» Fri May 27, 2011 8:30 pm Well, I couldn't get to sleep tonight, and I'm bored beyond belief. So I made another Chapter. Enjoy [Terducken]. Hahaha 
Chapter Two: Suicidal Hero
Evans was gone, no where to be seen in the city of New Reno. Jerry and Orlando spent a few days learning the area, getting ready for their job. They took a room in the Wright's mansion, where they kept their specialized .223 Sniper Rifle hidden under the bed. In just the few days they were there, they made hundreds of caps from the Desperado and Shark Club. They got lucky, and just found some cash off the streets. They lived in luxury. Well, as luxurious as a lower middle class group of mercenaries living in someone's mansion can get. The day finally came, though. The day they wanted to go home. The day they had to kill Boss Salvatore. The strongest man in New Reno.
The idea, was to kill Salvatore at his bar, quietly, and then they'd be off to New Reno Arms, collect whatever weapons they need, and get the Hell out of New Reno. Their helicopter was still broken, so they needed to find a different way of transport. They learned about the Enclave from Boss Wright, how they're trying to rebuild America, and how they kidnap people and fly them West with their flying machines. Vertibirds. That's how they wanted to get home, by flight from a stolen Enclave death machine.
Finally, the two men collected all their weapons, all their money, and they took the .223 they received from Boss Wright. They kept in a guitar case, since they didn't want to attract attention. It's not like anyone knew what a guitar was, but the cases have been seen, and other people use them as suitcases.
They went to the building that the Salvatores kept as their home, at the time. The bar near the Desperado. They walked in and saw a few tables, a counter, and a staircase right behind it. The men walked up to the bartender, and started to start a conversation.
"Howdy." Jerry said to the bartender, "Boss Salvatore in?"
"Depends," replied the bartender, "Who want to know?"
"I'm Jerry Carmichael, this is my friend Orlando. Your boss was the welcoming party when we first got here, we'd like to speak to him."
"Sorry, 'Jerry'" the bartender said, not believing that Jerry was his real name, "But the boss is out, heading to Redding. Lookin' to speak to the mayor of that fine little town. Word is a casino is being built up, and Boss doesn't like that."
"Why?" Jerry said, "It's not like he own the Desperado, or Shark Club."
"Because he damn well pleases to, and you boys gotta problem with that?"
"No sir," Jerry said, "But thanks for the tip, you mind telling us where Redding is?"
"Yeah, whatever. Here, take this map, for a hundred bucks."
Jerry sighed and pulled out some cash we won from the casinos. He knew he wouldn't be at New Reno much longer, so it wasn't that big of a deal since the currency is different back East. He looked at the map, and noticed Redding was far to the Northwest. It'd take a while to get there, but it was no big deal. They had all the time in the World right now.
Jerry and Orlando left New Reno, and started to walk towards the settlement of Redding. The scenery wasn't that different there than it was in the East, except for the melting snow. Rocks, dead trees, and some dead grass. But they were walking ahead of schedule because of the lack of dangers in the West. Back East you'd come across something 30 minutes into a hike. In the East, it was more calm, the first few days of their trip they only met some homeless people.
Their first danger, was something horrible. They were on top of a cliff when they looked down to a group of Feral Ghouls, a lot of them, too many to believe was even there, surround a young looking man backing up to a large rock. He was completely surrounded. He, was Charles Evans.
Evans was trapped, surrounded by the one thing no one had to worry about back home. Ghouls, zombies, you could say.
Evans yelled as he pulled up his shotgun, shooting their heads clean off as they charged him one by one. One, two, three, four. How many ghouls were there? Too many for one man to handle. He pulled the trigger, but the only thing that came from the gun was a sound, the worst sound someone in his position could hear. The sound of a weapon with no ammo, a click.
Evans threw the gun at a charging ghoul, then quickly pulled out his grenade launcher. He shot once, blasting a hole in the ground, and giving some ghouls the ability of flight. He put another shot into the large group of rotting skinned freaks. Then finally, his last shot kept them off a little longer.
This time, they charged him in waves of more than one. He used the butt of his gun to strike down on them, yelling with each hit, knowing this was the end. He managed to fend a few of them off before the wooden butt of his gun split. The threw it at the next coming ghoul, and pulled out Floyd's Desert Eagle. Five shots to a clip, he unloaded on them. He pulled another clip out his pack and kept shooting them, taking two shots just to take one down.
They stepped back for a while, and Evans pulled out his last clip. He put it into his gun and held it up, shaking.
"How many damn Ghouls are you!" he yelled, with his voice cracking.
They all hissed in return. He squinted and tried counting. There were at least fifteen left. The biggest pack of Ghouls anyone's ever seen. Hell, probably the only pack that big.
He moved his gun back and forth, and waited for one to run at him, he shot it in the head. Four bullets left. Another one came, and a shot to the neck dropped it. Three bullets left. Two more came at once and he shot each in the stomach, keeping them back just a little longer.
One bullet left.
He stepped back and hit the boulder blocking his path. He started to cry as he lifted the gun under his chin, pointed straight up. The same two ghouls ran toward him. And he had no options.
Chapter Two: Suicidal Hero
Evans was gone, no where to be seen in the city of New Reno. Jerry and Orlando spent a few days learning the area, getting ready for their job. They took a room in the Wright's mansion, where they kept their specialized .223 Sniper Rifle hidden under the bed. In just the few days they were there, they made hundreds of caps from the Desperado and Shark Club. They got lucky, and just found some cash off the streets. They lived in luxury. Well, as luxurious as a lower middle class group of mercenaries living in someone's mansion can get. The day finally came, though. The day they wanted to go home. The day they had to kill Boss Salvatore. The strongest man in New Reno.
The idea, was to kill Salvatore at his bar, quietly, and then they'd be off to New Reno Arms, collect whatever weapons they need, and get the Hell out of New Reno. Their helicopter was still broken, so they needed to find a different way of transport. They learned about the Enclave from Boss Wright, how they're trying to rebuild America, and how they kidnap people and fly them West with their flying machines. Vertibirds. That's how they wanted to get home, by flight from a stolen Enclave death machine.
Finally, the two men collected all their weapons, all their money, and they took the .223 they received from Boss Wright. They kept in a guitar case, since they didn't want to attract attention. It's not like anyone knew what a guitar was, but the cases have been seen, and other people use them as suitcases.
They went to the building that the Salvatores kept as their home, at the time. The bar near the Desperado. They walked in and saw a few tables, a counter, and a staircase right behind it. The men walked up to the bartender, and started to start a conversation.
"Howdy." Jerry said to the bartender, "Boss Salvatore in?"
"Depends," replied the bartender, "Who want to know?"
"I'm Jerry Carmichael, this is my friend Orlando. Your boss was the welcoming party when we first got here, we'd like to speak to him."
"Sorry, 'Jerry'" the bartender said, not believing that Jerry was his real name, "But the boss is out, heading to Redding. Lookin' to speak to the mayor of that fine little town. Word is a casino is being built up, and Boss doesn't like that."
"Why?" Jerry said, "It's not like he own the Desperado, or Shark Club."
"Because he damn well pleases to, and you boys gotta problem with that?"
"No sir," Jerry said, "But thanks for the tip, you mind telling us where Redding is?"
"Yeah, whatever. Here, take this map, for a hundred bucks."
Jerry sighed and pulled out some cash we won from the casinos. He knew he wouldn't be at New Reno much longer, so it wasn't that big of a deal since the currency is different back East. He looked at the map, and noticed Redding was far to the Northwest. It'd take a while to get there, but it was no big deal. They had all the time in the World right now.
Jerry and Orlando left New Reno, and started to walk towards the settlement of Redding. The scenery wasn't that different there than it was in the East, except for the melting snow. Rocks, dead trees, and some dead grass. But they were walking ahead of schedule because of the lack of dangers in the West. Back East you'd come across something 30 minutes into a hike. In the East, it was more calm, the first few days of their trip they only met some homeless people.
Their first danger, was something horrible. They were on top of a cliff when they looked down to a group of Feral Ghouls, a lot of them, too many to believe was even there, surround a young looking man backing up to a large rock. He was completely surrounded. He, was Charles Evans.
Evans was trapped, surrounded by the one thing no one had to worry about back home. Ghouls, zombies, you could say.
Evans yelled as he pulled up his shotgun, shooting their heads clean off as they charged him one by one. One, two, three, four. How many ghouls were there? Too many for one man to handle. He pulled the trigger, but the only thing that came from the gun was a sound, the worst sound someone in his position could hear. The sound of a weapon with no ammo, a click.
Evans threw the gun at a charging ghoul, then quickly pulled out his grenade launcher. He shot once, blasting a hole in the ground, and giving some ghouls the ability of flight. He put another shot into the large group of rotting skinned freaks. Then finally, his last shot kept them off a little longer.
This time, they charged him in waves of more than one. He used the butt of his gun to strike down on them, yelling with each hit, knowing this was the end. He managed to fend a few of them off before the wooden butt of his gun split. The threw it at the next coming ghoul, and pulled out Floyd's Desert Eagle. Five shots to a clip, he unloaded on them. He pulled another clip out his pack and kept shooting them, taking two shots just to take one down.
They stepped back for a while, and Evans pulled out his last clip. He put it into his gun and held it up, shaking.
"How many damn Ghouls are you!" he yelled, with his voice cracking.
They all hissed in return. He squinted and tried counting. There were at least fifteen left. The biggest pack of Ghouls anyone's ever seen. Hell, probably the only pack that big.
He moved his gun back and forth, and waited for one to run at him, he shot it in the head. Four bullets left. Another one came, and a shot to the neck dropped it. Three bullets left. Two more came at once and he shot each in the stomach, keeping them back just a little longer.
One bullet left.
He stepped back and hit the boulder blocking his path. He started to cry as he lifted the gun under his chin, pointed straight up. The same two ghouls ran toward him. And he had no options.
2 readers
But it was still a good chapter and sets up the finale well. 
