Stryker: Chapter 1, Diffy’s Bar

They were right. I knew it was to far fetched of a story for them to believe me. I am crazy. The sad part about it is I believe myself. So what does that make me, a fool? Well, I ain’t no fool. I know what happened to me that night...

I was an hour away from being on duty, to tell the truth, I couldn’t wait. As a riot cop there is always excitement. Occasionally there is a casualty or two, but who is counting? I decided to get a cold drink before I headed down the road to work. I found a small, stinchy, and run down bar called Diffy’s. The waitress is in there were wearing skimpy outfits that didn’t cover them up enough. Couldn’t say I didn’t like it. The bartender asked me what I would be drinking, a shot of whisky for this young tuff ass cop.

I hear it over the back of my shoulder. The smacking of girl’s check by a mans hand. I pretended not to hear anything. Then the drunken bastard shouted, “You filthy, no goo’ garba’. I should turn you into a trophy for me huntin’ rack back at me house!” His Australian accent was unusual for these rough parts. I can’t remember ever hearing a criminal have an Australian accent. What can I say; I aint no detective? I heard another smack, and then I heard what sounded like a bone breaking. This tuff peace of junk is getting out of control; I knew what I needed to do.

I turned towards the scene. I saw a young pretty looking girl sobbing in a puddle of blood. I took one look at her and I could sense everyone in the place feeling my outrage. The bald headed man with what looked like a funny eye shot a glimpse at me, “Wha’ the bloody hell you starring at? See somethin’ you like do ya? Maybe you are jus’ lookin’ for a beatin’ then?” He kept a cold stare on me. I could feel his blood boiling and I knew if I wasn’t strong then I would fall to his force. I kept looking into his eyes. One of his eyes was very different then the other. It was red, and metal, it almost looked mechanical but I couldn’t tell.

“My name is Kurtis Stryker, I am with the Riot Patrol just down the block. I have been trained in many arts of fighting in order to take down guys like you. Please put both your hands on the table and don’t move. We can all have a nice day...” He didn’t like that idea. I don’t carry a gun on me, I’m only a riot cop. He lunged at me and grabbed me by shirt, ripping it. I punched him in the head, he bled, and that only angerd him more. He knelt down to wipe the blood, when I went in to subdue him he gave me a hard elbow to the face. He kicked me in the stomach as I reached for my night stick. I was on both knees. I was digging around for my nightstick blindly... He broke a pool stick over my head. That’s when I blacked out. The next thing I remember is waking up to a small bar, not populated by one person. The only thing I saw was blood on the walls, tables broken, bottles smashed, and more blood. I crawled to the street to see it littered with bodies. Limbs ripped off and heads removed. Cars were flipped over and light poles bent. One man couldn’t of done this, it looked like the works of a gang, or maybe an organized crime group... no, I would soon find out it this hell on earth was brought to you by an Extermination Squad. Why did I survive?


More to Kome...