Motor Crazycycle [3/4]
anonymous
March 2 2010, 20:05:02 UTC
As the truck’s driver panicked, and hit the brakes, sending the truck into a spin that exposed it’s left side, just up ahead on an overpass, another figure was priming their own gun, a sniper rifle this time, and taking very careful aim. Waiting patiently, the sniper focused on their target, calculating exactly where they would need to fire to result in the best carnage. Eyes trained perfectly, hand was steady, breathing was even; the shot was perfect. Locking the crosshairs on the right spot, the sniper took a deep, deep breath, and pulled the trigger.
At first, nothing. Time still seemed to be slowed, and the ringing of the gun snapped through the area like thunder. Then the impact, and the exposed truck’s gas tank was pierced, sending the fluid cascading out onto the highway behind it. The sniper cocked the rifle again, and another shot rang out, instantly deflating a tire, and causing the rim to spark violently against the ground as the rubber was viciously ripped away under the sideways slide.
The gas ignited, and the chain reaction caused the truck to explode in a fireball.
The rider soared past the carnage, guns re-holstered lightning fast, and hands once again on the handlebars. The sniper slung the gun over his shoulder, and dropped off the overpass just as the rider flew underneath him. As he landed heavily on the back seat, the bike got a bit squirrelly, but the rider expertly got it back under control again, and the two raced off after the next truck. The sniper’s shoulder-length hair, the colour of ripe wheat, whipped around his face as he took careful aim with his weapon, and the rider pulled his own gun as they came up beside the truck. Another shot from the handgun sent these barrels rolling as well, and a few more rounds took out the passengers and driver. As they flew past the truck, the sniper finished it off with a few more well-placed shots. The resulting explosion didn’t even phase the two men on the bike, but alerted the lead truck to them.
The truck weaved side to side, trying to shake the rider, but he remained stuck to the truck’s back bumper, that same grin still plastered on his face. The sniper seemed stoic, but he was calculating a shot very carefully, even amongst all the movement. The truck driver felt a bead of sweat roll down his cheek as he glanced in the rear-view mirror. Not only had he lost the other two vehicles, and all of the men in them, but now most of their cargo was gone. These two young men had taken them out effortlessly, as if the whole experience was a breeze. The gunmen sitting beside the driver kept their eyes on the bike, looking for an opening to shoot.
The sniper fired, and the last of the water barrels rolled to safety behind them. Slinging the gun back over his shoulder, the sniper nodded to the rider, who cranked the throttle, and roared past the truck, much to the driver’s amazement. He rode quickly, putting quite a bit of distance between the bike and the truck, and the driver stuck his head out of the window as if he thought the rider was mad. But the sniper, who was sitting backwards on the rear seat, kept staring at the truck with his amethyst eyes, piercing and quiet. The driver pulled his head back inside the truck, and the gunmen beside him exchanged puzzled looks. The truck picked up some more speed to catch the bike, for no one messes with their band of sand pirates and gets away with it. Especially not a couple of greasy little teenagers on an old motorcycle. The gunmen reloaded their guns loudly, and the driver shifted it into a higher gear, working the truck’s stick shift like an extension of himself. The chase went on for quite a while, the bike staying ahead of the truck, and the gunmen taking turns firing out of the passenger side window at the two teens. The sniper never even seemed to bother trying to return fire, and the rider seemed focused on driving, which only annoyed the gunmen more as they wondered just what the fuck the two were up to. Suddenly, it happened.
At first, nothing. Time still seemed to be slowed, and the ringing of the gun snapped through the area like thunder. Then the impact, and the exposed truck’s gas tank was pierced, sending the fluid cascading out onto the highway behind it. The sniper cocked the rifle again, and another shot rang out, instantly deflating a tire, and causing the rim to spark violently against the ground as the rubber was viciously ripped away under the sideways slide.
The gas ignited, and the chain reaction caused the truck to explode in a fireball.
The rider soared past the carnage, guns re-holstered lightning fast, and hands once again on the handlebars. The sniper slung the gun over his shoulder, and dropped off the overpass just as the rider flew underneath him. As he landed heavily on the back seat, the bike got a bit squirrelly, but the rider expertly got it back under control again, and the two raced off after the next truck. The sniper’s shoulder-length hair, the colour of ripe wheat, whipped around his face as he took careful aim with his weapon, and the rider pulled his own gun as they came up beside the truck. Another shot from the handgun sent these barrels rolling as well, and a few more rounds took out the passengers and driver. As they flew past the truck, the sniper finished it off with a few more well-placed shots. The resulting explosion didn’t even phase the two men on the bike, but alerted the lead truck to them.
The truck weaved side to side, trying to shake the rider, but he remained stuck to the truck’s back bumper, that same grin still plastered on his face. The sniper seemed stoic, but he was calculating a shot very carefully, even amongst all the movement. The truck driver felt a bead of sweat roll down his cheek as he glanced in the rear-view mirror. Not only had he lost the other two vehicles, and all of the men in them, but now most of their cargo was gone. These two young men had taken them out effortlessly, as if the whole experience was a breeze. The gunmen sitting beside the driver kept their eyes on the bike, looking for an opening to shoot.
The sniper fired, and the last of the water barrels rolled to safety behind them. Slinging the gun back over his shoulder, the sniper nodded to the rider, who cranked the throttle, and roared past the truck, much to the driver’s amazement. He rode quickly, putting quite a bit of distance between the bike and the truck, and the driver stuck his head out of the window as if he thought the rider was mad. But the sniper, who was sitting backwards on the rear seat, kept staring at the truck with his amethyst eyes, piercing and quiet. The driver pulled his head back inside the truck, and the gunmen beside him exchanged puzzled looks. The truck picked up some more speed to catch the bike, for no one messes with their band of sand pirates and gets away with it. Especially not a couple of greasy little teenagers on an old motorcycle. The gunmen reloaded their guns loudly, and the driver shifted it into a higher gear, working the truck’s stick shift like an extension of himself. The chase went on for quite a while, the bike staying ahead of the truck, and the gunmen taking turns firing out of the passenger side window at the two teens. The sniper never even seemed to bother trying to return fire, and the rider seemed focused on driving, which only annoyed the gunmen more as they wondered just what the fuck the two were up to. Suddenly, it happened.
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