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Call of Duty; Easy Quest
Topic Started: Aug 30 2016, 10:05 AM (168 Views)
Jeice
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Call of Duty

Difficulty: Easy

Description:

In the sleepy town of Greenville, gang members of 'The Vipers' are terrorising the town, stealing crops and beating down on the citizens. Passing through the village, you are called upon by the town mayor who pleads for your assistance. Can you return peace to Greenville?

Reward: +300 zeni, +2 DP, +20 all stats, +2 rp Credits

Bonus: +1 DP, +1 Rp Credit
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I don’t get it... I haven’t heard from him even once.

Dixon shifted his car into high gear and looked at the back of his hand for a moment. If not for the black M that had appeared there after his run in with Satan, he’d had figured it was all just a dream at this point. That, and his friends Big Moe and Wyatt were definitely dead. He’d even attended their funerals, although no one else had. As much as their gang, the Moes, talked about “ride or die” and “homies for life”, they were quick to ignore the deaths of two of their members. Dixon didn’t even both with them. After the funerals, held together, he’d jumped in his car with nothing but the shirt on his back and driven.

Away from the bullshit.

Maybe he just needed time to think. Even if that was it, there was no way he was going back. There was nothing for him there. His parents were dead, thus the whole reason for the driveby they’d performed in the first place.

Death only begets death. Despite losing Big Moe as a result of seeking revenge, he’d still ignored this fact and ended up losing Wyatt too. It was all his own fault. All of it could have been avoided. In his mind he still went back to that day he took the gang members bet, knowing it was a bad idea. The money was just too much to ignore though, and he’d pictured his daughter in his mind when he agreed to the wager. It was for her that he raced in the first place. To give her a better life, if not with his presence then with the money he could win.

That’s all over, though...

His girl Zoe, the mother of his daughter, hadn’t spoke to him since he’d joined the Moes. He couldn’t blame her, she’d lost her father and her brother to the gang life, and with a doped up mother most of her life she’d pretty much been on her own. Unlike most in the hood though, she had a dream and she never stopped fighting for it.

Dixon wasn’t like most the guys in the hood either, he was smart, and though he didn’t have big dreams he had a good heart, at least back then. He thought he’d ruined her life when she got pregnant, but to her credit she stayed in college through the entire pregnancy, and worked a full time job. After Aria was born she’d already graduated and her new job gave her plenty of time off for the baby. And through it all he wasn’t exactly there for her. He raced, but then he wasn’t winning as much as he was at the end, and what he could he gave to her but most his money went to his car so he could get into the higher stakes races.

It’s not that he didn’t love his daughter or Zoe, but he just thought that he’d be a bad influence on the two of them and figured it was better if he was out of the picture. Zoe was the type of girl that would find herself a guy that matched her drive, and he just wasn’t it. He was content with sending a little money when he could. In time he was sending a lot, and it was a big help to them, taking a lot of stress off of Zoe as she climbed at her new job but still she begged him to come live with them. She’d almost convinced him when the shooting incident occured. After that he was in debt to Wyatt and as a result he ended up part of the gang life he so despised. From there it was a downward spiral, and he hadn’t seen or heard from Zoe or Aria since.

In fact, that’s were he was headed now. They lived just over a day’s drive away. He hoped he could talk to Zoe and she would forgive him. Maybe explain to her what happened, and show her that he wanted to be part of Aria’s life now. He believed he could be good for them, finally and he was willing to give it a try if she would let him.

Dixon glanced at the instrument panel to see that he was low on gas. Actually, he’d been low for some time. Must have missed the gas light alarm. Better pull over soon, this is a hell of a place to be stranded. In fact, it was the middle of no where. He had maybe 30 miles before he’d be pushing a big hunk of metal and rubber to the gas station.

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After finally sighting a town in the distance, Dixon had more or less driven his car on willpower alone, all but rolling into the first gas station he saw thanks in no small part to a nice big hill to roll down. While his tank was filling he checked his phone to see if he’d gotten a reply from Zoe.

Nothing.

With a sigh he walked inside to grab a drink and maybe a snack, and while he was paying he caught himself watching the local news on the tv.

”Once again the town has been stricken by terror! The reporter was on the scene at what seemed to be a small diner. She gave a couple of quick interviews with the owners, and Dixon gathered that a group of guys had knocked the place over. More than that, though, they’d beaten a man to death, injured a few other customers, destroyed the place and even took a high school girl captive. The worst of the Moes didn’t even do that kind of thing.

”Local authorities say they have yet to pinpoint the gang’s hideout, but they are accepting calls now from anyone with any information, and are offering a reward for anything that leads to the discovery and capture of the gang’s leader, a man by the name of Shane McCoy. Be advised all members of the Vipers are to be considered lethally armed and incredibly dangerous. We’ll be back with more updates as more information becomes available. Stay inside, Greenville. These guys mean business.”

“God damn gangsters! Nothing more than hooligans if you ask me,” the old guy behind the counter said as the newscast cut to the weather. “Terrorizing our quiet little town. Why, back in my day I’d have marched right down there to ‘em and knocked some since into those fools. You know what I’m sayin’ sonny?”

“Thugs for sure,” Dixon replied. “I got the gas on pump #1 as well.”

“I saw you pull up, fancy car that one,” the old guy said, looking out at the ‘Stang. “Nothing like those ’67’s though, I tell ya what. They might not have had half the engine of these newer Fords but boy did they drop some knickers if you know what I’m sayin’.”

With a chuckle Dixon took his change. He waved to the old fella and pushed the door open with his back. When he stepped outside what he saw made him drop his chips and drink. There was someone in his car. “What the hell are you doing?!” he yelled, running towards his baby.

When he got closer he saw that the kid was probably about seventeen and looked nervous. The car was started but for some reason he hadn’t driven away yet. Dixon realized he probably didn’t know how to drive a stick, so he calmed down a bit but as he got close he waved towards the kid. “What exactly do you think you’re doing, kid?”

Dixon hit the ground before he knew what was happening. Pain shot through his head as he realized he’d been hit from behind. Fucking cheap shot... When he looked up he saw another teenager holding a gun at his face. He flashed back to the night of that fateful race. There would be no Big Moe and Wyatt to save him here, he was on his own.

“Give me your wallet, bitch!” the kid yelled, waving the gun around.

He’d seen it before, hell the Moes had done it before, but somehow he’d still fallen for the trap. The kid in his car knew how to drive a stick, no doubt, he was just bait to get Dixon’s attention though. He felt stupid. Now here was punk barely out of middle school aiming a .45 before his eyes, and what could he do about it? Feeling defeated, he reached back slowly and pulled out his wallet.

“Just be cool man, you can take it. Take the care too, just don’t shoot,” he said, as soothingly as possible.

“Bitch I don’t need your permission,” the kid yelled, nabbing the wallet and kicking Dixon in the stomach before running off and jumping in the passenger seat. He kept the gun aimed at his victim until the car had peeled away and was rumbling off into the distance.

Just then the store door slammed open and the old man came hobbling up holding a double-barrel shotgun. “I saw them getcha!” he shouted, his blood pressure probably through the roof. “God damn Vipers again, I tell ya!”

Dixon stood up, rubbing the back of his head and watched his own car disappear around a corner. “Calm down, old man. You’re gonna have a heart attack, just go back inside and keep your eyes peeled for more of ‘em. Roaches travel in swarms.”

Didn’t plan on it... but I guess I’m getting involved.

Pulling his phone out, Dixon dailed three numbers. When the operator answer, he reported two members of the Vipers had just stolen his black Ford Mustang by Jackson’s Gas Station and headed West. He thanked Dixon for the info and hung up. As he put his phone back in his pocket he had a second thought. Maybe he could just steal his car back?

“Hey old man, you gotta truck or something I can borrow?” he said, running back into the store. “I’m going to follow them, find their hideout.”

“Well sure sonny, keys hanging right by your head. It’s the old F100 in the parking lot, blue and rust colored,” he said with a chuckle.

Gotten love small town hospitality. Folks back in the city didn’t exactly lend their cars out to total strangers. Especially black ones.


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Barreling down the road in the direction his car had gone, Dixon hoped the old pickup wouldn’t fall apart on him. He was driving it pretty hard, and it looked like it had been built the same year it’s owner was born. Surprisingly enough though the engine roared to life like something brand new when he turned the key so he shrugged and went off in hot pursuit.

The carjackers had a few minutes lead on him, but the idiots hadn’t slowed down not once on their way back to their hideout. All he had to do was follow the fresh skidmarks on the faded pavement. It was like following the yellow-brick road. It was a small town, and in less than 10 minutes he found himself parked outside of a run-down housing district. Even the smallest of towns had projects, he surmised. This place was definitely pushing trap house status. Nearby was his Mustang, fortunately in one piece. Clutch is probably burnt to hell.

Getting out of the truck, he looked around and wondered how on Earth the police hadn’t found the gang’s ‘hideout’ yet. It had to be the only project in the town, and one look at it could tell anyone that whoever lived inside was foul company. No matter, he’d found ‘em. He pulled his phone out and began to dial 9-1-1 again, when suddenly he saw stars.

Not again, what’s wrong with me? he thought before losing consciousness.

Sometime later, he woke up tied to a kitchen chair. His head was pounding, but his more immediate issue was that he was surrounded by at least a half dozen guys that he could only assume were members of the Vipers. At least, if the snakes on their jackets were anything to go by.

“Who the fuck are you?” demanded the apparent leader. This guy was older than the rest, by at least a decade, putting him probably a couple years older than Dixon himself.

“You’re guys are the ones that stole my wallet, fuck, you tell me,” the captured man responded. He was just testing the waters, no way to tell just how crazy this guy was if he didn’t push the envelope a little.

“Oh did they now? Well how did you find us?” the man’s tone had changed from anger to genuine curiosity. There was almost an innocence to it.

“Besides the obvious?” Dixon said with amazement. “The two guys that took my wallet also took my car. I basically just followed them back to here. I was going to take my car back but then someone knocked me out from behind. Again.”

Finally looking at the other 5 guys around him, Dixon immediately recognized the two car thiefs standing somewhat at the back. They looked to be nervous, almost trying to get far enough away to leave the room unnoticed. “There they are, they did it! Those guys in the back!”

The leader turned around and saw exactly who he was talking about. If he had any doubts the looks of fear on their faces told him everything he needed to know. “So tell me, Ra’quan, D’Angelo. Did you steal this man’s car?” there was a sick sweetness to his voice.

Just as one of them, D’Angelo, started to answer, he was cut off. “And lead him straight here to discover us?! Idiots!” their leader suddenly screamed out, his fury more evident than ever.

“But Shane, there was no way he caught up to us, we drove like a bat outta hell!” protested Ra’Quan. The bullet blew through his brain before he ever knew what hit him, splattering the contents of his skull across the wall behind him. His lifeless body hit the ground in a heap with a soft thud. Shane McCoy had pulled his gun so fast, no one had even registered it before Ra’Quan was dead on the ground in front of them.

No one was more stunned or frightened than D’Angelo, who immediately tried to take of running towards the door. Three bullets ripped through his back and out of his chest before he made it three steps. He too was dead before he hit the ground, but at least he had his head still.

“Now, my friend, did any of these other fellows have anything to do with this car jacking?” McCoy demanded, turning his attention back to his captive. Amazed, it was all Dixon could do to shake his head. “Good... good.”

This guy is straight up ruthless. He’s mental, I gotta get out of here.”

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McCoy left him there, along with the two bodies of his car jackers, and left with his remaining goons in tow. Who knew how long before he came back, he may not have much time to make his escape. As soon as he was in the clear he pulled at the ropes, and found, to his relative amazement, that he broke right through his restraints. What the...

Either those ropes were as old as that man from the store, or he didn’t know his own strength. As if to answer him, the symbol on his right hand burned lightly. So this was the strength Lucifer had gifted him with, after all. How had he not noticed before? Maybe it was the adrenaline. Whatever it was, he still doubted he could survive a bullet to the face so he ran over and checked the bodies’ pockts for the keys. Nothing.

Fuck. Well, short of finding them on the ground, and fat chance of that, maybe they left them in the car. What idiot leaves the keys in a car like that. Then he remembered, he had. Oh...

With his ear to the door, Dixon listened for any sound on the otherside but he didn’t hear anything so he cracked it slowly open. As soon as he did he heard footsteps coming towards him so he quickly shut it again and waited completely still. He was sure his heartbeat was loud enough to give him away but after a minute had passed he guessed he was in the clear so he opened the door again.

This time he heard voices coming from down the hall, but he didn’t think they sounded close or getting closer. Can’t wait around any more... Throwing caution to the wind, he stepped out of the door and, fortunately, found himself in an empty hallway. There were a couple of doors to his right, one of them slightly ajar, light spilled out from around the crack between the door and the frame. They actually paid their light bill?

Decidedly sure that was not the direction he’d find sanctuary, he promptly turned on his heels and sneaked off in the opposite way. The floorboards creaked and groaned beneath his weight, and each time he paused if only for a moment to listen for anyone that might have heard him. Within a few minutes he’d rounded the corner... and found himself nearly bumping into a man facing the other end of the new hallway. Close one... Now what?

Dixon looked around for some kind of weapon, but to no avail. Hoping for a quick knock-out, he raised his hands high above his head and brought them crashing down hard on the defenseless man’s skull. Just as he’d hoped, his would-be opponent crumpled to the ground, unconcious. Continuing his harrowing escape, Dixon tip-toed down the newly unguarded hallway and, just as he was about to step through a set of double doors at the end, one of them wrenched open and the escapee stood staring into the eyes of his very captor.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?!” McCoy roared, sprinting towards him and drawing his fist back. Dixon had never been much of a brawler, but he wasn’t about to let this guy straight up bitch slap him. Raising his left arm he blocked the punch and threw his own haymacker at his attacker’s face. Apparently the counter caught McCoy off guard, and the blow landed square, sending him reeling backwards into the double doors.

Barely on their hinges in the first place, they caved under the pressure and the man crashed through him, hitting the ground hard. There was no way the entire building hadn’t heard the ruckus so instead of jumping on McCoy, Dixon took off running down yet another hallway. Behind him he could hear yells and general mass confusion.

“He went that way you idiots! Help me up, get him!” screamed the gang’s leader. Dixon just managed to find a staircase and start down them when a bullet cut through the air right by his head. Stealing a quick glance back he saw the thugs at the end of the hallway had drawn their guns. Before one of the projectiles managed to find it’s mark he took off down the stairs at breakneck pace.

The numbers on each landing told him he was on the 6th floor when he started down.

5...

4...

3...

2...

A door behind him flew open and before he could look to see what it was pain shot through his left calf sending him sprawling down the stairs face first. When he finally ground to a halt on the first floor he grabbed at his calf, feeling for the damage. It seemed like a bullet hole, but the bullet hadn’t come out the other side. If he didn’t get out of there, he’d have a lot more lead in him than that. Another bullet grazed his ear, giving him all the motivation he needed to jump to his feet and take off towards what he hoped was the front door. Several more shots peppered the ground where he’d fallen but he was already gone, half sprinting half limping down the hallway in hopes of escape.

As he ran he ducked and dodged because more gang members were running behind him, shooting their guns wildly. A couple came close, but after the one to the calf no more found their marks. Finally he came upon a large set of double doors, but this time instead of separating two hallways he knew this on separated him only from the outside. With a triumphant leap he sailed through them and landed on the hard concrete outside. When he looked up to continue running, all sense of success drained from his body and he stopped, finding himself face-to-face with the business end of a Glock 9. Fuck...

At the other end of the gun was, of all people, Shane McCoy, the gang leader himself. “If you could see the look on your face right now, priceless! Now get up, punk,” the leader said the last part with a menacing snarl. As much as he hated to, Dixon did as told and stood up, wincing as he put his weight on the injured leg.

“Okay, you got me, what now? Just kill me and get it over with,” Dixon said disdainfully.

Backed up by his goons with their own guns already trained on their captive, McCoy lowered his and laughed out loud. “You thought it’d be that easy? Hah, no one disrespects the Cobras like that and gets a quick death! No, we’re gonna make you suffer, and I’m going to take personal responsibility for your torture. Now guys, you know what to do.”

Immediately two Cobras grabbed Dixon from behind while a third came forward and hit him in the face with a good haymaker. He continued to beat on the defenseless man until his boss cleared this throat. “That’s enough, he’s mine now.” The Cobro nodded and stepped back, revealing a bloody mess that was Dixon. His nose was broken, he must have several cracked ribs, part of his cheekbone was probably caved in and he could barely see out of either eye, not to mention he had lost a good amount of blood out of his calf at that point.

“Now, I bet you regret challenging the Mighty Cobras now, huh?” McCoy called out boastfully, spreading his arms wide and looking to all of his members. He sure knew how to make a show of things. Then putting his face close to Dixon he whispered so that just the beaten man could hear him, “Now I’m going to enjoy this.”

“Let him go!” The two guys holding him threw Dixon forward. To their surprise, though, he’d been waiting for that exact moment. Instead of falling down he surged forward, planting his shoulder squarely into their leader’s stomach and carrying him a few feet before slamming his body down hard on the concrete. Before his victim could gain back his bearings Dixon was on top of him, slamming his fist into the man’s face and chest repeatedly. Finally he was hauled off again, but it took four men to do it.

Coughing and sputtering, McCoy climbed back to his feet. He was hurt, though not much worse for the wear. Dixon could see in his eyes though, that his pride had taken a hard blow. That was twice he’d embarrassed him in front of his own men. It was going to be tough to survive this one.

“How... dare... you!” McCoy ground out through clenched teeth. Suddenly he kneed Dixon so hard in the stomach that the man wrenched from his captors’ collective grasps and hit the ground, blood spraying from his throat onto McCoy’s boots. “Disgusting!” the gang leader yelled, kicking his captive in the face.

For a moment the men just watched, including McCoy, expecting Dixon to have lost consciousness. McCoy nearly fell backwards when the man made a move to stand up, but burst out laughing when he fell over again. “You see, men?” he said grandly. “This is what happens when you mess with the Cobras!”

“You idiot...” the crowd heard. Suddenly all eyes were back on Dixon. The broken would-be-escapee was on one knee, but it wasn’t that he was able to get up that had everyone gasping. No, it was the shiny metallic shape in his hands. McCoy’s eyes went wide and he found himself grabbing at his waist for his gun, but he found exactly what he expected - nothing. “Bang,” was the last word the proud gang leader ever heard, followed by the sound of the hammer slamming forward, sending a bullet through his chest. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Dixon managed to stay on his feet just long enough to watch the rest of the gang members take off running, but in the distance he saw lights and he thought he heard sirens, but just then he lost consciousness.

---------------------------------------------------

Some time later, Dixon woke up in a hospital. A doctor stood at the foot of his bed, as if he knew when his patient was going to regain consciousness. “My, you took quite the beating Mr. Dixon,” the middle-aged man said. He had a large, almost cartoony mustache that seemed to jump all over the place when he spoke. It made Dixon smile but he immediately winced from the pain.

“Glad to see you’re feeling well enough to smile, but I advise against it. Your face was more or less caved in when they brought you in.”

“They?” Dixon asked.

“The police, of course. You might be glad to learn that they rounded up most of those pesky Cobras. It seems their leader, Shane McCoy was murdered by one of his own.” He said the last part with a wink. Dixon relaxed. So they were going to let him off the hook for the murder. It was technically in self-defense anyways, but whatever.

“Also, you may stay here free of charge until you are well enough to be on your way. The Chief of Police thought you’d be happy to see these,” he said, jingling a set of keys in the air. “I believe they belong to a jet black Mustang? Anyways, get your rest. We’ll be in and out if you need anything.”

With a smile, more in his heart than his face because of the pain, Dixon laid back and relaxed. What an adventure.

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THE END
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