The Lone Gunmen: Satan's Disciples Part 1 (standard:action, 6414 words)
Author: The Dark Master	Added: Nov 09 2000	Views/Reads: 3982/2805	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The blood-spattered adventures of a group of mercenaries.

THE LONE GUNMEN: SATAN'S DISCIPLES There was a *thud* as a dark figure
hit the ground feet first.  The figure knelt down and kissed the 
ground.  He had been up there a long time and it was great to be back 
safe and sound; a black parachute fluttered in the breeze behind him.  
Then, there in the cool night sky, he sat down and contemplated the 
day's events.  A tear rolled down his stony cheek as he thought about 
all the great times he had had with his comrades.  But there was no 
time for tears.  All but one of his friends were dead.  "Just fucking 
dead," he thought.  But at least he had one friend left in this cruel, 
unforgiving world.  The man reached for his long, black duffel bag and 
unzipped it.  He ran his rough hand over the still-warm carbon steel 
cylinder contained within the duffel.  His friend had served him well 
once before and would serve his master even better in the future.  The 
man's friend was a Barrett M82.  The sniper was back, and with a 
vengeance... 

He trudged for hours through the thick, golden grass of the California
hills until he reached a small clearing.  He scanned the area with his 
night vision goggles and a twisted smile came to his mouth; he liked 
what he saw.  There, in the clearing, was a waste treatment plant.  
Since the man knew the area well, he knew that a large, subterranean 
complex existed below the plant.  The abandoned underground complex was 
a remnant of a Cold War era Minuteman III missile silo.  This complex 
and the plant above would now serve as his dark nexus... 

He made his way around the plant, looking for the entrance he knew was
there.  He finally found it behind a patch of bushes; a large steel 
hatch welded shut.  From beneath the billowing black of his duster, he 
extracted a small oxyacetylene torch and artfully cut open the hatch.  
A blast of air hit him in the face as 10 years of stale air escaped 
from the open hatch.  The sniper crawled down the access shaft with his 
night vision goggles on.  He saw in brilliant green, that he had a long 
way to go down the tunnel.  Finally, after climbing down, rung under 
rung for what seemed to be an eternity, he hit a grating.  Turning 
around, he saw a large power conduit leading to a huge circuit breaker. 
 He opened the cover of it to reveal the heart of the silo's electrical 
system.  Before he started flipping the switches, he adjusted the light 
dampeners on his goggles as to not be blinded by the sudden burst of 
light.  He flipped the switches and an electrical humming sound could 
be heard as the massive generators deep in the bowels of the complex 
roared to life before performing a self-diagnostic check.  A high 
pitched whine came from the transformers as they reconnected to the 
power grid through heavily shielded cables.  Every light in the complex 
switched on and every electrical system performed a self-check.  
Content with his handiwork, the sniper slid open a large bulkhead and 
was confronted with a realization so shocking that it made the sniper 
nearly piss his pants with joy.  There, in a shaft 200 feet deep and 50 
feet wide, was a Minuteman III intercontinental ballistic missile.  The 
man ran up a flight of stairs untill he reached the warhead 
compartment.  To his dismay, he noticed that it was empty.  But in time 
he could fix that. Now though, it was time to go shopping... 

Leaving the complex, he walked a bit down the road looking like an
innocent hitchhiker.  Slowly, a black Suburban came to a halt next to 
him. "Need a ride?" asked a man with an Arabic accent. "Yes, yes, thank 
you," replied the man in black with gratefulness...now he had acquired 
a vehicle.  As he got into the passenger side he skillfully and 
imperceptibly removed a thin, Teflon coated wire from his duster.  With 
one smooth, powerful move, he wrapped his weapon around the man's neck 
and drew it tight.  The man started making gurgling sounds and flopped 
about violently as the garrote dug deeper into his flesh.  Then, so as 
not to ruin the leather seats in the car, the sniper dragged the 
struggling man out of the passenger door and to the edge of a drainage 
ditch.  Just then, the struggling driver spewed blood from his mouth, 
like water from a Venetian fountain, as the garrote sliced through the 
man's jugular and severed his trachea.  With a final surge of pure 
strength and adrenaline, the sniper decapitated the man and kicked his 
headless corpse into the ditch, where it was carried away by the murky 
current.  Pulling out a garbage bag, he placed the severed head into it 
and took it as a prize. After a change of leather gloves so as not to 
draw undue attention to himself, he made his way to the nearest 
Wal-Mart. The parking lot was full so he decided to do some drive-thru 
shopping.  Firewalling the massive 454 cu. in. engine, the Suburban 
flew through the front of the store and plowed through the cashier 
stations taking out customers and cashiers left and right. Continuing 


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