https://midcityrpg.com/forums/ Wed, 29 Apr 2026 21:24:17 +0000 MyBB https://midcityrpg.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=33 Wed, 02 May 2018 04:09:31 +0000 Stark]]> https://midcityrpg.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=33
The sheriff, a squat and round man named Dodry, sucked at his teeth and shook his head. "How's Will? He said anything yet?" The fat man looked past the doctor, at the closed door of the AutoMed room. He could hear the whizzing and whirring of the machine as it did its work.

"No," Doc Keller said again, growing impatient. Keller was a vampire (what better job for a vampire than one who was around blood all day?), and though he was eternally grateful that the people of Loredo welcomed him the way they did, sometimes their indirectness vexed him. "What did you find?"

Sheriff Dodry paused and pushed the brim of his hat up, sucking at his teeth again. "Stark Ranch is burned to the ground." He paused again and looked at his boots. "Three fresh graves is dug, too."

Keller sighed and shook his head. "Poor bastard."


"Eyup," the sheriff said, looking back up. He licked his lips, took a step to the closed door, then bee-lined away to the pot of coffee percolating in the waiting room. 

Doc Keller followed, eager for answers. That kind of mindless violence was what he had tried to get away from, coming to the quiet of Loredo and away from the Sprawls. As harsh as the Stateless Lands were, Keller had found there was often some method to the madness.  "Was there anything else? Any sign of who did it?"

"Some tire tracks," the sheriff answered as he poured a cup of coffee. "Shell casings. Boot prints. Lots of 'em. I reckon there had to have been a hundred men, maybe more."

"A hundred men? For a retired rancher?"

"Doc, fella like Will Stark - you don't just - has he said anything?"

"No, I told you."

The sheriff nodded and ambled to the door, this time going in. Doc Keller poured himself his own mug of coffee, peering into the room. His patient sat stone and silent in the AutoMed chair, the robotic arms of the medical machine darting back and forth, plugging holes, stitching cuts, mending wires. Normally Keller would be doing most of it himself, but the man's cybernetics were horribly outdated. All the doctor could do was monitor vitals and administer medicine as needed.

A few minutes later Sheriff Dodry came mosying back out, his coffee cup drained.

"Did he say anything?" Doc Keller asked.

"You have a gun?" 

Keller paused, confused; "Yes I have a gun, why-"

"Give it to him." Sheriff Dodry licked a few beads of sweat from his upper lip.

"Give it to him? Sheriff you told me his ranch is burned down, so I don't think he has many assets to even cover his medical bill, let alone-"

"Doc," the sheriff interrupted, "don't you dare try to charge Will for none of this. Don't you dare. Do you know why Loredo is so quiet? Why we don't have no damn problems with raiders or muties? Will Stark is why. He breezed into town with a new wife long before you got here, and said he'd take care of the Junker raider gang and dem muties and the den of galdurn vampires - them with the yellow eyes, not red like yours - that'd been given us hell and you know what he asked for? A plot a land to call his own and some peace and quiet."

"...and he did it-"

"YES he galdurn did it! All of 'em, in a week's time!" The sheriff looked at the door then quieted down. "So when I say give him your gun, it's because otherwise I'm worried he's gonna take it from you."]]>
The sheriff, a squat and round man named Dodry, sucked at his teeth and shook his head. "How's Will? He said anything yet?" The fat man looked past the doctor, at the closed door of the AutoMed room. He could hear the whizzing and whirring of the machine as it did its work.

"No," Doc Keller said again, growing impatient. Keller was a vampire (what better job for a vampire than one who was around blood all day?), and though he was eternally grateful that the people of Loredo welcomed him the way they did, sometimes their indirectness vexed him. "What did you find?"

Sheriff Dodry paused and pushed the brim of his hat up, sucking at his teeth again. "Stark Ranch is burned to the ground." He paused again and looked at his boots. "Three fresh graves is dug, too."

Keller sighed and shook his head. "Poor bastard."


"Eyup," the sheriff said, looking back up. He licked his lips, took a step to the closed door, then bee-lined away to the pot of coffee percolating in the waiting room. 

Doc Keller followed, eager for answers. That kind of mindless violence was what he had tried to get away from, coming to the quiet of Loredo and away from the Sprawls. As harsh as the Stateless Lands were, Keller had found there was often some method to the madness.  "Was there anything else? Any sign of who did it?"

"Some tire tracks," the sheriff answered as he poured a cup of coffee. "Shell casings. Boot prints. Lots of 'em. I reckon there had to have been a hundred men, maybe more."

"A hundred men? For a retired rancher?"

"Doc, fella like Will Stark - you don't just - has he said anything?"

"No, I told you."

The sheriff nodded and ambled to the door, this time going in. Doc Keller poured himself his own mug of coffee, peering into the room. His patient sat stone and silent in the AutoMed chair, the robotic arms of the medical machine darting back and forth, plugging holes, stitching cuts, mending wires. Normally Keller would be doing most of it himself, but the man's cybernetics were horribly outdated. All the doctor could do was monitor vitals and administer medicine as needed.

A few minutes later Sheriff Dodry came mosying back out, his coffee cup drained.

"Did he say anything?" Doc Keller asked.

"You have a gun?" 

Keller paused, confused; "Yes I have a gun, why-"

"Give it to him." Sheriff Dodry licked a few beads of sweat from his upper lip.

"Give it to him? Sheriff you told me his ranch is burned down, so I don't think he has many assets to even cover his medical bill, let alone-"

"Doc," the sheriff interrupted, "don't you dare try to charge Will for none of this. Don't you dare. Do you know why Loredo is so quiet? Why we don't have no damn problems with raiders or muties? Will Stark is why. He breezed into town with a new wife long before you got here, and said he'd take care of the Junker raider gang and dem muties and the den of galdurn vampires - them with the yellow eyes, not red like yours - that'd been given us hell and you know what he asked for? A plot a land to call his own and some peace and quiet."

"...and he did it-"

"YES he galdurn did it! All of 'em, in a week's time!" The sheriff looked at the door then quieted down. "So when I say give him your gun, it's because otherwise I'm worried he's gonna take it from you."]]> https://midcityrpg.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=31 Wed, 25 Apr 2018 05:12:00 +0000 Stark]]> https://midcityrpg.com/forums/showthread.php?tid=31
"Why would anyone live out here?" one asked.

"Jesus, Rick, I don't fucking know man, will you just..." the other replied.

Another clod was added to the growing mound crushing his lungs, snuffing out what little life was left in him.

"Yeah." A pause. "I mean but, why? Why live away from the Free States or the Eastern Sprawl or - fuck, man, anywhere but out here. There isn't anything around, these hicks lived like fucking mongoloids."

"I know. Fuck this is taking forever."

"Why are we even burying him?"

"Boss said bury him, so..."

"Yeah but he ain't here, and he left two of us to dig four graves. The kids wont take long, but this guy and the woman-"

"Well fuck, Rick, what do you wanna do just leave them for the animals?"

There was another long pause, and though the piling of dirt had ceased, the weight seemed to grow on his lungs.

"If boss finds out he's gonna be pissed."

"Man, fuck him. We come out here and straight body an entire family and then he wants to get a heart? Fuck right off. Let's just get back to Midnight City, its gonna take us hours to drive back without burying these assholes."

"Alright. Fine. Looks like its gonna rain anyway."

One of them tossed a shovel at man they were burying, and if the Slickers were paying any attention, they'd see a gush of fresh blood telling them the man was still alive. Barely, but alive all the same. 

But Slickers never finish the job, not when their boss isn't around. They were already walking back to their car. They left William Stark half buried in a shallow grave, his face bloodied and pulped, body bruised and broken, leaking blood from a gutshot. Stark heard the car start and take off away from his ranch - not the loud and growling rumble of a stateless lands car, but the high pitched whine of a city slicker's ride. When it faded away, he was left with the sounds of nightfall broken by the rumble of thunder.

The rain was what finally woke him, summer evening rain like God's own sweet mercy. His real eye was so swollen that he could barely see out of it, but the old cybernetic one  - outdated and crude - clicked and whirred and sent the images of the world to his brain. They had buried him up to his chest, leaving only his head and neck, and his left arm uncovered. He tried first to sit up, but was too weak to move. Panic gripped him, and he tried to thrash against the weight of the earth. 

The shallow grave kept him in its embrace.

He closed his eyes again, and for a moment, was closer to death than he had been when the Slickers were throwing dirt on his broken body. He though of his wife lying dead on the kitchen floor, the pool of blood under her head growing by the second. The fire swallowing the house, the children screaming. Stark had lost everything in just twenty short minutes.

But he hadn't lost it. It had been taken from him.

His eyes opened again. His right arm had been badly damaged, the fine motor control in the cybernetic appendage gone, the skilled hand that had won countless gunfights smashed and useless. But he could still move the arm itself, and the mechanical power was enough to drive the fresh dirt away. Slowly, clumsily, Stark pushed his earthen shackles away, his lungs pumping and burning as the rain turned from a fresh evening whisper to a roar in the night.

He grunted and growled and pulled himself from the grave, his body wracked with pain. Stark hauled himself to his knees, and in front of him were their bodies. Libby and the kids, piled unceremoniously in a heap. Beyond them, the smoldering remains of their home. He put his hands in front of his face and screamed a wordless howl, then another, until all he could do was scream in the driving thunderstorm that had overtaken the land.

When his throat was lined with needles and he couldn't scream anymore, only breathe a soundless husking sigh, he found his way to his feet. Stark picked up the shovel that had been thrown at him as the Slickers had turned to leave, and in the rainstorm, started to dig.

It took him four hours and he collapsed at least a dozen times. Every time he thought he might just lay down and die next to his family, he saw Armitage smiling and lifting the peacemaker - Stark's peacemaker - and blowing a hole in Libby's head. Before his eyes were open, Stark was up and digging again.

When it was done, he stood over the three rock covered graves, leaning on the shovel. He wanted to say something, but his throat wouldn't allow it.

It was a five mile walk into town, and William Stark was half dead, wearing only his jeans and a tattered shirt - the bastards had even stripped him of his boots after shooting him. He started plodding forward, looking ahead as lightning flashed above, driven by the most pure and powerful fire that can burn in a man's belly: vengeance.]]>
"Why would anyone live out here?" one asked.

"Jesus, Rick, I don't fucking know man, will you just..." the other replied.

Another clod was added to the growing mound crushing his lungs, snuffing out what little life was left in him.

"Yeah." A pause. "I mean but, why? Why live away from the Free States or the Eastern Sprawl or - fuck, man, anywhere but out here. There isn't anything around, these hicks lived like fucking mongoloids."

"I know. Fuck this is taking forever."

"Why are we even burying him?"

"Boss said bury him, so..."

"Yeah but he ain't here, and he left two of us to dig four graves. The kids wont take long, but this guy and the woman-"

"Well fuck, Rick, what do you wanna do just leave them for the animals?"

There was another long pause, and though the piling of dirt had ceased, the weight seemed to grow on his lungs.

"If boss finds out he's gonna be pissed."

"Man, fuck him. We come out here and straight body an entire family and then he wants to get a heart? Fuck right off. Let's just get back to Midnight City, its gonna take us hours to drive back without burying these assholes."

"Alright. Fine. Looks like its gonna rain anyway."

One of them tossed a shovel at man they were burying, and if the Slickers were paying any attention, they'd see a gush of fresh blood telling them the man was still alive. Barely, but alive all the same. 

But Slickers never finish the job, not when their boss isn't around. They were already walking back to their car. They left William Stark half buried in a shallow grave, his face bloodied and pulped, body bruised and broken, leaking blood from a gutshot. Stark heard the car start and take off away from his ranch - not the loud and growling rumble of a stateless lands car, but the high pitched whine of a city slicker's ride. When it faded away, he was left with the sounds of nightfall broken by the rumble of thunder.

The rain was what finally woke him, summer evening rain like God's own sweet mercy. His real eye was so swollen that he could barely see out of it, but the old cybernetic one  - outdated and crude - clicked and whirred and sent the images of the world to his brain. They had buried him up to his chest, leaving only his head and neck, and his left arm uncovered. He tried first to sit up, but was too weak to move. Panic gripped him, and he tried to thrash against the weight of the earth. 

The shallow grave kept him in its embrace.

He closed his eyes again, and for a moment, was closer to death than he had been when the Slickers were throwing dirt on his broken body. He though of his wife lying dead on the kitchen floor, the pool of blood under her head growing by the second. The fire swallowing the house, the children screaming. Stark had lost everything in just twenty short minutes.

But he hadn't lost it. It had been taken from him.

His eyes opened again. His right arm had been badly damaged, the fine motor control in the cybernetic appendage gone, the skilled hand that had won countless gunfights smashed and useless. But he could still move the arm itself, and the mechanical power was enough to drive the fresh dirt away. Slowly, clumsily, Stark pushed his earthen shackles away, his lungs pumping and burning as the rain turned from a fresh evening whisper to a roar in the night.

He grunted and growled and pulled himself from the grave, his body wracked with pain. Stark hauled himself to his knees, and in front of him were their bodies. Libby and the kids, piled unceremoniously in a heap. Beyond them, the smoldering remains of their home. He put his hands in front of his face and screamed a wordless howl, then another, until all he could do was scream in the driving thunderstorm that had overtaken the land.

When his throat was lined with needles and he couldn't scream anymore, only breathe a soundless husking sigh, he found his way to his feet. Stark picked up the shovel that had been thrown at him as the Slickers had turned to leave, and in the rainstorm, started to dig.

It took him four hours and he collapsed at least a dozen times. Every time he thought he might just lay down and die next to his family, he saw Armitage smiling and lifting the peacemaker - Stark's peacemaker - and blowing a hole in Libby's head. Before his eyes were open, Stark was up and digging again.

When it was done, he stood over the three rock covered graves, leaning on the shovel. He wanted to say something, but his throat wouldn't allow it.

It was a five mile walk into town, and William Stark was half dead, wearing only his jeans and a tattered shirt - the bastards had even stripped him of his boots after shooting him. He started plodding forward, looking ahead as lightning flashed above, driven by the most pure and powerful fire that can burn in a man's belly: vengeance.]]>