Rane Longfox
Red Rane
- Joined
- Jul 30, 2004
- Messages
- 2,651
Once upon a time, there was a wicked man. He was pissed off. Very pissed off.
The predominant reason for this was the very large number of people currently chasing him. They were not doing so with friendly intentions, such as pointing out that he’d dropped his wallet, or maybe that his train was about to leave. Also, it was dark, and it looked like it might rain. But then again, this was Ireland. It always looked like it might rain.
Then again, the wicked man reflected, he couldn’t really blame them. He had, to his estimation, just broken seventeen of their laws, and shaved close to another five or six. Depends whether you counted those weird, obscure ones, like using a fire extinguisher after seven in the evening. Bloody bureaucrats. Then again, given the seven counts of murder and three counts of Grievous Bodily Harm he would be pulled up for if he got caught, he thought he probably wouldn’t contest the fire extinguisher.
Considering the mind of the man thinking these thoughts, the pointless drivel that was flowing through it could have gone on for several hours at least, had it not been abruptly curtailed by a sudden realization of his imminent impact with a rather foreboding and solid looking brick wall.
Had the man known what was on the other side of the brick wall, he may well have continued into it, in a hopeless attempt to break through. Such a course of action would have not only resulted in failure, but also the activation of several guard functions, like automatic sniping turrets, robotic guard dogs, and a nasty little droid that would follow him around for days giving him the occasional electric shock. He had enough to worry about already without those added obstacles. He was good at what he did, but even he wasn’t good enough to avoid them without losing his crucial time advantage over the men chasing him.
He was getting paid, but he wasn’t willing to risk dieing for one job. Prison he could deal with. He was patient. Prison didn’t bother him. But death will stop even the most patient man in his tracks.
Thankfully, the man did not know what was on the other side of the wall, or how it would lead to his life expectancy take a rapid nosedive. Instead, he grabbed a lamppost with one hand and took a sharp turn to the left. The advantages of being paid so much for the job he was doing included his employer giving a lot of thought to planning his escape route, and he had learned it very well. This meant that he didn’t really need to think about where he was going, and could concentrate on more important things, like staying alive.
Unfortunately, despite the obvious power of his employer, there was still quite a distance to cover between the large office block within which the job had taken place and the nearest pick-up van that had been arranged for him. And all that way, his pursuers were gradually closing the distance. As he flew around the corner, he could just about hear the high revs of a chasing motorcycle over the pounding of adrenalin in his ears. Damn, that adrenaline wasn’t doing any good in his ears, blocking his hearing! It needed to supply more active parts of his body. Specifically, his slowly tiring leg muscles.
He was now speeding down a narrow lane, which emerged onto one of the wide, paved boulevards that occurred sporadically throughout the city. No doubt the brainchild of some town planner or other. This boulevard was not a good place to be escaping across. It was too open, and took too long to get off it again. But there was no other route that would avoid it completely, so he dashed out from the lane at full speed, running as low as he could, hoping against hope he could get across unnoticed.
Alas, no. The chasing pack was not entirely stupid, and had rapidly called for someone to block as much of the boulevard as possible. This “someone” turned out to be an army detachment, complete with menacing looking tanks, and some worryingly large handguns.
Against these guys, he didn’t stand a chance in hell. Or in heaven, for that matter. He dived behind a low, stone wall enclosing some sort of garden just as the shooting started. Almost immediately, the air was awash with bullets. At least it would deter the chasers from coming out onto the boulevard. His options were now severely limited. There was no way of continuing across to his exit, and he also couldn’t make a dash to get back out the way he had come in. While he was hanging around trying to make a decision, the bullets were getting worryingly close. Soon one of the army guys would realize that he wasn’t retaliating, and would just come round the wall and shoot him.
Suddenly, his chasers arrived, and one of them, just about seeing him behind the wall, charged out onto the smooth concrete of the boulevard. Bad Idea, thought the man. These army guys got a bloodlust something terrible, and, once they got going, didn’t really discriminate about the target of their fire. A red haze shot out the back of the chasing man, and he slumped down, dead before he hit the ground. A gunner in one of the tanks had seen him too, and, lacking any other visible target, fired.
The resulting shell took out the corpse, along with large sections of the buildings on either side of the narrow passageway. Judging by the screams, several more of the security men chasing him got hit too. Such a monumental ****-up will stop even the army in their tracks. A sudden hush fell across the boulevard like a cloak.
The debris from the explosion fell to block the passageway. At least that was his chasers delayed for a while. He had to act fast, before the army regained their senses and started shooting at him again. He leapt out from behind the wall, and made a mad dash for the nearest door. Thankfully, It was a glass door, and he smashed right through it. He found himself in an O’Donalds franchise. Perfect.
Evading death is hungry work. He vaulted the counter, startling a lone cleaner out of his reverie, and ran on through the kitchens, grabbing a discarded Big O’Mac on his way through. As he burst through the back door of the building, He heard the front windows disintegrate suddenly under another hail of bullets, as the army realized what had happened. But he was away from them now, and, as a small hurricane of limp lettuce-substitute and plasticy tomatoes sailed back over his shoulder, he was unstoppable.
That was, until he ran, full tilt, into a large, blue plastic wheelie bin. Stunned temporarily, he only realized what had happened when he caught the sound of running boots following him. Another set of chasers to deal with.
“Screw this,” he muttered, and dived, head first, into the bin. The lid dropped down on top of him, and he sat there, amongst the rotting burger buns and non-rotting, vaguely gherkin-shaped objects, munching his burger. He heard a large proportion of the men who had just been shooting at him sprinting past, and waited until all the sound had died away.
Judging that the coast must be clear, he finished his Big O’Mac, and pushed up on the lid of the bin. Clambering out, he looked around to take stock of his surroundings. He was standing in a typical back yard. A few bins, like the one he had just hid in, sat next to various empty boxes and barrels. There was nothing of any use to him here. He Imagined that there were still army men out in the boulevard, so going back that way was no use. He went to the open back gate left by the army men, and peered around the back wall of the yard.
The good news was that there was no one in sight, and he was no longer being chased, he supposed. The bad news was that he had a large number of very angry soldiers looking for him, and he still had to get to his pick-up van.
Stepping out of the yard, however, had an unexpected result. No sooner had he closed the gate behind him that a large silver car pulled out of a lane further up the road the yard backed onto. The man turned around to run in the opposite direction, but there was another car that side too. He was blocked in! He rushed back into the yard, but there, in between the bins and the back door, was a short man in a sleek black suit, wearing perfectly mirrored sunglasses, and with a small black object in his hand that was undoubtedly a gun.
The short man raised the gun slowly, and gestured back out towards the road. He recognized it as a .9mm H&K USP Match. This was the kind of gun that you didn’t argue with. It was tiny, and looked as sleek as its owner. Even in the darkness, it seemed to glisten, hungrily.
Knowing he was beaten, he turned back onto the road, only to see it empty again. He walked out into the road, and heard the small hitman following him. Suddenly he drove one elbow backwards towards the man. But there was no contact, and the last thing he felt was a blow to the back of his head, which knocked him out.
The predominant reason for this was the very large number of people currently chasing him. They were not doing so with friendly intentions, such as pointing out that he’d dropped his wallet, or maybe that his train was about to leave. Also, it was dark, and it looked like it might rain. But then again, this was Ireland. It always looked like it might rain.
Then again, the wicked man reflected, he couldn’t really blame them. He had, to his estimation, just broken seventeen of their laws, and shaved close to another five or six. Depends whether you counted those weird, obscure ones, like using a fire extinguisher after seven in the evening. Bloody bureaucrats. Then again, given the seven counts of murder and three counts of Grievous Bodily Harm he would be pulled up for if he got caught, he thought he probably wouldn’t contest the fire extinguisher.
Considering the mind of the man thinking these thoughts, the pointless drivel that was flowing through it could have gone on for several hours at least, had it not been abruptly curtailed by a sudden realization of his imminent impact with a rather foreboding and solid looking brick wall.
Had the man known what was on the other side of the brick wall, he may well have continued into it, in a hopeless attempt to break through. Such a course of action would have not only resulted in failure, but also the activation of several guard functions, like automatic sniping turrets, robotic guard dogs, and a nasty little droid that would follow him around for days giving him the occasional electric shock. He had enough to worry about already without those added obstacles. He was good at what he did, but even he wasn’t good enough to avoid them without losing his crucial time advantage over the men chasing him.
He was getting paid, but he wasn’t willing to risk dieing for one job. Prison he could deal with. He was patient. Prison didn’t bother him. But death will stop even the most patient man in his tracks.
Thankfully, the man did not know what was on the other side of the wall, or how it would lead to his life expectancy take a rapid nosedive. Instead, he grabbed a lamppost with one hand and took a sharp turn to the left. The advantages of being paid so much for the job he was doing included his employer giving a lot of thought to planning his escape route, and he had learned it very well. This meant that he didn’t really need to think about where he was going, and could concentrate on more important things, like staying alive.
Unfortunately, despite the obvious power of his employer, there was still quite a distance to cover between the large office block within which the job had taken place and the nearest pick-up van that had been arranged for him. And all that way, his pursuers were gradually closing the distance. As he flew around the corner, he could just about hear the high revs of a chasing motorcycle over the pounding of adrenalin in his ears. Damn, that adrenaline wasn’t doing any good in his ears, blocking his hearing! It needed to supply more active parts of his body. Specifically, his slowly tiring leg muscles.
He was now speeding down a narrow lane, which emerged onto one of the wide, paved boulevards that occurred sporadically throughout the city. No doubt the brainchild of some town planner or other. This boulevard was not a good place to be escaping across. It was too open, and took too long to get off it again. But there was no other route that would avoid it completely, so he dashed out from the lane at full speed, running as low as he could, hoping against hope he could get across unnoticed.
Alas, no. The chasing pack was not entirely stupid, and had rapidly called for someone to block as much of the boulevard as possible. This “someone” turned out to be an army detachment, complete with menacing looking tanks, and some worryingly large handguns.
Against these guys, he didn’t stand a chance in hell. Or in heaven, for that matter. He dived behind a low, stone wall enclosing some sort of garden just as the shooting started. Almost immediately, the air was awash with bullets. At least it would deter the chasers from coming out onto the boulevard. His options were now severely limited. There was no way of continuing across to his exit, and he also couldn’t make a dash to get back out the way he had come in. While he was hanging around trying to make a decision, the bullets were getting worryingly close. Soon one of the army guys would realize that he wasn’t retaliating, and would just come round the wall and shoot him.
Suddenly, his chasers arrived, and one of them, just about seeing him behind the wall, charged out onto the smooth concrete of the boulevard. Bad Idea, thought the man. These army guys got a bloodlust something terrible, and, once they got going, didn’t really discriminate about the target of their fire. A red haze shot out the back of the chasing man, and he slumped down, dead before he hit the ground. A gunner in one of the tanks had seen him too, and, lacking any other visible target, fired.
The resulting shell took out the corpse, along with large sections of the buildings on either side of the narrow passageway. Judging by the screams, several more of the security men chasing him got hit too. Such a monumental ****-up will stop even the army in their tracks. A sudden hush fell across the boulevard like a cloak.
The debris from the explosion fell to block the passageway. At least that was his chasers delayed for a while. He had to act fast, before the army regained their senses and started shooting at him again. He leapt out from behind the wall, and made a mad dash for the nearest door. Thankfully, It was a glass door, and he smashed right through it. He found himself in an O’Donalds franchise. Perfect.
Evading death is hungry work. He vaulted the counter, startling a lone cleaner out of his reverie, and ran on through the kitchens, grabbing a discarded Big O’Mac on his way through. As he burst through the back door of the building, He heard the front windows disintegrate suddenly under another hail of bullets, as the army realized what had happened. But he was away from them now, and, as a small hurricane of limp lettuce-substitute and plasticy tomatoes sailed back over his shoulder, he was unstoppable.
That was, until he ran, full tilt, into a large, blue plastic wheelie bin. Stunned temporarily, he only realized what had happened when he caught the sound of running boots following him. Another set of chasers to deal with.
“Screw this,” he muttered, and dived, head first, into the bin. The lid dropped down on top of him, and he sat there, amongst the rotting burger buns and non-rotting, vaguely gherkin-shaped objects, munching his burger. He heard a large proportion of the men who had just been shooting at him sprinting past, and waited until all the sound had died away.
Judging that the coast must be clear, he finished his Big O’Mac, and pushed up on the lid of the bin. Clambering out, he looked around to take stock of his surroundings. He was standing in a typical back yard. A few bins, like the one he had just hid in, sat next to various empty boxes and barrels. There was nothing of any use to him here. He Imagined that there were still army men out in the boulevard, so going back that way was no use. He went to the open back gate left by the army men, and peered around the back wall of the yard.
The good news was that there was no one in sight, and he was no longer being chased, he supposed. The bad news was that he had a large number of very angry soldiers looking for him, and he still had to get to his pick-up van.
Stepping out of the yard, however, had an unexpected result. No sooner had he closed the gate behind him that a large silver car pulled out of a lane further up the road the yard backed onto. The man turned around to run in the opposite direction, but there was another car that side too. He was blocked in! He rushed back into the yard, but there, in between the bins and the back door, was a short man in a sleek black suit, wearing perfectly mirrored sunglasses, and with a small black object in his hand that was undoubtedly a gun.
The short man raised the gun slowly, and gestured back out towards the road. He recognized it as a .9mm H&K USP Match. This was the kind of gun that you didn’t argue with. It was tiny, and looked as sleek as its owner. Even in the darkness, it seemed to glisten, hungrily.
Knowing he was beaten, he turned back onto the road, only to see it empty again. He walked out into the road, and heard the small hitman following him. Suddenly he drove one elbow backwards towards the man. But there was no contact, and the last thing he felt was a blow to the back of his head, which knocked him out.
