NiceStories.com: Short story: The Lone Gunmen: Satan's Disciples Part 1 by The Dark Master

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story through the store, the huge vehicle obliterated store shelves and bowled over others like dominos. As he negotiated the auto-supply section, the sniper made a mental note to pick up some scratch remover and maybe a dent extractor. Suddenly, he reached the Promised Land...the hunting section. He plowed right through a rack of fishing poles, sending fiberglass flying everywhere. The Suburban's driver-side door flew open and a shadowy figure stepped out, black duster flowing ominously in the draft created by a nearby ventilation duct. He stepped over to the gun counter, produced a crowbar from underneath his coat, and smashed the counter's glass. He was just reaching in to grab a Glock, when he heard something behind him. Like a vicious tiger he simultaneously spun around and whipped out his crowbar. The sniper felt a muffled *thuk* as the sharp, nail-pulling end of the crowbar slammed right into a Wal-Mart employees' temple. The Wal-Mart employee, named Hank, dropped the pistol he was holding and sunk to his knees. With a sickening rip, the sniper pried the crowbar out of Hank's skull, taking with it a large chunk of bone. The dark figure repeated this process until the entire top half of Hank's skull had been removed with "surgical precision." Being the budding neurosurgeon at heart, the sniper carefully removed the dura and explored the gnarled surface of Hank's exposed cerebral cortex. Hank, body quavering involuntarily, rolled his eyes back in their sockets as he saw a devilish grin come to the mouth of his caring surgeon. The sniper raised his hand high above his head, and with one fell swoop, rammed it deep within Hank's brain and grabbed hold of his medulla. Spittle flew from Hank's open mouth as the sniper grabbed hold of his spinal cord. With a sickening tear, the sniper yanked out a rope-like jumble of nerves from the base of Hank's brain, much as how young King Arthur pulled Excalibur from the stone. The spinal cord glistened in the ambient light and twitched a bit, as nerves now disconnected from their control center fired randomly, sending errant currents throughout the rope-like structure. Cackling gleefully, the sniper flung the disconnected organ against the wall, and pulled out his big, razor-sharp hunting knife. He walked over to Hank's lifeless corpse, cut off his mangled head, and tossed it into a black garbage bag. But it wasn't play time...yet. Much work had to be done, and it had to be quickly; the sniper smashed open a few more glass cabinets, and threw their contents into the back of the beastly Chevrolet. He then heard a soft whining sound emanating from somewhere beneath the rubble of the destroyed store. He slowly stalked the origin of the sound until he found a leg sticking out from under a collapsed display case. Slowly, he removed the debris, revealing a blood-covered man cowering in fear. The sniper pulled out his massive Desert Eagle as the man covered his face, thinking he was about to die. Instead, the sniper slammed the butt of the pistol into the bridge of the man's nose, breaking it in two places; he then dragged the man into his vehicle and locked it up. Before the sniper left the store, he picked up a copy of the Necronomicon, which just happened to be conveniently on sale. Then he picked up some scratch remover and began to drive out. By now, the police had arrived; they formed a barricade of steel around the front of the store with their cars, but the were nothing compared to the Suburban. Surprisingly, the big vehicle was bullet proof, this was better than the sniper could have hoped for. He plowed through the rows of police cars and headed down the road at 80 mph. The police followed him until he reached the backroads; here his car was in its prime. After losing the police helicopter under the cover of trees he swerved off into a small clearing and down a hidden ramp into a massive freight elevator. The hum of motors filled the air as the black Suburban disappeared into the darkness. Once he arrived in his new headquarters, the sniper jumped out of the car and went to the rear hatch. Seeing his victim was awake again, he punched him, breaking the poor man's nose again. Dragging the man out of the back by the hair the sniper threw him onto a crucifix. He nailed the man to it and set it upside down at the bottom of the silo. Next he slashed the man's leg, allowing the blood to flow into a chalice; this woke his victim with a scream. Ignoring the blubbering fool, the sniper drew a huge pentagram upon the floor in blood and sat in the center to meditate. He knew not why, but he knew this was what he must do. As he concentrated upon the force which drove him, he felt a dark presence enter the silo. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the silo, instead, he stood in a dark graveyard, thunder and lightning rumbling in the distance. "Hello my friend." a voice said from behind him. Spinning around he stood face to face with the gunner, his fallen comrade. "Why?" asked the sniper. Suddenly, an unholy light poured from the gunner's eyes and mouth and when he spoke, his rumbling voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Because your work is unfinished my child, it is time..." "Time for what?" "You shall see..." replied the gunner. The sniper suddenly snapped out of his trance-like state and rose to his feet. A voice in his head kept repeating one phrase over and over; "the morgue, the morgue" the voice whispered. Suddenly, the sniper knew what he must do... Dr. Jenkins was just about to open up a cadaver when he heard a muffled noise from behind the morgue's door. He thought nothing of it until he felt something pooling up around his shoes; he turned around. The morgue's door burst outward in a shower of splinters and flew on top of the poor doctor as a powerful force entered the room. The doctor moaned like a wounded animal underneath the heavy wooden door. He struggled to get free, but the weight of the wood pinned him down. Jenkins started hyperventilating as he heard heavy footsteps coming closer. Then, the doctor felt the great weight of the door lifted from his chest, and gasped for air. He looked up to see the barrel of a gun, then, with a blinding flash, it was over. Officer Heinkel heard the commotion and headed over to investigate. When he reached the front entrance, he saw a black-clad gunman stooped over the bloody body of Dr. Jenkins. As Heinkel drew his gun, the man lunged toward him, pulling out a crow bar as he moved. Before Officer Heinkel could level his gun, the sniper batted his hand away with the hardened steel tool. With a powerful back-handed stroke the sniper drove his crowbar into the Officer's head and he collapsed instantly. He the quickly made his way to the freezer where he found a doctor hiding under a cart. "Where are the gunmen?" he demanded and the doctor instinctively knew; he led the man to his comrades. Suddenly there was a noise behind them and before he could react, the sniper swung his next victim around and used him as a human shield. The 9mm bullets thudded into the doctor as he screamed in pain and terror. His screams were cut short when three, .50 cal. bullets, exploded from his chest, leaving a gaping chasm. The slugs continued forward until they lodged in Officer Heinkel's already-battered head causing it to explode. Sherman sat in the ambulance as his partner unloaded the rear, suddenly, he heard an *oomph* and then a body clattering to the ground. "Be careful," he yelled back, thinking his partner had dropped a corpse. Suddenly, a black shape filled his sideview mirror, but before he could react, he lay on the cab floor, his lifeblood draining out of his slashed neck. Now the sniper had a mode of transport and loaded it with the bodies of his comrades. Soon, the time would come... When he reached home, he saw that his captive was still alive; that was good, because he would need fresh blood. Once again he drained his victim and repainted the now drying pentagram of blood. Placing the bodies he had reclaimed in the center of the pentagram, he began the dark ritual. His hands, guided by unseen spirits, traced archaic symbols of blood in each of the cardinal directions. Then, kneeling before the pentagram he spoke the ancient words of power and it began. Suddenly, the lights flickered, dimmed and were extinguished. The room was pitch black, the sniper heard his own labored breathing and his heart thumping in his chest, nothing else. Then the room was bathed with a hellish red glow emanating from the satanic signs that filled the center of the room. The light lit the rocket motor with a chilling glow, bright beyond measure yet colder than the coldest night. A blood-curdling scream filled the silo and echoed through the sniper's head, seeming to come from no earthly origin. Then as if a pall of death had been cast over the room, everything seemed to hold still. From the cold, damp air, three spirits of hellish origin appeared before him and he knew. They descended upon their mortal bodies, carried upon flaming wings of terror and destruction, poised for their triumphant return to the dreary Earth. Hissing with glee, they entered their Earthly containment vessels. Then, in a blast of dark light, the corpses of the three men lifted into the dank air and hovered above the ground. The bodies violently shuddered and fell down; all faded to black. The sniper's eyes opened wide as he heard breathing unlike his own fill the room. Then, the fluorescent lights flickered back to life, and a scene so horrific unfolded before humanity's eyes. There, standing side by side, were the newly reanimated gunner, commando, and sapper. The sniper walked slowly to his comrades and bear-hugged each one of them, content with his devilish deed. "Now my brethren, the time is near for us to begin our next mission. Our services are needed by the Reverend Billy Graham and his Christian Coalition," spoke the sniper. "What is your bidding, my dark master?" piped up the sapper in a determined, yet interrogative voice. "We are on a mission of extermination, a mission of faith. We have been instructed by the Coalition and its leader to annihilate every damnéd soul in San Francisco. The Coalition tells me that they believe that this city is a center of sinful practices. My supplier in Oakland will provide us with the proper weaponry needed to make this mission a success," said the sniper. "What's the missile for?" asked the gunner. "You will see my friend, you will see..." he replied. A few hours later, a black Suburban pulled into an open warehouse in an Oakland slum. A man wearing a Hawaiian shirt, a cheap leather jacket, and Ray Bans greeted the riders of the Suburban. "Wuz up homeys? I gots da goods for ya. Da stash is in da hooptie," said the arms dealer as he walked to the driver's side door of the massive vehicle. Jaleel knocked on the Suburban's heavily tinted window, hoping to have the driver roll it down so that they could begin the transactions. When there was no visible sign of a reply, the dealer knocked on the window again; this time he got a reply. The window rolled down and Jaleel stood there, facing the business end of a Desert Eagle. Jaleel put on a nervous smile as he stared at the half-inch wide hole pointed at his face. Jaleel's smile was quite literally wiped from his face as a .50 caliber jacketed hollow point exploded from the back of his head. Jaleel's body slumped to the ground just as the window rolled up. Suddenly, gunfire erupted from all directions. The Suburban just sat there, sparks flying from it as bullets ricocheted off of its heavily armored body. This continued for quite some time until the arms dealers' henchmen needed to reload. Then, the Suburban's doors flew open and the newly-reunited death squad stepped out. The commando noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and spun around to counter the new threat. The sniper tossed the commando a Heckler and Koch USP .45 from his nylon "bag of tricks." Swiveling on one foot, the commando brought up the gun and unloaded the magazine. His target fell backwards, slid downward, and left a bloody streak upon the corrugated aluminum wall. The gunner, a Desert Eagle in each hand fired as he moved, walking through the hail of gunfire, like Jesus walking on water. His enemies fell, one by one, as they felt his fury. The rest ran and cowered within their "crib" hoping whatever god they had would save them. It was a futile gesture. Not wanting to damage the weapons held within the warehouse, the sapper threw a VX grenade into the room to neutralize the opposition; it was enough gas to kill everyone in the building, but that wasn't his concern. They walked through the building, their enemies convulsing on the ground like fish out of water. The gunmen's muffled breathing echoed down the halls, as they made their way from room to room, protected from the noxious nerve agent by their M.O.P.P. suits. The sniper backed the Suburban up to the front of the building for easier loading and docking access. They had almost finished loading the vehicle with the seized weapons when the police arrived. The police squad quickly surrounded the building, ready to storm it. Suddenly, they saw something fly out and land near a police car. The shock had barely registered on their faces when the car was lifted from its wheels by a small explosion. Shrapnel flew everywhere, cutting down officers left and right. Gunfire rang out as the police returned fire, but their bullets only thudded into brick walls and ricocheted off the armored body of the Suburban. Without warning, the massive vehicle surged forward and through the hole in the police line left by the destroyed police car. The high-speed chase that ensued wound through the streets for almost an hour, the sniper maneuvering the Suburban with precision. Then, they hit the freeway. It was rush hour and traffic was heavy, but with the Suburban, they needn't worry. The large vehicle easily muscled its way over and through the smaller cars, destroying any who failed to move quickly enough to escape. As the police pursued the speeding Suburban, the rear doors swung open revealing to them a grand horror. Inside sat the gunner, next to a large box of ammunition, manning his Heckler and Koch GMG automatic grenade launcher. The entire rear of the Suburban was sandbagged; it was a moving pillbox. The ka-chunk of the grenade launcher resounded over the roar of the engine as tracer-grenades rushed toward their targets, bringing destruction to anything they touched. The insidious machine spat out 40mm HE grenades at a rate of 330 a minute, obliterating anything it was aimed towards. A trail of destruction followed the path of the Suburban, as it plowed through the highways. Losing the police cars in the carnage, they returned to their dark nexus. They would rest for now, but soon, soon... Fredsville was an average hick town in the middle of nowhere, but thanks to the efforts of four black-clad gunmen, it would soon be put on the map...in a stain of blood. As the last stores closed in the quiet town, the first act began. Jon, the 7-11 night clerk at a small convenience store, sat lazily at the counter, his shotgun ready beneath the counter, ready to scare off any trouble-making punks. Unfortunately, his opponents were much more than a couple of burnt-out druggies. The automatic glass doors of the establishment slid open, letting a man in a flowing black duster almost float in like Death himself. As if on command, the duster parted, revealing two lethal-looking Desert Eagles, sheathed in their leather holsters. Jon's years of combat training as a night clerk of a convenience store had prepared him for this eventuality. He reached under the counter for his shotgun, ready to defend his store. But even if he had gotten it out, the buckshot would have been no match for the man's heavy ceramic body armor. Drawing across his chest, the black-clad man unleashed his firepower upon his helpless target. The guns thundered in the small store, bucking like wild broncos. Three silvered, steel jacketed, hollow-point bullets ripped open the clerks head, leaving him lying upon the ground, marinating in a pool of his own blood. "Damn," yelled the gunner in frustration, "I hit the slush machine!" Turning on a heel, his duster fluttered and whirled like a cape, trailing like the shadow of Death. As he exited the store, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small, black, cylindrical object. Tossing it over his shoulder, it landed on the tile floor with a metallic thud. As if in slow motion, the gunner walked away from the scene as a large explosion shook the ground behind him. The shockwave caused his duster to billow in an artificial wind. Screeching around a corner, a black Suburban pulled up in front of the gunner. The doors opened and three black-clad men got out. Reaching into the back of the vehicle, the gunner removed a massive minigun and a backpack full of ammunition. Slinging his equipment over his shoulder, the gunner stepped into the street, the fiery light from the burning convenience store glinting off the six barrels of his newfound toy. He walked slowly down the silent residential streets of the small town, his comrades spreading out before him. The sapper crawled up to a darkened house and then, slowly reached into his duster to remove a small brick of C4. Lobbing it in, he ran until he was in the middle of the street, then turned and pulled out an innocuous little box. Seconds later, there was a loud bang followed by an immense secondary explosion as the houses' natural gas line exploded; the entire house was soon engulfed in a massive fireball. Now, lights snapped on from house to house as residents realized the mortal danger they were in. As the gunner, commando, and sapper fanned out in a wedge formation, the sniper retreated to the Suburban, where he found his M82. Lying atop the roof of the Suburban, the sniper had clean shots at any who tried to flee the fury of the gunmen. Off to his left, he noticed an escapee...time to die! The sniper coolly put his eye to the cup of the night vision scope mounted on the massive rifle and centered the illuminated aiming reticle on the head of the runner. His index finger came to the carefully-tuned trigger of the rifle and began to apply slight pressure. The stupid man in the sniper's scope stopped to catch his breath; it would be the last breath he would take. Then, with one clean shot, the sniper beheaded the insolent fool. The gunmen trio strode down the street, supported by covering fire from the sniper. The gunner attached a shoulder strap to the minigun and let the weapon hang in firing position near his waist. The commando pulled out his twin Uzis, while the sapper produced an MP510. The mere presence of the gunmen brought the inhabitants of the court to their knees at the end of the cul-de-sac, packed like cattle. Now, it was time for the cattle to be slaughtered. The gunner partially depressed the trigger on the minigun and the electric motor within the weapon turned on, spinning the six barrels at 2000 revolutions-per-minute. The sniper, observing the scene from afar, yelled "Now" into his radio. The gunner fully depressed the trigger on the minigun and now bullets flew from the six barrels of doom. Ejected shell casings and metal from the bullet belt poured from the receiver of the colossal weapon. The commando and the sapper fired rapidly into the crowd, their bullets carving a swath of destruction through the soft bodies of their intended victims. In a matter of seconds, a large group of sobbing people had now been turned into a pile of bullet-riddled corpses. Those who managed to escape the trio's deadly barrage of metal, were dropped by the sniper indiscriminately. The sniper clambered back into the cockpit of the Suburban and drove down the court to meet the gunmen. Just as they were about to load back into the vehicle, they heard a muffled scream from inside a house. The commando decided to investigate. The commando kicked down the door and heard the scream again, this time coming from a door at the end of a hallway. Moving cautiously, he walked to the door. Suddenly, almost impulsively, the commando slammed down the door and came face to face with a scruffy looking man holding a double-barreled shotgun. The inhabitant snapped the shotgun up to the commando's head and pulled both triggers. There was a *snap* as twin hammers snapped on the primers of two shotgun shells. Nothing happened. Now a steady trickling sound could be heard as the mortified man urinated on the floor below him. The commando let his weapons clatter to the floor...it was time for some hand-to-hand combat. His opponent had a large nose ring; this would be his downfall. The commando's hand shot out, grabbed hold of the steel nose ring, and yanked. In a split-second, the man's nose was gushing blood and he started to whimper. The commando once again shot out his gloved hand, this time with his finger pointed, at the man's face. The fool tried to duck, but wasn't quick enough for the gunman's lightning-quick blow. The commando gouged out the man's eye and reached into his duster for another implement. This time, he pulled out his stiletto and held it to the stupid fucker's neck. "Cowards will die as cowards," screamed the commando as he pushed the button on the stiletto. There was nearly no delay from the time the gunman pushed the button to the time the blade shot vertically from the handle and into the fool's soft neck. The asshole struggled a bit, and the commando let go of him. The commando then retracted the stiletto's blade and picked up his Uzis. The ghastly figure turned and strode out of the house to let the poor man bleed to death. Congratulated with a silent acknowledgment of a job well done, the gunmen packed their equipment back in the Suburban and piled inside, the gunner taking his position behind the GMG. Police sirens could be heard in the background as the sniper started the engine; they would be of little concern. Now that they had tested out their new weapons, the team was ready to begin their mission. The sniper maneuvered the vehicle out of the flaming wreckage of the court and proceeded down the street, towards destiny. There were police cars along the way to Lawrence Livermore National Labs, but because of the recent fad of owning big cars, it was hard to pick out the Suburban amongst the pack of rumbling SUVs. The gunmen knew that it was almost impossible that they'd be hassled by the pigs so they took time to clean their weapons and rearm themselves. Since the gunmen were well versed in the art of forgery, they'd created fake magnetic strip ID badges for LLNL. To evade the multitude of metal detectors in the complex, the gunmen had crafted small devices to wear on their persons that would make the detectors believe that the only thing metal on them were their black steel belt buckles. Besides, they probably wouldn't need all of these security measures anyways; the security in the labs was horrendous. But it was not time to worry about such minor things, the firepower that they packed beneath their dusters would be enough to wipe out a small town. The Suburban entered the complex. The sniper rolled down the window and slid his card through the reader at the large metal gate in front of the lab. A green LED replaced a red one and the gate slid open. The sniper drove inside the huge, fenced-in area, looked at a map of where his goods could be found, and drove to building 140. The gunmen stepped out, knowing that their every movements were being monitored by hidden television cameras. But that wouldn't matter; the gunmen were professionals and a few security cameras would be easy enough to fool. The gunmen entered the building wearing their large, black "labcoats." All that could be seen were the gunmen's booted feet and their heads; the rest of their bodies were enveloped in the dark cocoons of their dusters. The gunmen passed a number of security checkpoints until they reached Delta Sector; here was where their golden nugget lay. An armed guard stood at a heavy steel door, listening to the radio with his Walkman. The guard snapped to attention when he saw the gunmen arrive and demanded their security clearances. The gunmen pulled out their ID badges and let the guard examine them. When he was satisfied that these were the people who's pictures appeared on the badges, the began some small talk with the gunmen. The sniper stepped toward the heavy door, leaving his comrades to the lone guard. The sniper slid his card through the reader and low and behold, an electronic lock within the door snapped open. The sniper pushed open the heavy steel portal and stepped inside the room within. He was instantly bathed in a cool blue light as he entered the weapons storage area and made his way over to a medium sized crate. He opened the crate and inside was a cardboard box with the lettering "NUCLEAR WARHEAD - 40 MEGATONS. FOR MINUTEMAN III USE ONLY! PROPERTY OF U.S. GOVERNMENT." The sniper found an electric motor-assited dolly not far away and maneuvered the box onto it. The then proceeded to exit the room with the dolly in tow. The sniper emerged from the room with the dolly in tow and nodded to the guard who was just pulling a cigarette out of his shirt pocket. The gunner walked to the guard and said in his menacing, demon-like voice, "Need a light?" The guard humbly accepted the offer. But little did he know that he had just made a deal with the Devil. In a split second, the gunner whipped out his Colt .45, now with a one-time use silencer, and brought it to the right eye of the guard and pulled the trigger. The gun discharged and ripped a formidable whole in the head of the guard, who immediately slumped against the wall. Now, the gunmen knew that the cameras had seen them, so they must work quickly and efficiently at their job. The gunner removed the disposable silencer, and, with his comrades, strode down the halls shoulder-to-shoulder, their booted feet locked in step. A siren sounded and a few moments later a group of armed guards piled up at the end of the hallway. It was then that the dark cocoons of the gunmen opened, and from them emerged Fear itself. The gunmen whipped their previously-unseen weapons from beneath the billowing black of their dusters, and trained them on their mortal foes. The gunmen opened up; a H&K G3 automatic rifle snapped to the shoulder of the sniper; the sapper pulled out his MP510, the commando his twin Uzis, and from underneath the dark, mysterious creases of the gunner's duster emerged the General Electric minigun. The bullets within the gunmen's magazines disappeared as quickly as the lives of 10 officers. The gunmen reacted so quickly that the police officers barely had enough time for the thought to register in their minds that they were being fired at. Now, the gunmen walked forward, the empty shell casings from their guns crunching underneath their heavy boots. The pungent aroma of cordite hung in the air like the smell of formalin at a mortuary. The gunmen were almost to the door at the end of the hall, when a cowardly-looking officer emerged from the portal, a 12-guage Remington in his hands. The sniper signaled for his comrades to stay where they were and not react. This one was his. The sniper walked slowly towards the man, his duster spreading out behind him as he advanced. The sniper's dark eyes seemed to bore right through the officer's skull as the seconds ticked away. The sniper was arm-length away from the frightened officer when the shotgun's trigger was yanked. There was a loud report, and then, almost in slow motion, the sniper was launched backward by the force of the 00 buckshot. The sniper hit the ground about 10 feet from the officer just as the man pumped his shotgun and an empty cartridge clattered to the floor. The sniper's G3 fell from his open hand, slid across the floor and landed near the rest of the gunmen. There was utter silence in the hallway as the sniper lay motionless upon the floor, his life-force seemingly extinguished. Then, the sniper's eyes snapped open and he rose from the floor, like Nosferatu rising from his blessed casket. It was as if unseen wires had raised him to his feet. Then, as the sniper assumed a vertical position, a small number of flattened steel balls fell from his body. The buckshot from the Remington. The sniper strode towards the terrified officer ominously, spreading his arms out like Jesus on the cross as he went. The officer began to shake uncontrollably as the tall, dark figure neared. The sniper stopped moving when his chest was touching the still-warm muzzle of the shotgun. "God save us all," whimpered the officer as he looked upward at the figure looming over him. The sniper, seemingly in one, fluid movement, grabbed hold of the weapon, spun it around, leveled the barrel at the officer's chest, and pulled the trigger. The weapon roared and spat hot steel as the cartridge discharged. The officer screamed and was thrown against the far wall by the blast, a ragged hole the size of a fist in his torso. The sniper dropped the shotgun and signaled his fellow gunmen to throw him his weapon. Then, rearmed and regrouped, the men left the building, lugging the dolly behind them as they went. The gunmen were in the parking lot, when they encountered more resistance, only this time the cops were wearing full breaching gear. However, the cops' armor was designed to protect against pistol fire, but the gunmens' weapons were much more than puny pistols. The sniper, commando, and sapper ran with the warhead to the Suburban, leaving the gunner to deal with the police. The gunner just stood there, his duster spreading out behind him as the cops opened fire. A few bullets thudded into his body armor and fell helplessly to the ground. The gunner opened his mouth and from it came a deep, rumbling laugh that set the cops quaking in their boots. Now, it was the gunner's turn to deal out death. The minigun spun up and fire shot from its rotating barrels as hundreds of rounds flew from it. The high-powered 7.62 mm cartridges ripped through the cops' inferior Kevlar vests, traveling into their soft bodies where they could wreak havoc. Cops went down left and right, thrown backwards by the awesome power of the gunner's wrath. Then, there was only one officer left standing. He knew his peril and tried to run away, but he could not escape the cold, burning eyes of the gunner. The gunner spun up again and sent a mass of bullets in the unfortunate officer's direction. Officer Lentine was literally cut in two at the waist as the gunner swept his gun towards him. With the task at hand complete, the gunner ran back to the Suburban and climbed in the back, wedging himself between the warhead, his minigun, and the GMG. The Suburban flew from the scene and busted through the flimsy security gate. The massive vehicle worked it's way through town and back into the country where it picked up the small path that led to the headquarters. The gunner looked out the back of the truck at the lights of the town fading into the distance and thought for a while. While most people were falling asleep, the gunmen's work was just beginning. They were the weavers of nightmares. Only this night San Franciscans wouldn't be dreaming of earthquakes shaking their homes, but of another, far more horrifying concept...a nuclear nightmare. The Lone Gunmen Part 1 20

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The Lone Gunmen: Satan's Disciples Part 1 (standard:action, 6414 words)
Author: The Dark Master	Added: Nov 09 2000	Views/Reads: 4201/2951	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The blood-spattered adventures of a group of mercenaries.