Sunday, November 15, 2009


February 16th, 2006

To the Shootout!I run out of the coffe shop to go to the shootout, but then I realize that I have no way to get there, and I have no guns.I stand there looking stupid for a second, with the bright sun glaring on me and looking pissed off. OK, to the motel room, THEN the shootout!
I walk back to my shitty motel that I rented out last night and then grab the M16A4 and the Desert Eagle XIX .44. The building is twenty blocks away, so I can't walk there. I hot wire a truck and drive over to the address. When I get there, there are so many sirens going off that you can hardly hear the gunshots, and the squad cars are packed so close together you can't even walk through them without jumping over a hood or two. I ask an officer who doesn't look busy how many terrorists are in the building.
"Uh, we don't, uh, know for sure, but uh, I- er, uh, we- think that ders about fifteen a dem in dat deur building, ya." His neanderthal-type accent is really strong, and I resist slapping him across the face and yelling at him about grammar, and instead politely say 'thank you' and walk away. Now I face another problem: How am I gonna get in with all of the police there, especially when I'm wanted? Then, suddenly, an idea smacked me as hard as it could across the jaw. Time to jack a badge. I walk past an officer with a badge on his belt and slowly slide it off. I then clip it to my own belt and put on sunglasses. I waltz up to an important looking fellow.
"Hi, I'm the hostage negotiator with the FBI that you called." I flash him my badge and then walk around the back of the building. I hear him yelling something after me, something like this: SH*T! WE DIDN'T FU*KING CALL UP FOR A GOD DAMNED HOSTAGE NEGOTIATOR, THERE ARE NO FU*KING GOD DAMNED HOSTAGES! WHAT THE FU*K ARE YOU DOING, SOMEONE GET THAT FU*KER!!!" I spin around, crack off four or five shots with the Desert Eagle, miss every time, and then sprint into the back door of the building and lock it. I feel a small little amount of relief, only enough to turn around and see a 7 foot tall monster of a goon with gross yellow teeth grinning a big dirty grin and big bulging bug eyes staring at me. In all honesty, he reminds me of a T-Rex on crack. Shit.

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I 'pop a cap in his ass' with the .357, but he just bulks up, swats at his shoulder as if he was stung by a bug, then lifts a big ol' .12 gauge, but I duck and grab it, trying to keep the barrel away from me. He's a lot stronger then I am, though, and throws me off it against a trash can, and I fall onto it with a nasty clatter as it tips over. He takes aim at me again, but, I lift my Desert Eagle and SHOOT THE SHOT GUN BARREL FROM 20ft AWAY!!! WITH A DESERT EAGLE!!! ONE HANDED!!!(The author would like to confess that I am yelling 'thug life biatch when I do this.) It's sufficiently busted up, so he throws it aside at leaps at me with bare hands. I roll to the side, though, pull up my weapon, and fire it until it clicks (three times). But then, get this, he gets back up and gets me with a left hook in the jaw. Shit, that fist could probably bust through a wall. I'm sent sprawling across the cold concrete floor with a ringing head. I stumble to my feet. I pull my M16A4 on him, only to find that it's not there, and it fell off of me when he hit me. He spits blood. I spit a tooth. He holds up his fists and becons with them. I sigh and wing at him with a right jab. He takes it, and doesn't even bother to duck. I jab three times with both hands until, on the sisth time, he grabs one of my arms and twists it. I keel over, then he pulls me up and gives me another one of those face-busting hooks. I duck, but then he bets me with an uppercut, then a right hook. I land next to the toppled over trash can. He cracks his neck, spits out more blood, then slowly staggers over to me. I roll over to get up, and then feel a hard pole on my back. I scooch over to see a four foot long, three inch thick, metal pipe. I lift it up, stand up, and then hide it behind me. He rushes at me to finish me off, but then I crack him in the jaw with the pipe. He spits aout a tooth. I do it again. He spits out another tooth. I whack him five more times as hards as I can, baseball style, two handed, and he spits out a bunch of teeth and blood at once, then falls over. I reload my Desert Eagle, grab my M16A1, then go upstairs. But before I do, I grab the bug guy's moon badge and put it in my pocket. It could be useful for later. But for now, it's time to go kick some Chinese cult ass.