Darkness had always fascinated Vincent Vercetti. He was amazed to learn
what kind of things lurked around after the sun went down. Normally, it was
just the human fear that brought the monsters out of hiding, but on very
rare occasions, the demons were real. He never thought of himself as being
one, of course, however, on many levels, wasn't that just what he was? He
was a hunter, and people happened to be his prey. It was not his choice; it
was his occupation. He liked the shadows of the night veil. It made him
feel at home, like he was secure, and so was his identity. He held a
particular liking of the stars. That was something he had never understood.
He glanced down as Lance Vance approached him, turning back to the sky and crossing his arms behind his head. He was stretched out on one of the deck chairs, the bright, twinkling stars soaring above on an endless canvas made of the black ink of midnight. He gave his guest a slight nod and then a questioning look, as if to say "what are you doing, and where the hell have you been?" Lance hadn't come into the cabin when Cortez showed them in. Instead, he had wandered off, and no one had seen him since. That seemed extremely suspicious to Vince, but no one else had noticed, or they appeared not to, and of course he wasn't about to say something about it.
"I was just about exploring the ship, man," Lance said, recognizing the question lingering behind Vince's dark eyes. He smiled to himself. It was interesting how he understood Tommy's younger brother now. He was beginning to see what Maria meant when she said if you hung around the guy for long enough, you learned to know. He was satisfied with that. He doubted a lot of people had known Vince for the period of time required to acquire the skill, and he felt blessed to be counted among the few.
He took a seat on the chair next to Vince, his eyes flickering up to see just what Vince was so interested in. He didn't see anything to his specific liking, so he looked back down, sizing the young man beside him up. "Good God man, you look like you're ready to start another World War over there," he grumbled, and it was completely true. Vince was armed to the teeth with pistols, various types of explosives, blades, and a sniper rifle, which was balanced across his lap. Under his chair rested a fully operational mini-gun, automatic and ready to go in for the kill. He had the extra strings of bullets in every pocket he had, from his cargo pants on up. The mini-gun could hold a good five hundred shells at a time, but Vince wasn't a man to be caught under prepared. "Doesn't all that stuff weigh you down?"
Vince looked at him for a long moment, as if he was trying to memorize his features. Then he shrugged.
"Yeah," Lance said with a small frown. "Somehow, I knew you were going to say that." There passed another few minutes of eerie, and rather uncomfortable silence between them. They weren't friends, nor was it suspected that they ever could be. While they appeared to be in the same business, their methods of execution were entirely too different to be considered a compliment to one another.
Quite suddenly, the loud, rattling sounds of bullet behind expelled from hot gun barrels with violent force filled the sky. The thumping blades of approaching helicopters accented the sound like a massive, chugging train behind a fireworks display. Revving motors and the blue and red sirens of Coast Guard patrol vehicles added to the cacophony until it was all that could be heard. More quickly than was appeared possible, Cortez's yacht was surrounded, bullet ricocheting of its crafted hull. Spotlights swept over the water and onto the boat's deck, washing the entire area with a painful white blaze. Both Vince and Lance were clearly started, but while Lance jumped, his body reacting first, Vince's mind jumped into gear, realizing that something was terribly wrong, that the yacht was under siege. Forcing himself to move with a speed that he didn't know he was capable of, he rolled sideways off the deck chair, pulled the mini-gun out and booked it to the upper levels. He knew that's where the action would take place. The top deck was wide and open, without an overhang for protection like the other floors had. Ignoring the fact that venturing up top would place him in more danger than he could ever imagine, he kept his pace, juggling the mini-gun and his sniper rifle. After a few seconds, without slowing down, Vince managed to sling the rifle over his shoulder by its strap and reposition the mini-gun.
He tore up the stairs, swinging the mini-gun up to allow him a better change of ascending the stairs without slowing. He muttered something about the "goddamned" heaviness of the gun very quietly under his breath. He reached the top of the staircase and brought the gun back down into a better carrying location, nearly pitching forward as the weight of the weapon pulled at his arms, aided by gravity. Out of breath and exhausted, he made for the main railing of the deck.
War had already broken, and it was astounding to Vince, considering how quickly he had managed to react. He faced the inevitable fact that speed was on the side of the law. They simply worked more rapidly than he could ever hope to. There were too many of them. Being outnumbered was starting to look like a fact of battle here. Vercetti was on top of the stretched cloth canopy that protected the stairs leading to the main control room. He was leaned back, like one relaxing in a hammock, with the scope on a rocket launcher pressed to his eye. He was taking down the circle helicopters, picking them off one by one. Spare rockets rested at his side.
Rosenberg was nowhere to be seen, and Vince figured it was safe to assume that the lawyer was cowering somewhere below decks. Vince hadn't really pegged the man as one to wield a gun with any type of accuracy, so he wasn't surprised. Cortez's hired sailors were aiding Vercetti in all the ways they saw possible, shooting law enforcers attempting to board the yacht from smaller boats, or from the helicopters. Maria and Mercedes were positioned on either side of the deck, firing below with high caliber handguns and occasionally dropping a grenade off. The boat rocked with the explosions triggered by both sides, and the hull groaned a deep protest. That made Vince increasingly nervous.
Something had to be done about the patrol units that had taken up motoring around the yacht like hungry lions looking for the long-awaited kill. Vince wrestled with his pocket, which didn't seem fond of the idea of letting go of the device that would allow the mini-gun to rotate on an axis. He pulled it free with an angry snarl and went about setting the gun up. That done, he began to fire on the vehicles in the water below. Boat engines began to explode under Vince's sway as he shot with deadly accuracy. Eliminating the threat as briskly, Vince turned and dropped to the floor. Sitting there, with his back against the four-bar railing, he readied his sniper rifle, looked through the scope, and began to fire upon helicopter pilots.
With Vince's assistance, Vercetti managed to remain unharmed while he attempted the reload his rocket launcher. Helicopter pilots were meeting a gruesome fate with each report from Vince's gun, and more than one of them tumbled out of their respective aircrafts and either into the water or onto the ship's deck. Vercetti allowed sweat to sting his eyes as he desperately tried to arm his weapon. Something wasn't working right, and it was jamming. He growled and shot a glance in Vince's direction.
The younger Vercetti wasn't fairing very well. Under fire from above, behind, and both sides, Vince struggled to maintain accurate aim, at the same time squirming around to avoid being capped in the ass. With each bullet that whizzed impossibly close to his head, he flinched, his hand trembling. Vercetti gritted his teeth and let out a whoosh of air in silent frustration.
"Goddamn it," he cried. "Did they send their entire fucking fleet after us?"
Vince didn't reply of course. He was too busy trying to get clear shots at the pilots so that the hovering helicopters would not get the impending chance to fire their missiles. That would be a great way to end his thirty years of life on this earth, being blown into oblivion by some asshole in a chopper, just because he was too stupid to aim. Vince shook his head. He'd be damned if he went out like that. He heard a loud grinding noise, as whatever was impeding Vercetti's rocket launcher fell loose. The weapon was ready to cause destruction again. Vince breathed a sigh of relief.
"Boats, Vince," Vercetti called, but his younger brother was already up and operating the mini-gun again, having hastily abandoned his sniper rifle. A few of the smaller boats met a fiery end, but Vince made a mistake then, too caught up in what he was endeavoring to do to notice the danger. One of the police drivers died in a mass of blood, his entire head exploding due to a bullet's influence. His boat remained unscathed, however, and with the weight of the dead captain on its controls, it careened out of control and hit the right side of the yacht's bow with dynamite results. The ship bucked violently, and Vince lost his already shaky balance. Before he could catch himself, he stumbled back and plummeted over the railing.
His hand caught the lowest bar of the railing before he fell into the watery abyss below, but he nearly lost the tenuous grip when Mercedes tumbled over the side and nearly took him with her. With a growl, he grabbed her wrist, and there they dangled, hoping and praying nothing drastic would occur. Unfortunately, they didn't have much of a chance. Under the rocking of the yacht and the hail of bullets from all directions, plus the added weight of Mercedes so compensate for, Vince's fragile hold on the bar began to slip.
"Tommy! Help," Mercedes shouted desperately. Vercetti hadn't had the time to pay much attention to what was going on around him. His attention was focused on the helicopters, the entire army of them that seemed to be regenerating out of nowhere. New crafts seemed to be materializing out of thin air. He was beginning to wonder when the supply was going to run out. He managed to pry his eyes away from his work at the sound of Mercedes's frightening plea.
"Jesus Christ," he exclaimed just as the Hunter copter above him unleashed a barrage of gunfire from its twin mounted machine guns. The pilot had taken the distraction of Vercetti's attention to his advantage. Big mistake. Vercetti let loose a rocket and it blew the Hunter into the deep recesses of Hell. The impact of the blast threw Vercetti back off the canopy. He smashed into the railing under Vince's mini-gun so hard that his breath left him. He coughed dryly and blinking blood away from his eyes.
Meanwhile, Vince lost his grasp on the railing and he and Mercedes plunged down the side of the boat at a break-neck speed, rushing toward the murky water with remarkable force. Vince knew they were both done for; they would be sucked under, suffocated, or the ship's engines would take them and destroy them. He closed his eyes, the inevitable helplessness taking him over. Just below him, Mercedes voiced her fear shrilly, obviously unwilling to accept her fate.
They hit the water hard, and it was shockingly cold. Vince didn't let it phase him. He began to swim as fast as he could in a haphazard, diagonal line to keep from being brought under the sway of the ship's massive, spinning propellers. He grabbed Mercedes, who was failing about and splashing water in all directions. She calmed slightly when she realized what he was trying to do. Vince tried to move away, but his strength was quickly fading. He cursed the weapons he carried. Lance had been right. They did weigh him down. He was about to give up when someone grabbed him by the collar, and he was hauled into a small, inflatable, but durable, patrol vehicle. Vince looked at the Coast Guard officers from where he lay on the floor of the boat through bleared vision. Oh well. Better busted than chopped into tiny pieces and scattered for fish food. With that though in mind, his world faded into blackness.
"Goddamn it! What the hell does it take to get some peace and quiet around here," Vercetti demanded loudly. He wasn't talking to anyone in particular. He was too busy sniping people with Vince's rifle to be bothered with any kind of human interaction. "What did I do to deserve this shit?"
The battle continued to rage for what seemed like hours stacked upon hours. Bullets flew and people fell. Blood of all types stained the deck and turned large patches of the ocean a deep scarlet. What remained of the Coast Guard boats smoldered, scattered about, releasing a dull hissing as fire fought with water. The yacht continued to move, it's inner workings clanking as it chugged along. By the time Vercetti and Cortez's men managed to persuade the law enforcers into retreating, the sun was peeking over the Vice City's skyline. The sky glowed a vibrant pink, the clouds shadowing in purple splendor. The sounds of the battle had faded, only to ring forever in the ears of the soldiers who heard them.
Vercetti was sitting with his back against the railing where he hand landed in the first place after he had fallen off the canopy. He sucked in great breaths, releasing them in shuddering gusts. Vince's sniper rifle was still clutched in his white-knuckled first. Ken Rosenberg approached him cautiously, not looking to get shot this early in the morning. He picked his way through narrow paths between bleeding bodies and bullet casings.
Vercetti raised the gun to defend himself without looking up to watch Rosenberg's advancement. The lawyer's eyes immediately widened and he dove for cover behind the canopy, honestly fearing Vercetti would pull the trigger. "Ah! Tommy, it's me, Ken! Sweet Jesus," he exclaimed. Vercetti lowered the gun and looked up, his eyes taking a split second to focus.
"Where the hell have you been," he asked, knowing full-well the answer. Rosenberg was never a stickler for guns. The machines scared the hell out of him, and Vercetti was aware of the fact.
"Ah, well you see, Tommy. You know how much I favor gun control and all. I-- "
Vercetti cut him off. "Never mind. That doesn't matter now." He used the railing to help him to his feet, and he allowed the sniper rifle to clatter to the ground. The sound shattered the silence of death around him like a gun shot in a cemetery. How ironic. Vercetti leaned back against the barrier once he had himself standing, not trusting himself to be steady enough to stand on his own. For a moment he looked pensive. "We have work to do," he announced. "Where's Lance?"
Rosenberg shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, Tommy. I haven't seen him since we got on the ship."
Vercetti's expression darkened, and for a moment, Rosenberg thought the anger was directed at him. He readied himself to jump back behind the canopy. Vercetti growled something under his breath and then pushed past the lawyer. "Come on, Ken; find Maria, and meet me on the bridge. It's time to end this."
***************************************************************
Shorter than my other chapters perhaps, but jam-packed with GTA goodness. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I have fun writing, although I have just proved myself inadequate in writing action sequences. I beg your forgiveness. Also, I wanted to point out that if would be much appreciated if people would review on individual chapters, so I can get a feel for what work needs to be done. Saying "good story" is fun and appreciated, but it doesn't tell me where I need to improve. Please! Give me a smaller area to fuss with. Thanks, I'll shut up now.
- Maverick Point
He glanced down as Lance Vance approached him, turning back to the sky and crossing his arms behind his head. He was stretched out on one of the deck chairs, the bright, twinkling stars soaring above on an endless canvas made of the black ink of midnight. He gave his guest a slight nod and then a questioning look, as if to say "what are you doing, and where the hell have you been?" Lance hadn't come into the cabin when Cortez showed them in. Instead, he had wandered off, and no one had seen him since. That seemed extremely suspicious to Vince, but no one else had noticed, or they appeared not to, and of course he wasn't about to say something about it.
"I was just about exploring the ship, man," Lance said, recognizing the question lingering behind Vince's dark eyes. He smiled to himself. It was interesting how he understood Tommy's younger brother now. He was beginning to see what Maria meant when she said if you hung around the guy for long enough, you learned to know. He was satisfied with that. He doubted a lot of people had known Vince for the period of time required to acquire the skill, and he felt blessed to be counted among the few.
He took a seat on the chair next to Vince, his eyes flickering up to see just what Vince was so interested in. He didn't see anything to his specific liking, so he looked back down, sizing the young man beside him up. "Good God man, you look like you're ready to start another World War over there," he grumbled, and it was completely true. Vince was armed to the teeth with pistols, various types of explosives, blades, and a sniper rifle, which was balanced across his lap. Under his chair rested a fully operational mini-gun, automatic and ready to go in for the kill. He had the extra strings of bullets in every pocket he had, from his cargo pants on up. The mini-gun could hold a good five hundred shells at a time, but Vince wasn't a man to be caught under prepared. "Doesn't all that stuff weigh you down?"
Vince looked at him for a long moment, as if he was trying to memorize his features. Then he shrugged.
"Yeah," Lance said with a small frown. "Somehow, I knew you were going to say that." There passed another few minutes of eerie, and rather uncomfortable silence between them. They weren't friends, nor was it suspected that they ever could be. While they appeared to be in the same business, their methods of execution were entirely too different to be considered a compliment to one another.
Quite suddenly, the loud, rattling sounds of bullet behind expelled from hot gun barrels with violent force filled the sky. The thumping blades of approaching helicopters accented the sound like a massive, chugging train behind a fireworks display. Revving motors and the blue and red sirens of Coast Guard patrol vehicles added to the cacophony until it was all that could be heard. More quickly than was appeared possible, Cortez's yacht was surrounded, bullet ricocheting of its crafted hull. Spotlights swept over the water and onto the boat's deck, washing the entire area with a painful white blaze. Both Vince and Lance were clearly started, but while Lance jumped, his body reacting first, Vince's mind jumped into gear, realizing that something was terribly wrong, that the yacht was under siege. Forcing himself to move with a speed that he didn't know he was capable of, he rolled sideways off the deck chair, pulled the mini-gun out and booked it to the upper levels. He knew that's where the action would take place. The top deck was wide and open, without an overhang for protection like the other floors had. Ignoring the fact that venturing up top would place him in more danger than he could ever imagine, he kept his pace, juggling the mini-gun and his sniper rifle. After a few seconds, without slowing down, Vince managed to sling the rifle over his shoulder by its strap and reposition the mini-gun.
He tore up the stairs, swinging the mini-gun up to allow him a better change of ascending the stairs without slowing. He muttered something about the "goddamned" heaviness of the gun very quietly under his breath. He reached the top of the staircase and brought the gun back down into a better carrying location, nearly pitching forward as the weight of the weapon pulled at his arms, aided by gravity. Out of breath and exhausted, he made for the main railing of the deck.
War had already broken, and it was astounding to Vince, considering how quickly he had managed to react. He faced the inevitable fact that speed was on the side of the law. They simply worked more rapidly than he could ever hope to. There were too many of them. Being outnumbered was starting to look like a fact of battle here. Vercetti was on top of the stretched cloth canopy that protected the stairs leading to the main control room. He was leaned back, like one relaxing in a hammock, with the scope on a rocket launcher pressed to his eye. He was taking down the circle helicopters, picking them off one by one. Spare rockets rested at his side.
Rosenberg was nowhere to be seen, and Vince figured it was safe to assume that the lawyer was cowering somewhere below decks. Vince hadn't really pegged the man as one to wield a gun with any type of accuracy, so he wasn't surprised. Cortez's hired sailors were aiding Vercetti in all the ways they saw possible, shooting law enforcers attempting to board the yacht from smaller boats, or from the helicopters. Maria and Mercedes were positioned on either side of the deck, firing below with high caliber handguns and occasionally dropping a grenade off. The boat rocked with the explosions triggered by both sides, and the hull groaned a deep protest. That made Vince increasingly nervous.
Something had to be done about the patrol units that had taken up motoring around the yacht like hungry lions looking for the long-awaited kill. Vince wrestled with his pocket, which didn't seem fond of the idea of letting go of the device that would allow the mini-gun to rotate on an axis. He pulled it free with an angry snarl and went about setting the gun up. That done, he began to fire on the vehicles in the water below. Boat engines began to explode under Vince's sway as he shot with deadly accuracy. Eliminating the threat as briskly, Vince turned and dropped to the floor. Sitting there, with his back against the four-bar railing, he readied his sniper rifle, looked through the scope, and began to fire upon helicopter pilots.
With Vince's assistance, Vercetti managed to remain unharmed while he attempted the reload his rocket launcher. Helicopter pilots were meeting a gruesome fate with each report from Vince's gun, and more than one of them tumbled out of their respective aircrafts and either into the water or onto the ship's deck. Vercetti allowed sweat to sting his eyes as he desperately tried to arm his weapon. Something wasn't working right, and it was jamming. He growled and shot a glance in Vince's direction.
The younger Vercetti wasn't fairing very well. Under fire from above, behind, and both sides, Vince struggled to maintain accurate aim, at the same time squirming around to avoid being capped in the ass. With each bullet that whizzed impossibly close to his head, he flinched, his hand trembling. Vercetti gritted his teeth and let out a whoosh of air in silent frustration.
"Goddamn it," he cried. "Did they send their entire fucking fleet after us?"
Vince didn't reply of course. He was too busy trying to get clear shots at the pilots so that the hovering helicopters would not get the impending chance to fire their missiles. That would be a great way to end his thirty years of life on this earth, being blown into oblivion by some asshole in a chopper, just because he was too stupid to aim. Vince shook his head. He'd be damned if he went out like that. He heard a loud grinding noise, as whatever was impeding Vercetti's rocket launcher fell loose. The weapon was ready to cause destruction again. Vince breathed a sigh of relief.
"Boats, Vince," Vercetti called, but his younger brother was already up and operating the mini-gun again, having hastily abandoned his sniper rifle. A few of the smaller boats met a fiery end, but Vince made a mistake then, too caught up in what he was endeavoring to do to notice the danger. One of the police drivers died in a mass of blood, his entire head exploding due to a bullet's influence. His boat remained unscathed, however, and with the weight of the dead captain on its controls, it careened out of control and hit the right side of the yacht's bow with dynamite results. The ship bucked violently, and Vince lost his already shaky balance. Before he could catch himself, he stumbled back and plummeted over the railing.
His hand caught the lowest bar of the railing before he fell into the watery abyss below, but he nearly lost the tenuous grip when Mercedes tumbled over the side and nearly took him with her. With a growl, he grabbed her wrist, and there they dangled, hoping and praying nothing drastic would occur. Unfortunately, they didn't have much of a chance. Under the rocking of the yacht and the hail of bullets from all directions, plus the added weight of Mercedes so compensate for, Vince's fragile hold on the bar began to slip.
"Tommy! Help," Mercedes shouted desperately. Vercetti hadn't had the time to pay much attention to what was going on around him. His attention was focused on the helicopters, the entire army of them that seemed to be regenerating out of nowhere. New crafts seemed to be materializing out of thin air. He was beginning to wonder when the supply was going to run out. He managed to pry his eyes away from his work at the sound of Mercedes's frightening plea.
"Jesus Christ," he exclaimed just as the Hunter copter above him unleashed a barrage of gunfire from its twin mounted machine guns. The pilot had taken the distraction of Vercetti's attention to his advantage. Big mistake. Vercetti let loose a rocket and it blew the Hunter into the deep recesses of Hell. The impact of the blast threw Vercetti back off the canopy. He smashed into the railing under Vince's mini-gun so hard that his breath left him. He coughed dryly and blinking blood away from his eyes.
Meanwhile, Vince lost his grasp on the railing and he and Mercedes plunged down the side of the boat at a break-neck speed, rushing toward the murky water with remarkable force. Vince knew they were both done for; they would be sucked under, suffocated, or the ship's engines would take them and destroy them. He closed his eyes, the inevitable helplessness taking him over. Just below him, Mercedes voiced her fear shrilly, obviously unwilling to accept her fate.
They hit the water hard, and it was shockingly cold. Vince didn't let it phase him. He began to swim as fast as he could in a haphazard, diagonal line to keep from being brought under the sway of the ship's massive, spinning propellers. He grabbed Mercedes, who was failing about and splashing water in all directions. She calmed slightly when she realized what he was trying to do. Vince tried to move away, but his strength was quickly fading. He cursed the weapons he carried. Lance had been right. They did weigh him down. He was about to give up when someone grabbed him by the collar, and he was hauled into a small, inflatable, but durable, patrol vehicle. Vince looked at the Coast Guard officers from where he lay on the floor of the boat through bleared vision. Oh well. Better busted than chopped into tiny pieces and scattered for fish food. With that though in mind, his world faded into blackness.
"Goddamn it! What the hell does it take to get some peace and quiet around here," Vercetti demanded loudly. He wasn't talking to anyone in particular. He was too busy sniping people with Vince's rifle to be bothered with any kind of human interaction. "What did I do to deserve this shit?"
The battle continued to rage for what seemed like hours stacked upon hours. Bullets flew and people fell. Blood of all types stained the deck and turned large patches of the ocean a deep scarlet. What remained of the Coast Guard boats smoldered, scattered about, releasing a dull hissing as fire fought with water. The yacht continued to move, it's inner workings clanking as it chugged along. By the time Vercetti and Cortez's men managed to persuade the law enforcers into retreating, the sun was peeking over the Vice City's skyline. The sky glowed a vibrant pink, the clouds shadowing in purple splendor. The sounds of the battle had faded, only to ring forever in the ears of the soldiers who heard them.
Vercetti was sitting with his back against the railing where he hand landed in the first place after he had fallen off the canopy. He sucked in great breaths, releasing them in shuddering gusts. Vince's sniper rifle was still clutched in his white-knuckled first. Ken Rosenberg approached him cautiously, not looking to get shot this early in the morning. He picked his way through narrow paths between bleeding bodies and bullet casings.
Vercetti raised the gun to defend himself without looking up to watch Rosenberg's advancement. The lawyer's eyes immediately widened and he dove for cover behind the canopy, honestly fearing Vercetti would pull the trigger. "Ah! Tommy, it's me, Ken! Sweet Jesus," he exclaimed. Vercetti lowered the gun and looked up, his eyes taking a split second to focus.
"Where the hell have you been," he asked, knowing full-well the answer. Rosenberg was never a stickler for guns. The machines scared the hell out of him, and Vercetti was aware of the fact.
"Ah, well you see, Tommy. You know how much I favor gun control and all. I-- "
Vercetti cut him off. "Never mind. That doesn't matter now." He used the railing to help him to his feet, and he allowed the sniper rifle to clatter to the ground. The sound shattered the silence of death around him like a gun shot in a cemetery. How ironic. Vercetti leaned back against the barrier once he had himself standing, not trusting himself to be steady enough to stand on his own. For a moment he looked pensive. "We have work to do," he announced. "Where's Lance?"
Rosenberg shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, Tommy. I haven't seen him since we got on the ship."
Vercetti's expression darkened, and for a moment, Rosenberg thought the anger was directed at him. He readied himself to jump back behind the canopy. Vercetti growled something under his breath and then pushed past the lawyer. "Come on, Ken; find Maria, and meet me on the bridge. It's time to end this."
***************************************************************
Shorter than my other chapters perhaps, but jam-packed with GTA goodness. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I have fun writing, although I have just proved myself inadequate in writing action sequences. I beg your forgiveness. Also, I wanted to point out that if would be much appreciated if people would review on individual chapters, so I can get a feel for what work needs to be done. Saying "good story" is fun and appreciated, but it doesn't tell me where I need to improve. Please! Give me a smaller area to fuss with. Thanks, I'll shut up now.
- Maverick Point