It's in the Darkness

>>54041

Heilman

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>>54117

>Might want a first name, there, but that's enough to get rolling.

>Heilman

Heilman. It sounds so stupid, even looks stupid when printed on that dumb tag. You roll the word back and forth in your head a few times, until it doesn't even sound like a name, until it feels like it's just meaningless gibberish.

A brief flash of lights, and the "whoosh" of a vehicle cruising by lights up your radar gun's display: 31 MPH. 6 miles over the speed limit is hardly worth working yourself up over. Sighing, you take a second swig of the flask, before returning it to it's rightful pocket. You move your finger down to your holster mindlessly, playing gently with the curves of your Smith & Wesson .44 magnum revolver. It was hardly police issue, these sticky fingers managed to lift it from a local grow up after taking part in the raid. Illegal or otherwise, this gun would still do just fine for putting a bullet through your own head and finally getting it good and over with. No worries about surviving after that shot… Probably.

The sound of your radio kicking on drags you out of your stupor. "Officer 41-22 this is Dispatch, we have a report of a
suspicious person in your vicinity, potential 10-16, 10-20 Ralph and Sommerset, please confirm."

Fumbling, you grab the at the radio attached to your chest to follow up. "Dispatch, Effi… Officer 41-22, 10-4 stand by."
Putting those other thoughts on the back-burner, you shift the vehicle into drive, pulling out of the dimly lit parking lot you were sitting in. Two blocks later, you find quickly find the run-down office building in question, just in time to see a lone figure duck into a doorway, quickly disappearing into the darkness. You cuss at the ruined prospect of going the rest of your night without having to deal with this shit.

"Dispatch, Officer 41-22, confirmed on 10-31, break and enter, probably just a vagrant."

"Officer 41-22 we have a backup squad car en route, just keep an eye on him."

"10-4."

But that's not really how you feel, not tonight, of all nights. Maybe it's the whiskey were nursing, or maybe it's that this dipshit decided to go and fuck up the rest of YOUR peaceful night. It only takes a couple seconds of working up your own anger to get you to open the cruiser door, step onto the cement, and start towards the building. Right now, it doesn't even matter that you're waiting on backup, that's just going to put one more barrier between you and kicking that asshole's face in.

You cross the threshold of the single-floor office with relative caution, instinctively grabbing at the .44 in your holster.

"Alems city police! Come out with your hands up!"

Nothing.

You hear a shuffling noise down the hall to your left, and spot a recently broken-in door to a room straight ahead.

>Take the left
>Investigate the room
>Other?

>>54173
Take the left

>>54239

>Take the left

Nervously, you click on your flashlight to better illuminate the path before you. The foam-tiled ceiling has long since yellowed and collapsed, and despite your best effort, every step you take has the distinct, and almost completely unavoidable "crunch" of glass crushing underfoot. The windows have long ago been broken in by vandals, some replaced by plywood, others left to let the cold night air in. Shivering, you keep your eyes locked at the end of the hall, something besides the cold is giving you goosebumps.

You remove the .44 from it's holster as you reach closer to the end of the hall, the shuffling noise becoming more audible with each step. A door at the end of the hall has been half-haphazardly pushed shut, leaving it ever so slightly open. You hear someone talking to themselves inside. They sound quite agitated.

>Announce yourself again
>Listen carefully
>Enter the room gun drawn
>Other?

>>54268
Whip that door open with your gun drawn.

>>54268
>Listen carefully

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>>54302

>Whip that door open with your gun drawn.

The bravado of the drink pushing you forward, you charge for the door, kicking it open with a practiced precision. You feel the adrenaline rush straight to your head, as you bring your 44. level, glaring towards the end of the room, where a lone figure stands, a shadow outlined by the little light drifting in from a collapsed window frame just beyond him.

"N-not the most... subtle type, are you, p-pig?" The man stutters out, turning away from the window, seemingly to size the arrival up.

When he finishes his turn, you find your scowl turning from one of anger into one of disgust. Heilman kept eyes locked on the skeleton of a man before him. It looked as though he'd been on the precipice of starvation for days, and was reaching his final hour. Greasy hair clung to his bony cheeks, at least, the parts that weren't spiked up into a mohawk that had long ago lost it's shape.

Still feeling the rush of adrenaline, you continue, undaunted. "Alems city police. You're trespassing on private property. Get down on the ground, put your hands behind your back, and maybe I won't have a reason to beat your ass."

The man lets out a pathetic-sounding cackle, wheezing with every other breath, and it wasn't hard to tell this man was into some heavy drugs. "Y-you think that matters? Ah, aha... I-it doesn't, pig. I, and I told them I wouldn't run, can't disappoint them, no, no, no, no, no..." He runs his hands through his hair, a matted clump of hit dislodging from his scalp, and begins to mutter under his breath, as if continuing the conversation. Hell, the man is clearly riding on the low end of some high. The only question now, is...

>what do you do?

>Take the fucker down
>using the tazer in your belt
>using a more... physical approach
>Attempt to coax the man into surrendering willingly
>Other?

>>54446
>attempt to coax him

>>54446
Tackle him as lightly as you can while still getting him down, then call in for paramedics.

>>54446
>using a more... physical approach

I should mention, groupings of suggestions, if not completely contradictory, will be grouped together so long as they come within a short timeframe of my starting on the post. Multiple votes for a single action will influence the direction of the post. Feel free to add conditions to the actions as well, such as

>Attempt to coax the man into surrendering, but keeping the tazer ready

If that's what you all would prefer, that is. Or we could do the "first come, first serve," if that's more to your tastes, anons.

>>54469
>>54485

>Attempt to coax him down

>Tack him as lightly as possible

Maybe it's the wheezing of the punk-looking vagrant that softens your approach, or maybe it's the liquor wearing off. Either way, you lower your gun slightly, in an effort to appear less hostile.

"Look, I can see you're not feeling so well. If you're hurt, or in trouble, we can talk about it back at the station. We'll take care of you there, I promise."

The man glances back up at you, a look of indecisiveness on his face, before it steels with what you may describe as a grim resolve.

"H-Hah... Sorry, pig. I... I don't want... But, no, have to. Have to. Have to." The vagrant seems to consider the exit beyond you for a moment, and that's when you take your chance. You lunge for the man, not at a full sprint, but as much as you can manage with so small an opening.

The man, seemingly surprised, jumps up straight, and scowls, throwing himself headlong to the side to avoid the tackle. Your attempt to bring him down misses by a second, and the homeless man scampers back to his feet, now glaring daggers.

Before you can make a second attempt, the man reaches back behind him, and retrieves an old chipped kitchen knife, presenting it before him as his eyes nervously dart over you. Clearly, there's not going to be any more talking with this drug-addled man.

You are facing 1 "Vagrant?"
Heilman has 6.2 litres of blood remaining
He is uninjured
He is clear-headed

>Take any action, roll 1d20

Rolled 16 (1d20)

>>54595
Use taser on him, aim for where it hurts.

>>54608
We tried to be nice, now taser him.

>>54660
I'm not letting him stab me. At least we're not shooting him.

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>>54608

>Use the tazer on him, aim for where it hurts.

>Task difficulty: Moderate
>Roll: 16
>Great Success!

You smoothly transition your pistol to your holster again, and in one fluid transition, switch to the grip of the taser, pointing the cap towards the man's groin. Maybe it's okay to take a LITTLE frustration out on somebody threatening to kill you, after all

Before the tweaker can even respond to the motion, you've pulled the trigger, the barbs finding their target immediately, and 1,200 volts of electricity course through the wires into the man's flesh, he convulses for a moment, doubling over, but strangely, doesn't drop. He staggers a moment more, before steadying. Still bent over, he coughs, and starts cackling again, his wheezes coming more frequently now. You freeze, temporarily, a cold sweat starting to break out. That shock would've brought most men down to the ground, and not for just a second, either.

The figure of the tweaker finally straightens enough to stare at you, a disturbing grin plastered on his face. In the back of your head, a small alarm starts ringing as you find yourself thinking that something is very, VERY wrong. The man stands up straight, again, not bothering to yank the wires extending from the taser to his groin, and begins to advance, knife held at the ready.

>Take any action, roll 1d20

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>54726
GET THE FUCK OUTTA THERE

Another minor clarification, seeing as I want everyone to understand when I start on each post, I'll wait roughly ~5 minutes after the first response before I start writing, or get a couple of posts so it's not always solely up to one individual at any point in time.

Rolled 3 (1d20)

>>54739
Yep, take the closest route towards the car, through a window if need be.

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>54823
GAHHHH

ROLLING AGAIN

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>>54739

>GET THE FUCK OUTTA THERE

>Task Difficulty: Moderate
>Roll: 8
>Mild failure

Stunned at the man's ability to endure such a shock, and find yourself eyeing the exit the man had been looking at moments before, its' appeal suddenly becoming quite clear to you. You make a move for the door, but the man rushes with agility you hadn't expected to cut you off, taking a swipe at you to force you to take a step away from the exit. Clearly the man is trying to corner you, and in a room with only a collapsed window frame and a single door, this has turned out to not be an incredibly difficult task for him.

Breathing heavily, you silently curse your decision to leap across the room at the man, having made it easier to get between you and the way out.

>Take any action, roll 1d20

Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>54845
POP EM THEN RUUUNNNNN

>>54859
DROP THE DINDU, DROP HIMMM DOUBLE TAP HIS ASS.

>>54859
LEGOLAAAASSS! SHOOOOOOT HIIIIIM!

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>>54859
>>54868

>POP 'EM
>DOUBLE TAP
>GTFO

>Task Difficulty: Moderate
>Roll: 17
>Great Success!

Realizing the gravity of the situation, you waste no more time in trying to avoid the more heavy-handed measures. You level the gun with the man, an echo of when you had entered into the room in the first place. The sickly-looking man, immediately breaks into a headlong sprint directly at you, before you finally give into training instinct, and pull the trigger. Twice, center of mass. No nonsense, no fancy gunplay. The bullets kicked hard against your wrist - but you knew what they'd do to the poor bastard down-barrel.

Ribbons of crimson had splattered the concrete floor where one of the rounds had completely punched through the skinny bastard. He had immediately crumpled to the floor, rasping for air with what remained of his lungs, and soon even that final effort at life ceased.

Warily, you lowered the weapon and stepped forward, giving the new corpse a quick courtesy kick of the leg, just in case. Nothing, not that should have expected any different. You think of the taser that failed to bring him down, though, and plug him with a third round in the chest, just in case. Shuddering at the sight of the decrepit corpse, you turn around, making straight for the door. You'd have liked nothing more to have just crossed through the doorway, and waited for backup to arrive to begin the write up on this case. Paperwork was never fun, especially with lethal force involved, but this seemed pretty clear-cut. You'd have liked nothing more, at that point, but you heard a noise, and felt cold sweat beading up on your forehead again.

Crick.

The noise was almost imperceptible, given another second you may have drowned it out with your own footsteps. Whirling around, you were met with the sight of the man pushing himself back up. Then the second noise came.

CRACK


The left arm snapped backwards at the elbow, palm extending down behind the body, shoving itself underneath the corpse and pushing against the floor. Thrice more the sound of joints twisting suddenly followed, with each limb joining the first in a disgustingly accurate facsimile of a human spider.

The… Thing spun around on all fours, it's head lolling in a ragdoll fashion, dead eyes blankly gazing in your direction. It let out a gurgle, scuttled up the opposing wall with a surprisingly agile series of jerking motions, before using the wall as a springboard to jump directly at you.

>Take any action
>roll 1d20

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>54845

Zap his balls again and charge him at the same time!

Just knock him over and book it!

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>54981

RUN

>>54981

Shit, forgot the status update, there.

>You are facing 1 "???"
>Heilman has 6.2 litres of blood remaining
>He is uninjured
>He is terrified

Rolled 4 (1d20)

>>54981
PANIC

DOOOOOOODGE

>>54995
NICE

>>54995
SUPPORTED

>>54995
Get to the car and drive!

>>54995
DINDU GON' WILD FUCKING BOOK IT OUTTA DA BUILDING

>>54995
>>55028
>>55059


>RUN, RUN

>Task Difficulty: Moderate
>Roll: 20
>CRITICAL SUCCESS!


Rolling to the side with an unprecedented amount of agility for a cop still sobering up, you dive out through the doorway in front of you, rolling onto your feet, and beginning your sprint down and out. The beast rebounds off the floor from behind your recently vacated spot, crawling into the hallway after you, it's seizure-like movements belying it's speed. Thinking fast, you manage to kick the door at the other end of the hall shut before the beast is even halfway across the hall, but you don't bother sticking around to check if that stops it.

It didn't take long for you to burst out the entrance of the small office, running headlong into a pair of officers; your backup, presumably. Stuttering, you struggle to speak over your own breathlessness and confusion, managing to get out a "I shot him…" and "fucking monster," in between gasps for air.

The reinforcing officers looked at each-other dubiously, peeking around you into the darkened offices, one bringing his flashlight to bear before stepping inside, the other looking you over. The one that stuck with you, however, wrinkles his nose, and you feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

"Officer Heilman, have you been drinking tonight?"

Shit.

(End Prelude)

>>55112
kek

>>55112
Moar!

>>55112

Well. That fucking sucks

>>55112
FUCK YOU TRICKED US. WORSE THAN DINDU

>>55112

(Cont.)

>(7 Years Later)

Nothing. All this time, and you still found yourself thinking about that incident. They'd found -nothing- at the crime scene besides the hole where one of your bullets had punched through that creepy asshole and hit the wall on the other side, and some blood stains. They, of course, smelled the whiskey on your breath, and, of course, they gave you a breathalyzer.

.04 BAC. That's it. You weren't drunk off your gourd, obviously, but combined with your admittedly crazy-sounding pleas for help to your fellow officers, it was more than enough for them to drop you from the force. I mean, what else did you think was going to happen?

Cracking one eye open, you reach over to the nightstand directly in front of you, shoving the mess of loose papers and Chinese paper containers out of the way to grab your flask, to take an early morning pick-me-up. Sighing, you sit up in your stained and crumpled sheets, looking about your run-down bedroom/office. It's a mess, most places little cleaner than the nightstand next to your bed, with just one window next to the bed that leads out to the alley behind the building you're in. Third floor, fire escape. Brick wall just beyond. It's about all you could afford.

You'd taken up the P.I. business after being dropped off the force, thanks to your years of service they were at least somewhat gracious about giving you the boot. Hell, many of your friends on the force knew what you were going through with your ex-wife, many just figured you'd finally snapped on that job, and almost killed some poor homeless guy.

The P.I. work was slow, barely paying the bills most of the time, let alone for your booze. Thankfully you'd had a little cache of cash to keep you sustained for a while, but even that was dwindling as you drank yourself stupid, in an effort to forget that night. Or so you told yourself.

(cont.)

>>55187

Really, though, you never did let that night go. You knew you weren't just imagining things. Hell, you'd been following anything you would even remotely consider a lead on that case for most of the past seven years, though those were few, far-between, and mostly nonsense. It didn't help that every time you went out at night, you swore you saw… things watching you from dark alleys and rooftops. Things that would be seem to disappear from view whenever you'd try to get a better look. Maybe it was the drink, or the paranoia. Or maybe you were just finally losing your fucking mind.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you bring yourself, groggily, to your desk, looking over the files spread out on top of the paperwork. Someone had called the other night, out of the blue, and (with no explanation) asked you to find one "Laina Dully," telling you to start your investigation at a bar downtown called "Deep Blue," hanging up with no explanation as to who they were, or how they knew what they were talking about. You couldn't help but feel something was waiting at the end of this tip, however. You just didn't know what.

Looking down at the paperwork, you considered the options before you.

>Go directly to "Deep Blue." Time is of the essence.
>Try to contact old friends at the force for info
>Take time to gather supplies
>Other?

[Inventory]
1 Glock 17 Pistol (30 rounds)
Flask of whiskey (mostly full)

>Unfortunately your .44 has been seized after having been booted from the force. You weren't supposed to have it to begin with, but they especially weren't going to let you walk away with it after your dismissal.

>>55221
oh no
its in our head isnt it

>>55221

No time to fuck around. Head to the bar and try to go easy on the whiskey, you oughta stay sharp

>>55221
>Go directly to "Deep Blue." Time is of the essence.

>>55221
Deep Blue. Lay off the booze, we need to stay alert.

>>55242
>>55246
>>55285

>Direct route
>Take it easy on the drinking, son

Feeling the cold metal of your trusty flask press against your lips, you suddenly pause, feeling a tinge of guilt. This is what got you into this situation in the first place. Giving an internal apology to your old friend, you screw the cap back on the drink, and shove it in your back pocket. Time enough for that later.

You work your way outside, and out into your car, starting the relatively uneventful drive to the bar, which you had passed occasionally. It was in the slummier part of the business-section downtown, and while you'd never personally gone, you had heard rumors about the place being more of a front than a legitimate business.

These thoughts slide to the back of your mind, however, as you pull up to the establishment, the brick-building adorned with a neon-blue (of course) sign, not yet lit up with the sun still shining. A mermaid, whose tail formed into the letters of the name of the establishment. Cute.

Walking up to the front of the establishment, you notice a man standing by the door, Hispanic, probably about six feet tall, with a lanky build. Even so, he has an air of confidence about him that suggests him to be more than a weakling. He eyes you up as you make for the door.

"Hold up there, boss" The man starts, his mocking tone evident. He moves to block your way into the establishment. "Only regulars get to walk straight in. First-timers have to pay an entrance-fee. 200$."

You feel yourself mentally groaning, as you realize you'd left your stash of cash behind in your apartment, buried somewhere beneath the dirty laundry. The man eyes you up expectantly, taking a stance that suggests him a little more than ready to deal with trouble. You expect you COULD lay him out flat, but then again, you don't exactly know what would then await you inside.

What do you do?

>Plead your case for entry
>Look for an alternate entrance
>Ask the doorman if he knows Laina
>Other?

>>55421
>ask him if he knows lainia

>>55421

"Look, Laina is waiting, champ."

Roll your eyes impatiently.

>>55452
>>55439

>Ask him about Laina
>Bluff like there's no tomorrow

You fix the man with an icey stare, rolling an idea around in your head before deciding on what to say.

"Look, Laina is inside, right? She's waiting on me in there, champ." You respond, with sarcasm on par of which he'd greeted you.

You're slightly surprised at his reaction, as his eyes flash with what looks like sincere guilt, before he casts a glance at the door behind him, eventually looking back to you.

"Look, man. I mean, she's... Well, you know how she is. She's busy right now. I don't think she's..." He glances back at the building again, anxiously. "... in much of a condition to talk, man."

The doorman steps back a couple of inches, looking you over from a fresh perspective.

"Are you here to take her home? I've never seen anyone pick her up before."

You hesitate. There are, perhaps, limits to your ability to bluff, but this seems like a promising avenue.

"She called me earlier, told me to pick her up, and that it was urgent. That's all I know."

The man sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, I'll talk with the boss, just... Just don't do anything stupid if I DO manage to get you in there, alright?"

You nod, and he makes his way inside.

Almost an hour passes, and you'd have suspected him to have lied to get you to leave on your own, if it weren't for the occasional shouting inside. Eventually, the doorman returns, prompting you to follow him.

(cont.)

>>55585

Walking into the bar, you find yourself simultaneously impressed and disgusted. The inside of the bar, despite it still being relatively bright outside, is almost too dark to see in. You spot a few patrons nursing beers at the bar, a couple of what looks like gangbangers at a pool table across room, watching you carefully while their mate takes his turn at the table.

You pick up your pace to keep up with the tall hispanic man, who ducks behind a curtain blocking off a back area with a tacky sign up above the doorframe, poorly nailed to the wall that simply read "Members Only." You follow him in, into what looks like a bathroom that was converted into an extra sitting room, stalls left intact. The doorman looks at you for a moment, and speaks.

"Look, I don't know if you've tried, or whatever, but that stuff is destroying her man. I've tried to get her to lay off, but the guys won't stop selling to somebody who keeps coming back for more. 'Bad business,' they say." He points to a stall towards the back. "She's in there."

You nod, and work your way towards the stall. A knock on the stall door produces a mumbling noise from the other side, but nothing else. A quick pull on the handle of the stall, however, reveals it to not even HAVE a lock, and you spot the patron inside. A woman, probably about 5 and a half feet tall, sits slumped up in a crappy wooden chair that had replaced the toilet seat. Her hair looks like it hasn't been washed in weeks, and her eyes have clearly defined dark circles from, presumably, lack of sleep. On her right arm, you notice a belt tied around her bicep, and a needle hanging unattended from her forearm.

Not much of a help in this state.

>The investigation begins

I'm off to bed for the night, chaps. We'll have to pick this up tomorrow.

>>55700

Apologies for the abruptness of that stop, if I didn't have work tomorrow I'd stay up and work at hitting a more appropriate cut-off point for today.

SLEEP WELL, ANONS

After all, there's no proof that it's not just our intrepid detective's paranoia, yet

>>55710

You better come back, OP.

This might be one of the best written quests on /qst/ so far

>>55700
STAYIN ALIVE

>>55723

Hah, appreciated. I'll try to make this an at least a couple of hours a day thing. Expect me on about the same starting time, give or take an hour if you're on the lookout.

Mostly take an hour. My job tends to end later than advertised than sooner.

>>54041
>>54117

Oh, shit, came back because I forgot to say, we still need a first name (or last, if we decide Heilman is his first name) for our detective. If anyone has any suggestions, I'm open to it. Otherwise, I'll just throw one in next time I get back to this.

>>55833
Tim.

>>55874

I'll back it

>>55833
Frederick

>>55928
I vote Fred as well

>>55928
Frederick Heilman sounds pretty nito

>>55928
>>56606
>>56645

>Frederick Heilman
>Fred to his friends.

>>55700

The woman's head droops upon the disturbance of her private "suite," and her body begins to follow suit, before you move in swiftly to stop her descent. You hear the voice of the door guard behind you, sounding more concerned than someone working at such an establishment probably should be.

"She alright? Shit - what am I saying? Of course she's not." He sighs, and glances back at the room divider, nervously, before joining you at the stall door. He swoops in and gets a first good glimpse at the girl, currently slumped in your arms. "Shit, man. She's really fucked up. I think this is the longest binger she's been on yet. We may want to get her to-"

"You're not thinking of taking our number-one customer anywhere, are you?" A voice comes from beyond the divider, before the three gangbangers from before stride in, the two in the rear taking to opposite walls, and the third (the one, presumably, who'd spoken), steps into the middle of the room, addressing the two of you with the shit-eatingest grin you've ever seen. "You think I wouldn't recognize you, Officer Heilman?"

The voice jogs a memory. Probably a local drug dealer you'd crossed paths with before you were shitcanned. You feel like things probably didn't end amicably with the man. The conversations makes the door guard look at you with a renewed suspicion, but you swear you see him glance back at the girl every other phrase.

"Sure, you look like shit, but I'd recognize that stupid-fucking-mug of yours anywhere. It was even dumber that you'd think you could walk into OUR sanctuary..." The lead man makes a wide gesture, indicating his "thriving empire." "... and not have me even say 'hi' to my old friend?"

The men to the side of him seem ready to fight, and you're not sure about the man at your side, who seems equally angered at your apparent deception, and concerned for the woman you're currently holding up. You find yourself wondering if there's any way to avoid getting into a gunfight in a crowded bathroom with three... Potentially four men, while making sure the addict doesn't get shot in the crossfire.

>What do you do?

>Talk them down (roll 1d20)
>Appeal to the doorman about Laina (roll 1d20)
>Make the first draw, picking any target (roll 1d20)
>Other?

Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>62993

"I'm sure you'd love to brawl like a couple of jamokes, but I'm here on business. And if you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly here on official policework, you fucking idiot."

>>63037

>Talk 'em out of their own stupidity

>Task Difficulty: High
>Roll: 9
>Mild Failure

"I'm sure you'd love to brawl like a couple of jamokes, but I'm here on business. And if you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly here on official policework, you fucking idiot." The lead man's eye twitches, annoyed with your seeming bravado when he clearly has you cornered.

"Listen her, you stupid sonnuva bitch, you cost me two years of my life, and walk into MY place of business? And shit talk me in front of MY boys? Looks like you may need to learn a little respect, fuckface."

You feel you may have enough time for one more attempt at something besides straight shooting your way out of there, before the thugs start the fight for you.

>Talk them down (roll 1d20) - FAILED
>Appeal to the doorman about Laina (roll 1d20)
>Make the first draw, picking any target (roll 1d20)
>Other?

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>63149

"Can you please explain to this gentleman that I'm doing a good deed here?"

This might be a good time for our gun hand to start creeping towards our pistol.

>>63205
ayy crit

>>63205

>Talk the doorman over, get ready for the fireworks.

>Task Difficulty: Easy
>Roll: 20
>Critical Success

"Can you please explain to this gentleman that I'm doing a good deed here?" You manage to try and coax the seemingly divided man into helping you, while smoothly reaching into for you concealed holster, without any of the three bangers the wiser.

The doorman from before seems to finally make a decision upon your prompting, and glares up at the man leading the other two. "Look, Wes, she may need to go to a hospital, man. I'm not gonna just let her..."

The man, Wes, scowls at his turncoat compatriot. "Shut the FUCK up 'Muscle.' I should've fucking known your dick would get in the way of business eventually. Don't be fucking stupid, that bitch ain't fucking worth your li-"

Poor Wes doesn't even get to finish his sentence, as the man called 'Muscle' pulls a Mac-10 from the back waistline of his pants, and pumps about half a clip into the chest of the thug, a few stray bullets both peppering the wall behind the gang's leader, and the ugly asshole's face. You find yourself as surprised as the two men on either wall, as Wes falls to the floor, blood gushing from a multitude of wounds.

"I'm not letting you disrespect her while she dies." He spits at the corpse, and you react with a ridiculous speed as Wes' comrades-in-arms go for their own weapons. You drag Laina back into her stall, and see Wes dive into a stall opposite you two. A hail of fire sprays against the floor and wall where the two of you stood, and you hear the two men taking positions of their own.


You are facing 2 Thugs.
Heilman has 6.2 litres of blood remaining
He is uninjured
He is clear-headed

'Muscle' has 5.9 litres of blood remaining
He is uninjured
He is angry

Laina Duhly has 4.5 litres of blood remaining
She feels cold
She is unconscious

>What do you do?

>Take any action, roll 1d20

>>63361

Congratulations team! You now vicariously control a second party member! While not entirely subject to your whims (he is, after all, his own man), you can take actions with him in certain scenarios, and make rolls for his actions as well!

If you wish both Heilman and 'Muscle' to take a similar action, roll 2d20, otherwise roll separately as to avoid confusion for who does well and who fails!

Rolled 19 (1d20)

>>63361

Take a cautious potshot or two while yelling at Wes, and scoping out exits.

"Wes - stay cool, buddy! We're getting the fuck out of here!'

Rolled 14 (1d20)

>>63454

I'll roll for Wes to take cover and reload while Heilman takes a couple shots

>>63454
>>63468

Ah, shit - I read the shootout backwards. Sorry about that

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>>63468
>>63454

>Wes
>WES
>The dead guy on the floor


>Carefully shoot at the thugs, rally the forces
>Task Difficulty: Moderate
>Roll: 19
>Great Success!

>Take cover and reload
>Task difficulty: Very Easy
>Roll:14
>Great Success!

You lean cautiously out from around the side of the stall, pulling your glock up to chest height, and firing a couple shots at the shape shuffling around towards the room divider. You hear a yelp of pain, and hear a body topple to the floor. Better shot than you honestly expected yourself to place.

"'Muscle' - stay cool, buddy! We're getting the fuck out of here!"

'Muscle,' meanwhile, across the room, nods in acknowledgement, reloading his Mac-10 in preparation for another round, the magazine sliding smoothly from it's chamber, it's replacement gliding equally well into place.

You hear the remaining thug in the room yell into the main hall, asking for help, and shortly thereafter, the sound of another flurry of footsteps joins the one other remaining. Then, the woman at your feet opens her eyes, halfway, at least. She grabs, grip loose, at a copper coin tied around her neck, held in place with a piece of twine.

"They're coming..." She mutters, quite apparently not in the moment. Somehow, you guessed she wasn't talking about the group of thugs that were coming in to help clean up this unexpected mess.


You are facing 5 Thugs.
Heilman has 6.2 litres of blood remaining
He is uninjured
He is clear-headed

'Muscle' has 5.9 litres of blood remaining
He is uninjured
He is clear-headed

Laina Duhly has 4.5 litres of blood remaining
She feels cold
She is barely conscious

>What do you do?

>Take any action, roll your d20

Rolled 14, 15 = 29 (2d20)

>>63641
is there a window? also shoot for both characters

>>63880

Will back this. Time to jet, how the fuck do we get out?

>>63922
>>63880

Shit, sorry lads, I'm going to have to cut it early again tonight. I have a last minute business trip I'm preparing for in the morning, and I need to catch some z's. Sorry about leaving you guys hanging two nights in a row! Hopefully I can manage a stable connection with a laptop every night, but I wouldn't count on it. I could attempt to post from a phone, but the quality would be abysmal, and reply time would be astronomically longer.

Have yourselves a good night boys, it may be a couple days before I can get back to this, sadly.

>>64017
Fuck! this is the best quest on here

>>64035

I'll do my best to not leave you guys out to dry while I'm gone, but I'm just giving a word of caution that I wouldn't count on me coming through on that end. My phone doesn't have wi-fi hotspot capabilities, and we don't stay at hotels most of the time.

I appreciate the compliment, though. Sleep well, fellas. Get your fill of some of these other fine quests.

>>64070
Keeping it alive son.