Orlok and the Potato Response

It had only been half an hour since Orlok had shot at Rowan's people bu he was relatively sure she was at least *aware* that he'd exploded her front door.

Rowan couldn't be that psychotic that teenagers being shot screaming into her windows was an *ordinary* occurence, could she?

.... He felt challenged on a personal level.

He sighed and moved over to close the sewer grate leading into his hideout. He'd been back for several hours but had left it open for *reasons.* He moved over to his repaired console, lamenting the fact that the damn thing kept breaking and getting repaired again. He wished he would just make up his mind as to leave it busted or not.

He growled and kicked a wrench away from the console. His situation was fuckish. Almost out of food, water, tools medicine and parts. Just about the only thing he had in abundance was dirt and even *he* couldn't make an attack chopper out of that.

'*Not with the tools I have on hand.*' Orlok seethed.

He sighed in aggravation and sat himself down on an empty crate and brought his *single* actual knife out of his pocket, looking around warily for thieves. Snatchy fingers...

In all honesty, he doubted that Rowan was *actually* going to respond to his challenge in a manner other than 'Rape Orlok aggressively' but fortunately for him, that was what he was banking on.

Little Tokyo was timid right now. Between the Logos bombing and his own killcount, numbering around one hundred and seven if you included the riot deaths, people were worried about the psychopaths coming through the woodwork. Rowan *couldn't* respond with anything other than brutal punishment else she would lose all credibility as a player down here.

He knew this because he watched crime doccies. It was funny that those seemed to be the UK's primary commercial export during the 21st century.

So, as he saw it she had two options she was likely to take to make a show of power and get him out of her way after he'd blown up some of her stuff. Come in and destroy him personally, which implied she saw him as a credible threat and lacked certainty her people could or would do it for her.

Or, she could send her people in, en masse, to gut him, which implied she was too weak to do it herself and that she was somehow scared of him after he'd directly insulted her to her face *in full view of everyone in the Hive.*

Of course, being Rowan, she'd do neither. She'd either chuckle and let it slide and continue to rake in the money from 'The Orlok Show', secure in the knowledge that a few dozen corpses made little difference in the long run.

Or... If he pissed her off to such a mighty extent that she desired nothing but bloodshed and furious vengeance at the edge of a chainsaw, she'd come herself with an army at her back just for the sake of it.

Orlok wasn't dumb, he knew Rowan fucking Kreeger was never going to be scared of him. He couldn't make her fear him. He *could* make her hate him and want to see him suffer.

What better way to do that than to go for what she held dear, that thing Rowan could never live without, that which provided comfort and warmth and the means to retain her own sanity at the end of a long day.

Her Gimp Collection...

Orlok chuckled insanely to himself. After all, who would be crazy enough to mess with Rowan Kreeger *twice in one day*, one incident just a half hour after the other.

He couldn't fight to save his life so he'd not risk his hide doing this himself.

Rowan wasn't scared of him but not everyone knew that. She'd just spent a couple weeks broadcasting episodes of him running around being Orlok. The Hobos and the drug addicts were only too quick to volunteer to help him out when he promised to spare them his wrath and reward them generously for his services.

He thumbed the radio receiver in his pocket. His last one actually.

"Hobo-Minion 14, this is Pimplord Supreme. Operation is a go. You're welcome to whatever you find in the interior halls but make sure the gimps die. All of them. Wipe them out."

Rowan had let him become a known and scary figure with the show. She'd also given him a pretty good idea of the interior design of the flesh pits when she let him escape. He even remembered where her personal torture chambers were.

One of the more luxurious floors of the flesh pits were quiet. The guards were nervous, clutching their weapons. No one had heard from Rowan and they all knew this was wither good news or the calm before the storm.

Red had just given them a frightened look when one of them worked up the balls to ask.

"So..." One female guard turned to her friend.

"No talking. Rowan cannot hear us if we're silent. Silence is safe. Silence is safe..." He shuddered.

The floor of the luxury apartments rumbled for a moment.

"The fuck is-!"

The wall collapsed on itself as mining charges went off from below.

"Fuck! Bombs in the sewers! It's Frankenstein!" A guard down the hall yelled as he dove for the alarm.

Sirens wailed through the building. A wall collapsed and crushed three men.

"Fuck, fuck! Someone get to control! Get on the camera feeds and-Aaah!" A man yelled before the floor below him gave way and he fell to his death with a scream.

"Earthquake! Watch the aftershock!"

The guards and menial servants and fled from the central hole that was forming as ground was swallowed up. concrete, granite and marble cracked as it spread to a support column, the damage moving towards...

Rowan's quarters.

"Ah fuck! If Rowan dies in an earthquake she'll fucking kill us!"

The alarms blared. Servants on the upper levels screamed as they fell from badly constructed catwalks. It felt like the entire building was about to collapse before it all stopped suddenly.

...

"Shit, the boss okay?

"Is it over?"

"Heh. hehehe. I'm safe!"

The alarms ground to a confused halt.

The guards all breathed a collective sigh of relief. One higher ranking one moved over to the hole, ignoring the cries of his comrades.

"Heheh! Guess Frankenstein ain't so smart after all! The fucker missed!"

The lone guard peered into the darkness. He could swear he saw something moving down there. He turned to the idiot that had spoken.

Titanfall Rap: Dan Bull

"Dude, shut the fuck up! Do you wanna jinx-!" A spike went through his chest, trailed by a cord.

There was a yell and a tug and he fell back into the darkness.

"What the fuck? Was that one of the harpoons we use to hunt crocks in the sewers?!" A man yelled.

He was speared through the head a few seconds later. His body was dragged into the darkness below.

The fifty or so guards in the central stadium all ran back from the hole as dozens more harpoons came flying out, spearing guards and dragging them back into the hole.

"The fuck is happening! Someone get R-" The woman that had spoken found a harpoon through her breast.

This one wasn't attached to a cord.

"Shit! Medic!" One guard called and pulled her away as a Bonedoc ran up.

"Get grenades into that fucking pit!"

The medic pulled the spear from the woman's chest as she gargled.

"Relax, idiot. It's just a few ribs. You'll be fi... what's that beeping?"

The spear detonated a moment later and the medic and two nearby guards were engulfed in flames.

"ALL HAIL FRANKENSTEIN THE UNKILLABLE!!!!" A deep voice roared as a hobo, dressed in rags jumped up from the hole.

They were all around Little Tokyo, the drug addicts and the destitute, the lame and the infirm, the people even gang lords couldn't make use of and so were left to die. This one, however, had painted a hasty circle in blood over his rags.

It was an O. O for Orlok. Studded with spikes at the edges.

*"All hail Orlok, God-KING of the lesbians, ripper of anuses!*"
"Kill the oppressors! Everybody riot! STEAL ALL OF THE THINGS!!!" The hobo roared and charged forward, slicing a guard with a spear.

"KILL THE GIMPS!!! KILL ALL THE GIMPS!!! EVERY LAST ONE!!!! BRING ORLOK THEIR HEADS!!!

The roar was echoed by a hundred more voices in the pit and an army of hobos armed with makeshift weapons and guns they'd looted off guards. They charged in one screaming mass, throwing molotov cocktails and blunt knives.