, doubt many have a Visa to be here. Illegal immigrants and all. CCD doesn't like their type. Don't pay taxes. You want to do good by them, you pull these bastards wallets, grab their cash, and stuff those kids back in the tunnels and hope they find their own way home."
Soft hearted vigilantes. That was what he was dealing with here, apparently. If this bleeding-hearted liberal had made it up the steps in one piece, it probably meant the remaining slaver had either hoofed it to safety or...a burst of weapons fire outside drew his attention, but it seemed more panicked then anything before stopping abruptly. Someone had dealt with the last slaver, apparently.
"Connor your boyfriend? You just missed him. First smart thing he did since you two got here; ran as soon as I showed up, but one of these shits followed him."
He glanced at the last shooter, laying half through an open doorway and riddled with bullets from his dead friend, "From the sounds of it, your boy dealt with him."
The man was still breathing; barely. A chunk of his skull had vacated the premises and taken up residence on the door and wall. Not quite dead yet, but would be soon. Probably. He pulled his pistol and put a round through the man's throat; really, it was the merciful thing to do rather then let the bastard bleed out. And now there was no chance the slaver would make a recovery and be able to finger Hood to his friends.
"Police will probably be here soon thanks to you idiots. Next time, just call the police. Or bring a fucking gun."
He glanced at Jensen, then knelt long enough to dig out another dead man's wallet and flick it open, pulling out a wad of CCD cash. One thing he liked about greasing weasels like these was that they carried paper money still. Professional types, while far more interesting to deal with, never did.
A quick perusal showed that a visit to the butcher shop was in order. A few triple-A steaks and a case of beer was in his near future. "Of course, if those kids end up with the police, doubt many have a Visa to be here. Illegal immigrants and all. CCD doesn't like their type. Don't pay taxes. You want to do good by them, you pull these bastards wallets, grab their cash, and stuff those kids back in the tunnels and hope they find their own way home."