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Snippet #2403581

located in America, a part of Touch, one of the many universes on RPG.




Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rowan "Boston" Alder Character Portrait: Tech
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[[OCC: Sorry for the wait]]

The man’s head lay twisted in horror, I couldn’t help but continue to grin at his expression. "I guess I didn't deserve it”, I quipped, admiring Boston’s handiwork.

"It's not your first encounter with him...was it?" Boston frowned. Looking at the pile of meat.

"No, I had dinner with his family; stocked up", I smirked. Pain flared up and my face mocked the failed agent of vengeance for a moment. Grawrrrr.

"I ought to have left you to him...", Boston threatened, throwing a disgusted look in my direction.

"There's a nice shirt there," I offered, changing the subject. Boston looked down thoughtfully and paused before acquiring a new shirt. He seemed to calm down after that.

"We better roll," Boston announced throwing the shotgun to me as he took the driver’s seat. I started for the failed assassin, but Boston intercepted my plans. "This time I’m the driver, and no... you can't eat him." Boston lead. The engine roared. You’re not shy, I smiled at the new vehicle.

Boston seemed like a virgin, handling the car cautiously, but I wasn’t in any state to take over. My mind drifted as my hands found something metallic, I twitched. The next thing I realise the sun is beaming down onto my face with a spray of what seemed to be… blue glitter? "Wreck!", Boston yelled... I think?

"Sunroof. Accident", I mused, still dazed from the effects and covered in a thin layer of snow like roof. The car lurched forward gaining speed as Boston began to talk to himself, or me, but I wasn’t paying attention, I was climbing up through my new gun hatch. "Floating and fired!", I shouted, the air meeting my will.

We were cruising away from the larger houses now and the older ones started to come into view. I couldn’t see if there were people about so I just imagined they were there. Like shooting ducks on a freeway. The shotgun clicked empty as the previous shots fell behind, I was about to drop it down through the hole but we swerved and it flew out of my hands, it was gone.

He could’ve been shouting at me but it was hard to hear anything with the wind in my ears. I banged the roof above his head and slid down. “Light on ahead”, I pointed eagerly

“Hold on a minute where’s the shotgun?”, he glared.

“There, light”, I repeated deflecting the question.

He gave up with the shotgun, it was obviously better out of my hands. “What? The museum?”, Boston looked doubtful, yet he slowed down, “What would be in there but skeletons and dust?”. He must have noticed the light then because he started to head for the entrance.

I sprang for the car door but it held firm… for a sec and then I found myself eating pavement. arrgfhfgfhd. I had forgotten about my seared leg and it wouldn’t bend as I kept attempting to stand. Boston casually lifted himself out of the car, turned four steps and lifted me up like I was made of cardboard. “Easy there crispy”, he mocked but his eyes betrayed the light-hearted tone. It seemed I didn’t quite understand my casualty and the pain just another annoying voice fighting for attention.

I hobbled up the steps one step at a time as Boston glided up, he was already scanning more distant windows as I reached the door. “Care to take a crack at the security system”, He asked, “I could easily break in but let’s be nice”. I like it, kill them quietly. I mused for a second then turned towards the keypad. I shook and barely managed to stay standing as my other leg almost buckled, the strain starting to take effect. I griped the wall with one hand and began searching my pouches for tools Quiet leg, I need think.

The door slid open automatically as the frayed panel dangled, exposed. Boston held his palm out and I stood confused. He seemed to think I knew what he wanted as he crept through the lobby and surveyed the area. 21st century perseveration hall. I didn’t recall what century it was, but I guess it was after that. “What are you doing?”, Boston whispered violently, “I told you to wait!”. So that’s what he meant. I decided responding was too much effort and I slumped down to the floor, against the reception desk.

He had that look again, but before I could place it he moved off behind the desk and began rummaging. A green shiny case with a pale glowing cross slid across the floor, open and empty. He huffed with dissapointment and turned around to discover a woman standing across from him on the marble like steps, wielding something bizarre. It appeared silver, but was streaked with neon green and started to make a noise. It’s charging I noted as I drifted off into sweet nothing.