Post by ThegunsofNevada on Jan 5, 2005 17:16:49 GMT -5
The shaded museum entrance was faintly light with collateral orange light from a nearby street lamp, which flickered and cracked in the early evening light, as sirens howled in the background, the evening growing gradually darker.
The entrance of the museum was draped by an old weeping willow, the battered granite entrance and steps nearly touched by the green strands from the trees. A few big elm leafs, long since dry, were pushed along the front of the sidewalk along with a few pieces of cellophane litter, some other garbage and clouds of dust.
Michael looked cautiously around and approached the front of the museum, looking at the battered gray stone façade that was so articulately carved.
Michael took a double take around the sidewalk and tried the old style handle on the thick oak and iron door. To his astonishment, it clicked and swung open under a little push.
Michael gently edged in and shut the door behind him, looking around the dark room and smelling that old, musty smell that haunted museums so easily. Outside, something shambled by, and Michael held dead still, pressed up against the door. There was a long moan and a short scream, and a terrible rending sound, and Michael leaned his head so he could barley see out the window; One of the walking corpses who had just started appearing had tackled some one, and was gorging itself.
Michael pressed up against the wall again and shook his head and turned on the small red pen light in his hand, fanning it around the room as he edged along the wall.
It was an elaborate entry room with polished marble floors and details on this month’s exhibit. It was a small museum, in an old building, and most of the exhibits were new. According to the unlocked door, security was non-existent.
Michael ducked past a big, vaulted window and into a side quarter, looking around the corner to the left. He slipped a hand in and clicked on the light, bright blue white fluorescents wiping away the shadows with a nonchalant swipe.
Again, Michael edged his head into the hallway and looked to the right, and then to the left.
A gaping, toothed maw confronted him as he looked the opposite way, glistening eyes reflecting in the sterile light. Michael stuttered away and tripped over himself, falling onto his rear before the crouched creature.
As Michael got a better look, his near panic subsided. The entire hallway was filled with elaborately taxiodermed creatures of all shapes, and the ferocious snow leopard that had confronted him had been dead for a long time.
Shaking himself off, Michael got to his feet and stumbled into the next room, which was filled with old city memorabilia, including dusty ‘40’s and ‘50’s electronics. Michael had a good feeling of were he was now, and he moved through the small building quickly, his sneakers quiet on the polished stone floors.
Finally, the room he had been looking for confronted him; White light glistened off of polished metal, as row after row of weapons behind thick glass sat in ordered rows, dripping malice, the fanatical, chronological ordering only adding to the feeling of martial discipline in the room.
Michael fished the glass cutter out of his pocket and made his way down the rows of swords, axes, knives and other ancient weapons and tools, some reproductions, some ancient, corroded hulks, and others in perfect shape. He hesitated in front of a tall suit of polished, bamboo armor with elaborate red and green silk trimmings. A swords sheath rested on his left hip, and a four foot long samurai sword was gripped in the armored figures gauntlet. Michael scanned the small tag in front of the armor:
Japan, c. 1390 A.D
The sword and armor of General Meiomoto Itzuo Shun, 12th dynasty. The armor is made of iron and lacquered bamboo, effective against light blows and very well made for the time.
The katana (Japanese sword) is a masterpiece, made by a living treasure of the time. The steel is folded over 900 times, and the tang indicates that the sword was tested by successfully cutting through eight convicts in one blow.
Michael looked at the sword again, and quickly scored a large square against the glass.
“Sorry, General, but im going to need this more than you…â€
Michael gently pushed against the glass to no avail. He paused, and pushed harder, and there was still no result.
Michael punched the scored section of glass and it fell inside of the case, knocking aside an ornate dagger to the side. Michael snatched the sword and scabbard from the armored figures hands, and the moment he touched it steel sections began to slide down in front of the doors and exits of the sword room, and a partition began to drop over the glass cases.
Michael withdrew the items form the case and looked around just in time to see and hear the steel theft defenses slam home, and the room darkened as the lights over the swords were blacked out by another security barrier.
“Damn it!†Michael yelled, kicking the steel plate, inwardly chastising himself for being so stupid.
Curiously, he hefted the sword; it was incredibly light, and the polished and patterned blade was gracefully curved in a gentle arc.
Michael touched the blades edge gently and drew his finger along the tip gently, quickly pulling his finger off with a slight yelp; Blood flew from the finger. The swords tip was beyond razor.
“Well, I got the sword…†Michael said to himself as he sat down in the corner, looking through the room.
Something in the corner caught his eye; A big, black vent. Michael looked around again, and set the sword aside, pushing items under the vent and clambering on top of them.
For several minutes Michael tried to pry the vent loose, but to no avail; then his eyes found the sword on the ground.
It took just one, gentle swing to cut the vent free, and Michael, in turn, was free as well.
He pushed the sword into the dark vent and climbed inside, pushing his way through the dark, cramped corridor.
Finally, minuets later he slid down a long arc of the air duct and crashed against a whirring, cold blast that was the air conditioner. Michael kicked it hard, knocking it out.
Michael dropped to the ground and looked around the dark alley he had popped into; several of the things were shambling towards him, and he readied the sword.
The entrance of the museum was draped by an old weeping willow, the battered granite entrance and steps nearly touched by the green strands from the trees. A few big elm leafs, long since dry, were pushed along the front of the sidewalk along with a few pieces of cellophane litter, some other garbage and clouds of dust.
Michael looked cautiously around and approached the front of the museum, looking at the battered gray stone façade that was so articulately carved.
Michael took a double take around the sidewalk and tried the old style handle on the thick oak and iron door. To his astonishment, it clicked and swung open under a little push.
Michael gently edged in and shut the door behind him, looking around the dark room and smelling that old, musty smell that haunted museums so easily. Outside, something shambled by, and Michael held dead still, pressed up against the door. There was a long moan and a short scream, and a terrible rending sound, and Michael leaned his head so he could barley see out the window; One of the walking corpses who had just started appearing had tackled some one, and was gorging itself.
Michael pressed up against the wall again and shook his head and turned on the small red pen light in his hand, fanning it around the room as he edged along the wall.
It was an elaborate entry room with polished marble floors and details on this month’s exhibit. It was a small museum, in an old building, and most of the exhibits were new. According to the unlocked door, security was non-existent.
Michael ducked past a big, vaulted window and into a side quarter, looking around the corner to the left. He slipped a hand in and clicked on the light, bright blue white fluorescents wiping away the shadows with a nonchalant swipe.
Again, Michael edged his head into the hallway and looked to the right, and then to the left.
A gaping, toothed maw confronted him as he looked the opposite way, glistening eyes reflecting in the sterile light. Michael stuttered away and tripped over himself, falling onto his rear before the crouched creature.
As Michael got a better look, his near panic subsided. The entire hallway was filled with elaborately taxiodermed creatures of all shapes, and the ferocious snow leopard that had confronted him had been dead for a long time.
Shaking himself off, Michael got to his feet and stumbled into the next room, which was filled with old city memorabilia, including dusty ‘40’s and ‘50’s electronics. Michael had a good feeling of were he was now, and he moved through the small building quickly, his sneakers quiet on the polished stone floors.
Finally, the room he had been looking for confronted him; White light glistened off of polished metal, as row after row of weapons behind thick glass sat in ordered rows, dripping malice, the fanatical, chronological ordering only adding to the feeling of martial discipline in the room.
Michael fished the glass cutter out of his pocket and made his way down the rows of swords, axes, knives and other ancient weapons and tools, some reproductions, some ancient, corroded hulks, and others in perfect shape. He hesitated in front of a tall suit of polished, bamboo armor with elaborate red and green silk trimmings. A swords sheath rested on his left hip, and a four foot long samurai sword was gripped in the armored figures gauntlet. Michael scanned the small tag in front of the armor:
Japan, c. 1390 A.D
The sword and armor of General Meiomoto Itzuo Shun, 12th dynasty. The armor is made of iron and lacquered bamboo, effective against light blows and very well made for the time.
The katana (Japanese sword) is a masterpiece, made by a living treasure of the time. The steel is folded over 900 times, and the tang indicates that the sword was tested by successfully cutting through eight convicts in one blow.
Michael looked at the sword again, and quickly scored a large square against the glass.
“Sorry, General, but im going to need this more than you…â€
Michael gently pushed against the glass to no avail. He paused, and pushed harder, and there was still no result.
Michael punched the scored section of glass and it fell inside of the case, knocking aside an ornate dagger to the side. Michael snatched the sword and scabbard from the armored figures hands, and the moment he touched it steel sections began to slide down in front of the doors and exits of the sword room, and a partition began to drop over the glass cases.
Michael withdrew the items form the case and looked around just in time to see and hear the steel theft defenses slam home, and the room darkened as the lights over the swords were blacked out by another security barrier.
“Damn it!†Michael yelled, kicking the steel plate, inwardly chastising himself for being so stupid.
Curiously, he hefted the sword; it was incredibly light, and the polished and patterned blade was gracefully curved in a gentle arc.
Michael touched the blades edge gently and drew his finger along the tip gently, quickly pulling his finger off with a slight yelp; Blood flew from the finger. The swords tip was beyond razor.
“Well, I got the sword…†Michael said to himself as he sat down in the corner, looking through the room.
Something in the corner caught his eye; A big, black vent. Michael looked around again, and set the sword aside, pushing items under the vent and clambering on top of them.
For several minutes Michael tried to pry the vent loose, but to no avail; then his eyes found the sword on the ground.
It took just one, gentle swing to cut the vent free, and Michael, in turn, was free as well.
He pushed the sword into the dark vent and climbed inside, pushing his way through the dark, cramped corridor.
Finally, minuets later he slid down a long arc of the air duct and crashed against a whirring, cold blast that was the air conditioner. Michael kicked it hard, knocking it out.
Michael dropped to the ground and looked around the dark alley he had popped into; several of the things were shambling towards him, and he readied the sword.