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The front door was wide open. One of the things hung on a hinge. All the glass was shattered.

No blood though, so that was good. Barely anyone around this time of night.

I gingerly stepped my way through the field of broken glass, feeling shards and things crack and tinkle under my feet. The other guys had boots, but me? I had a pair of old dress shoes instead. If I got cut it wouldn't matter though. I was already dead, what did I care my feet got a line or two in 'em?

Inside, the main reception area was trashed. Empty. Brochures and other things were scattered all over the place. Posters torn down from walls. Shattered glass, broken tiles, you get the picture. Place was a fuckin' pig sty, and for good reason: the nutjobs that made the mess were still here.

I spied two hooded idiots at the far end of the lobby. They were standing in front of a door, sign read as "Main Control Room". And, as Alonzo and Hurk drew up next to me, I knew that they saw 'em as well. They were just standin' there, kinda swayin' left 'n right a little, weird motherfuckers, made a chill crawl up my spine. Alonzo leaned over and whispered in my ear.

"You wanna take 'em down?"

I gave it some thought. Surely these were the Cannoness' goons, the same doofuses that messed up Downtown. Trashed ol' Paulie's place and now they were here messin' up the city. [b]My home[/b]. God it was good that they were here and not gone.

I looked at him, grinned and nodded. That made him recoil a little from how fucked up my face looked.

[i]"Let's give 'em hell, boys. Make 'em pay for what they did to our city."[/i]

And with that, the two robed guys in our sights, we opened fire.

Rat a tat tat.

When we were done, I was out of bullets for my Typewriter, so I reloaded. Same for my two companions. The two robed idiots were sprawled on the floor, blood seepin' out of the myriad holes in their corpses. Ahead, through the hallways and corridors, I heard sounds, responses, footsteps and yelling.

Oh we had attention. We definitely had attention.

[i]"Right boys, we got them lookin'. Let's give 'em somethin' ta find. You two okay with separating?"[/i]

Alonzo and Hurk exchanged a look, then both nodded.

Right, I had to get this out of my head. It was too much.

[i]"Question: are you two, like, special forces or something? You guys are way too comfortable with this shit."[/i]

Alonzo glanced at his partner, who shrugged. With a shoulder he gestured to Hurk.

"He is. I'm ex-Navy Seal."

Ah.

[i]"Right then, badasses. Alonzo, you good with goin' alone?"[/i]

He nodded and smirked.

"Hey, made a livin' out of it."

Oh I was startin' ta like these guys.

[i]"Awesome, cause you're our distraction. You head that way, down the other hall towards the cafeteria. Make as much noise as you can, draw the attention of the uneducated loons. Me and Hurk will head towards the control room. Once you get done, meet us there."[/i]

"You got it Andy."

With his thumb flicking the safety off his rifle, he ambled off to the right. I waited a minute before motioning to the left hallway.

[i]"Alright Hurk, my man. Let's get ramblin'."[/i]

[color=pink]"Roger that chief. Lead the way."[/color]

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[center][b][u]Collab between DJAtomika and the crafty pig, Part One[/u][/b][/center]

Blackout... the lights were out and everyone was home. People were shuffling in the darkness, colliding and apologising with the wry amusement of people who had taken enough shit that darkness couldn't phase them. Phone lights and torches, swept across the room but Arcan didn't need them. Sharp eyes accustomed to the gloom. 

Darkness was an odd thing, it brought honesty, a man could be himself when he thought no one could see. Faces downcast and distraught, terrified and afraid froze into intense skull masks or overenthusiastic smiles as soon as a light came near them.

Tommy's face was frustrated, then concerned as he came back into Arcan's field of vision.

"Tower's are out, but I know where they'll be."

Argan nodded

"Turning it back on". 

Tommy was back, you could see the old Tommy emerging, like he had just been in the back room fetching a beer. There was power to this man, a presence you had to respect. He talked you listened

"The Martovanni will be sending people to every power station and generator in the area. You want to get in with the heavies, you go to the central station. Tell them Tommy Vercetti sent you for old times sake. They got a problem, you fix it... you're in... God fucking help you."
[hr]

The car was riding low, ricketing over the divets in the road even as he swerved through carnage. People had taken to their homes avoiding the darkness but still the devestation of the riot path he was following forced him to swerve. Dark lamposts bent like rows of elderly widows huddled against the wind, glass from smashed windows littering the pavement like raindrops. A

It was like a ghost town, dead and deserted.

The car thudded again and Argan cursed looking back at the low riding boot. Why had he taken 3 bodies? Scooped them up from the littering that had covered the club floor he couldn't remember exactly why but the voices had been insistent.

There was something off about them, looking into those dead eyes he felt a strange sensation, a sensation that began slipping away as soon as he looked away. The voices began chatting every time he saw them... but it was different like he was listening to one half of a conversation down a paranormal telephone. He couldn't place his finger on it, she was more solid, he could almost see her inside his head, like a badly tuned tv, sound but fuzzy picture. He could almost see her face but when he looked away, distracted she slid away.

Something in those bodies made the madness stronger and that information could be powerful in the right hands. Vampires would know... if he could find the right one.

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Alonzo kept his course straight and true, and soon he ended up in the cafeteria. Trashed, as expected, but what he didn't expect was that the whole place was completely empty. Earlier he'd heard the noises as well, and they'd come from [b]everywhere[/b]. He knew this place was gonna be trouble real soon. His training told him to prepare.

The cafeteria itself was quite well furnished, with the usual picnic-table style tables all over the place. Bolted to the floor, of course, but the chairs weren't, and some of the tabletops had been ripped from their metal housings and tossed aside like paper. Cover, essentially.

Back slinging his rifle, Alonzo set to work building a barricade. He knew that unorganised forces like these were like ants; they'd simply overwhelm by sheer weight of numbers. Right now he didn't know how many ants there were, but he had to be prepared. He wrapped his hands around the edge of a disloged table and began hauling. Three minutes later and he'd stacked what tabletops he could drag over up against the only doorway, covering the rest of the makeshift barricade with chairs, their legs and arms interlocked and steadied to further strengthen the wall. Next to that doorway, the kitchen. Without studying any blueprints, he could already tell that there was another way out through there, probably into the service corridors and tunnels that ran through the whole place. With his barricade in place, he'd effectively made a chokepoint. He ran behind a set of tables at the far end of the room and waited, rifle trained in the other direction.

Soon, there was a thump against the blocked door. A garish face, pale and covered in tattoos, appeared in the glass, growling and snarling as hands pounded against the blocked door. Alonzo took aim and fired a shot, punching a neat hole in the face's nose. As the figure toppled backwards two more replaced him, then four, and a crowd began banging against the door in force.

Meanwhile, through the kitchen, ran several men. Clad in dark red robes and armed with shotguns and pistols, they fanned out into the cafeteria and began firing on Alonzo's position. Buckshot and pistol bullets began to ping and whizz by him, ricocheting against the walls, floor, even the table top. The soldier kept his calm and returned fire.

With short controlled bursts, robed men began falling. His rifle spat and roared, each fiery expulsion of hot lead destroying another enemy. Corpses began to litter the cafeteria floor, even as the makeshift barricade began to shift and fall apart. His badassery and bravery were infinite, but his ammo wasn't, even as he ejected his spent magazine and slapped another one into his rifle, he patted his vest, counting the number of magazines he had left. Several, but not enough to fully fight everything that was being thrown at him.

He'd need help. And fast.
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