[Disclaimer: I don't know why I need to say this, as I would think that the website title, , should already imply this, but I don't own Homestuck. If I did, I would be rolling in Boondollars, filling buckets every night, having affairs with Ryan West, and thwarting assassination attempts from Vriska fans every day. No, I am not this man. That man is Andrew Hussie, and he deserves a big round of applause for bringing to us the convoluted-yet-somehow-structurally-sound-fruity-rumpus-asshole-party that is Homestuck. I do not own Left4Dead either. That is owned by a large, obese fat man who swims in a pool-filled-with-money-that-he-got-from-selling-TF2-hats. That man is Gabe Newell. For the sake of my sanity please do not ship Gabe with Andrew. It doesn't work.]
Bullet casings cascaded to the ground around the four black-suited men. Droogs and Slick fired their AK-47s, while Deuce pumped his shotgun, and Boxcar wielded his minigun. After four seconds of fire, Droogs and Slick reloaded. "Boxcars, cease fire." Slick commanded. His voice was drowned out under the wail of Boxcar's minigun, though.
"Dammit, Boxcar" Slick snarled, hitting him over the head with his Cast Iron Horse Hitcher, "cease FUCKING FIRE! You're gun's too fucking loud, and that ammo don't come cheap. In fact, it don't come at all anymore. What we've got is what we've got. Save it for when it counts!"
Hearts Boxcars scowled, letting his minigun spin down.
Diamond Droogs lowered his gun, "You think they're dead Slick?"
"Maybe," Slick responded, "Never underestimate an opponent boy-"
Then Slick's hat was shot off.
"Shit!" Slick swore, diving behind one of the cars outside, as did his fellow gang members. "Who did that?" Slick hollered.
"Me." A man said from inside the shop, "What did we do that warranted that assload of bullets?"
"We're the Midnight Crew," Deuce piped up, "and we're here to take your shit!"
Silence was heard for a few seconds, before a younger man inside the shop called out, "Do you mean us giving you shit, or you stealing our stuff?"
Slick leaned over to Droogs, "Let's just kill these brats. On my count. 1.."
"Do you mean us giving you shit, or you stealing our stuff?" Dave called out from behind the counter.
Jake searched for signs of motion behind the cars, and finding none, whispered to Jade, "Jade, find some ammo for your gun. My M1 Garand is good, but not that good. Plus they have a bloody minigun, so we can use every piece of functional weaponry we can get our hands on."
Jade proceeded to search the shelves for the proper caliber bullets for her gun. John clutched Rose's knitting needle tightly in his hand, while Rose loaded her gun's magazine with bullets she'd picked up earlier. Jane pulled back the hammer on her Derringer. Dave lifted his katana.
As Jade grabbed a box of .357 magnum rounds, all hell broke loose.
Bob the taxi driver was a normal man. Emphasis on the past tense, because he turned into a zombie a couple of days ago. Bob staggered around the street, along with his fellow zombie brethren, when he heard the stuttering of gunfire in the distance. Bob, along with hundreds of other of his undead fellows, immediately sprinted towards the sound, following an unfathomable directive put forth by some malicious pathogen.
"Bollocks!" Jake swore as he dove behind the counter as the hail of bullets tore apart his former hiding place, "Bugger me, how am I supposed to get a clear shot?"
Jade started loading her magazine, "Wait until they reload! Those three tall ones won't take long to reload, but that fatso with the minigun probably isn't carrying anymore ammo for it!"
Rose stood up, and unloaded her magazine out the front windows, before staggering backwards and falling flat on her back, clutching her left shoulder. "Rose!" John cried out, crawling over to her, "Where did you get hit?"
Rose gave John a pained grin, "It's alright, it just grazed me." Blood seeped out between her fingers.
"Graze, my ass!" Jade growled, "That was idiotic! You could've been killed! Why would you even do something like that?"
Rose shrugged, then winced in pain.
"Hey, guys, listen." Dave whispered.
The minigun was no longer contributing to the symphony of bullets.
"What the hell is wrong?" Slick demanded.
"Um…. Slick, my gun…" Hearts Boxcar showed Slick where the blonde girl's bullets had destroyed the electronics operating the gun. "She got in a lucky shot."
Slick examined the damaged firearm, "Looks like it was more than a few 'lucky shots'. So, these kids are a bit more of a match than I originally thought." Slick signaled his men to stop firing, "It's been a while since I've met such a formidable threat. Switch to hollow point, boys."
"I'm a better shot than you think I am," Rose coughed as she dragged herself to a sitting position, "I've disabled their minigun. With that out of the way, we should be able to fight them off." Rose cast her gaze among present company, "Who shall lead the charge?"
The Midnight Crew were almost done preparing to erase the kids when suddenly a red blur shot out of the shop.
"Guys, stay here, I've got an idea." Dave whispered, tensing his muscles.
"Dave, what are you-" Before John could finish, Dave dashed out of the store.
The katana passed directly in front of Spade Slick's face as he tried to back away.
"FUCK!" Slick swore, dropping his AK-47 and swinging his swiftly drawn Cast Iron Horse Hitcher. The Iron cudgel glanced off the edge of the Japanese blade, and Slick then proceeded to parry the next two consecutive strikes. The boy seemed surprised (as far as Slick could tell; those shades really obscured his face). The boy lunged at Slick, and Slick moved to deflect the stab with his Horse Hitcher. That action resounded with the ring of breaking metal.
Dave grit his teeth, jumping back a foot or so. He watched stoically as half his sword clattered to the pavement a foot away. Crap. What was he going to do with half a sword? Out of the corner of his eye, he registered that the other three gangsters had their guns trained on him. They were waiting till he was far away enough from their boss. Dave cringed, expecting the pain of being torn apart by lead. It didn't happen.
The taller boss gangster snarled, "Don't fire, this kid's mine." He drew a black Colt 1911 from his holster, and began to level it with Dave's face. Dave didn't let him. He may not have a full sword anymore, Dave thought as he drew back his arm, but he still had his speed.
Spades Slick was about to put a hole in the little runt's head, when the kid's arm became a blur. In the next second, he saw the glint of steel out of this right eye. That was the last thing his right eye would ever see. The next thing he felt was the white hot pain across the right side of his face, and he dropped his gun, clutching his mutilated eye, "Kill the fucker!" he screamed, but the boy in the red record shirt disappeared in a blur, then the forgotten party in the store attacked.
Dave watched his shattered excuse for a weapon spin through the air. If he was right, the remains of the blade should strike his opponent's face, and not the handle.
He was right.
Blood sprayed from his assailant's face and his gun clattered to the street.
Not missing a beat, Dave flash-stepped out of his attacker's field of view, stopping momentarily to grab a piece of metal debris off the ground. He slashed at the back of one of the thugs just as his friends in the shop opened fire, forcing the remaining three to take cover.
Everyone forgot about the zombies.
As Dave yanked his improvised shiv out of the smaller thug, the larger, bulkier thug fell with a strangled cry, his throat encased in zombie maw.
"Deuce! Boxcars! Shit!" Slick swore, firing at the zombies who had suddenly surrounded them.
"Boss!" Droogs called, "We gotta go!"
"Fine," Slick snarled, "You haven't seen the last of us, kids!"
Dave flash stepped back to the shop, "Got anything to barricade the entrance with?"
Jake shook his head, "The doors won't lock, as it that would do us any good with the shattered windows."
John pushed past Jake and Dave, a pipe in hand, "Stand aside." He ordered, winding up for a swing at the store's awning supports.
A couple of whacks did it in, the canvas and ten tons of metal collapsing in front of the shop, crushing a couple of zombies who nearly made it inside.
Rose sighed, rubbing her shoulder and cringing as she accidentally put pressed on her wound, which was now bandaged, "Well, not to criticize the action that saved our immediate lives, but how do we get out now?"
Jake jerked his thumb at the storage room, "There's a roof access in the back. We can jump across to the next building; it's close enough."
Elsewhere in the city, a man wearing a baseball cap and pointy anime shades lowered his binoculars. He may not be able to reach his little bro due to the river's bridge being out, but at least he was safe. A large sound attracted his attention, and he turned his shades towards the source of the disturbance.
[Note: I started writing this chapter almost half a year ago. It's been a long time, I know, but I encountered the largest case of writers block in the history of…. Well, okay, not that big, my biggest writers block terminated two of my in-progress books. BUT I managed to drag myself through the pit of unoriginality to bring to you the ending of this chapter. It kind of sucks, I know, but I started writing this out as just a funny idea. I had no solid plot mapped out. And this was the result. I'm glad to say that, on the other hand, I DO have ideas for the rest of this story. Problem, though. I can't choose who to write about next. The other pairs wandering though the Undead-City-of-Hell-and-Unoriginality are as follows. Karkat and Terezi, Vriska and Tavros, Aradia and Sollux, Equius and Nepeta, Eridan and himself, Roxy and Dirk, and other assorted cast members. As of now, I only have fleshed out plotlines for Vriska, Tavros, Equius, Nepeta, and Eridan. So please review, and tell me who you want to read about next.]