BROBd Shadowrun
Lone Star detective Joan Watson scowled as she took in the scene in front of her. The Stuffer Shack was one of the few that supported the community just into the barrens proper from Touristville, and had been robbed roughly six other times in the last six months. It had never turned this bloody before though. One was DOA with a gunshot to the head, two more were seriously wounded due to being shot center mass at various ranges from two different guns. Another was unconscious, while the fifth had a gunshot to the calf that would have him hobbling for a week or so, and the sixth had all the bones in one hand broken. How that had been managed she had no idea, but the gang that all but one of them belonged to was a known quantity in the neighborhood, and the primary suspects for the previous robberies.
Climbing out of the cruiser that had delivered her to the scene she watched in her cyber-eyes as the initial information was updated to include the known data on the least of the wounded. Thirty-year-old elven male with prior service in the CAS Marine Corps with the last 3 years heavily redacted, she read herself. The redactions show that he has seen some serious black operations under the aegis of the Confederate flag and isn't likely to let something as simple as five-to-one odds stop him from doing what he thinks is right. The thought caused her to sigh as she took in the scene before her. A Harley Scorpion sat in front of the checkout counter, the blood splatter of where the bike's rider had been shot outlining where the clerk had stood. All around the store items were shattered, splattered, and tracked through where gunfire had ripped the items apart before the combatants as well as the officers responding to the call had tracked through it all. Taking a deep breath, she finished looking at the scene before going to talk to the witnesses.
First Interview:
Elizabeth Needles and minor son Louis Needles
"That was so wizzer!" the boy said, dancing around the parking lot as his Detective Watson tried to talk to the boy's mother.
"Where were you in the store when everything was happening?" Joan asked not unkindly.
"I don't," Elizabeth Needles started to answer before she turned her rotund body and snapped at her equally large child, "Louis, get over here and don't disturb the officers." She said before turning back to Joan. "Sorry about that," she apologized. "I don't really know where we were when it started," she finally answered. "I mean, I think we were in the hygiene aisle somewhere around the medical kits and the bar soap you know. That's when the guy on the motorcycle rode through the front doors and I just grabbed Louis," she quickly looked around to spot her wayward spawn and snapped at him again, "Damn it Louis, I said to get over here and not bother people." At that point the woman pinched the bridge of her nose before turning her attention back to Joan. "At that point I just grabbed Louis and pulled him to the floor. Last thing I need is for my baby to die, or worse be put in a group home if I were to die. The one on the motorcycle just yelled something about paying taxes, someone else said no, and then the gunfire started. They are going to prison, aren't they?"
"Who?" Joan asked as she closed the recording out on her cyberware.
"The people responsible for this," the other woman answered. "We would have given them what we had; it wasn't really something worth dying over."
Internally Joan sighed, "That's not up to me ma'am," she replied. "The District Attorney will have to decide that, but in all honesty, I doubt it. The person who defended you just saved the taxpayers the cost of several trials over the robbery of a convenience store. I don't think the DA will look unfavorably on that." Elizabeth Needles just sniffed at that before turning and walking away, calling to her wayward child as she went. Joan just shook her head in disgust. Some people just don't know how bad it could have been, she thought as she turned to go speak to the next pair of witnesses.
Second Interview:
Jack and Angie Scatman
The pair wore skin tight faux-leather jumpsuits, the man covered in enough faux-gold to drown himself, and the woman with so many zippers even Joan couldn't have said which ones were pockets and which would remove the garment. Jack and Angie Scatman, and if that last name was either of theirs naturally, Joan would eat her badge, were a touch twitchy about being questioned and Joan suspected they had something illegal on them. That suspicion was increased when the first words out of the man's mouth was, "We didn't do anything except hit the ground." As he said this the wife was nodding beside him in agreement.
"I didn't say you did Mister Scatman," Joan replied. "But if you could, please tell me what you remember, I'm having to make sense of this, and the camera doesn't show everything."
"Oh," the man said only for his wife to start to talk.
"We were getting some essentials when the shooter walked in," Angie Scatman said, glancing over at the wounded man in the back of the ambulance. "He looked like he had spent the last few hours out in this rain and not amused by how wet he was," she continued. "But otherwise, he was polite, nodding to us as he passed us while we were getting food for our cat Pudding. The red-haired gang member, with his hair in that Japanese style," she mimed either a ponytail or topknot, meaning the one that the suspect had knocked unconscious. "He confronted the guy over by the drink coolers. I didn't hear what was said between them, but the conversation was cut short by the rest of the gang coming in behind the motorcycle rider." She shrugs, "and at that point we hit the floor. I think that the stranger knocked the ganger out and took his gun as there wasn't really anywhere for him to hide one on himself."
Joan nodded as that tracked by what she had seen on the camera. "Was he the one that said no when the man on the motorcycle claimed that it was time for you to pay your taxes?"
"Yes," Jack Scatman said. "And while I appreciate what he did, it wasn't really necessary, we could have defended ourselves."
They're carrying, Joan thought as she nodded. "If you say so mister Scatman," she replied. "Now, did you see any of the rest of the confrontation?"
"No," Angie Scatman replied. "We had our heads down and put the shelf between us and the shooting in the hopes that we would be left out of it."
Again, Joan nodded, "Thank you for your cooperation," she told them and walked on to her next interview.
Third Interview: Store staff
Su Lin Nguyen-cashier
Hao Binh Nguyen-manager/owner
Johnny Ho-stocker
The three staff members of the Stuffer shack were huddled on the sidewalk under the store's awning talking in low tones when she approached. "Mister and Miss Nguyen," she said, nodding to the franchise owner and his daughter. "Mister Ho," she continued shifting her attention to the stock boy. "Could you each tell me where you were when things started?"
"I was tallying the night's receipts in my office," Mister Nguyen answered. "I didn't know anything was going on until the gunfire started and it was all over by the time I got my shotgun out and made it into the store proper."
"And that is probably a very good thing sir," Joan said, turning back to him and smiling. "While the man who cleaned this up did so without loss of innocent life, the gangers had no qualms about firing their weapons randomly," I told him. "You might have gotten one of them by surprise," I continued, "but more than likely the one with the submachine gun would have cut you down in response."
"I was behind the register," Su Lin Nguyen answered while giving her father a stare. It was quite effective with the amount of blood splatter that covered her face. "The one on the motorcycle looked like he was surprised that I was free when he stopped the bike, but that didn't stop him from making his claim, or his head getting splattered all over me." The girl was faking her calm, and at 19 Joan could understand it. This might not be the first time that she had seen someone die, but it was probably the first time that it had happened so close to her, and in such a gruesome manner. "Once the immediate threat of that one was gone, I darted into the back and hid in the bathroom."
"Completely understandable miss," Joan said before turning to Johnny Ho who was squirming slightly. "What did you see, Mister Ho?" she asked.
"You ever watch that old flatvid movie "Under Siege"?" he asked.
"Can't say that I have," she answered, and the young man shook his head.
"They don't make action movies like that anymore," he said before looking up at her, a gleam of near manic adoration in his eyes. "The guy moved like a ghost, totally cold as he took them down even though he asked them to surrender after that first one was dead. I watched most of the action through the mirror from where I had been restocking the ramen display and it was just, wow. I want to know where he got training like that, because five to one odds and not only did he win, but he was the only unintended injury. Drek, I bet he barely even felt it when it happened because he handled the last two just as cooly as he did the rest."
Joan blinked at the fanboying from the stocker. "From what I've been informed of he is former Confederate American Marine special operations," Joan told him, "and I have another word to describe taking on five to one odds without your own weapon and preparation, and that's foolhardy." She saw the light die in the boy's eyes and inwardly sighed in relief. "That man has been all but turned into a living weapon with several years of hard training and experience, but that doesn't mean that what he did was guaranteed to work. One mistake, and everyone in that store could have died, one mistake and your body, as well as those of your coworkers could have just as easily been being wheeled out on a stretcher as either wounded or dead. That's why guys like him usually work in teams, so that there is someone to watch their backs when drek like this happens."
The boy sighed, "Message received officer," he said in a dejected tone and Joan nodded at him. "I did help him provide first aid until the officers arrived, even though we had to use the stock to do so." He continued. "He seemed to know what he was doing there as well."
"Thank you," Joan said, making a mental note that the subject also seemed conscientious enough to try and help after all the breaking was done instead of running off and hiding. "I have a few more people to interview, so if you will excuse me." Mister Nguyen nodded and Joan walked away.
Fourth Interview:
Timothy Thinners
The elven teenager was huddled in on himself under the store awning about three meters away from the employees, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking back and forth slightly. "Mister Thinners?" I said softly. "Can you tell me what you saw happen?"
"The bitch with the machine gun was right behind me," he muttered just loud enough for me to hear. "If I hadn't hit the ground as soon as that asshole came through the doors I would have died."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I said to him. "How do you remember things happening?" I asked.
"Just flashes of things really," he answered, shooting a glance at the employees before burying his head in his knees again. Suddenly he lifted his face, eyes streaming tears, "The guy rode the motorcycle through the doors and then his head exploded, the bitch behind me sprays the aisle past his body with her gun before jumping over me and the counter, catching one or two in the chest and then, and then."
He was hyperventilating at this point, so the detective tried to calm him down, "Mister Thinners calm down, your safe." His gaze snap to her and she blinked. Unlike the manic glee that Johnny Ho showed at the action, this boy is scared drekless, and he honestly thinks someone is going to come for him.
"He took them out like it was nothing," he cried, eyeballing the back of the ambulance. "And all she can do is stare at him with adoration. He dealt with her problems like they weren't even an issue, and all I could do was be one with the linoleum." As he finished what he was saying his tone and volume became softer, quieter and more subdued.
"Mister Thinners," Joan said softly, trying to give the boy some reassurance as she fought to not roll her eyes. "That man has spent better than ten years learning to be the most dangerous person in any room. But when he made his move, he did it with little to no regard for who might be caught in the crossfire. In short, he got lucky that no one but who he intended to get hurt, did. The fact that practically all the customers were smart enough to get down helped in this, but his actions could have gotten you all killed. Don't be sorry for being smart instead of tough." The boy nodded dejectedly at which point she did roll her eyes with the thought, Damn kids and their romantic drama. Turning away she walked toward the back of the ambulance and the main subject of the investigation.
Fifth Interview:
James Bostwick CASMC
The man was dressed in black fatigues and combat boots, the leg of one being pulled up to his knee allowing the paramedic to dress the small wound on the man's left calf. "Sergeant Bostwick," I said as I stepped into the back end of the ambulance. Would you mind telling me what the hell you were thinking in there?"
The man shrugged, "That the five thousand in my pocket and my ID was all that I had in the world at that point," he said bluntly. "And that I would be damned if a bunch of punk thugs were going to take it from me. Besides, I could see the signs almost as soon as I walked into the store. The girl behind the register was nervous as a long tail cat in a dog run, and shooting glances at the three gangers that were in the store. And while I didn't know exactly what was going to happen, I knew something was going down very soon."
"And why didn't you just call the police, Mister Bostwick?" she asked.
"No phone," he answered with a shrug. "Look, I literally just got into town, spent a couple of hours moving this way from where I came in, and ducked into the store to get out of the rain for a few minutes while getting something to munch and drink before hitting the coffin motel at the end of the street. I'm not in there for more than two minutes when some samurai wannabe confronts me and tells me that it's tax day and that I had to pay up. When the asshole on the bike rode through the doors, I used that distraction to deck the bastard before taking his gun and going to work.
**
Author's note:
And on that note I'm stopping things for this story. The reason being is that every time I sit down to write this, it gets Tarantino levels of gore fast, and I won't even get into the smut levels. If this was a movie the academy would rate it NC-17 at the very least, if not some amalgam of R and X, so this is where this story stops. I don't know when i'll get back to it, (posting it on my AO3 once i figure out the warning tags) and once i finish it i promise that "Harry Potter and the American Redneck" (BROBd Harry Potter) will be the next thing on my plate. Unless my muse throws something else in the way.
Edit: feel free to comment here though
