Round 1 Action

The Tournament

Round 1 Gabrielle Sallor (offense) vs Kurt Shilling (defense)

1-23-2035

Kurt Shilling got off work around 5pm that day. The radio started with the car. He'd left it on the "Morning Zoo" he'd listened to on his way to work and now it came on in the middle of a news update.

"-nother four murders last night. Police still have no suspects for what is being called The Home Invader. Last night marked the fourth night in a row a person or persons has invaded a home, raped the females and slaughtered the males. Police Chief Wiggum advised that you not answer the door after dark and that you avoid going out if at all possible."

"Christ Almighty." Kurt sighed. As he drove he flipped open his hands-free phone and dialed home.

"Hello?" His wife asked after the phone had rung several times.

"Hey baby. Is everything okay there?"

"Sure. Why do you ask?"

Kurt was too relieved to notice the woman's tone. "It's just this whole Home Invader thing. It's got me really nervous." He debated telling her about the gun he had bought during lunch. She hated guns and was going to go through the roof when he told her.

"Well, dinner's burning, I better go." She disconnected the line.

"Sheesh, snippy." Kurt sighed. It was going to be a lot of fun telling her. Good thing he hadn't mentioned it right off. He pulled into his driveway around five thirty. He looked around as he walked but he didn't see any cars except for those belonging to his neighbor. Get a grip on yourself!

Kurt opened the side door which led into the kitchen, expecting to find his wife preparing supper. Not only had she just mentioned it, but his job was breakfast, hers was supper, and everyone fended for themselves for lunch. Today, for the first time since the kids had been old enough to go to school, he did not find Lisa preparing the evening meal.

Indeed, the kitchen light was out, the stove was dark, and there wasn't a single smell indicating anyone had been making anything in here since breakfast.

The dining room and living room, both of which he could inspect from the middle of the kitchen, were both dark. Usually, in the fading afternoon light, a lamp or two would be turned on.

There wasn't a sound that he could detect from anywhere in the house.

Kurt took another step towards the middle of the kitchen.

Still no sounds, either on this floor or above him.

He caressed his new snub-nosed .38 revolver through the material of his pants pocket.

Perhaps he should moronically call out his wife's name, as was so often seen in movies. He did not want to nervously shoot her or one of his kids, which he could avoid if he called out and got an answer. Besides, if the Home Invader was here, the man or men had to know that Kurt was now present as well. The kitchen door was not the quietest one in the world to open.

But Kurt couldn't bring himself to call out. His wife had specifically said that she had to go because dinner was burning. She also knew he was coming home so would be able to see for himself that she'd done no cooking. No either she was leaving him, and she'd never given him an indication that their marriage was in trouble, or something was dreadfully wrong.

Kurt pulled the pistol out of his pocket and held it at waist level, close to his body, with his right hand.

As he took another step towards the living room door, Kurt suddenly noticed that there was a handwritten note on the food preparation island next to him. He was relieved. Something must have happened to one of the kids requiring her to take him or her to the hospital. Not that he wanted one of his kids hurt, but that prospect was better than the one currently zooming through his mind. Kurt turned on the overhead light and peered down at the note.

The message was simple: Don't Move.

At that precise moment, he felt a curved blade pressed against the back of his bare neck. The note on the island had been arranged so that, for Kurt to read it, he had to turn his back to the living room. The Home Invader had gambled that Kurt would move himself rather than move the note to read it. The serial killer had been right, and Kurt had just royally fucked up.

"I'm putting the gun on the island." Kurt said slowly.

"Eas-." The Home Invader started to say.

As soon as the serial killer began to speak, and thus was as distracted as he would ever be, Kurt let his body go completely limp as if he had passed out. He fell to the floor and rolled on his back.

The Home Invader was just reacting, starting to bend over, when Kurt brought the gun up and fired twice.

The Home Invader, a big beefy man wearing a muscle shirt and nothing else, flew across the kitchen, two massive holes appearing like magic in his chest. He hit the extra chair next to the living room door and smashed it to the floor.

Kurt paused over him long enough to deliver a kill shot in the center of the Invader's forehead. He'd seen enough movies to know that they always got back up.

No for the kids. He raced through the living room and rushed up the stairs.

The other Home Invader, he'd known there would be two, was just coming out of the master bedroom. It was a woman! A tall buxom redhead wearing nothing at all. Now he knew why they hadn't found any clothes fibers at any of the scenes. Of course they made up for it with hair fibers, but that only mattered after people were caught. There was no national DNA databank whereas clothes fibers were easy to trace back to the point of purchase.

These thoughts passed through his head in the time it took for the female Invader to raise her automatic pistol and shoot him. Kurt flew back down the stairs, landing on his back hard enough to slam the air out of his lungs. The right side of his chest and his entire arm was numb. He tried moving that arm and found it impossible.

Kurt looked at his right hand and was dismayed to see it no longer held the gun. Sharp glances both directions failed to reveal it. The pistol could be anywhere. The Female Home Invader didn't know he'd lost the gun, though. Nor could she assume he was dead. For all she knew, he was laying down here on his back with his pistol trained up at the top of the stairs like a duck hunter waiting for the perfect shot.

This wouldn't buy him a lot of time, however. Kurt tried getting up and failed miserably, so he rolled onto his back and crawled into the kitchen. No telling where the gun was but he knew where a wicked looking knife was.

Just as he was crossing the kitchen threshold, another shot rang out. A section of the floor six inches from his trailing feet disappeared. Kurt quickly pulled them into the temporary safety of the kitchen and started hauling ass to the dead Home Invader.

Loud footfalls on the stairs behind him. The Female Home Invader knew that the neighbors had no doubt already called the police. She had to finish him off and get out of here within the next five minutes or she was toast. She must have seen him crawling so she knew he was easy game.

Kurt reached the dead man's right hand and pried the knife loose. He had just used what was left of the chair to force himself to his feet when the other Home Invader charged into the kitchen.

Gabrielle wasn't expecting him to be immediately to the left of the door, she thought he'd be crawling to the outside door to try and make his escape until the police arrived. If he pulled that off, it would count as his win because he had survived and she hadn't had time to murder his family.

As the Female Home Invader ran through the doorway, Kurt used what strength he had left to savagely slash at her head. Her forward momentum and his burst of strength combined to sink the knife three quarters of the way into Gabrielle's neck.

She kept going forward, crashed into the island, and hit the kitchen like a ton of bricks. Her pistol skittered away uselessly. Their eyes met for a second before Gabrielle's life gushed from her.

A shudder passed through the world...

Kurt opened his eyes. He had barely had time to sit up and begin removing his gear when Gabrielle was there, covering him with a warm embrace.

"Oh, my dear, that was so incredible!" She gushed. "Don't ever let anyone call you an amateur again! I hope Stokely shoves this game up his ass! Stupid columnist!"

Kurt smiled, his memories were still flooding back in so he felt groggy. "Nice scenario, I thought you had me with that note. That was very clever."

"But you were more clever." Gabrielle teased. "Come, we must go out for dinner! I know just the place! Don't think I'm not mad at you for beating me, but I am also very happy for you! Come, come!"

Others were entering the game room now, talking loudly and raving. The word "upset" was bandied about a dozen times before the first reporter reached the two players.

Home

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