Snippet #2475725

The puppet show was about to start, when Spotface felt a wave of cold air ripple through his beard and rags. A rush of chatter followed the cold, along with a few shouts. The stuffy discomfort he'd felt moments ago long forgotten, he stood frozen in place as sharp chills ran quick down his spine. Oh gods, something is wrong.. Something is really wrong. Looking over at the commotion by the Senate building, the his stomach turned as the magnitude of the situation dawned on him. People scattered in every direction as black forms fell upon them, with gore and cries of terror erupting everywhere at once. Every fiber of his tiny frame screamed for him to run, and yet, he remained rooted to his spot, staring on into the swirling, screaming mass in front of him. Spotface saw the leg coming, but it wasn't until the fleeing merchant sent him flying that he regained his senses.

He picked himself up, pulled out his grapple shots, and prepared to aim for the nearest roof, when he saw a cultist dashing straight at him with a manic gleam in his eye. Spotface faltered, shooting one of the grappling shots straight into a nearby cart. He barely had time to curse his bad luck before the cultist was on him, gibbering gleefully and slashing wildly with a wicked-looking butcher's knife. Spotface skittered away from the first few chops, and with a zip and a thump he flew into the cart by retracting the grappling shot. The cart was thrown back with the force of it, too, sending Spotface tumbling into it. After wrenching at the hook, to his mounting horror, he found it was stuck fast in the side. No way this cart is coming with me on a roof... Seeing the cultist was not far behind, he lined up his second shot at a spot across the square. As soon as the shot had landed--in a lamppost near the center, it turned out--he and the cart were zipping away.

The cart bounced and clattered at first, barely staying on its wheels and bowling over a few people--from what he could see, two cultists and... their meal... yuck--as it went crashing and skidding through the square. As it rattled along, though, Spotface was able to wrestle control over it. Leaning this way and that, he crashed headlong through a few cultists and narrowly dodged 'round what looked like a badger-man before reaching the lamppost. At some point, the beard must have flown off, but that didn't really concern Spotface much right then. Never liked that thing anyway.. Looking around, he saw that his stunt with the cart had attracted the attentions of a number of cultists, who were making their way to him quicker than he'd have liked. Now that he had a handle of how to steer the cart, though, he realized that there was no way these blood-crazed lunatics could catch up with him, if he played things careful. Seeing some wounded civilians trapped in a corner, he was decided in seconds. How many civilians could he whisk away with this cart? How many cultists could he hit and run? His terror melted away, and he strapped on his goggles with a growing grin. Spotface had a game to play, and all was right with the world again.