From above Sunde looked different than usual. There were two small white 'x' marks on the floor, most likely done in a chalk. A huge cement block was tied in the rafters, making one wonder how the hell the members of Schwarz got it up there and why it was simply hanging there. Ropes were strung through the rafters at various places, leading down eventually to one just in front of the stage that seemed to serve no real purpose. One end of it was in a loop about two feet wide. Another stretched along the floor midway through the floor, just laying there. Strange, but Schwarz never had been the most sane of people.
Brad checked his little notebook again, leaving it open on the table as he stood up. He walked to the nearest white 'x' and stood on it. "Make sure he doesn't touch you. We don't know for sure how that disease of his jumps, and with you carrying the strategist's child, I would prefer not to see its effects on the unborn," Brad said.
"Ja, ja. You worry too much, Oracle," Schuldig muttered as he pushed himself to his feet as well. With a lazy flick, he turned on the small sound system Sunde had, Smash Mouth's 'I'm a Believer' coming through. He took his place on the second 'x'.
Then everything went to hell in a handbasket.
Schuldig and Brad seemed to both be waiting for something, just standing there. The next moment the front door of Sunde banged open and a rush of wind came through.
Brad nodded. Both of them dove to the floor and pulled on the rope nearest them, snapping it taut. The rush of wind and blur of black slowed down phenomenally quick all of a sudden. Schuldig dropped his end of the rope, guns in hand the next second and firing at Wesker rapidly. In the enclosed space of Sunde, each shot sounded like a thunderclap.
Wesker was stunned. Albert Wesker had tripped. Of all the stupid tricks, he had tripped on a rope. Then the air was full of bullets and the noise alone was enough to deafen him. Trying to wriggle backwards, he fell backwards. The cool and calm plans he had laid down of dealing with these two had been blown away. All he knew was that it sounded like war had broken out, and he was the target. He never even noticed the loop of rope on the floor until his leg was in it.
While Schuldig was firing on Wesker, the telepath walking towards him as he did, Brad had merely aimed up at the ceiling at something. His lips moved silently, counting shots. When he reached 'nine', Brad pulled the trigger on his gun. One of that maze of ropes in the rafters blew apart, a whrrrrl sound heard as the cement block began to drop at an amazing speed.
Wesker found himself snatched upwards, feeling like his leg had been dislocated in the process. The entire structure of Sunde shuddered when the cement block hit, bouncing Schuldig and Brad a little. Wesker himself was left hanging upside down in an old-fashioned rabbit trap.
When faced with the technological failings of Purgatorium, Schwarz had improvised.
"Mr Wesker, I presume," Brad asked, raising his own gun.
Albert Wesker found himself staring down the barrel of Crawford's gun while Schuldig reloaded at a speed only one used to weapons attained. Soon enough, it was three barrels. Both assassins kept back enough that Wesker couldn't grab them with his flailing arms, but that they could shoot out his eyes if necessary. After hearing the stories, the men of Schwarz had decided eyes and throat were probably the best bets for damage.
"Let me down, now," Wesker snarled, his sunglasses falling away and leaving those hellish eyes blazing.
Brad checked his little notebook again, leaving it open on the table as he stood up. He walked to the nearest white 'x' and stood on it. "Make sure he doesn't touch you. We don't know for sure how that disease of his jumps, and with you carrying the strategist's child, I would prefer not to see its effects on the unborn," Brad said.
"Ja, ja. You worry too much, Oracle," Schuldig muttered as he pushed himself to his feet as well. With a lazy flick, he turned on the small sound system Sunde had, Smash Mouth's 'I'm a Believer' coming through. He took his place on the second 'x'.
Then everything went to hell in a handbasket.
Schuldig and Brad seemed to both be waiting for something, just standing there. The next moment the front door of Sunde banged open and a rush of wind came through.
Brad nodded. Both of them dove to the floor and pulled on the rope nearest them, snapping it taut. The rush of wind and blur of black slowed down phenomenally quick all of a sudden. Schuldig dropped his end of the rope, guns in hand the next second and firing at Wesker rapidly. In the enclosed space of Sunde, each shot sounded like a thunderclap.
Wesker was stunned. Albert Wesker had tripped. Of all the stupid tricks, he had tripped on a rope. Then the air was full of bullets and the noise alone was enough to deafen him. Trying to wriggle backwards, he fell backwards. The cool and calm plans he had laid down of dealing with these two had been blown away. All he knew was that it sounded like war had broken out, and he was the target. He never even noticed the loop of rope on the floor until his leg was in it.
While Schuldig was firing on Wesker, the telepath walking towards him as he did, Brad had merely aimed up at the ceiling at something. His lips moved silently, counting shots. When he reached 'nine', Brad pulled the trigger on his gun. One of that maze of ropes in the rafters blew apart, a whrrrrl sound heard as the cement block began to drop at an amazing speed.
Wesker found himself snatched upwards, feeling like his leg had been dislocated in the process. The entire structure of Sunde shuddered when the cement block hit, bouncing Schuldig and Brad a little. Wesker himself was left hanging upside down in an old-fashioned rabbit trap.
When faced with the technological failings of Purgatorium, Schwarz had improvised.
"Mr Wesker, I presume," Brad asked, raising his own gun.
Albert Wesker found himself staring down the barrel of Crawford's gun while Schuldig reloaded at a speed only one used to weapons attained. Soon enough, it was three barrels. Both assassins kept back enough that Wesker couldn't grab them with his flailing arms, but that they could shoot out his eyes if necessary. After hearing the stories, the men of Schwarz had decided eyes and throat were probably the best bets for damage.
"Let me down, now," Wesker snarled, his sunglasses falling away and leaving those hellish eyes blazing.
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