Vell Harlan and the Doomsday Dorms

Harley pushed a tool shelf against the door the minute Vell slammed it shut. Not a moment too soon, if the rhythmic thumping of the horde against the door was an indication.

“Fucking zombies,” Harley said.

“You seem really unbothered about the horde of undead,” Vell said. He was by far the most shaken of the current trio. Lee and Harley seemed more annoyed than anything by the rising tide of the living dead.

“Fuck it, man, there’s like a billion seasons of The Walking Dead, everyone’s sick of zombies,” Harley said.

“It’s still the apocalypse, Harley,” Vell said. “They got Renard!”

“Everything gets Renard!”

Vell considered a rebuttal, but could only shrug. Renard was remarkably death-prone. While Vell and Harley argued, Lee put a key into the lock of a nearby storage locker and opened it up.

“Ah, here we are,” Lee said. She reached into the locker and pulled out a large container which was haphazardly filled with weapons of every shape and size. Lee shook it slightly and removed a very large spear from the container and set it against the nearest wall.

“Well, dear, while zombies are a relatively minor nuisance, they are one that requires combat, and you should be armed accordingly,” Lee said. She looked at the door and listened the zombies pound against it. “Admittedly I believe we ought to have done this several days ago, but better late than never, as the saying goes.”

“Time to pick your weapon, Vell!” Harley said. She slapped Vell on the back and pushed him closer to the bucket of weaponry. The loopers had accumulated a veritable arsenal of legendary weapons, cursed relics, and magical artifacts over the years, most of which were unceremoniously put into storage until they were needed.

“It seems like we have a lot,” Vell noted. “Couldn’t I just, you know, pick whatever would work best?”

“Nah, it really works better if you have a signature weapon,” Harley said.

“Fate seems to like when things are thematically concise,” Lee noted in turn.

“Right. Okay, then, uh, what are your guys’ weapons? Fate probably doesn’t like us doubling up.”

Lee nodded and reached into her purse. Vell was starting to wonder about the holding capacity of that purse, and he only questioned it more as Lee withdrew a twenty-foot whip. She flicked her wrist and let the whip uncoil. It was crafted from several strands of rich red leather, each engraved with a series of symbols Vell didn’t recognize, but looked Asiatic.

“This is the Whip of the Red River, one of the only weapons used to drive intruders from the legendary city of Kunlun,” Lee said. She allowed the whip to fully unravel and gave it a gentle wave. The whip moved with unnatural fluidity, and a shimmer of energy flowed along the length of it. “Each of the four leather strands was torn from the hide of a demon and blessed by one of the four disciples of Tang Sanzang.”

“Neat,” Vell said. “Harley?”

“I strapped a laser beam to Botley!”

Harley snapped her fingers and Botley appeared in a flash. His round head had been attached to a floating drone which, as Harley had said, had a sizable laser array attached to it. Harley pointed her fingers like guns and made a few “pew pew pew” noises. Botley tracked where she was pointing and fired laser beams at the indicated targets, which left scorch marks throughout the storage room.

“Fascinating. What’s Leanne got?”

“Oh, she just punches stuff,” Harley said. Vell nodded. That sounded right.

“Okay, I guess let’s see those weapons then.”

Lee helped him peruse the contents of the weapon-bucket, introducing some of the mythical artifacts contained within. Vell briefly considered Naegling, and then Labrys, before discovering they were a bit too heavy for him. Kaumodaki was light enough to be used, but Vell felt a blunt weapon like a mace wouldn’t be much good against zombies. Vell pushed aside spears, hammers, maces, and an inordinate amount of swords before his eyes caught a finely-engraved wooden box sitting at the very bottom of the pile.

“What’s in that?”

Lee reached in and removed the oaken box from beneath a stack of swords. She had to look at it for a second before she remembered the contents, and unlatched it to display to Vell. Three well-worn revolvers laid inside the box, cushioned in place by red velvet. A coarse leather belt with a single holster also sat folded in the box, below the revolvers.

“These are the 666-Shooters,” Lee said. “Three legendary weapons of the west, imbued with the power of endless destruction by their violent history. While two are drawn, the third will magically reload itself in the holster.”

“Huh.”

Lee lifted the first of the six-shooters, holding it carefully out to Vell.

“This is the gun that killed Jesse James,” she said, before replacing it and pulling out another. “This is the gun used by Billy the Kid during his longest killing spree. And this-”

Lee reached into the box and drew the final of the three guns, holding it aloft with an almost reverent care.

“-is one of the weapons used as a prop by Clint Eastwood in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.”

“Oh, sick. Is it autographed?”

“No,” Lee said. Vell sighed.

“Alright, well, I’ll take those,” Vell said. He unpacked the belt and buckled it around his waist, tucking the Clint Eastwood gun into the holster while he checked the cylinders of the other revolvers. They would need a lot of cleaning later, but they’d work for now, so he gave both the revolvers a quick spin and looked to the door.

“Alright, I’m good to go. Let’s kill some zombies.”

“You know how to use those things, Vell?”

“I, uh, know what I’m doing, yeah,” Vell said.

“Alright, but I’m standing behind you,” Harley said, as she eyed the guns cautiously. She was wary of firearm safety, even around someone she trusted as much as Vell.

“I’ll get the door,” Lee said, readying her whip. When Harley and Vell were ready, she sent the whip sailing towards the door’s barricade, coiling around the shelf, and then pulled it loose with a mighty tug. The door caved open almost immediately, and a dozen zombies shambled into the room.

Harley had barely taken a breath before all twelve of the zombies fell to the ground, with a smoking hole dead center in each of their foreheads. The gunshots hadn’t even stopped echoing by the time Vell reloaded and drew his guns again, hammering down on each revolver’s trigger so fast his fingers turned to a blur. A dozen more zombies fell, all from dead-center headshots, and hadn’t even hit the ground before Vell opened fire once more.

It took a few dozen more bullets, and roughly seven seconds, before there were no more zombies to shoot. Vell holstered his guns and kicked a stack of zombie corpses out of the way of the door. Harley stayed put, as she had to pick up her jaw off the ground first.

“Yeah, yeah ‘I, uh, know what I’m doing’,” Harley mumbled under breath, in mockery of Vell. “You ever see anybody shoot like that?”

Lee shook her head. The barrels of Vell’s guns had actually been starting to turn red hot.

“Are you two coming?” Vell asked.

“Yeah yeah,” Harley said. She waded through the pile of zombie bodies and followed Vell out the door. A sly smile crossed her face as soon as she exited the room. “So, Vell-”

Vell knew the look on her face, and he didn’t like it. He gave a preemptive sigh.

“-I never took you for a quickshot.”

“Great. You done?”

“For now,” Harley said. It was almost a threat.