After The Storm:Nazi Computer

Originally posted on the IC thread, page 38 post 371

”Magic computer?” the shopkeeper says, sounding highly amused. “Magic Nazi computer…” He actually chuckles. “How very pulp. This situation needs only a hero with a bullwhip.”

“Do you think this is funny, old man? Hand it over before I make you eat a bullet!”

“I do think this is funny. I am not sure how you heard of Z3-b. I have only spoken of it on a few private message boards while looking for information about the Bowl. And you gentlemen obviously do not frequent such forums. Maybe one of you overheard a conversation. You have no idea what you are looking for, do you? Did you assume that it was a desktop computer that you could simply carry out and put in a trunk? It was built in the 1940s. It is enormous compared to any computer you would have seen in your lifetimes. You’d need a forklift and a big truck.”

There is a moment of silence. Then another of the thugs speaks out: “Fuck, man. My girl said you are stupid but I didn’t listen. So much for your valuable electronics to fence. I would have made better money robbing a goddamn grocery store!”

“Shut up!” the first thug says. “The old dude is bullshitting. I am going to fucking beat the truth out of him!”

At that moment Confessor, having determined that the store does not have security cameras, appears from the back of the store in his demonic form, flaming whip in hand. In the store are two thugs, the first holding a shotgun and the second armed with a revolver. Behind the counter is the shopkeeper. An elderly, bald man with thick glasses.

“Christ!” yells the first thug, startled, as the wave of fear hits them.

“No, I think that’s the other dude,” says the second thug, and then turns to the shopkeeper: “What does that magic computer do? Summons demons?”

He does not get an answer, as the shopkeeper has opted to duck behind the counter.

“S-stay back,” says the first thug, pointing his shotgun at Confessor with shaking hands.

“Put down your guns and give up,” Confessor says. “I won’t warn you twice.”

“Would the bullets even do anything,” the second thug wonders, and then drops his revolver and raises his hands saying: “Fuck this. I fold.”

The thug with the shotgun thinks for a second. Then he throws his weapon at Confessor – or at least in Confessor’s direction, the throw is not very good – and turns to run at the door, yelling: “Bob! Start the car!”