Das Furer
28-07-2004, 20:51
The mysterious man dressed in an old black military outfit gripped the wooden handle of his Kalisnikov as he walked down the dark streets of Stockingzail leading three others that had followed close behind him. The streets of the small town on the outskirts of Das Furer had usually been quiet and without many pedestrians. Gang life here in the Stockingzail was unheard of. Four men clad in old military garbs wielding assault rifles and SMG’s on the streets was very suspicious indeed, but if all had gone well tonight no one would figure out his intent in time to delay it.
One mile down the road the Stockingzail Polizekraft Office was quiet save for the three men and one woman who worked on reports that would be sent out to the district police office in the morning. It was supposed to be a typical night for officers. Sit around all night playing games of poker while waiting for calls of distress that never came. Satisfying the female cadets sexual urges in one of the several empty cells. Often times their boredom drove them to fall asleep on the job. But there would never be any representations for the lack of respect for the job. Stockingzail was a quiet farm town with a population of little over 2,104. Most of the men and women here had been retired or had worked on the farm their entire life. The only time the sirens of a police cruiser could ever be heard was when they wanted a doughnut. Tonight though, that was all going to change.
Officer Otur had been sitting back in his seat, a cup of cold coffee in one hand and a dart aimed at a nearby board in the other. His paperwork for the night had already been finished and sent to the shift commander. The rest of the night for Otur would probably entail exactly what he was doing right now and a little television.
“So do you know when you’re going to be sent to Belizein?” Cadet Vander asked his superior as he sat beside him and got himself involved in the game of darts. “Belizein is a big city. It will be a major change from Stockingzail. I heard that is where the communist that attacked Berlin earlier this week where in hiding.”
“Perhaps.” Otur said as he threw his final dart. “I would love to get my hands on those Marxist bastards. I beg for them to dare come out of their hiding hole and challenge real men. We will mow them down like grass. One more week, one more week and I shall see the bright lights of Belizein, and the Marxist shall see the bright light of my revolver before a bullet penetrates their skull.”
Vander laughed and went for another dart, but was distracted by a strange ringing sound. The door bell ringing at this hour was almost unheard of, and it took Vander a few extra seconds to recognize the sound. A rather large man with a pony tail, black sunglasses, a trench coat, and a black military uniform approached the front kiosk where Vander and Otur were stationed.
“Is he Gestapo?” Vander whispered to Otur. “In Stockingzail? I doubt it.” the Otur replied.
“How may I help you?” The police officer asked of the intimidating figure.
“Well it is quite simple police man.” The man said as he revealed his AK-47 that had been hidden under his coat.
“I want you to die.”
Before either of the two officers could react the terrorist had pulled the trigger of the assault rifle. The first bullet was aimed towards Otur and blew a hole straight through his head. The officer was dead before his blood soaked head hit the floor. Vander had reached for his side arm, but the bullet had already burst through his heart. Blood came up through his mouth and poured out through the wound. Vander desperetly reached for the alarm to alert all officers within the district, but the terrorist pulled out a large machete and sliced his hand off. Before he could scream out in pain the terrorist had put another bullet in his head.
The three men that had trailed the terrorist followed behind him, two of them carrying a large case marked “Danger: Explosive” and the other served as support. On the leader’s cue the terrorists with the bomb began their preparations while he took the remaining terrorist to hunt down the remaining officers. The two men found their targets within the shift commanders office, the young girl had been administering a sexual favor and both officers had been caught off guard. The leader took advantage and blew a hole through the neck of the commander’s throat. He would die by choking to death on his own blood. The young cadet struggled to find her side arm, but the lackey had grabbed a hold of her hair and slammed her face against the nearby desk. The terrorist leader took the saud-off shotgun from the hands of his partner and forced it into the mouth of the girl with a sadistic smile.
“Blow on this my dear.”
The girl attempted to scream, but the vile Marxist pulled the trigger scattering fragments of her skull and brains all over the room.
“I believe we have made a statement sir.” the lackey said as he took back his fire arm.
“Not yet Guri. The Red Guard still has one explosive hit for this quiet little town. Prepare the Jetta. Ikonovich, Wulfen, and I will be out shortly.”
The Marxist extremist did as he was told and prepared the getaway car. Twenty minutes later the terrorists had been long gone on there way to the neighboring nation of Uber 1337, and the police station plus it’s surroundings burned like a gigantic torch in the night.
(OOC: I hope the roleplay wasn't that bad for your eyes. This will be the start of what might turn into a civil war between the Marxist Political Party and the current Nationalist regime. W00t! Enjoy.)
One mile down the road the Stockingzail Polizekraft Office was quiet save for the three men and one woman who worked on reports that would be sent out to the district police office in the morning. It was supposed to be a typical night for officers. Sit around all night playing games of poker while waiting for calls of distress that never came. Satisfying the female cadets sexual urges in one of the several empty cells. Often times their boredom drove them to fall asleep on the job. But there would never be any representations for the lack of respect for the job. Stockingzail was a quiet farm town with a population of little over 2,104. Most of the men and women here had been retired or had worked on the farm their entire life. The only time the sirens of a police cruiser could ever be heard was when they wanted a doughnut. Tonight though, that was all going to change.
Officer Otur had been sitting back in his seat, a cup of cold coffee in one hand and a dart aimed at a nearby board in the other. His paperwork for the night had already been finished and sent to the shift commander. The rest of the night for Otur would probably entail exactly what he was doing right now and a little television.
“So do you know when you’re going to be sent to Belizein?” Cadet Vander asked his superior as he sat beside him and got himself involved in the game of darts. “Belizein is a big city. It will be a major change from Stockingzail. I heard that is where the communist that attacked Berlin earlier this week where in hiding.”
“Perhaps.” Otur said as he threw his final dart. “I would love to get my hands on those Marxist bastards. I beg for them to dare come out of their hiding hole and challenge real men. We will mow them down like grass. One more week, one more week and I shall see the bright lights of Belizein, and the Marxist shall see the bright light of my revolver before a bullet penetrates their skull.”
Vander laughed and went for another dart, but was distracted by a strange ringing sound. The door bell ringing at this hour was almost unheard of, and it took Vander a few extra seconds to recognize the sound. A rather large man with a pony tail, black sunglasses, a trench coat, and a black military uniform approached the front kiosk where Vander and Otur were stationed.
“Is he Gestapo?” Vander whispered to Otur. “In Stockingzail? I doubt it.” the Otur replied.
“How may I help you?” The police officer asked of the intimidating figure.
“Well it is quite simple police man.” The man said as he revealed his AK-47 that had been hidden under his coat.
“I want you to die.”
Before either of the two officers could react the terrorist had pulled the trigger of the assault rifle. The first bullet was aimed towards Otur and blew a hole straight through his head. The officer was dead before his blood soaked head hit the floor. Vander had reached for his side arm, but the bullet had already burst through his heart. Blood came up through his mouth and poured out through the wound. Vander desperetly reached for the alarm to alert all officers within the district, but the terrorist pulled out a large machete and sliced his hand off. Before he could scream out in pain the terrorist had put another bullet in his head.
The three men that had trailed the terrorist followed behind him, two of them carrying a large case marked “Danger: Explosive” and the other served as support. On the leader’s cue the terrorists with the bomb began their preparations while he took the remaining terrorist to hunt down the remaining officers. The two men found their targets within the shift commanders office, the young girl had been administering a sexual favor and both officers had been caught off guard. The leader took advantage and blew a hole through the neck of the commander’s throat. He would die by choking to death on his own blood. The young cadet struggled to find her side arm, but the lackey had grabbed a hold of her hair and slammed her face against the nearby desk. The terrorist leader took the saud-off shotgun from the hands of his partner and forced it into the mouth of the girl with a sadistic smile.
“Blow on this my dear.”
The girl attempted to scream, but the vile Marxist pulled the trigger scattering fragments of her skull and brains all over the room.
“I believe we have made a statement sir.” the lackey said as he took back his fire arm.
“Not yet Guri. The Red Guard still has one explosive hit for this quiet little town. Prepare the Jetta. Ikonovich, Wulfen, and I will be out shortly.”
The Marxist extremist did as he was told and prepared the getaway car. Twenty minutes later the terrorists had been long gone on there way to the neighboring nation of Uber 1337, and the police station plus it’s surroundings burned like a gigantic torch in the night.
(OOC: I hope the roleplay wasn't that bad for your eyes. This will be the start of what might turn into a civil war between the Marxist Political Party and the current Nationalist regime. W00t! Enjoy.)