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The hallways were confusing, alright. Empty too. I guess Alonzo must've been doing his job right. I could hear the gunshots from here, too. Sounded like a party. Only rarely did I see some red robed asshole running down the hallway towards wherever Alonzo was, and we plugged 'em good as soon as we saw 'em.

It was a trek. The control room was way inside the place, far far in. The further we went, the darker it got. Some places, the backup lights weren't even workin'.

It was weird though. The further we went, I could swear there was somethin' else followin' us. Like, there was a faint tippity tap on the walls 'n ceiling. I thought it was rats, honestly. Hurk thought otherwise.

[color=pink]"Something's in the walls, man. I don't like it."[/color]

[i]"Yeah, no shit, but whatever it is, we keep moving."[/i]

[color=pink]"You got it."[/color]

We had to keep moving. There was no turnin' back at that point. Either we got power back, or we were dead.

[hider=Also, at that very moment...]
[center][b][u]Collab between DJAtomika and the crafty pig, Part Two[/u][/b][/center]

The powerstation lay ahead of him, a great mass of chimneys and turbines silent and motionless now, the faintest traces of steam dissipating into the atmosphere. Ghostly pinpricks of dull grimy light lip up doorways and emergency exits, backup generators giving the place an ethereal pale glow. It looked dead… like it had been beaten to death.

Cars were ablaze, twisted wrecks of black metal, framed by a fence bent and misshapen from a horde of bodies clambering over it. A single car stood out, sleek and expensive, well cared for out of place amongst the carnage.

"M4R t0v4nn1", read the number plate… subtle, well there was no need to be subtle when you ran the place. Nevertheless good news, Tommy had been right.

A slight movement from the interior of the sleek car made him pull of the road cutting the engine and guiding the car between the trees, sliding in amongst the shadows. He wanted to show his skills, not get picked up by the first sentry. This was his moment, he had to shine.

His actions seemed to flow easily now, he was in his element, amongst the shadows… tree to tree… under the wire… car to car. At the entrance to the walkway he stopped, looking back at the car, was this wise, where would he go. As if in answer gunfire crackled in the distance. Height had always been his first rule of engagement, height and then surprise. 

[i]"and brutality”[/i]

Argan smiled… that was the gravy.

Luckily those rules suited his physique, lithe but most importantly small. A quality that was unappreciated in a world of behemoths. It made him underestimated and allowed him to remain unseen.

His progress through the building had been easy, the hallways unmanned, the odd abandoned corpse their brains sprayed across the walls, single bullet holes in their empty skulls. Everything he expected from the kingpin’s men…Efficient and well trained.

The gunfire was becoming more regular, burst after burst, louder and louder echoing his own heartbeat. He could feel his blood racing, excitement flooding him… good if used properly. 

The grate came down easily even as he pulled himself up into the vents. Now the strength, crawling in a vent was stupid, knees created noises, and noises drew attention. Stretch out fully and pull yourself along, arm by arm, hand by hand til you reach the next vent. Look about, then repeat.

The cafeteria had become a warzone, a hastily erected barricade was being ruthlessly defended by a singleman, rifle in hand he acted with sinuous grace, purpose in every single movement. Empty clips lay scattered behind him, those hanging at his belt becoming sparse adding a tension to his movements. The tension of a man who knew he was being as efficient as he could be but needed to be more so, a man pondering his next move.

Red robed men lay across the floor yet still more ducked between tables, scattered shots thudding into the tables even as the finger ducked smoothly. Thuds at the cafeteria door showed more robed figures throwing shoulders at the door trying to join the throng within. 

Quick assessment, his pistol was better suited for the single figures not the massed throng and it wouldn’t take long for them to locate him with so many eyes. Better to clear the below, free up the rifle and grab a shotgun to deal with the horde. Time was of the essence.

He was on the move again… pulling himself through the vents til he came out in the kitchen behind the cultists but away from the doors. Dropping to the floor, he scooted behind one of the serving stations pulling out the pistol.

Surprise.

One shot and a man whose face seemed to writhe with blue ink as he snarled a mixture of curses and daemonic jabbering. He dropped like a stone face frozen in a howl. His next door neighbour turned from a spattering of blood red gore to take a bullet through the eye.

Move…
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Alonzo noticed the presence before he saw it. From within the kitchen, a red-robed man fell, blood spraying from the hole in his head. Then another. And another.

Some invisible death force was at the other end of the cafeteria.

However he had bigger problems than whatever mysterious killer had recently appeared. The mob was breaking through. The tables he'd stacked up against the door were slowly falling down from being jostled too much. Any more, and the whole barricade would collapse.

He ducked down behind his makeshift cover and reloaded. Empty magazines littered the floor around his feet, and his combat belt was nearly dry. Not like he didn't have more ammo; his vest held eight more magazines in its pouches. To say he came prepared to deal with an army was right.

Just then, the barricade exploded in force. Tables and chairs crashed and scattered on the floor as the cultist mob behind it fell over upon itself from the sudden break.

No time.

"Shit."

He stood and aimed his rifle at the seething mass of armed death at the far end of the cafeteria, even as the cultists began struggling to their feet, knives and baseball bats drawn. With a scowl on his face he slapped the rifle, chambering the first round, and clicked it to full-auto.

"Eat shit, you sons of bitches."

He squeezed the trigger and held it there for two seconds to empty out his magazine.

Thirty speeding bullets tore through the air and buried themselves within the wall of flesh that had so invaded his area.

Men dropped like flies, but still they kept coming.

He released the empty magazine from his rifle and swiftly drew another, even as the empty mag fell to the floor, slaamming the new mag into his rifle and slapping the release to chamber the first round.

Another two second trigger squeeze and more men fell. Corpses began to pile up in the cafeteria doorway as more and more cultists ate hot lead, fell and died where they laid. Still they kept coming, rushing over the bodies of their fallen, knives up and bats a swinging, unholy roars and cries of anger and terror rising into the air as they charged his position.

He reloaded with the same swiftness and took aim again. The armed madmen were a third of the way across the cafeteria when he opened fire again, dropping those at the front of the pack with quick, controlled bursts. However, though he had the advantage of firepower, the madmen still outnumbered him.

If his mysterious benefactor didn't act soon, he'd be dead.
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