The Last Grease Monkey: Part 6
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Yuma, AZ
198X
5 years after the End
Pastebin of Threads 1-3
http://pastebin.com/0vWezvSE
Pastebin of 4 and 4.5
http://pastebin.com/XEw7bcg5
Thread 5
>>236283
You are Hank Dalton. On the last episode of The Last Grease Monkey, you:
>Killed some more road pirates, getting shot in the leg in the process
>Saw some freaky shit happen with the coyote corpses from back in Thread #3, also a dude got murdered and scalped
>Consulted Chief and found out that there's not just a Wendigo but fucking Skinwalkers
>Got some assistance from the Sheriff's Department consisting two Deputies driving a Chevy Blazer with an M60 machine gun mounted in the back.
>Also you're driving Jim's 65 Riviera right now since your left leg can't handle working a clutch right now.
----------https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m3hsCiGS9Uc
Once you hit the highway you drop the hammer. The Nailhead engine doesn't rev high like your 427 Chevy but the massive torque makes the Riviera move like a much lighter car. The Blazer gets up alongside you at around 70 mph, Deputy Hawkins honks a couple times and guns it. He gains a fender on you and keeps it there for far longer than he should as you climb to 80. At 90 you finally start to pass him, but god damn that thing is too fast for such a heavy truck.
"C'mon Black Dog," says Jim over the CB, "You're embarrassing me!"
You grin and pick your mic up. "It's your piece o' shit car, Lizard King."
Jim starts to respond but Hawkins cuts him off. "Howdy there, this is Pork Chop, we gonna keep on poontangin' around or we gonna kill us some savages?"
You settle down to a slower pace as you get into the hills. You won't have much daylight left and these fucking road pirates could be lurking around every corner. Hawkins pulls ahead, makes sense considering Garcia's firepower advantage.
"Man," says Zoe, "This car sure is comfy." She caresses her seat. "I mean these seats feel like BarcaLoungers. I could sleep in here."
You laugh. "Christ, have you never smoked pot before?"
Zoe's eyes widen. "Wait, is that what was in-"
You're interrupted by the rattle of an M60 firing up ahead. "Son of a BITCH!" shouts Hawkins. "I'm hit! Fuckin- Gurk..." Gurgling and Garcia's shouts of panic are drowned out by a new broadcast consisting of a raspy voice chanting in a tongue you've never heard but suspect to be Navajo. You shut it off.
"Hit with what?" you ask. The answer comes immediately as an arrow bounces off your hood. Another embeds itself in the windshield right in front of your face, the head looks really fucking weird. Like...bone or something. You can't see the shooter. The Blazer veers off into the left lane, overcorrects to the left, pulls off into the sand and just barely manages to stop. Jim and Chief make it through relatively unscathed.
A) Pull over, try and help Hawkins and Garcia
B) Keep going to the ranch
Roll 1d100
Rolled 61 (1d100)
>>259404
A) Pull over, try and help Hawkins and Garcia
aw shit, it's going down
Rolled 77 (1d100)
>>259404
A) Pull over, try and help Hawkins and Garcia
Let's try and figure out which direction those arrows came from, so that we know which way our bullets are going.
Rolled 48 (1d100)
>>259404
A) Just first aid, Garcia can evacuate himself probably.
Rolled 45 (1d100)
>>259404
>A) Pull over, try and help Hawkins and Garcia
Such is life.
As you pull up behind the Blazer Garcia vaults over the bedside and rolls on the ground, screaming and cursing.
“Coño! They’re all over me! All fuckin’ over the place!”
“Check on Hawkins!” shouts Zoe, rushing to Garcia’s side.
Hawkins is slumped over the steering wheel, coughing and retching, an arrow in his side. He turns to you, staring with glazed-over eyes. Something long, thin and black is sticking out of the corner of his mouth. It twitches. Another one forces its way out of the other side of his mouth. A third. A fourth.
“Hank!” shouts Zoe, “Get the fuck away from him!”
You duck away from Hawkins just in time as innumerable writhing tarantulas spew forth from his mouth, carried by a wave of slimy black ichor.
Chief’s battered Apache pickup skids to a stop behind you, Jim and Chief both jump out. Jim sweeps the area with his PPSh while Chief runs past you, ignoring the teeming mass of spiders, and puts his hand on Hawkins’ forehead. Hawkins is an emaciated wreck at this point. Chief’s voice booms, filling your entire head. You can’t understand a single word, but the spiders begin to fade away into smoke.
You manage to catch some movement out of the corner of your eye. Some asshole painted up like a skeleton, wearing a cougar head for a hat, is running down the hillside away from you. A bow is in his hand and an empty quiver is slung over his shoulder. You raise the Ruger to your shoulder and squeeze off a single round, hitting him between the shoulderblades. He falls and rolls down the hill until he’s stopped by a saguaro cactus. You can’t help but smile as he screams in agony.
A) Finish him
B) Attempt to question him
>>260174
>B) Attempt to question him
Where are his friends, what have they set up for us, how much will it hurt when we put a bullet up his asshole when he doesn't talk, and how many days will it take him to bleed out from the wound?
Rolled 16 (1d100)
>>260174
B) A few .357s in shoulders and kneecaps should make him talk.
Rolling for interrogation success.
Rolled 65 (1d100)
>>260226
supporting!
>>260174
B) Attempt to question him
Rolled 100 (1d100)
>>260320
here goes nothing
>>260321
>nat
>fucking
>100
some beans are going to be spilled
Rolled 51 (1d100)
>>260320
Rolling a golf ball.
Rolled 30 (1d100)
>>260174
I will vote A, though B seems very popular.
Don't be afraid to ice this fuckface. He wouldn't think twice about you. Don't think twice about him.
>>260387
Our plan in interrogating him isn't to spare him; in fact, it's to make him earn a faster death by saying what we wanna know, and being penalized with more bullets in non-mortal places that really hurt every time he says things that make us mad.
The Skinwalker is about 50 feet down the hill, vainly attempting to extricate himself from the saguaro. He’s quieted down a lot.
“How’s that cactus feeling for you?” you yell, “Ever try that acupuncture shit before? Or is that the other kind of Indians?”
“It's actually the Chinese,” says Jim, “But them dot-type Indians do have those guys that lie on beds of nails and shit like that.”
“Think he’ll talk?”
“Doubt it, but it's worth a shot if you wanna go down there,” says Jim, levering a .45-70 into the Marlin’s chamber. “I got him covered.”
Getting down the hill is neither easy nor fun with your leg the way it is, but you make it.
“Now seriously man, you ain't got no more of them bug bombs, do you?
The Skinwalker grimaces at you with pointed teeth. The exit wound in his bare chest is gnarly looking and his back and left side are stuck full of cactus needles.
“No,” he says “That one was special.”
“Well good, cause if you try anything, Jim up there will blow your brains out your asshole.”
The Skinwalker spits up some blood. “Quit the bullshit, we all know I’m not walking out of here whether I talk or not.” He’s younger than you expected, maybe younger than you.
“Yeah, but we can make it a lot more painful for you.”
“I've got a new asshole in my chest and a back full of cactus needles, how could you make it worse?”
“You hear that, Jim?” you yell.
“Ooh,” Jim exclaims, “Sounds like a challenge! I'll confer with my associates up here and we’ll see what we can whip up.”
“Hawkins isn't feeling so hot,” says Chief, “But Garcia gave us a pretty good suggestion.” Chief passes Jim a roll of steel cable, which Jim unrolls and tosses down to you. You holster your revolver and proceed to tie it to the Skinwalker’s ankle.
“Wait, what’re you-”
Up on top of the hill, the Blazer starts up. The cable goes taught, as it is attached to the winch on the Blazer’s front bumper. The Skinwalker wails as he’s yanked off the cactus and pulled up the hill by one ankle. The cougar skull comes off of his head and his bare torso is dragged over rocks and scrub brush luckily he's wearing jeans instead of a loincloth. You hobble up after him.
“Now tell us something useful or we tie you to the bumper and drag you down the road,” says Jim, grinding his boot into the Skinwalker’s chest wound. He starts talking.
According to the Skinwalker there’s a road pirate trap up ahead, you could get around them if you go off road but the Blazer is the only suitable vehicle for that. Most of the other Skinwalkers are at the ranch, they’re planning some sort of ceremony at sundown that will grant the Wendigo a new body.
What’s your plan for the road pirates?
A) Meet them head on
B) Go around, ambush them from behind
C) Write in
What do you do with the Skinwalker? (Suggestions welcome)
X) Kill him fast
Y) Kill him slow
Z) Other (write in)
>>268322
B) challenge the dice
X) no time to waste!
>>268327
B)
We have SOME sort of edge. Maybe load up the blazer and set that shit on fire, hurling into them? Just an idea.
Y)
Ask him a few more questions.
How do we stop that pow wow?
What started all this?
How do we help Hawkins? What the fuck kind of arrow was that?
etc.
B) Go around, ambush them from behind
and i'll go with >>268335 's questions
just don't torture him if he keeps talking, no need to make things worse
(and a quick death after that)
>>268327
B)
X) Dude gave us some information already, lets just put him out of his misery.
>>268363
This.
BY
rip Niggertits
>>268602
i knew i shouldn't have posted a uncensored drawing to him so fast
>>268327
BX
>>268327
B) Go around, ambush them from behind
X) Kill him fast
Let's give Chief the chance to question him further, though. I'm sure he can think of more pertinent questions pertaining to what the skinwalkers are armed with and the kinda shit that they're capable of. It would be nice if we knew what we were walking into.
RIP Niggertits, scalped by skinwalkers.