1 Infinity01: There are not Enough Words
Fido grinned at the crowd of people standing before him. The looks in their eyes, pure fear…almost liquid. Definitely tangible though, he could smell it, could taste it. Ah well enough stalling.
BLAM!
Blood, brains, and bits of skull splattered against the black asphalt in a tapping crescendo of horrifying rain. The puddle that was forming from the hole in the cops head continued to get larger and larger.
Fido raised his eyes from the scene on the ground before him to observe the crowd. Not one of them had moved, not one of them had made a sound. Well fuck them then.
That's their mistake…
Without wasting another instant, he whipped out the flamethrower. Dear God…burning flesh smelled so wonderful in the early morning.
Al-I-Bus Presents:
A Grand Theft Auto 3 Fanfiction
Well ya'll knew I'd be back, can't keep my rugged ass down. Not to mention I have been spending a ton of quality time, with what has been deemed The Godfather of video games. Yeah well its my turn to toy with the universe in a sense…and we all know how much Bus Likes to play God…
The stupid slut's eyes squeezed together tightly. Spurt after spurt of warm, white, sticky, creamy jizz splashed against her face. It covered her nose, her eyes, her chin…very little of it actually got into her mouth mind you. Fuck that shit though…he paid the bitch well enough. As a matter of fact.
The shrill crack of a pistol rang out as if crying out with resentment against the stillness of the Liberty City night.
Fido quickly grabbed up the handful of bills that the whore had dropped, and dipped out of the alley. Always moving, eyes darting all around, observing his terrain. This guy was the man. That meant one thing in Liberty City…
He was the head man…the boss of bosses. No henchmen, they just got in the way. No friends, well one, but Ray was chilling out in sunny Miami, catching some rays. Aside from that, maybe 8-Ball, but ever since he had offed the don, Fido had heard very little from him as well.
The car was a prime specimen of what a machine should be. Twelve cylinders, all forcefully violated by steaming, pumping pistons, slamming repeatedly in a phallic motion gave her life. This was what drove the machine.
A few drops of water from a torn puddle caused the light from a streetlamp to shatter into a million different shafts. Each one danced in Fido's eye for a moment, before fading back into shadow and night. He turned the corner quickly.
The fucking prick was right there. Walking along the sidewalk, head down, clutching the package in his bare hands. What fucking arrogance. Like the bastard believed in a God or something…It only took a moment to push the uzi trough the shut window. He had learned that from Ray also…you shoot through the window, you don't try to aim through it.
Even as the empty casings popped off the carpeted floor of the Stinger, Fido was jerking the car to a screeching halt. With the final few rounds still digging themselves into the side of the building, and the moron's still warm, still breathing (though raggedly), and still registering (thoughts, senses, and above all else pain) body crashing to the ground, Fido jumped outta the whip. He looked down at the weak thing before him.
No one is sure where the practice originated. Its one of those human nature things. Spit on somebody. Your mother always said it was nasty to spit. Spitting on someone though, oh goodness. So as the last few drops of saliva dashed off the guy's forehead, it was merciful that his last breath was taken. Fido happily pulled the trigger of his pistol a few more times though.
Dry and harsh the shots rang out, burying themselves in the guy's face, neck, and upper chest. Fuck an open casket…and if this prick did come prancing out of the hospital in a few days, he would remember whom he had crossed. Fucking pansy.
Fido tore the package from his lifeless fingers.
They hadn't been there a second ago. He glanced in the rearview mirror again; blinking as if he could not fathom what was going on. Even as he tore on the handbrake and twirled the car around 360 degrees, he could feel the heat of their bullets whizzing through the air. Fucking Columbians.
Didn't even make sense. Their leaders were dead as shit. He had blown up Catalina's helicopter, and her lover boy, (fuck was his name anyway), well he had died very ugly-like. No time for pity though, just time to get away.
God, I love my uzi…
Dude in the passenger seat blinked once, then again, then heard some glass shatter. He watched in absolute horror and astonishment as the round from the uzi tore through his boy's face, arm, and side. A sucking pop screamed over the catchy80s tunes. Blood started to pour down his partner's body, drenching him and the seat. Luckily, when the flatbed truck's tailpipe bursted through his chest, he didn't feel a thing. All that shit happened way to quick for him to keep up with.
Unfortunately, the driver was still awake. Nothing above his waist seemed to be working though. Blood squirted out of his mouth, his ears, and his fucking eye was filling up with the red liquid for Christ's sake. He tried to say a prayer, but then he saw movement in the rearview.
Fido hated Columbians. Forget racism, he simply could not stand the bastards. That's why he was smiling so much as he kicked in the back window of the car. He saw the driver twitching, spazzing out, and bleeding. It would only be a matter of time. Even the sound of the sirens drawing nearer and nearer did not deter him. The scavengers of evil did not bother him. Shit he was creating the matrix here, not responding to it. Flames would cover this up real nicely.
The Molotov burst as soon as it tapped off the dash. Fido was long gone, but the driver couldn't escape. His toes curled up, but he could make no other noise or movements to express his agony. He could feel the flesh peel away from his bones. It tried to force its way into his body, away from the fire, while at the same time trying to escape the bubbling blood that now boiled inside of him.
Please don't let me wake up in the hospital…I just want to die.
I like…this format is kinda neat. Props to some dude who named the character Fido. You just gave my dawg his name. I think a bunch of these are in order. Lemme know how ya'll felt about this piece ok?
Al-I-Bus
If you don't know, you damned well should. Grand Theft Auto is the property of Rockstar Entertainment, I own the story though dammit
Fido grinned at the crowd of people standing before him. The looks in their eyes, pure fear…almost liquid. Definitely tangible though, he could smell it, could taste it. Ah well enough stalling.
BLAM!
Blood, brains, and bits of skull splattered against the black asphalt in a tapping crescendo of horrifying rain. The puddle that was forming from the hole in the cops head continued to get larger and larger.
Fido raised his eyes from the scene on the ground before him to observe the crowd. Not one of them had moved, not one of them had made a sound. Well fuck them then.
That's their mistake…
Without wasting another instant, he whipped out the flamethrower. Dear God…burning flesh smelled so wonderful in the early morning.
Al-I-Bus Presents:
A Grand Theft Auto 3 Fanfiction
Well ya'll knew I'd be back, can't keep my rugged ass down. Not to mention I have been spending a ton of quality time, with what has been deemed The Godfather of video games. Yeah well its my turn to toy with the universe in a sense…and we all know how much Bus Likes to play God…
The stupid slut's eyes squeezed together tightly. Spurt after spurt of warm, white, sticky, creamy jizz splashed against her face. It covered her nose, her eyes, her chin…very little of it actually got into her mouth mind you. Fuck that shit though…he paid the bitch well enough. As a matter of fact.
The shrill crack of a pistol rang out as if crying out with resentment against the stillness of the Liberty City night.
Fido quickly grabbed up the handful of bills that the whore had dropped, and dipped out of the alley. Always moving, eyes darting all around, observing his terrain. This guy was the man. That meant one thing in Liberty City…
He was the head man…the boss of bosses. No henchmen, they just got in the way. No friends, well one, but Ray was chilling out in sunny Miami, catching some rays. Aside from that, maybe 8-Ball, but ever since he had offed the don, Fido had heard very little from him as well.
The car was a prime specimen of what a machine should be. Twelve cylinders, all forcefully violated by steaming, pumping pistons, slamming repeatedly in a phallic motion gave her life. This was what drove the machine.
A few drops of water from a torn puddle caused the light from a streetlamp to shatter into a million different shafts. Each one danced in Fido's eye for a moment, before fading back into shadow and night. He turned the corner quickly.
The fucking prick was right there. Walking along the sidewalk, head down, clutching the package in his bare hands. What fucking arrogance. Like the bastard believed in a God or something…It only took a moment to push the uzi trough the shut window. He had learned that from Ray also…you shoot through the window, you don't try to aim through it.
Even as the empty casings popped off the carpeted floor of the Stinger, Fido was jerking the car to a screeching halt. With the final few rounds still digging themselves into the side of the building, and the moron's still warm, still breathing (though raggedly), and still registering (thoughts, senses, and above all else pain) body crashing to the ground, Fido jumped outta the whip. He looked down at the weak thing before him.
No one is sure where the practice originated. Its one of those human nature things. Spit on somebody. Your mother always said it was nasty to spit. Spitting on someone though, oh goodness. So as the last few drops of saliva dashed off the guy's forehead, it was merciful that his last breath was taken. Fido happily pulled the trigger of his pistol a few more times though.
Dry and harsh the shots rang out, burying themselves in the guy's face, neck, and upper chest. Fuck an open casket…and if this prick did come prancing out of the hospital in a few days, he would remember whom he had crossed. Fucking pansy.
Fido tore the package from his lifeless fingers.
They hadn't been there a second ago. He glanced in the rearview mirror again; blinking as if he could not fathom what was going on. Even as he tore on the handbrake and twirled the car around 360 degrees, he could feel the heat of their bullets whizzing through the air. Fucking Columbians.
Didn't even make sense. Their leaders were dead as shit. He had blown up Catalina's helicopter, and her lover boy, (fuck was his name anyway), well he had died very ugly-like. No time for pity though, just time to get away.
God, I love my uzi…
Dude in the passenger seat blinked once, then again, then heard some glass shatter. He watched in absolute horror and astonishment as the round from the uzi tore through his boy's face, arm, and side. A sucking pop screamed over the catchy80s tunes. Blood started to pour down his partner's body, drenching him and the seat. Luckily, when the flatbed truck's tailpipe bursted through his chest, he didn't feel a thing. All that shit happened way to quick for him to keep up with.
Unfortunately, the driver was still awake. Nothing above his waist seemed to be working though. Blood squirted out of his mouth, his ears, and his fucking eye was filling up with the red liquid for Christ's sake. He tried to say a prayer, but then he saw movement in the rearview.
Fido hated Columbians. Forget racism, he simply could not stand the bastards. That's why he was smiling so much as he kicked in the back window of the car. He saw the driver twitching, spazzing out, and bleeding. It would only be a matter of time. Even the sound of the sirens drawing nearer and nearer did not deter him. The scavengers of evil did not bother him. Shit he was creating the matrix here, not responding to it. Flames would cover this up real nicely.
The Molotov burst as soon as it tapped off the dash. Fido was long gone, but the driver couldn't escape. His toes curled up, but he could make no other noise or movements to express his agony. He could feel the flesh peel away from his bones. It tried to force its way into his body, away from the fire, while at the same time trying to escape the bubbling blood that now boiled inside of him.
Please don't let me wake up in the hospital…I just want to die.
I like…this format is kinda neat. Props to some dude who named the character Fido. You just gave my dawg his name. I think a bunch of these are in order. Lemme know how ya'll felt about this piece ok?
Al-I-Bus
If you don't know, you damned well should. Grand Theft Auto is the property of Rockstar Entertainment, I own the story though dammit