Author's Note: This series is mostly just for me to practice differing character traits and writing styles. I decided I would share with the community to get some feedback and opinions. Advice and critique is always welcome and appreciated.
Bandit Camp
Green trees, billowing wheat fields, and blooming flowers; it's summer in Chernarus. The rumble of a truck engine, bullets, and bodies; there are bandits in Chernarus. While lying in a grassy knoll, just within earshot, I watched them through the scope of my rifle.
Three bandits had captured a pair of poor, desperate survivors. They had been stuffed into a make-shift box of barbed wire. The bandits shouted and shot the ground around their captives' feet.
One of the bandits tossed an axe into the cage and said, "Kill 'em."
The hostages hesitated.
"Either one of ya dies, or ya both die!"
The survivors looked at each other. They spoke to one another, but I couldn't hear what they said. One kneeled down and rested on his knees. The other reluctantly picked up the axe. I had to look away from the gruesome sight. When I looked back, the one that had been on his knees was surrounded by a puddle of his own blood and the other was trembling.
A bandit started complaining that he was thirsty. He and one other bandit climbed into their truck and drove away, leaving the last bandit to look after their prisoner. I shot him; one bullet, right in his temple. As he fell over dead, the newly-rescued prisoner dropped to the ground and covered their head. I lowered my rifle and walked to the cage.
I cut down a segment of the wire and told them to count to ten before trying to leave. It was just enough time to vanish from sight and return to my hiding place. The survivor took the bandit's gear and disappeared into the wilderness. I waited for the other bandits to return.
The truck slowly pulled into the camp. One of the bandits got out of the truck to check his friend's corpse while the other stayed behind and kept the truck running. I took aim and started shooting. I peppered the truck first; one bullet in the tire, two in the engine block, and one right in the driver's eye socket.
By now, the last bandit had realized where the shots were coming from and returned fire. High caliber rounds flew over my head. I rolled behind a tree and slung my rifle behind my back. I watched him advance up the hill, suppressed pistol trembling with adrenaline in my hand. He stopped to reload, so I took the chance. The invisible hiss of my pistol rang through only my ears.
I must have fractured his leg because he fell to the ground, screaming in agony. He was bleeding too. He tried to hide and bandaged his wound, so I made another. He didn't seem to have a way to stop the bleeding this time. I took one last shot, and we both knew how this would end. He frantically crawled to his truck in futile attempt at delaying the inevitable. He soon lost consciousness and stopped moving. As he was lying there in the tall grass, his life pouring from his abdomen, I walked away and left him in the hands of fate.