Call of C'Handler

November only snarled, knife in hand, as she glowered at the door. She was eager to get at Grisby for the poor canine. Her ears perk at the sound of the mention of a safe, since that meant more goods, but that didn’t seem to make her calm none. Anger clouded her rational thinking as she only wanted to get revenge. She tightened her grip on her knife, teeth flaring, as a low growl emitted from the depths of her throat.

Keep yourself together, she thought to herself, tearing her gaze away from the door for a moment, huffing a heavy breath in attempts to gather her wits about her before turning her gaze back to the door. Her anger flared up again.

“Let me at the piece of shit,” November snapped through clenched teeth.
 
There's a long, awkward pause before Grisby speaks again.

"Okay. Okay, I know when I'm caught. I didn't authorise this, I assure you. Ill be having words with Wesly after this, this is not...urgh, this isn't an appropriate way to handle things."

You hear a low growl from the other side of the door.

"Look, there's about 5000 W-Quarters in that safe. It's more than Comic would have paid you. Just take it, and walk away. There are some things you shouldn't get involved wi-"

Grisby is cut off abruptly by a loud roar, followed by the sounds of ripping, tearing, and screaming.

What do you do?
 
Tyce glances at the door with his glazed, dead eyes.
"Dude, what the hell is that thing? That sounds like a guy getting his ass eaten. We don't care bout the money, we just want to know what the fuck is going on."
 
Only silence emerges from the other side. A thin trickle of blood runs from under the door's frame.
 
"A look of unease spread across Toadvine's worn, sun-beaten face. The deep lines on his brow contorted like cracks in the earth's plates, moving and shifting as though a great earthquake were transpiring. A single bead of sweat slid over the branding on his forehead. He took a step away from the pool of crimson that was expanding from beneath the door.

Toadvine had tamed and quarreled with many a creature in his day. The bestial snarling from the other side of the door conjured images of an enraged she-wolf in his mind. He glanced downwards at his medallions. Their grotesque, cyclopean eyes stared back at him, contemplating him with their ghastly visages. A greater sense of unease swept through Toadvine but he tried to remain stoical and resolute.

I don't rightly know what's behind that there door, Toadvine began. But I reckon that we won't very much like what we find. He solemnly lifted his revolver, taking care to make sure that it was loaded and that it would not misfire. He set his hand on the door's knob. There was no longer any weight on it."
 
"Dude, wait!" Tyce calls out to Toadvine. Tyce motions to Mr. Grisby with his shotgun, his deep set eyes looking at the Forman with their characteristic stoned rage.
"We should make Grisby open the door first. That way, like, you know, if he really does have like nothin ta hide then he'll be fine. And if there's some fucked up shit there he'll get all fucked up first."
 
"The desperado grimaced at the junkie. His brow was furrowed more out of bewilderment than malice. A silence clung to the air for a few fleeting seconds. Toadvine looked down at the forming pool of blood and then back to the junkie.

I don't think the foreman is going to get the door for us boy. The junkie stared ahead blankly. It was as though he had momentarily lost his ability to comprehend English, a possibly that Toadvine did not doubt."
 
Toadvine pushes the door open.

On the other side, you see a human hand, severed at the wrist, lying in a pool of blood. It's fingers twitch slightly. The experience leaves you feeling disturbed, having heard someone's death. [1 sanity lost!]

The rest of the room is shrouded in darkness, but from the far left corner you hear a faint tearing sound...
 
"Hey, Brokeback, like, move over a bit and watch fagman for a moment. I'm sending him in first."
Tyce moves behind the foreman and sticks the shotgun muzzle right in the back of his head.
He also slips a little present in Mr. Grisby's pocket, an open bottle of lighter fluid.
"Alright, like, here's the deal. Start walkin inta the closet over there. NOW!"
 
"Toadvine looked upon the severed hand without a trace of emotion on his face. Such gruesome displays of carnage were not new to him. The room was dark save for the beam of urine colored light that shot through the door frame. Only the lone appendage was illuminated.

A grotesque sound drew Toadvine's attention to a darkened corner of the room. It was a visceral, meaty sound, the kind a beast made while gorging itself. Toadvine pointed his revolver towards the source of the sound. Both of his thumbs were pressed against the hammer.

Boy, Toadvine snapped at the junkie. Get the lights. There's something mighty unpleasant over yonder. As he said this, he motioned to corner from whence the noise was originating."
 
Tyce rams the shotgun muzzle in Mr. Grisby's neck, causing him to stumble foward, and, with a pained expression on his face, walks towards the door.
"Yeah, you heard him you faggot. Switch on the lights, or I'll make you my next Caleb."
Tyce pulls the GI Joe walkie talkie out of his belt with his left hand and turns it on.
"Dudes, do you read me?"

On the outskirts of the construction site, the Tycemobile sits, as idle as it's occupants, who are sitting around getting blazed and listing to Tyce's homemade neo-nazi rap.
"I hates niggas, go white powa, cause I bigga than the niggas when I fuck yo mom...."
"Dude, this is some tight beats, yo?" says Derrick, who is smoking a blunt and playing with his plastic gold "Hanggman" necklace.
Tyce's goons hadn't driven off, mostly because what Tyce did to Elbert was still fresh in their small minds, and they really didn't want to get on his bad side.
Nick lazily flicks the car antenna, causing the Sonee duct taped to it to squeal in terror. Big Jim sits in the drivers seat, rubbing his BAR and occasionally his other automatic rifle. Then suddenly, the greasy GI Joe walkie talkie crackles to life.
"Dudes, do you read me?"
Big Jim yanks his hand out of his pants and grabs the walkie talkie.
"Tyce, this is Big Jim. What's going on?"
"Get the Tycemobile over here, we got some fucked up shit and we'll probably need guns and evac. We're in the central building thing. Get to the entrance, but, like, don't come onto the site itself yet. I'll keep the line open, if the shit goes down be here ASAP. Peace out dudes."
Derrick sits up, grabs a shotgun from the back seat, and cocks it.
"Dude, this is gonna be tight!"
Nick jumps in the backseat and loads an Uzi. "Tyce sounds like he's in some fucked up shit man. It's probably like a chink or something using their anime Kung-Fu shit. Let's go be, like, racial holey warriors and save the day and shit!"
Big Jim stuffs a cold hot pocket in his mouth, starts the van, and hauls ass towards the construction site entrance.
 
Tyce suddenly realizes that he's pointing his shotgun at a blank patch of air.
"Dude? What the fuck? Where's Fagsby go? Dude, that's fucking gay, he used, like, stealth an shit to disappear."
Tyce grabs his walkie talkie and radios the goons.
"Duuuude, we got invisible faggots and scary faggots and shit over here. NEED YOU BROS ASAP!"
A block away the minivan hurtles towards the entrance of the construction site.
Tyce pulls the pipebomb from his pains sphincter and prepares to light it.
 
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We're going to need to have a session of Racial Holy War at some point but with Sonichu characters juxtaposed in. We can listen to some of Tyce's homemade neo-nazi rap while doing so hopefully. :lol:

"A great commotion could be heard from the other end of the site. All present could hear the shrill screeching of cheap rubber against asphalt and the subsequent commotion of the workers.

Toadvine growled angrily and turned to face the junkie. You just blew our cover you got' damn moron, he barked ruefully. He stood there for a moment, fuming and hot-faced. It dawned on him that the lights still weren't on. The desperado groaned and moved towards the light switch. With a free hand, he slammed the switch on as to shed light on whatever terrible thing was feasting in the corner."
 
I actually ran a brief spoof of RHW where you're a drunken neo-nazi in a compound outside of Boise. And you have to make a beer run to Walmart. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) it petered out before it was done. We got as far as Judge Holden's character going F.A.T.A.L on ADF while the rest of us beat up a group of Tumblrites going to 'Dashcon 2015'.
Yeah but I'd totally be up for that.
Although I've got a bunch of other stuff that I'm working on/procrastinating on. Like a home-brewed lolcow RPG, where you make and control your own SJW, Autist Artist, or Wizard, do battles with Internet trolls, and be a public nuisance.
 
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The bare bulb hanging from the ceiling flares into life, illuminating the room. Crouched over a mangled body, in the corner, is a familiar figure with unfamiliar features. It raises its face to look at you as the light flicks on, a horrific smirk contorting its bloodstained face dripping with viscera.

Mr. Comic - or his body, at least - has seen better days. His eyes are cold and dead, his fingers have mutated into rending talons, and all along his body - especially down his back - yellow shards of the strange, clay-like substance you found earlier jut out of his flesh at regular intervals.

They almost make him look like...[SONICHU MYTHOS ROLLED] a hedgehog. No, worse. Far worse. HIM. But it's not. You know it's not. He was different. Not so dead. This is a simulacrum. A cheap copy. A replica. But seeing Comic in this state, standing over Grisby's corpse...

[6 sanity lost!]

Somewhere on the site, a very important fuse blows. Every light on the site winks out, including the light in the room you're standing in. The after-image of whatever Comic has become is still present in your vision when you hear a low growl coming from in front of you. Close.

It is pitch dark. You are likely to be eaten by a Sonichu.

How do you proceed?
 
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As darkness enveloped her, it was then that November had snapped back into reality out of her spaced out stupor. She shook her head, her vision obscured by the thick, utter blackness that surrounded them. Tyce and Toadvine had gone out of sight in the blink of an eye, but she could still sense their presence near her--as well as the presence of that monstrosity that was once Mr. Comic. A Sonichu. The thought of it caused her heart to skip a beat.

There's no way in hell she would allow that thing to win.

It was too dark to see, but it was worth a shot to attempt to slay this creature. Heart thumping hard in her chest, November slipped out her revolver and pointed the barrel in the general direction she had last seen the Sonichu, all the while taking timid steps backwards, keeping her hazel eyes alert and her finger on the trigger.
 
"Tyyyyyyyyccceeed!" Tyce bellows as he lights the pipebomb, throws it down, and runs like hell out the door. The harsh sparking of the fuse can be seen rolling across the floor. Tyce takes a flying leap over the stoop to avoid the hotwheels prank, does a tactical parkour roll when he smacks into the ground, and takes off running towards the quickly approaching lights of the Tycemobile.
 
Man, we're losing our minds fast! What exactly happens when your sanity gets too low anyhow? Is it just game over then? That'd be an anti-climatic end to this epic saga of jenkem and revolvers.

"The foreman crouched in the corner, hunched over the cadaver of his employer. He had about him a sickly yellow pallor that was both corpse-like and leathery. Shards of dully-tinted Terracotta were sticking out of his flesh intermittently. His long, spindly arms ended in talons, from which the proprietors blood dripped. A sadistic grin sat upon his face, concealing two rows of pointed canines.

The weak, incandescent glow of the room's solitary light bulb abruptly cut out. Darkness ensued. The air in the room suddenly became very claustrophobic, laden with the uneasy breathing of all present.

Toadvine exhaled exasperatedly at this turn of events. Gritting his teeth, he took of up his revolver with both of his hands. COLT the side of the barrel said. He glowered into the darkness aimlessly, endowed with a grim sense of awareness that there was something dangerous in the room with him. He pulled the trigger, firing into the blackness."
 
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