I was just about to put in a call to Homicide when the madman showed up. He kills his victims, burning over half of them with some kind of chemical that leaves them as little more than cinders, and then paints that big number somewhere near the bodies.

They call him the Seven Killer because of this very thing. See, that’s the thing about that serial murderer. Painted in blood and other bits was the Roman numeral VII. Above him, more ﬂies collected on the ceiling. David’s clothing was stretched out, laying cruciform. The bed - once-white sheets with tight hospital corners - was soaked in blood. The main living room had been turned into some kind of creepy cathedral - four rows of oaken pews sitting before a black marble pulpit with a silver cross nailed to it. On one hand, it was a penthouse apartment, as cold and sterile as rubbing alcohol. But we didn’t need any kind of tactical entry, because the door was already open.

Shonda even brought along the Knock-Knock, just in case we had to batter the door down. We got there, not knowing what to expect, but we were damn sure ready for anything. We had our thing, they had theirs and never the two shall meet. We didn’t pay much attention to that case, even though it was all But some Center City detectives were working on another case, something that didn’t concern my team. He played in an ugly sandbox - Mexican black tar, underage prostitution, immigrant slaves. We’d gone to the penthouse because we ﬁnally had a lead on the untraceable Father David. Two cases came crashing together that day. He answered my request: Another bullet punched into the pew, sending up a little cough of oak splinters. I’ll be real chatty when I break his kneecaps. “Lower your weapon! We just want to talk!” Yeah. I said my own little prayer, wishing to whatever God would listen that this whackjob didn’t know Eddie was out there, shotgun in hand, ready to seal the deal. Somewhere across the room, on the other side of the madman. She held her Glock in both hands, her nose pressed against the top of it as if the weapon was part of a prayer. From behind the pew, I could see Shonda behind an alcove.

The bullet stung the wood in front of me like a lead bumblebee.

“Thou shalt SHOOT the CRAZIES in the HEART BEFORE they come bite the heart out of YOU.”īY Clayton Oliver-keith taylorand chuck wendig

A hardware companion to Vampire, Werewolf and Mage chronicles For use with the World of Darkness Rulebook.

Optional rules and new Merits that reflect combat styles suitable for the weapons contained within.

A broad and detailed listing of every weapon, vehicle or piece of equipment a character might need in the World of Darkness.

Now gimme that du ct tape and those tinsnips. It’s the golden rule, my man, the golden rule.

Beretta y2k rosewood grips