Darkest Hour ((Zombie RP-Closed))

Turning the sound down on the television Jacob turned to face the bars patrons who by now had begun on the verge of nervous breakdowns. Men speaking of their families and loved ones in anxious voices as they struggled to understand what was going on outside. "Come now gentlemen there is no need to worry, you heard it yourselves the police have begun to mobilize and take care of the rioters. I'm sure its nothing serious probably just some angry protesters who got a bit to riled up." The men settling back into their seats nodded their heads to each other. This wasn't the first time New Yorkers had experienced such a scene and why should this time be any different?

With the patrons now relaxed and delving into the deep depths of their mugs Jacob turned back to the the television and shut it off. There was no sense in leaving it on and worrying about what you couldn't control. Its best to just leave it to the authorities and everything will sort its self out or at least thats what he thought would happen.

The night had been quiet so far with little to no noise outside, most likely due to the curfew in effect for Manhattan residence. So as the night drew on the bars few remaining patrons began to trickle out through the door and into the vast night. Eventually it was just Jacob alone sitting on a bar stool as he waited till it was time to close. Nearly half past one he got up off the stool and went about cleaning up the bar. Setting down two trash bags by the large heavy doors of the old bar he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Tom. He still hadn't come back from his smoke nearly an hour ago and now Jacob was beginning to worry. As he opened the door he turned back and grabbed both of the trash bags before walking out onto the sidewalk. The street was barren with no signs of life anywhere to be seen, the only light on the entire block coming from a old electrical lamp post at the corner of the block. As he walked down towards the dumpsters at the end of the bar he saw a foot hanging out from behind them. Pausing for a moment he figured it was probably a bum who had figured the alley behind the bar would be a good enough place to take a nap. Turning into the alley the poor lighting that was given off by a small light that hung above the dumpsters casted the mans face in shadow. Jacob giving the mans foot a nudge with his own opened up the lid of the dumpster and began tossing the garbage bags inside. "Hey I'm sorry man but you can't sleep here my boss would have my head if he saw you back here." As he closed the dumpsters lid he saw a familiar face staring back into his.

((sorry for large gap between post when the start time was listed as the 3rd i assumed you didnt mean early hours this morning))

Cero took a big gulp from his beer and thought about what was happening, the barman was right of course everyone should just calm down and wait for whatever this was to blow over, but he has seen riots and fights in this city before and something about this seemed different, the news hadnt mentioned a cause these people were fighting for, or a gang group they supposedly represented, no something about this just didnt feel right.
Turning to a nearby patron Cero shook his head and said:

"These gang nutjobs got no respect for this city am I right?"

The man jerked back as he snapped out of his reverie.

"oh. . yes," the man replied "quite. did you see the broadcast? My wife works in that district, I do hope they can contain this before anyone gets hurt."

"Hell, aint no way this is ending without someone getting hurt, the PD will put these guys down soon enough, the more force the better" Cero said with a grin. "and I wouldnt worry about your wife, unless she works the streets she'll be holed up inside with the doors locked."

a slight look of distaste crossed the mans face at the mention of 'working the streets' but he appriceiated Cero's attempt to cheer him up.

"you are probably right, I should stop worrying and finish my drink, this whole thing will blow over and i'll be laughing about it later."

"I'll drink to that!"

They chinked bottles and returned to their drinking, Cero was just about to ask the man his name when there was a crash from outside. . .

“We are unable to connect your call please try again later”

“What!?” This was unheard of. Police not responding? He rings again on his mobile. The ringing tone follows, it trials on. Jason rets back upon the hood of his car. This was getting worse by the minute. He casts a gaze back and sees his ‘captive’, he was young, properly not even in his twenties. What the hell. He sat now in the backseat of his car, handcuffed to the door. He hadn’t even resisted, it was like his mind had just checked out after the act. He just sat there, it didn’t make any sense. It just seemed awry, didn’t feel right.

The phone continues to ring. Some people had emerged from their houses to see what had happened he had tried to keep them back as best as he could. But well they could see what had happened, he had tried to maintain control, keep everyone calm. Someone called the police but like him was confronted by, nothing. No response. One of the neighbours after getting over the initial shocked had explained this might be due to the rioting. It made sense but no response? That didn’t make sense, the number of calls that was needed to clog the whole system. The thought dawned on him. No, surely not, he had heard on heard things were bad but?

“We are unable to connect your cal…”

With a frustrated sigh he flips is phone shut and runs his hands through his short hair. This was getting worse by the minute. Some people watched from their houses, he had pulled his car around and parked it in front of the house. They seem to trust him, he was surprised after all he wasn’t an officer any more, he had flashed his PI license and they seem to take it well. Could have gone a lot worse, he’d be lucky over all. He looks out towards the house, the door now shut. We he’d been lucky; he couldn’t say same for everyone else. Quickly patting his jackets he finds his cigarettes, sliding one between his lips he lights one and mulls over his thoughts.

One hell of a night that’s for sure. Now what to do? He couldn’t contact the police, though the shooter wasn’t giving him much problems, just siting cuffed in the back seemingly lost in his own thought’s just as much as he. He ponders it further a frown appearing on his face. Letting out a sigh he gets up from his seat upon the bonnet of his car and throws the cigarette to the floor and stamps it out. Hell, he knew what he’d have to do, couldn’t leave the man locked up in his car all night for this to blow over. Entering the car he cats another quick glance at the young man cuffed to the inside door of the car. He starts the engine and begins slowly to pull out of the space. His old station was in the area, well about a thirty minute drive at best but it was better than sitting here.

He doubted he was going to get paid after all this, not that he was going to pursue her for it. Oh would you mind paying for the surveillance? I got some great shots of your husband getting shot. Yeah. That would go down well.

He begins the drive further into the city, this didn’t feel right. Well obviously, he pondered, but even more so. How long bad it been? Four? Three years? He hadn’t really thought about it. He didn’t like too. He’d move on as best he could. Found some work but end up doing PI work thanks to a friend. This was bringing up too many memories; he’d need a drink later.

It's been said that revenge is bittersweet, Jeremy however did not agree. He looked at his bloodstained reflection in the window and moved to wipe his face with his sleeve, momentarily forgetting he was handcuffed to the door. The driver was not a cop, some sort of freelancer or some such, Jeremy wasn't really interested. He'd given himself up without a struggle, he was finished now and the price for his actions was more than acceptable, cheap even. He had no regrets and that didn't bother him.

Up ahead there seemed to be a traffic jam but Jeremy was in no hurry to get where he was going.

It was Tom but his eyes were blood shot and he was bleeding from every orifice on his face. Howling in rage he grasped at Tom as he sought to pull him closer from across the dumpster. Stumbling backwards in his shock Jacob knocked over a trashcan as he came face to face with the monster. A gurgling noise rising from deep within its throat blood began to pour from it mouth as it shuffled towards Jacob. Backing out of the alleyway he turned down the street and sprinted back towards the bar the creature screaming as it gave chase. Pulling the heavy wooden door open he slipped inside through the crack between the door and its frame before slamming it close. The a loud thud could be heard moments later followed by scratching as the monster clawed at the surface of the door. Fumbling with the lock on the door his breathing erratic and strained until a small click could be heard as the door locked. Groping the extra locks that ran along the door frame he locked them into place as well before turning around and slumping to the floor, his hands pressed firmly against his face while he tried to regain his composure. He was unsure of what he had just seen and whatever that thing was it had looked like it had come directly out of a bad horror movie.

Cero jerked back at the sounds from outside, the man by his side looked at him quizzically, but it was clear he had jumped too.

"Damn news has got me spooked" Cero said going back to his beer.

"Indeed, I shall be jumping at shadows on my way home I'm sure, though I do wonder what caused that crash"

Cero sat up and looked round the rest of the bar, nobody else seemed that interested by the sound, and were just occupying themselves with their drinks or more optimistic conversation.

"Can't see the barman around, guess he stepped out for a smoke or something, pussy probably got startled by a cat and knocked something over, well whatever it was I need to take a leak, save me seat would you . . eer?"

". . .oh! ah it's Thomas, sure I'll watch it"

"Thanks names Cero by the way"

Cero shifted himself off his stool and wandered toward the bathroom, Tom seemed like a good egg, a little jumpy but with the riots and his wife's location he couldn't blame him, as he passed tables he heard snippets of quiet conversations about the riots, some claimed that nothing was happening and it was all overblown and others were saying the national guard had been called in. Paranoia, that's all it was, people immediately believing what they hear in the news and running with it till everyone was as paranoid as them. Cero pushed his way past a couple of close tables and went into the bathroom. The light was flickering which didnt help visability, nor Cero's mood, but hey he thought when you gotta go. At the urinal Cero started looking round for the flickering lightbulb, he then caught a glimpse of something at the window, or thought he did, "Hmmprh Trick of the light" he muttered to himself, looking down he finished his business and headed back for the door, hope that pussy barman is back, he thought, I need a drink

he was halfway across the room when he heard the window smash behind him.

This was right awry. Awry as it could get. Every radio station had gone silent. He flicked between the stations, silence. Was it broken? First this kid shoots a man dead, now this. He was really beginning to hate this situation. Turning another corner he quickly sends a hand searching about his coat pockets for his phone. Slowing slightly he inspects his phone, checking in his rear view mirror to eye his captive, he wasn’t given the guy a chance to lynch him while he was distracted. Not that he seemed to do anything, still silent and staring of into nothing it seemed. It just didn’t sit right with him; he’d seen crimes of passion, anger and sheer stupidity. But he’d never seen anyone like this, empty a clip into someone and just, phrase out, as silent as the death that he had left behind.

Nothing. Not even a signal. He looked back to the road.

“SHIT!”

He swerve’s narrowly missing the car stationary in the middle of the road. Screeching to a halt, breathing heavily, he tries to compose himself. He turns about to check on his handcuffed companion, he seemed ok. He looks out the side of his car. “What the hell…”. Opening the car door he steps out and is confronted by the strangest sight he’d seen this night. Cars abandoned, scattered about the roads. So wrapped up in his own thoughts and goal he hadn’t been eyeing the sidewalks or roads. No one walked the streets. It sent a chill down his spine. He knew they’d near where the riots were being held, he’d expected people to stay in their homes or get out the area but…. No a soul. He shook of the uneasy feeling that had begun to crawl into his mind.

The sooner he’d got to the station and got rid of the guy the better. Things’ being as they we’re maybe taking vacation soon was in order. He quickly looked around, the roads were blocked and the most direct route was the one he was headed down. This was a mess, a murder right in front of him, now this. He breathed regularly in controlled motions, and weigh up his options. Walking? With this guy in toe? He’d killed a man only moments ago, the idea of dragging him to the station wasn’t a pleasant one. They’d get there quicker he supposed, and there was no guarantee the other roads were any less clustered. If this was anything to go by he could be on the road for another hour making little if no progress. The sudden roar above him broke him from his thoughts, but soon was reminded of them. Helicopters? Oh this was getting better and better. He had to make a choice and quick, if things where getting this bad. He didn’t want to think about it.

He quickly removes the key from his inside pocket and opens the back door, the man ever docile, got out with little provocation. Un-cuffing the shooters left hand, reasoning him to be right handed and so he wanted control of that hand in case he did try something, he firmly attaches his own left hand to him. Quickly pocketing the key; pausing for a moment, to contemplate taking his pistol. Could he risk it with him cuffed to him so? No at the very least it might temp him to attack as it was, with a lethal weapon in such close proximity. No he couldn’t. Well there weren’t any regulations any more, he instead heads to the boot of his car and retrieve the tire iron from the small array of tools. He gives a slight glance to the man he was now handcuffed too as he retrieves the improvised form of protection. Tire iron in hand, and murder secured to his wrist, he quickly sets off down the street. Something had happened around here he guessed, odd windows were smashed and over turned bins had spilt trash about the road. The unnatural emptiness filling the air with unease.

He didn’t like this one bit; well in all fairness he liked nothing of this so far. The week ad started off so well. Cash in hand job, following around some women’s husband, plain simple, you’re run of the mill job. Now that man lay in a pool of his own blood, riots had broken out and to cap it all off he was walking through the deserted streets of New York with a seemingly mute murder handcuffed to him. He needed a drink, his head was a mess.

A restaurant came into view as he turned a corner the lights on. A hope? At the very least he was grabbing a drink, he needed to calm down. Getting worked up about this was going to help he told himself as he veered of the path into the bar. Empty, he’d guessed as much, no god forefend that he would catch a break. The place had been abandoned it seemed, nothing had been packed away, the dining tables finely laid out and to his great delight an open bar. It was a nice place, a higher class place than what had once been here before. He passed this place before, never step foot inside the place. Not since the old place had shut down, it had been a club once. Not the best but it was a nice place to go. He’d met Michael here, good times. The small smile that had begun to form of his turned sour into a frown. Michael his no ex-boyfriend, they’d been together for nearly two years until he had been discharged from the force, because of the…incident. Michael had tried to help him but…Well Michael was with some else now and more importantly happy. He only wished him the best.

He wondered who the new owners, quickly changing the topic of his own thoughts. Tugging his companion along, he walks over to his prize. Grasping a bottle of some imported lacquer he pours himself a portion in an abandoned tumbler left at the bar. It wasn’t clean but he didn’t care. He takes a seat at the bar; glass in hand, bottle by his side and a silent killer sat next to him. The week had started so well.