The MC

Zombie or Post Apocalyptic themed fiction/stories.

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The MC

Post by Stercutus » Sun Dec 23, 2018 12:26 pm

This is going to be a long one. How long I am not sure. It will be going places and doing things.

The Herald of the Mark of the Red Order, Vice Baron of Midlands, know as “Stack” on the road went stand down at 2:45 AM on Saturday Morning outside the Xenophobe’s Motorcycle Club National Club House. His sources had indicted that this would be the best time to catch the National Officers in the club house although they would likely be deep in to their cups and bowls. The message would be sent regardless of their state. How the message would be received was still an open question.

The Xeno’s or Xe’s as they were often called had grown dramatically in the last three years from a small little-known club to very large and powerful club with over 2000 members. In cooperation with the largest cartel in Juarez they now helped run most of the El Paso regional cross border drug trade and were expanding outward, sometimes brutally where they encountered rival gangs and clubs. The ideology of The Order accepted that while the drug trade was an evil it was one that was tolerated out of the fallibility of man. Lately however, the Xe’s had taken to trafficking humans. Such activity was considered unacceptable and the Xe’s were to be told it was unacceptable before action would be taken against them. This would give them the opportunity to see the error of their ways. This worked more often than seemed likely, but The Order was very formidable and rarely trifled with.

A Herald worked alone when delivering a message, but he was never unprepared. Stack checked his armor and his weapons. To a casual observer Stack was wearing a complete set of off-road riding armor with some extra unusual pieces. While his armor did serve that function, it was constructed of a thicker ballistic material and provided Level IIIa ballistic protection. In several critical areas it was stronger and thicker. An off-road rider would likely assume it was a weird off brand heavy armor. The mark of the Order was prominent on the breastplate and was recognizable by practically all MC club officers world wide even if it was seldom spoken of.

It had been decades since a herald had been attacked but the Xe’s seemed bit crazier than the run of the mill methed-out biker gang. They also had not had much contact with The Order since the early days of the MC. This was mostly the fault of the Baron of East El Paso whom Stack felt had been neglecting his duties of late. All the old Xe leadership was gone and had been replaced with a much tougher crowd. The Order never demanded anything from other clubs except respect and only when necessary was a club disciplined.

The Order performed many functions not the least of which was the policing of the more egregious behavior of the MC community. Seldom did a club run afoul of the Order but when they did most found it best to comply with their wishes and stop whatever they were doing that had offended The Order and brought their notice. Occasionally an MC failed to comply and this forced The Order to take more aggressive action. Stack believed that such would be the case here. The Xe’s were too violent, too over the top and too confident with their new-found wealth. Stack believed a Scourge was coming. If the club were scourged, then things would get hot quick in the region and Midlands likely would play an outsized role in any conflict. Stack was not looking forward to that. Midlands had been quiet until the Xe's showed up and Stack had fallen in to a routine where he was now more of a business man than a warrior.

Stack checked his weapons. The two Karambit knives laid close to his beltline. He practiced with them daily but it had been years since they had been bloodied; back in the days when he had been a Road Knight they had seen some use. As a Herald that was all he normally carried. A Herald was generally considered inviolable. The last time one had been attacked the aggressing gang had been scourged. Shortly after the scourge the gang being headless and leaderless had disbanded.

It was loud in the clubhouse with music spilling out in to the otherwise remote quiet desert location. An older style juke box was blaring some Death Metal. Stack wasn’t certain, but he believed it was Bloodspot by the Volcanoes.

There would be women and children in the MC Club House. The children were part of the reason he was here. At least three were held in one of the back rooms. He couldn’t do anything about that tonight but soon he might.

It was time, so Stack entered in through the front door. The clubhouse reeked of liquor, weed, tobacco, and cheap perfume with an undercurrent of blood. The Mark had told him when he had been selected to be Herald, that a Herald needs to walk as if he owns the world and so Stack did. Like a lion he strode straight over to the juke box and pulled the plug just as the Xe’s Sergeant at Arms was picking up on the fact that they had an uninvited guest. The Xe SAA was a huge bear of a man named Bear whose 6’6” frame towered over Stack’s 6’. When the music died Bear’s voice filled the air wanting to know exactly who the fuck Stack was and what did he think he was doing?
Stack removed his dome and turned to face the crowd of about 20 rapidly angering club members.

He then launched in to his message;
“I am Stack, Herald of The Order of Red. I have been sent to give fair warning to the Xenophobes. You have engaged in the commerce of trafficking humans for sale. This activity is to cease immediately. Failure to abide will result in severe discipline to the Club. All will be held accountable.”

Bear was completely non-plussed. “Dude I don’t care who the fuck you are you just earned an ass beating. You don’t walk into our clubhouse and pull some shit like that and expect to not get an ass beating.” He then extended a meaty paw to grab Stack and start administering the beating.

Later some of the Xe’s would comment that they had never seen anyone move so fast. Stack flexed, pulled Bear’s arm in to him locking it in to an arm bar he then turned his whole body to provide leverage. He then pulled hard, twisted and shattered Bear’s arm at the elbow. It would take five months in an immobilized cast and two surgeries before Bear would be roadworthy again. His arm would never be quite right again but he would ride till the end of his days.

Bear dropped to the floor in surprise holding his broken limb and let forth with a solid stream of profanities. Everyone in the clubhouse was on their feet and several of the Xe’s were approaching Stack if a bit more cautiously than seconds before.

“You attack a Herald in the execution of his office? Are you crazy? You will be scourged.”

When Bear dropped to the floor a member of Bear’s crew named Rat moved behind the bar where he knew a 12GA Mossberg Shotgun was kept. He had been around Bear for four years and never seen him go down in a fight. Whoever this guy was he was dangerous as fuck. Rat shucked a round in to the chamber which despite the din in the room caught the attention of most in the room who then moved to get out of a direct line of fire between the Herald and Rat. As soon as he had clear shot Rat let loose with a round of buckshot that struck Stack square in the chest.

Stack dropped, and Rat was feeling quite pleased with himself when the Herald suddenly was on his feet again, seemingly unaffected by the buckshot. Stack now had small wicked looking knives in each hand. Stack moved to approach the man closest to the door and with one evil swipe cut right through his leather and opened a large gaping wound crossway across the members chest. In shock Rat began pumping rounds in Stack’s direction. Rat swore he hit him every time even though Stack did not go down again. Several of the buck shot projectiles found other members who were unlucky enough to be in the line of fire.

In the back office National Vice President named "Brute" had been tearing off a piece when Rat opened up with the Mossberg. When the first shot was followed up with several more Brute grabbed the AK-47 he kept under the couch in his office and ran to the bar to see what was going on. At least six members were down with either shotgun or knife wounds. The Herald of The Order was no longer on his feet and had been dogpiled by the Xe’s. One member with a large gash to his face found Stack’s left arm particularly offensive and was jumping up and down on it while blood was flying every which way from his face.

Brute ran over to the dogpile, saw Stack on the bottom and administered the coup de’ grace to him with three rounds to the head. Brute then started demanding answers. With Stack’s head mostly reduced to jelly The Xe’s lost interest in him and began moving off of him, some started explaining that the fruitcake had come in to the club house and started some shit. Bear had tried to show him the door but he turned out to be way more dangerous than he had first appeared. Brute glanced at Bear and was shocked to see his rapidly discoloring arm.

When the last two members laying across Stack's chest stood up Brute looked down and saw the heraldic symbols on his breastplate. He recognized them immediately. Already amped up on adrenaline Brute then cut loose with his own string of profanity. A war was coming. A war the Xenophobes had no chance of winning.
You go 'round and around it
You go over and under
I go through

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Re: The MC

Post by raptor » Mon Dec 24, 2018 10:19 am

Never kill the messenger, especially one under Imperial protection.

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Re: The MC

Post by idahobob » Mon Dec 24, 2018 10:38 am

Interesting start.
People who are rather more than six feet tall and nearly as broad across the shoulders often have uneventful journeys. People jump out at them from behind rocks then say things like, "Oh. Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

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Re: The MC

Post by 91Eunozs » Tue Dec 25, 2018 12:48 am

Very interesting... Looking forward to Moar!
Molon Latte...come & take our coffee order
Doctorr Fabulous wrote:... It's fun to play pretend, but this is the internet, and it's time to be serious.
zengunfighter wrote:... you don't want to blow a tranny in the middle of a pursuit...
woodsghost wrote:... A defensive gun without training is basically a talisman. It might ward off evil, but I wouldn't count on it.

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