5 beste Casinos in Hannover: Spielbanken & Spielhallen

HEROES of DEAD WORLD
PART FIVE:
Cheyenne Mountain Space Force Complex, Colorado, 1100 hours…
This was turning out to be the longest five minutes of Green Dragon’s life. Though Green Dragon was near invulnerable to most damage, especially fire and heat based attacks, and despite the fact that he was a more skilled in hand to hand combat that his opponent, Firefox’s plasma attacks were powerful enough to hurt even him. Green Dragon’s own fire based attacks weren’t harming Firefox, who made absolutely no effort to avoid them. In fact, Green Dragon suspected that his fire attacks was only making Firefox more powerful. In contrast, Green Dragon knew that he couldn’t dodge Firefox’s plasma attacks indefinitely and soon, one of his blasts was going to connect. Below him, the landscape was pot marked for miles around with eight foot deep smoldering craters where Firefox missed with his powerful plasma blasts, each impact probably causing more damage to the Cheyenne Mountain facility. Green Dragon knew that this had to end quickly and he hoped that the cameras at Cheyenne Mountain were still monitoring the battle.
Green Dragon’s only chance was to maneuver close enough to Firefox and force a physical fight. If he could get within arms distance, he was sure that he could knock the arrogant son of a bitch out. He barrel rolled to the left, narrowly avoiding getting incinerated by another one of Firefox’s blasts, then yelled, charging straight towards the plasma powered hero, the two foot long razor claws mounted on his left forearm gauntlets glowing white hot and ready to strike. Green Dragon only had time to raise it defensively across his face as one of Firefox’s plasma blasts finally connected.
The plasma blast hit Green Dragon like an artillery explosion and he tumbled uncontrolled out of the sky training fire and smoke behind him as he fell. Skidding across the ground nearly 500 feet below him, Green Dragon left a trail that scarred the earth for nearly a quarter mile before finally coming to a smoking halt in the middle of a field in the valley below. Firefox landed a few feet from where Green Dragon lay motionless, his fists glowing white and ready to fire the killing blow.
“Barbecued dragon time,” he hissed.
“Oh no you don’t, you mother jerk-face!” Firefox looked up just in time to see Sky Fyre flying low over the ground towards him, her eyes and fists ablaze with fury and fire.
“Sky Fyre,” said Firefox, holding out his hands out in front of him. “No, honey! Wait! I’m…”
A look of surprise filled Firefox’s face as Sky Fyre’s plasma fire ball struck the overpowered hero dead center of his chest. The blast explosion hurled Firefox high into the sky, trailing a fiery tail of pure plasma energy twisting behind him. He smashed into the mountainside nearly a mile away, lying motionless in the middle of a smoking crater nearly ten feet deep and fifty feet wide. Sky Fyre stood there, eyes and mouth wide with surprise. “Did I… did I… did I just…” she muttered.
“Yeah,” grunted Green Dragon, picking himself up off the ground, straightening up his helmet and massaging his bruised shoulders. Brushing large clumps of dirt and rocks off of his shoulders and neck, Green Dragon said, “You just defeated a Level 8 hero with Level 10 thermal, fire, and plasma projection powers.”
Sky Fyre leapt. “Whoo-hoo! I kicked his ass, huh, GD?”
“Language, Sky,” reprimanded Green Dragon, squinting in the distance at the thin plume of rising smoke to see if Firefox had recovered yet, and smiling to himself knowing that he and Sky Fyre would be long gone before Firefox regained consciousness.
“Sorry, GD,” said Sky Fyre. “But, wait. How did my fire ball blast knock him out? Firefox feeds off of solar and heat sources, causing fire or heat based attacks against him to actually make him stronger. My fire ball wasn’t any stronger than one of yours, GD. So how did I hurt him so bad?”
“We have to get to the detention facility in Kansas,” said Green Dragon, abruptly changing the subject. “With our stealth jet destroyed, we will have to fly ourselves directly to Ransom then figure out a way to get Doctor Genocide’s assistant out of the facility. Do you think you have the energy for it, Sky?”
“Yeah, man!” the teen heroine said, clapping. “I just kicked Firefox’s butt!”
As the pair took to the sky, the young heroine looked over to her mentor and said, “Hey, GD, did you hear that old creeper call me ‘Honey?’ What a weirdo!”
“I heard,” replied Green Dragon.
“I wonder what he was trying to say before I blasted him?” said Sky Fyre. “And what were you two talking about before the fight? I could see it on the monitors, but there wasn’t any audio.”
“It wasn’t anything important,” lied Green Dragon. “Right now, we have to keep focused on the mission at hand.”
“You got it, GD,” smiled Sky Fyre. “Ha! I just kicked Firefox’s butt and… oh… wait! Shoot! Shoot! Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!” Sky Fyre smacked her forehead.
“What’s wrong, Sky?” Green Dragon had a worried tone in his voice. Sky Fyre was extremely intelligent and observant for a girl her age. Had she figured out the truth? Did she realize why he and Firefox had been locked in such a deadly battle? Was she aware of her mentor Green Dragon’s betrayal?
“Aww, nothing, GD,” said Sky Fyre. “I just forgot the damn bag of sandwiches back at Cheyenne Mountain!”
“Language, Sky,” said Green Dragon, relief in his voice and happy that he had deflected the subject again.
Sky Fyre looked over at her long time mentor, and squinted her eyes. “So, you’re lying to me, too,” she thought. “Okay. We’ll see about that.”
PART SIX:
Hannover, Germany, 1800 hours local time/ 1200 hours US EST…
Azure Blade dropped Tasmanian Devil on the top of a four story red brick building near a street corner in Hannover’s famous Stone Door district, one of many blocks in the city where young people and tourists had been welcomed to party, dance, mingle, and satisfy other vices back when the world still lived. The top of the red brick building on which the three heroes now stood was one of several brothels which lined the two blocks which made up the Stone Door district. Across from the building was a line of casinos, dance clubs, and gentlemen’s lounges. The white stone building connected to the brothel and facing the wide cobblestone courtyard where local bands used to play in an open air venue was the famous Sansibar Club. The sun was setting, the fading fire red and violet skies casting long shadows across the downtown city plaza. The dead shambled below, as if taking a late day stroll or doing last minute shopping in the plaza’s department stores. There were many, but not as closely packed as they were in Amsterdam.
Azure Blade looked over the city, a dubious expression on her face. “Okay, Devil. We’re here. Now what?”
Taz lifted the bottom of his mask, exposing his mouth. Producing a fine Cuban cigar from one of his pouches, he lit it and took a deep, satisfying drag. “Now?” he said. “Now, you two broads get lost.” Taz blew a cloud of smoke into the air.
“What?” said Wyvern, her eyes blazing with fire. “What are you talking about?”
“I said,” continued Taz. “You two get lost! You need to get to Berlin. Link up with the German heroes Haupmann Schnell and Schutzen Meister at the research laboratories. Go find out what you can!”
“And what about you, Devil?” said Azure Blade, threateningly. “Were you really serious about getting drunk tonight? And why here? Why in Hannover? Why at this particular place?”
Tasmanian Devil chuckled. “Yes, that was the plan and yes, I have my reasons for being here.” He took another drag of his cigar and blew the smoke towards the beautiful female heroine, Azure Blade.
“What’s the matter, blue eyes,” he smirked. “After all these years we’ve worked together. Don’t you trust me?”
“Yes?” whispered Wyvern.
“No!” yelled Azure Blade.
“No!” repeated Wyvern.
Taz rolled his eyes, chuckling again but without any humor. “Let’s just say we’re killing two birds with one stone. You two get to Berlin. I’ve got something to find out here.”
“Why the secrecy, Devil?” persisted Azure Blade. “What is so important that you have to do it alone?”
“Because I do!” growled Tasmanian Devil, swiftly unsheathing both of his sword-scythes from the two scabbards on his back and taking a fighting stance facing Azure Blade. For her part, Azure Blade instantly drew her two glowing blue swords in her hands as she squared off against Tasmanian Devil.
“You may be a Level 7 hero with Level 9 fighting ability, blue eyes,” snarled Tasmanian Devil. “But you’ve never bested me when we sparred in practice.”
“I was holding back on you, Devil,” responded the powerful female sword master. “Two of our comrades have already died on this mission and one remains under siege in London. Why are you so eager to abandon the mission and get rid of us? Is it so that you can run?”
“Nobody calls me a coward!” yelled Taz, charging towards Azure Blade with his right arm cocked back, ready to deal a killing blow with his sword-scythe. Azure Blade also yelled angrily, her twin blades wind milling in front of her as she charged towards the berserker hero. One fireball slammed into Azure Blade while another struck Tasmanian Devil, flinging both of them backwards and slamming each of them painfully on opposite sides of the rooftop ledge so hard that large chunks of concrete fell to the street below.
Wyvern hovered over them, her eyes and hands blazing with fire. “Go ahead, you two stupid fuckers! Give me another excuse!” She raised both fists, pointing them at her teammates.
Taz rubbed his head as he slowly and painfully got to his feet, his battle suit smoking from where the fireball hit him. “You roasted my cigar,” he groaned, tossing his ruined cigar aside.
“You’re lucky that’s the only thing I roasted,” sneered Wyvern.
“You said, ‘If you are still alive in the morning,” said Azure Blade. She was already standing tall, pointing one of her swords at Taz, although she was wincing in pain from the fire ball blow she took from Wyvern. “What did you mean by that?”
“I mean just what I said,” said Taz. “Meet me here in the morning. If I’m dead, you’ll know that I failed. If not, then I’ll have help. But only I can do it. I’m the only one they trust. If they see you two, they may bail, and any chance we have of saving the world may vanish.”
“Who?” yelled Azure Blade. “Who are you meeting?”
“You won’t like it if I told you, so you’ll have to trust me.” answered Taz, feeling around in one of his modular pouches attached to his battle suit belt.
Wyvern gently put her hand on Azure Blade’s shoulder. “Blade. We’re running out of time. If he wants to stay. If he wants to run. We can’t stop him. But if we come back in the morning, and he is neither dead or has brought help; if we find him laid out drunk and hung-over, I’ll fry him myself.”
Azure Blade looked at Wyvern, a heroine as innocent, bashful, and timid as she was beautiful and powerful. Wyvern was more a follower than a leader. Before she was gifted with super powers and became the heroine known as Wyvern, Krysta was a young Catholic nun from Ireland. But now? Something had changed. The young and inexperienced hero Wyvern, though supremely powerful, was also relatively untrained, unworldly, and extremely timid. Before she had gained her superhuman powers from the comet, Krysta was an attractive, red haired, twenty-one year old nun from Waterford, Ireland. An orphan secluded from the secular world, living much of her life in a convent, she had moved to New York two years ago to serve with the Catholic diocese there. Her superpowers manifested soon afterwards and for the past year, the heroine now known as Wyvern was recruited to serve with the US government super hero Operation Team Bravo. Azure Blade simply exhaled and nodded, giving Taz a distrustful glare before she and Wyvern took to the sky, flying east towards Berlin.
Later, Tasmanian Devil sat on the ledge of the rooftop of the brothel, dangling his feet and watching as an increasing mass of dead roamed below him, attracted as they were by the yelling and blasts of fire coming from the roof. They would have eventually made it to the roof where Taz was sitting, but Wyvern blasted the stairwell leading up to the roof before she and Azure Blade flew to Berlin.
Taz watched as the streets darkened below him, the moaning from the dead getting steadily louder. Soon, the light would fade and the dead would lose interest and shamble onwards. Taz tossed away the small empty bottle of Mint-Peppermint schnapps that the Dutch commander had given to him back in Amsterdam and pulled out the second bottle from a modular pouch on his belt.
“Thank God for plastic liquor bottles,” he thought, unscrewing the cap. Reaching into another pouch, he took out a small headphone transmitter, one set to a hidden frequency that none of his comrades or the US government could trace. “I’m here,” he said.
“Yeah, we know,” said the surprisingly clear voice at the other end. “Jeez, Master Sergeant! Could you have made any more noise? Fucking Metallica makes less noise than you!”
“I had to convince the rest of the team to leave,” replied Taz.
“Well, okay,” said the voice on the other end. “Come on down, then.”
“What?” said Taz. “You really wanted to meet inside the Sansibar?”
“Yes, I really wanted to meet inside the Sansibar!” said the other voice. “After every combat tour, we always met in Hannover, at the Sansibar, to blow off steam and get a little down time before returning home to the States. Come on down, Master Sergeant!”
Taz exhaled, steeling himself for what was obviously a trap. Four stories up with no way to get down off the roof, Taz jumped off the side, landing on the three story roof of the casino across the narrow cobblestone street . Pivoting, he leapt again dropping to the second story balcony of the brothel he was just on before somersaulting forwards, sword-scythes in hands and landing in the middle of a pack of the dead beside the Sansibar entrance. Taz immediately took a fighting stance, expecting to have to fight his way into the large night club. Instead, however, the dead parted ways, forming a makeshift clear corridor which led to the entrance of the Sansibar. Alarmingly, the club was now brightly lit. Two large muscular dead men, probably bouncers for the Sansibar while they still lived, emerged from inside the club and opened the doors. Knowing that this indeed was a trap, Tasmanian Devil none the less ran through the corridor created by the dead, both sword-scythes held across forearm to elbow in case the dead attacked as he burst into the club. With a start, Tasmanian Devil realized as he passed through the doors of the Sansibar that the two muscular bouncers were still alive!
The two bouncers closed the glass doors behind them as Taz spun around, ready to strike with his wicked blades should the two men attack him. Both men were extremely muscular, each wearing some type of makeshift, armored football pad uniforms with wicked spikes mounted on the shoulders, leather gauntlets and gloves infused with more armor plates, and black and red leather pants lined with yet more armored padding. The only difference between the two bearded brutes was that one had a Mohawk whilst the other had a reverse Mohawk.
“Hey,” said Taz. “I know you dudes! You two were super powered executive body guards before the world went to shit. The Intimidators, right? ”
The brute with the Mohawk, the one Taz knew as the German mercenary called Barbarian, extended a hand towards the bar and speaking in German, said, “Sit, please,” in a gruff but not unfriendly tone.
Taz looked over to Barbarian’s partner, the equally huge mercenary with the reverse Mohawk named Highlander. He simply puffed out his chest, crossing his massive arms. Highlander, predictably from the Scottish Isles, nodded towards the bar, saying nothing. Taz turned, facing the long, well lit bar still stocked from counter to ceiling with bottles of liquor and taps of beer. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw the lady standing behind the bar.
“Alda? You’re still alive?” said Taz in German.
Alda, the short platinum blonde bartender in her late thirties stared questioningly at the hero. “You…ummm…. you look different from when I last saw you. They say it’s you under that mask. But…”
Tasmanian Devil removed his mask, revealing a grim faced, middle aged man with short cropped white hair, thick furrowed brows, haunted grey eyes and a mouth in a permanent scowl framed by short, white stubble. “This better? How’ve you been, Alda?” Tasmanian Devil, smiled revealing incisor teeth that were twice as long as the average human’s.
“Yep. That’s you alright!” Alda laughed. “Although I think I like you better with that silly mask on your face!” She reached up and grabbed a tall glass from the rack over the bar. “Go ahead and sit down. It’s been a while. Can I get you your usual?”
There was always something about Alda’s voice, so gravelly, yet so seductively German, that appealed to Taz. “Where is he, Alda?”
Alda slid the long island iced tea in front of Taz, nodding her head and motioning to the side of the bar where an opening led to stone steps going down to the restrooms and storage spaces under the club. “He wanted to make sure you were alone, which is why he had Floppsy and Moppsy over there to greet you!”
“Hey!” yelled Highlander. Taz looked past the two mercenaries, outside past the glass doors where the dead seemed to have formed a protective barrier around the club, facing outwards.
“Master Sergeant Gunther!” A tall figure wearing a white mask and white cowl emerged from the stairway. He wore a red battle suit with white straps, gloves and combat boots. Two submachine guns where strapped to each thigh, two pistols on each waist, and a Carl Gustov rocket launcher was slung across his back. Over his right eye on his white mask was a gun-targeting, lead angle site that homed in on Taz.
Closely behind him came another man wearing a black, skull shaped helmet, black leather jacket and pants, over a white shirt with a black skull and crossbones design on it. In the man’s hands was a black steel mace. Next to him came another young man with wavy dark blonde hair, sunglasses, a black leather jacket and black leather pants. He wore a red leather shirt with a stylized ‘A’ in the middle of a black star design. Tasmanian Devil recognized the first two guys, but the last one looked like a young David Hasselhoff if he had decided to take up being a rock star instead of an actor. Taz figured he had to be German. Immediately, Taz leapt off the bar stool, holding his sword-scythes in a defensive fighting position as he faced the threats. Alda yelped and ducked under the bar as everyone else took fighting stances, surrounding the outnumbered hero.
The one with the white mask and cowl held up his hands towards Taz. “Whoa, there, Gunther! We’re all friends here! Is that how you greet your former commander? Hell, back in the day, you used to salute me!”
“That was before you became a damned assassin and domestic terrorist!” growled Taz. “Back then, you were Lieutenant Colonel Mayfield , MARSOC, and I was your senior ranking NCO, Master Sergeant Gunther. Those days are long gone. Now, you’re the murderer known as Arsenal, the leader of the criminal group known as the Jail Breakers who specialize in breaking super criminals out of prison. I’m the hero known as Tasmanian Devil, and the guy standing next to you with the black skull mask is the toady known as Dick Face! The only one who I don’t recognize is that Hitler youth wannabe’ who is skulking around behind you!”
“Black Skull,” yelled the man wearing the black skull helmet, hefting his mace threateningly at Taz. “You better call me by my correct name!”
“I’m Captain Awesome,” said the other man, pushing past the villain Black Skull and speaking English but in a thick German accent.
“Hero?” laughed the villain named Arsenal. “Really, Gunther? You call yourself a hero?” Arsenal continued laughing as he took a seat at the bar, motioning his two henchmen Black Skull and Captain Awesome to sit down with him. Barbarian and Highlander remained at the doors, obviously being paid by whatever currency that was valuable to them to keep watch and safeguard this meeting between hero and villains.
“Alda, would you kindly pour us a tumbler of your best bourbon, bitte?” Arsenal reached up, pulling back on his white cowl and removed his mask. Short cropped jet black hair topped a handsome black face, a thin, well trimmed moustache over his lips. The man now known as Arsenal had the dashing good looks of a black, Hollywood, action hero, save for the deep scar that cut from his upper right forehead and down across his lower right chin, a present given to him from Tasmanian Devil during their first battle when neither knew each other’s identity. In truth, if Tasmanian Devil had known that Arsenal was actually his former commanding officer, he may have plunged both his sword-scythes into his heart, instead.
“Come on, now Gunther,” said Arsenal. “I’ve wondered that for a long, long time. After everything we’ve done, after everything I know about you, how can you call yourself a hero?”
“Why am I here, Mayfield?” said Tasmanian Devil. “Why are those dead outside not attacking us?”
“I mean, admit it Master Sergeant,” continued Arsenal, ignoring Tasmanian Devil’s questions. “You’ve forgotten more people you’ve killed than I’ll ever remember people I’ve killed. So what? That comet gives you enhanced powers. The government gave you a fancy battle suit, a stupid code name, and an obscenely huge weekly paycheck and you now think you’re a hero?”
Arsenal downed his bourbon in one gulp, setting it down on the bar as Alda filled it again. “C’mon, Master Sergeant. Aside from tying to make an honest buck, what makes you any different than me?”
“Dammit, Mayfield,” Taz slammed his fist on the bar and making all of the glasses jump. “I didn’t come here to drink and catch up on old times with you as if nothing ever happened! Those were civilians that you had killed in Afghanistan! I don’t know what brought you here to Germany and frankly, I don’t care! I have a world to save! That’s what makes me different from you!”
Arsenal glanced over at Taz, who was sitting next to him at the bar and rested his chin on his hand. “Really, Gunther?” said Arsenal calmly, almost condescendingly. “You have a world to save? And how do you expect to do that, hmm?” He took a sip from his bourbon, savoring the smooth taste as it flowed down his throat. “Would it surprise you to know that that’s why we are here? It’s our world as well, you know.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Mayfield?” said Taz.
“You’ve already seen it, Master Sergeant,” said Arsenal. “Look outside. Go ahead. There are one hundred of the dead standing guard in front of the Sansibar, keeping the other dead from trying to enter. And they’ll be there for at least another three hours under his control before the nano’s expire.”
“His control?” said Tasmanian Devil, eying his former commanding officer suspiciously as he sipped his long island ice tea. “Who is in control?”
“Him,” said Arsenal, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb back where the stairs were. “He was our last mission. He was the last person the Jail Breakers broke out of SEAD custody, and believe me, you’ll thank me for it.”
“I’m pleased that you would come all this way just to see me,” said a figure climbing up the stairs. “It’s Mister Tasmanian Devil, isn’t it?”
“You!” growled Tasmanian Devil, grabbing up his sword-scythes and leaping towards the frail looking figure standing at the top of the stairs with the wild, unkempt, hair wearing a dirty white lab coat. When Tasmanian Devil’s former commanding officer, now turned super criminal, contacted him and asked him to meet him here in Hannover to have a meeting with someone who had the ability to save the world, the hero never imagined it would be this monster. It was him! Public enemy number one before the world died. It was this old man whose mechanical abominations had been responsible for murdering untold thousands of innocent people in his quest to wipe out mankind.
“I’ll kill you, you monster!” raged Tasmanian Devil. “I’ll kill you, Doctor Genocide!”
Continued in Mission Two- The Only Heroes Are The Dead Ones...