[center] [img] http://static.panoramio.com/photos/large/16833104.jpg [/img] [/center] “This fucking city, man.” Dallas Royce laughed aloud, as he slowly revved his harley down the narrow street, glove-clad hands resting on the slick handlebars. “Give a dame a gram of dust and she’ll go down on you like a vacuum cleaner. Even if you’re a fucking zombie.” The darkness concealed the rotten blotches on Dallas’ once handsome face, as threads of green ooze and peeling skin ran across his right cheek like a poorly drawn subway map. “It's only cause yer one of them pretty zombies, man.” Johnny Feng called out, guiding his motorbike carefully behind Royce’s. “You gotta stop trying to get in my pants, kid.” Royce said with a smirk, killing the engine and climbing off of the Iron 883 “You’re more than welcome to shag me, but I ain’t gettin’ you a promotion.” “That’s a damn travesty,” Feng chuckled, as he pulled up behind Royce and dismounted “I might have to do some actual work, for once.” Whereas Royce was fairly well-preserved, Feng was a peeling mess of paper-thin flesh and oozing pustules. His eyes were dark and sunken, and he looked as though he were a strong breeze away from crumbling into a pile of dust. “Right…” Royce unfastened his sawn-off shotgun from its holster on the side of his bike ”Lets get to work.” The pair moved through the night, heading down the road towards Sosa’s Emporium Of Procured Property. Way back when, Royce had been part of the Reapers, under Mad Maddie Hollinghurst; the most psycho bitch in a city full of psycho bitches. When Maddie went full demon, the Reapers were history, and it wasn’t long before that creep Cicero took care of the Rotfaces. A man named Henning Maddirish had brought the former mortal enemies together, and those who’d resisted had gotten themselves zombified. Royce included. Now he rolled with the Brotherhood of Rot, and spent his days relieving stress with his trusty 12 gauge. “Yo! Sosa!” The door to the Pawnshop flew open with a powerful kick, as Royce and Feng strode confidently inside “The Big bad bikers are here to [i]party![/i]” The small mexican man was stooped down behind the counter at the other end of the shop, past rows of second hand guitars and old stereos. The pair swaggered confidently towards him, sizing up to the older man. “You boys got nowhere better to be at this time of night?” He scowled. “Don’t you be getting cranky with us, little man,” Royce warned “we [i]do not[/i] have time for your old guy bullshit.” “You got time for [i]my[/i] bullshit,punk?” Royce stopped dead in his tracks. Turning as one, the pair came face-to-face with two suit-clad figures; one male, one female, both pointing giant fuck-off pythons squarely at the two bikers. “Sosa, dude...not cool.” Royce hissed “You sold us out.” “Not like we gave him much choice,” Agent Kunis smirked “hard to say no to this face.” “I bet.” Royce gave her a quick once over. “You kids are all dressed up.You Bloodbloom’s?” “Magical Regulation Bureau.” Agent Voss said plainly. “No shit…” Feng grumbled. “Sorry to disappoint you, officers,” Royce laughed dryly “but there ain’t nothin’ magical going on here. Just a good old fashioned business disagreement.” Kunis nodded to the Biker’s weapon. “You solve all your business disagreements with a sawn-off shotgun?” “You do in Santa Somabra.” In a lucid flash of movement, Royce jerked the shotgun upwards, before anyone could react, and smashed Kunis in the jaw with the butt of the weapon, knocking teeth loose and cracking bone. The young woman let out a sudden gasp as the weapon connected with her face, and she went stumbling backwards, giving Royce the opening he needed to pull the trigger. The bellow of the shotgun ripped through Kunis’ chest, knocking her off her feet in a deafening blast of red gore, sending blood mist spurting out into the air. “Motherfucker-” Voss cocked back his Python and fired, blowing a hole clean through the [i]living[/i] side of Royce’s face, and out the back of his neck. The Biker swayed...and fell, crashing to the ground with a deep ‘THUD!’. Before Feng could reach for his weapon, Voss had his arm behind his back, and was forcing him down into the carpet. “Mister Sosa?” “Si, Signore?” “I suggest you make yourself scarce.” “Si, Signore.” Sosa left quickly out the back entrance. “Listen up, scumbag,” Voss snarled, pressing the barrel of his python against the back of Feng’s rotten neck “You’re gonna tell me everything you know about your wretched fucking organization, and then I’m gonna paint this room with the inside of your head. Capiche?” “Hold on,” Feng spluttered “I gots me a get out of jail free card.” “You fuckers killed my partner of [i]Six Years[/i],” Voss roared “And you think I’m gonna let you just...walk away?!” “I’m with the Obstacle!” Voss loosened his hold on Feng, considered that for a moment, and then let him stand up. “So you guys are real, huh?” Voss asked numbly, as Feng began to dust himself off. “Not as far as this cities concerned.” The zombie gave a shrug “best to keep it that way, for now. Need to know basis and all that.” “And the Bureau ain’t in the know?” “Only selectively.” Feng gave the agent one last nod as he began to walk away. “Keep up the good work.” “And you…” Said Voss, as he gazed sadly down at the corpse of his friend.