TRENT:
Aftermath:
Trent jumps into the parked Diablo Stallion, as four bullets puncture the exterior dangerously close to him. Suddenly the right side of his face is struck hard. He drops his gun on the floor. The pain is followed quickly by a throbbing sensation, then slowly by numbness.
He had failed to spot the Diablo in the driver's seat possibly waiting for someone. The man had a swing on him as hard as a wrecking ball and he continued to frantically deliver blows to Trent's head, neck, and back.
Trent leans forward to pick up his gun, but to no avail. Again, he's struck dead on in the face, as the car rolls away uncontrollably. He tries several times to pick up the gun each time he is struck harder.
Shooting starts outside, Trent can only wonder if 8-ball made it. A man slams savagely into the right side of the car blanketing the windsheild in blood, it's totally unexpected and Trent seizes the opportunity.
He leans towards the Diablo and violently swings his fist slamming closed fingers directly on the man's nose, it shatters. The frenzied Diablo is shocked beyond belief, and scared to death, as seemingly endless amounts of blood spew from his nostril with every panic breathe.
Trent jumps at the floor of the car and yanks up the pistol, then points it point blank at the Diablos face. Trent screams. "I swear I'm going to blow your head off motherfucker!"
The Diablo screams and grabs Trent's wrist jamming it inbetween the front windshield and the dashboard. The gun goes off several times. The Diablo reaches inside his belt buckle and pulls out a Colt Python. The Diablo screams something in spanish then points the gun at Trents face.
Trent unexpectedly reacts very little to the gun itself, instead he stares out the window and slowly lowers himself in his seat. He'd spotted 8- ball with a Desert Eagle in his hands outside. The Diablo looks through the winshield quickly to see what's wrong. As he does bullets slash the car open, sending tiny pieces of glass and metal flying everywere.
One bullet sends the final web-like pattern through the left windshield as the car drives past 8-ball. This final bullet slams into the Diablos forehead right above his left eyebrow and out the back of his head.
Trent rises from his crouched position and realizes he doesn't have enough time to throw the Diablo out. He gets back into a new laying position, his feet on the left door, his head on the right, and he begins to pray for his life. He heads right for a black Mafia Sentinal, the Sentinal barely makes it past him unscathed.
The Diablo Stallions soars through a glass display case, then it's struck at full speed by another Diablo stallion. The two collisions combined caused Trent to fly to his right from his laying position and his head and shoulder slams into the dashboard. His shoulder dislocates, and as he feels the world fade away from him laying quitley, his head painfully swelling. He begins to loose the pain, and the world around him, the darkness takes him.
"Trent! TRENT!"
His eyes open and the world is clear again, "8-ball? That you?" his words are meant to be screams, but they come as only whispers. He looks to his left and spots a metalic shotgun wedged between the two seats of the Diablo Stallion.
He groggily lifts himself up onto the seat and grabs the gun from behind the seats and puts his back to the door. He finds the energy to reach behind himself with his left hand and opens the door. He falls out onto the ice cold asphalt on rocky chunks of car glass. He has no more energy in him, the shotgun is on his arm with the dislocated shoulder, if anyone wanted to kill him he'd be a dead man.
He stares up at the gray skies of Liberty as heavy but refreshing raindrops fall on his face. Rain it seemed, was something to be respected. A dark figure appears overhead and he squeezes the trigger out of fear, to his surprise it goes of and the figure is blasted out of view.
Trent uses his overcoat sleeve and wipes the traces of blood off his face then manages to get the energy to roll around. He spots the man he'd shot, it was another armed Diablo. He just shot a Diablo in the middle of a crowded street only yards away from a Police Station.
'I'm fucked!' he thinks to himself getting to his feet.
He walks towards his Stallion, surveying the area, he spots another Diablo across from him on the other side of the car, next to the second Stallion. He doesn't have the strength to lift his right arm, from what he knows, but he'd do anything he could to survive. He gets ready, hiding on the right side of the car by the wheel. He jumps up and is ready to fire a round into the Diablo when several shots ring out in that direction.
Horrified he quickly snaps himself back into the crouching position. Then he slowly lifts his head. The Diablo is gone replaced by Twenty or so Triads, staring at a bloody corpse.
He grabs the money out of the Stallion then looks around for 8-ball. 'Maybe it was just my imagination,' he thinks to himself.
He takes one final look at the Triads, hiding his shotgun below the car, the Triads do nothing and he limps away with his money.
Aftermath:
Trent jumps into the parked Diablo Stallion, as four bullets puncture the exterior dangerously close to him. Suddenly the right side of his face is struck hard. He drops his gun on the floor. The pain is followed quickly by a throbbing sensation, then slowly by numbness.
He had failed to spot the Diablo in the driver's seat possibly waiting for someone. The man had a swing on him as hard as a wrecking ball and he continued to frantically deliver blows to Trent's head, neck, and back.
Trent leans forward to pick up his gun, but to no avail. Again, he's struck dead on in the face, as the car rolls away uncontrollably. He tries several times to pick up the gun each time he is struck harder.
Shooting starts outside, Trent can only wonder if 8-ball made it. A man slams savagely into the right side of the car blanketing the windsheild in blood, it's totally unexpected and Trent seizes the opportunity.
He leans towards the Diablo and violently swings his fist slamming closed fingers directly on the man's nose, it shatters. The frenzied Diablo is shocked beyond belief, and scared to death, as seemingly endless amounts of blood spew from his nostril with every panic breathe.
Trent jumps at the floor of the car and yanks up the pistol, then points it point blank at the Diablos face. Trent screams. "I swear I'm going to blow your head off motherfucker!"
The Diablo screams and grabs Trent's wrist jamming it inbetween the front windshield and the dashboard. The gun goes off several times. The Diablo reaches inside his belt buckle and pulls out a Colt Python. The Diablo screams something in spanish then points the gun at Trents face.
Trent unexpectedly reacts very little to the gun itself, instead he stares out the window and slowly lowers himself in his seat. He'd spotted 8- ball with a Desert Eagle in his hands outside. The Diablo looks through the winshield quickly to see what's wrong. As he does bullets slash the car open, sending tiny pieces of glass and metal flying everywere.
One bullet sends the final web-like pattern through the left windshield as the car drives past 8-ball. This final bullet slams into the Diablos forehead right above his left eyebrow and out the back of his head.
Trent rises from his crouched position and realizes he doesn't have enough time to throw the Diablo out. He gets back into a new laying position, his feet on the left door, his head on the right, and he begins to pray for his life. He heads right for a black Mafia Sentinal, the Sentinal barely makes it past him unscathed.
The Diablo Stallions soars through a glass display case, then it's struck at full speed by another Diablo stallion. The two collisions combined caused Trent to fly to his right from his laying position and his head and shoulder slams into the dashboard. His shoulder dislocates, and as he feels the world fade away from him laying quitley, his head painfully swelling. He begins to loose the pain, and the world around him, the darkness takes him.
"Trent! TRENT!"
His eyes open and the world is clear again, "8-ball? That you?" his words are meant to be screams, but they come as only whispers. He looks to his left and spots a metalic shotgun wedged between the two seats of the Diablo Stallion.
He groggily lifts himself up onto the seat and grabs the gun from behind the seats and puts his back to the door. He finds the energy to reach behind himself with his left hand and opens the door. He falls out onto the ice cold asphalt on rocky chunks of car glass. He has no more energy in him, the shotgun is on his arm with the dislocated shoulder, if anyone wanted to kill him he'd be a dead man.
He stares up at the gray skies of Liberty as heavy but refreshing raindrops fall on his face. Rain it seemed, was something to be respected. A dark figure appears overhead and he squeezes the trigger out of fear, to his surprise it goes of and the figure is blasted out of view.
Trent uses his overcoat sleeve and wipes the traces of blood off his face then manages to get the energy to roll around. He spots the man he'd shot, it was another armed Diablo. He just shot a Diablo in the middle of a crowded street only yards away from a Police Station.
'I'm fucked!' he thinks to himself getting to his feet.
He walks towards his Stallion, surveying the area, he spots another Diablo across from him on the other side of the car, next to the second Stallion. He doesn't have the strength to lift his right arm, from what he knows, but he'd do anything he could to survive. He gets ready, hiding on the right side of the car by the wheel. He jumps up and is ready to fire a round into the Diablo when several shots ring out in that direction.
Horrified he quickly snaps himself back into the crouching position. Then he slowly lifts his head. The Diablo is gone replaced by Twenty or so Triads, staring at a bloody corpse.
He grabs the money out of the Stallion then looks around for 8-ball. 'Maybe it was just my imagination,' he thinks to himself.
He takes one final look at the Triads, hiding his shotgun below the car, the Triads do nothing and he limps away with his money.