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The Polis
Topic Started: Jun 27 2012, 04:25 AM (318 Views)
kommunist1
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He approached the police building with a smile, gripping his AK12 in his hands. "I dont think de Polis will miss thier ammunition..." He moved over to the doors, pulling on the handles, seeing them to be lock he let out a sigh. He rammed the butt of the gun down onto the handle, breaking the lock with a smile. He kicked in the door, entering the small building.

Upon entrance he turned on his flashlight, now frowning. He moved forward deeper into the area, checking the corners of the unlit police building. Turning one last corner he moved over to the door marked "Armory". Faustin grinned a rare smile, breaching this door. He moved onto sifting through the guns and ammunition. He found the police station to be a dud for the proper ammunition for his rifle, he let out another sigh, slumping down onto a bench. He look to the open door, hoping the commotion didnt attract anything. He hugged his AK12 close to his chest, placing the flashlight onto the floor, he slowly closed his eyes for a rest.
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Tyrade
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Peter had gone in an open window around the back, leaving Amaya under the protection of the two fighters. He needed a better shotgun, or at least ammo for his over/under. The man arms with the assault rifle seemed useful in breaking down the armory door, but had also broken the door keeping the zombies out.

"You need ammo too eh?" He called out, making sure to stay behind cover in case the man was hostile. What he wouldn't give for his G36C back...
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kommunist1
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Faustin would look up, one hand sliding down the gun for the safety, not taking his eyes off the source of the sound. "Da, I need ammo, didnt find anything but a Remington 700P." He would then stand up. "You didnt used to work for any... Agencies?"

Faustin would stand up taking a step back from this man with a continuous frown. He would move back to the weapons lockers, leaning against the nearest one. "So, American, your looking de ammo to?" Faustin would put emphasis on the word American as if calling him out.
Edited by kommunist1, Jun 27 2012, 06:12 PM.
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Tyrade
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The man was russian, that much was clear. He seemed a bit paranoid, but when everything tha moved either wanted to kill you or eat you that tended to be a norm.

"Just a well trained cop, nothing special." Peter answered, wanting to keep his actual skill level a secret. A swat trained, military level combatent wasn't exactly commonplace behind a basic police batch. He gripped the shotgun tighter when the man called him out for being american. An american in America, wow, busted.

He kept his wisecracks to himself, not wanting to provoke the man with the assault rifle. "That I am, mr russian. Thought I would get nostalgic and visit my old precinct." A compromise was probably a good idea, the cop was outgunned but he had information.

"I'll make you a deal, we don't shoot each other and I show you where the good shit is kept."
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kommunist1
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"Only a Cop... Alright... I suppose I can trust you for now.." Faustin spoke caustiously as if considering what he had just said. He looked to the entrance, flicking on the safety, though keeping the gun pointed at the door as a bluff.

"Come in then.... Though you have my curiousity peeked with the Good Shit..." Faustin dropped to a knee as if entering a defensive position ready for if a gun fight broke out. "Im going to let you know... Dat pepper spray shit doesnt work on me..." He would again say this as a bluff, he HAD been pepper sprayed before, he had doubled in pain though.
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Tyrade
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"I ditched my pepper spray a long time ago." Peter said when he heard the safety click back. He stepped out, shotgun still in hand but lowered.

"AK47s are a commonly confiscated weapon, so if they hold the same ammo there should be plenty for that thing."

He pulled up his key ring, curious if his keys still worked after as long as he had been gone. With a bit of luck the evidence room opened, revealing a room full of shotguns, hand guns, M4s and AKs. Varying other weapons were in the evidence locker, but in this world only the guns mattered.

Peter grabbed an M4, the rifle fitting more comfortable in his hands than an AK. He tossed a couple mags of ammo to the russian as he loaded the M4.

"I was always curious why we kept the ammo with the guns, but it doesn't seem to matter anymore."

A light pounding noise came from upstairs, causing Peter to shoulder his new rifle and pick up a remington 870. "I suppose I should go check that out."
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kommunist1
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"Hell for all we know das are some of de American Polis" Faustin would give a light shrug at this remark, looking down on the AK magazines. "Hmm, You need some back up, I havent fired this rifle in so long..." He would tap the side of the gun, looking outside the unlit dark halls. "Im sure you will need some light anyway." Faustin would gesture to his flashlight on the ground with a smile.
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Tyrade
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Peter sighed at the suggestion. "Honestly I would prefer the zombies. I got transferred because I busted up a huge corruption ring and they wanted rid of me. Whole fuckin' precinct was corrupt. They killed my partner and shipped me out when they couldn't kill me. If the police chief is still alive up there, I would like to fix that if you don't mind."

With a nod in the direction of the sound he permitted the man with the light to take point, though he would follow beside him, he seemed the untrusting type.
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kommunist1
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"I know how it feels to be shunned by your own Comrades by doing something they deserved..." He would say this, a low growl escaping through his Gasmask. Faustin would pick up the flashlight then unholstering his Makarov PMM.

He would move out outside the door, looking to the stairs. Faustin would then whisper to peter quietly, "The doors Open.. Didnt see that before." With this Faustin would move up the stairs with near silent, slow foot steps. Upon reaching the door we would move himself over to the right side in a breaching position, Nodding to Peter to move up.
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Tyrade
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They heard voices inside, Peter paused to listen. They were talking about the intruders and how they had heard voices, choosing to stay put rather than risk a confrontation. One thing did make him grin, his big target was inside, along with a couple voices that were worthy collateral damage.

"I'm telling you, it sounded just like him! He was talkin' to some russian guy!"
"Bullshit, the guy was shipped over seas, he is likely zombie chow by now."
"I don't like it, it sounded just like the guy!"
"He was shipped over seas well over a year ago, if he is somehow back here I doubt he would come back to the precinct knowing we would kill him on sight."

They were talking about him, but the chief didn't seem willing to believe the meta was back in his home town, right outside their door waiting to bust in with a spetsnaz in tow. He turned to the russian following him. "The older one is mine, do what you like with the other two."

He stood and planted a boot right next to the lock, blowing the neglected door open with a powerful kick.

"Jesus christ it is him!" The chief cried out, reaching for his gun but was cut off by Peter blowing his knee out with a shotgun blast and diving behind a desk for cover to let the russian take care of the distracted henchmen.
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