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Page 14: Streets Of Rage

 

As Vince caught his breath, the eerie silence that had briefly settled over the promenade was abruptly shattered. The fallen bodies of the seven undead he had just dispatched began to twitch and contort unnaturally. Their fingers scraped against the concrete, dragging their battered forms back to a stand, a grotesque resurrection playing out under the flickering streetlamps.

 

Before Vince could fully process this horrifying sight, another group—eight more, fast and ferocious—rushed towards the scene, their cries a chilling herald of renewed danger. They moved with a disturbing urgency, their forms blurred in the dim light, converging on Vince with a relentless hunger.

 

Standing alone, surrounded by fifteen reviving and advancing undead, Vince’s eyes narrowed, and a fierce determination set in. He knew retreat wasn’t an option; the dance of death must continue. As the first of the newly arrived attackers reached him, Vince’s movements became a whirlwind of precision and agility.

   Vince sidestepped a lunging grab, sweeping the creature's legs and sending it crashing to the ground. He spun around, elbow smashing into the face of another attacker, its head snapping back from the force.

   Vince wove through his assailants, his body low and movements swift, dodging claws and teeth. Each dodge and weave drained more of his energy, but his resolve did not waver. He kicked, punched, and maneuvered through the undead, his surroundings a blur of motion and danger.

   Amidst the chaos, Vince noticed one of the figures that had just risen—it was staggering more than the others, a blade protruding grotesquely from its chest. Seizing the moment, Vince lunged towards it, ripping the knife free from its chewed-on flesh. The creature fell, this time permanently, under Vince’s well-placed kick.

 

With the knife now in his possession, Vince transformed his strategy. The blade gleamed under the streetlight, a silver sliver of salvation. He moved with a newfound ruthlessness, driven by the grim necessity of survival.

   Each movement Vince made was calculated and lethal. He stepped into the reach of the nearest undead, its arms reaching desperately. With a swift, fluid motion, he drove the knife deep into its skull, twisting sharply before pulling it free. The creature collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.

   As more of the creatures closed in, Vince’s technique remained flawless, each stab and twist of the knife a dance of death choreographed in the hellish glow of the apocalypse. He moved systematically, exploiting every opening, and his actions were a blend of desperation and expert skill.

   With each fallen undead, the numbers dwindled until the promenade was once again silent, save for the panting breaths of a solitary survivor. Vince stood amidst a circle of dispatched foes, his body heaving from exertion, the knife slick in his hand.

 

As the last of the undead fell, Vince surveyed the carnage around him, the knife hanging loosely at his side. The fight was over, for now. The knife had turned the tide, each plunge a definitive end for his attackers. Vince knew the night was still long, and more dangers awaited, but for a brief moment, the streets of Santa Monica belonged to him alone, a lone warrior in a shattered world.

 

By the time Vince had finished off the last of the undead, he was drenched in a gruesome mix of their blood and guts. The distant echo of gunfire still thundered intermittently, a stark reminder of the chaos that had overtaken Santa Monica. Vince realized the undead were like moths to a flame, always swarming towards the latest noise. As the horde of soulless creatures converged on the source of the sound, Vince stood panting but undeterred, his fists clenched and a knife ready in his grip.

 

Though smeared in gore, Vince was invisible to the undead—their blood masked his scent perfectly. He lingered just long enough to witness the remnants of the undead’s frenzy before making his way toward the apartment complex where his ex, Kate, and his son, Junior, were holed up.

 

As Vince neared the complex, his ears caught the sound of a woman’s scream slicing through the air from down Adelaide Drive. It wasn’t Kate, but Vince couldn’t ignore it. He knew it could sidetrack him from getting to Junior, yet the urge to help was too strong. He crossed 4th Street with urgent strides, his steps quickening to a sprint as another scream pierced the quiet.

 

Suddenly, he skidded to a halt. Ahead, four military soldiers were rough-handling a female SWAT officer; two of her teammates lay motionless on the ground, lifeless eyes staring up at the sky, their heads marred by bullet wounds. Without hesitation, Vince snatched up a rifle from one of the fallen officers and trained it on the soldiers. "Drop your weapons!" His command was sharp, a clear threat.

 

As the soldiers hesitated, the SWAT officer took her chance, grabbing her rifle and unleashing a fury of bullets into her assailants. Vince watched, the situation quickly spiraling.

 

“Drop the weapon and get on your knees!” she barked at Vince, turning her freshly fired rifle towards him.

 

“Are you serious right now? I just pulled your ass out of the fire,” Vince shot back, incredulous and annoyed by her accusation.

 

“I'm dead serious. Where'd you get all that blood from, huh?” She glanced at her fallen comrades, then back to Vince with suspicion etched deep into her gaze. “Look, the only way I’m walking out of this alive and not blamed for this mess is if I bring someone in. Without my squad, I'm as good as dead, too,” she explained, stepping closer, her rifle unwavering. “Now drop it, and get on your knees, now!”

 

Vince stood there, the weight of her predicament clear in her tone. He was caught in a brutal bind of misinterpretation and desperate survival. 

 

Stepping forward with her weapon aimed at his chest, the SWAT officer narrowed her eyes, her finger tense on the trigger. Vince held his ground, his own gaze unwavering as he raised his hands slightly in a gesture of caution.

 

"I wouldn't come no closer if I was you," he warned, his voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air between them. The weight of his words hung heavy, a silent warning against pushing him further.

 

"Oh, yeah. Why is that?" she questioned as she slowed her pace just a little.

 

Vince's expression remained impassive as he met her gaze. "Because you might not like what happens next," he replied evenly, his tone carrying a subtle edge of warning. He carefully watched her movements, ready to react at a moment's notice.

 

She chuckled. "I'm gonna tell you what's gonna happen next." She stopped in front of him. She didn't want to get too close but wanted to show dominance. So, she didn't want to be too far back. But she didn't realize who she had approached. She was already too close.

 

Vince raised an eyebrow, unfazed by her attempt at intimidation. "Enlighten me then," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm. He remained composed; his stance relaxed yet alert, ready for whatever might transpire.

 

"You know what..." she began to raise the M16 toward his head as she took another step forward to place the barrel on Vince's forehead. But, before she could place it there, he reacted.

 

In a swift motion, Vince grabbed hold of the barrel of the M16 rifle just as she attempted to bring it closer to his forehead. With a fluid movement, he twisted the rifle out of her grip and simultaneously stepped to the side, causing her to lose her balance. Before she could recover, he disarmed her completely, holding the rifle firmly in his grasp.

 

"You were saying?" Vince's voice was calm, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he looked down at her.

 

She was in shock. She did understand how she ended up on the ground. It was so quick that her brain couldn't quite make out her position for a second. She looked, "What the fuck was that?" she questioned with fear in her voice.

 

Vince looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "That was a warning," he said firmly, his tone carrying a hint of authority. "Now, I suggest you back off and let me handle this."

 

The SWAT officer scrambled to her feet, eyeing Vince warily. She could feel the tension in the air, knowing she had underestimated him. Slowly, she backed away, her hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "Fine," she muttered, her voice tense. "But don't think you've won yet."

 

Vince's gaze bore down on her like a predator sizing up its prey, his eyes glinting with a dangerous intensity. "That was a warning," he growled, his voice low and menacing, sending a shiver down her spine. "Now, I suggest you back off and let me handle this."

 

The SWAT officer scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt the weight of Vince's threat hanging in the air. She knew she had underestimated him, and the realization sent a wave of fear coursing through her veins. Slowly, cautiously, she backed away, her hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "Fine," she muttered through clenched teeth, her voice tinged with tension. "But don't think you've won yet."

 

As she turned to leave, thinking the encounter was over, Vince's dark demeanor betrayed his true intentions. Without hesitation, he aimed the rifle at her retreating figure, his finger tightening on the trigger. In an instant, the crack of gunfire shattered the silence, and the SWAT officer's body crumpled to the ground, a lifeless heap on the pavement.

 

With a cold determination in his eyes, Vince surveyed the scene, his senses still on high alert. He knew the consequences of his actions, but survival meant making ruthless decisions in this lawless world.

 

Vince's eyes lingered on the M16 in his grip, a lethal instrument of survival in this unforgiving world. With a moment's pause, he surveyed the scene around him, the fallen SWAT officers and the military soldiers serving as grim reminders of the brutality of their reality. A dark chuckle escaped his lips as he noticed the vests adorning the lifeless bodies, a tempting opportunity for added notice of his kills by wearing the spoils. 

 

Without hesitation, he strode over to one of the fallen officers and swiftly removed the vest, its weight settling comfortably on his shoulders. With a sense of grim satisfaction, he retrieved his M16 and set about rummaging through the pockets of the fallen, scavenging whatever supplies he could salvage in this desperate landscape.

 

His hands moved with practiced efficiency as he liberated a sidearm and gathered ammunition, each acquisition a potential lifeline in the face of imminent danger. In this world where survival hung by a thread, Vince knew that every resource seized could mean the difference between life and death.

 

With a grim resolve, he turned away from the fallen officer and set off once more, his sole focus on finding his son and ensuring their safety amidst the chaos that surrounded them.