Sam Carver, or Big Sam as many called him, pulls a bloody fist from the face of an unfamiliar man. The last punch was meant to kill, Carver had been beating him for a while now and had learned nothing of the stranger's motives. But he was tougher than he looked and clung to life like a child holding on to its mother. The stranger was unconscious now and in need of medical attention. Carver shook his large hand and a few strings of blood were flung onto the concrete floor in the basement of his shop. The stranger was still sitting up, tied to an old wooden chair. His clothes were soaked in blood and sweat and a puddle of urine was visible on the floor. Carver walked away, his boots splashing in a water puddle on the floor near the staircase. Carver went up a few steps and looked back at the man in the chair.
If you're still alive tonight, I'll finish you for good. Carver thought to himself, somewhat unsatisfied on not finding out the truth about this man...
15 hours ago
Carver was sitting in
The bunker house at his usual table on the upper level, near the railing. He has a clear view of the arena, the main entrance, and the general seating area in front of the bar. He could also watch the exotic dancers through the rungs of the railing. Across from him, literally wolfing down a rather bloody steak, was
Archangel. The killhound was not great at smalltalk but loyal to a fault. Although Carver always kept an eye on the vicious creature, he trusted him more than he had anyone else in his life. Carver was a retired soldier, but he still thought like he was in the middle of a battlefield. It was almost an obsession. Just walking around in this place was like navigating a minefield. Carver had already noted the drunk incompetent headhunters jeering the stripper on stage. He saw the bouncer on the phone, probably calling the sheriff's office to get help kicking them out. Carver saw the concealed pistol inside the jacket of the wilderness scout seated alone at a table a short distance away, noting how uncomfortable the stranger seemed, pretending to drink a bottle of beer. Carver's cyber-ear was able to pick-up the conversation of a pair of mages talking about some kind of grave-digging operation.
This fuckin' place is insane Carver mused. He smirked and quickly downed a shot of straight whiskey.
"Hey, Arc, see that scout over there? How's he smell to you?" Carver often relied on his canine cohort's ability to sense the supernatural and magic.
"Nada." He responded between mouthfulls of beef. Nada implied that he couldn't smell anything special about the apparent wilderness scout.
"I think he's been paid to watch me. Guy keeps lookin' over here like he's waitin' for me to leave so's he can follow me home. That, and I ain't never seen him here before. Not too many scouts wanderin' that far since the war started. And rumour has it that Tolkeen is sendin' Pluto Company up here tomorrow to protect this shithole town. There ain't no good reason for a stranger to be walkin' around here like that tonight. I aim to get some answers from this boyo. You almost done there?" Carver motioned at the plate Archangel was now licking clean. The killhound nodded, took another look over at the wilderness scout, and then got up from the table. Carver rose from his feet too and the pair paid for their food and drink before strolling out the front door.
It wasn't long before the scout appeared outside looking for them. The stranger had no clue what he was doing. Carver and archangel walked like they were going home, but instead they lead the hapless voyeur into a less populated neighbourhood. They rounded a corner and Carver darted off to circle behind the stranger. It wasn't long before they were carrying the incapacitated wilderness scout back to Carver's shop. It had been almost a year since the last assassin came looking for him, but Carver had never let his guard down. He would spend hours beating the stranger that night, trying to find out who sent him. The man kept claiming he knew nothing. He said he recognized Carver's face from a wanted poster in Kingsdale and was thinking about selling his new address to the highest bidder. Carver didn't believe him. Carver thought there was more. If there was, the stranger didn't give it up. This put him in a foul mood. It meant that someone would notice their spy had disappeared and that soon, another one would be sent. But it wasn't all that bad. With the inevitable Coalition invasion, Carver was going to have to change his address anyway. Carver had settled down in Madtown, but he never truly relaxed. He hadn't killed anyone in a while, but he felt the urges resurfacing lately.
I'll quench my thirst in this battle, I think. Then its time to move on again. Maybe I'll bring Archangel with me too.
Present
Carver had beaten the wilderness scout to within an inch of death. He was certain the man wasn't going to talk. This stranger was stronger than most. But it was time now to go join the "normal" people in that town meeting Bartaine had been advertising. The Tolkeen troops had arrived a few hours earlier. Carver had taken a moment to watch them arrive from his side window. There were few soldiers among them. A shitload of mages and monsters, but few professionals. Carver understood the mercenaries. Fightin' for cash was respectable. Fightin' for a kingdom that didn't give a shit about its own people, that was just fucked up. Patriotism was invented to control the sheep. Just like religion. Another form of propaganda to which Carver didn't subscribe.
<img src="http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee154/savystudiosdotcom/GBKiller01-1.jpg"align="right"> Walking through the main floor of his home, Carver picked up and threw an empty beer bottle at the wall above the couch where Archangel was sleeping.
"Hey dogbreath, its fuckin 1400 hrs. Let's go" Carver went into the shop at the front of his home and got suited up in his power armour.
When Carver arrived in front of the church, it was wearing the fourteen foot tall suit of Glitter Boy Power Armour. If it wasn't a regular sight in town, the Coalition armour might have warranted raised weapons and a violent reaction. But most everyone in town recognized the green-gray paint job Carver had on the pristine suit of powered armour. Riding a hovercycle nearby was Big Sam's sidekick, Archangel the killhound.
Nobody liked Carver but everyone knew him. He arrived in Madtown a year or so ago and almost immediately earned a reputation as an ignorant criminal. He had never been caught for any crimes, but rumours of his past followed him everywhere. People talked about him being a soldier from the south. Some thought he was a coldblooded killer. He stared at people like he thought they were all his enemies. There was always an air of violence just under the surface with him, like he could snap at any moment. The Sheriff and Carver have had several confrontations. Carver even spit in the grackletooth's face once, earning himself a night in jail. But nothing more serious than that. He works in town as a salvage dealer, buying and selling scrap metal, equipment, and spare parts. His shop is like a warehouse with shelves full of junk everywhere. He lives in a house attached to the back of the warehouse.
"Hey Bartaine. I think its time I make my citizenship here official-like and offer my services as your personal body guard. Wouldn't want anything happening to that fat ass of yours when the Coalition get here. I got me some training too, learned how to pilot this here power armour from a two-day course I took a few years back. Whatcha say Bartaine?" Carver slightly staggered to one side as he mentioned his pilotting experience as if he had just made an error with the controls. He quickly rebalanced the footing however and waited for the mayor's response. Everyone in town knew that Carver's experience with power armour was far more than a mere two-day course. Although he had never been seen in combat using a power armour, he had been seen charging out of Madtown late at night with his killhound accomplice close beside him. The GB Killer armour was capable of great ground speed and acceleration and Carver had never demonstrated an error in pilotting before. He was likely goading the mayor today...
This message was last edited by the player at 01:07, Tue 04 Sept 2007.
