04-05-2019, 06:26 PM
He stood in place, hovering somewhere between dumbfounded and furious at the turn of events. On the periphery, a figure approached. The guard from the inside paused, attending to his action, stricken with the anti-climactic conclusion to the mark’s life.
Sweat from the fire glistened his brow, glowing in the dancing light as he studied the man at his side. Despite everything, this mall-cop stood up to some of Ryker’s best tactics, though honestly, they weren’t entirely focused on him at the time. They caught eyes, then. For some reason, neither Ryker did not raise aim.
The man walked away: either brave or stupid. He thought about reforming the bomb he was going to drop on Boda’s car and plucking it down on this dumbass’s head. But what a fucking shame that would be. Made the night far more entertaining than he ever anticipated. Even if he was going to get his ass chewed later and dropped into a chasm of paperwork from which he might never climb out. Fuck the cop. That guy had desk-job written all over him. He was made for case files.
He let the merc leave unharmed. If that’s what he actually was. For someone not getting paid, that was a poor contract on his part. He pulled the rifle low, slinging it behind his back and holstered the sidearm from his hands.
Then he did something ballsy that the cop might piss-himself over. He walked up to the car and stood over the cop’s shoulder. “Get the fuck out of my way,” he said, aiming the land-warriors upon Boda’s shredded body for video confirmation. Satisfied, he studied the kid’s face, gathering more information. Like the merc said, someone would clean this shit up, and like hell it was going to be Ryker.
He kept a hand near the pistol just in case the cop decided to make a stupid move, like attempt to arrest him. He smiled, eerie and faint in the fire glowing from Boda’s car. “Probably should move back. The gas tank could blow any second.” The fire danced shadows over the wrinkles of his scarred face. His warning was shared from experience. Gasoline fires were nasty pieces of work. Almost as bad as radiation fire.
“You’re a brave sonofabitch. I tell you that much. Have fun with the paperwork.” He grinned and departed, aiming to gather the rifle bag he dropped behind the house and clear the scene fully.
Sweat from the fire glistened his brow, glowing in the dancing light as he studied the man at his side. Despite everything, this mall-cop stood up to some of Ryker’s best tactics, though honestly, they weren’t entirely focused on him at the time. They caught eyes, then. For some reason, neither Ryker did not raise aim.
The man walked away: either brave or stupid. He thought about reforming the bomb he was going to drop on Boda’s car and plucking it down on this dumbass’s head. But what a fucking shame that would be. Made the night far more entertaining than he ever anticipated. Even if he was going to get his ass chewed later and dropped into a chasm of paperwork from which he might never climb out. Fuck the cop. That guy had desk-job written all over him. He was made for case files.
He let the merc leave unharmed. If that’s what he actually was. For someone not getting paid, that was a poor contract on his part. He pulled the rifle low, slinging it behind his back and holstered the sidearm from his hands.
Then he did something ballsy that the cop might piss-himself over. He walked up to the car and stood over the cop’s shoulder. “Get the fuck out of my way,” he said, aiming the land-warriors upon Boda’s shredded body for video confirmation. Satisfied, he studied the kid’s face, gathering more information. Like the merc said, someone would clean this shit up, and like hell it was going to be Ryker.
He kept a hand near the pistol just in case the cop decided to make a stupid move, like attempt to arrest him. He smiled, eerie and faint in the fire glowing from Boda’s car. “Probably should move back. The gas tank could blow any second.” The fire danced shadows over the wrinkles of his scarred face. His warning was shared from experience. Gasoline fires were nasty pieces of work. Almost as bad as radiation fire.
“You’re a brave sonofabitch. I tell you that much. Have fun with the paperwork.” He grinned and departed, aiming to gather the rifle bag he dropped behind the house and clear the scene fully.