Stop highlighting it, she's self-conscious!
The Force-(CV22) Meta Humans Crime Unit: v3.0
@assassinatrix: @special_agent_crews: @cutthroatbitch: @evander_slade: @earnest_marks: @agent_sarah_castillo:
Ayo had not let the recent condemnation in regards to his character sway his unshakable confidence and narcissistic tendencies. Taking it, as well as the call to sudden arms, in stylistic stride and introverted nonchalance. In no visible hurry to prove or disprove his current commanding officer wrong. After all, you put the cookie jar on the floor with the lid open and of course an outlaw is gonna make a run at it. An amusing but ultimately passing thought as he soon found himself staring at the stations refurbished Key-locker. "Yofatboi!" Sardonically summoning Danny despite his recent task of interrogating the laser wielding suspect.
"Got anything 'not' holding 4 to the floor?" His eyes never drifted from the rack of keys. But his lips did begin to curl as he spotted the diamond in the rough. "Forget'it bubbles. I found some'n." Unapologetically dismissing the overweight team mascot. Smooth as silk the brash outlaw slipped into his traditional kahki lightweight nylon men's moto jacket with integrated Aethrium kevlar. Beneath its designer veil the jacket hide a plethora of small hand held explosives, firearms and knives. Each one housed in its own rigging or harnessed holster, pouch, or strap. "Hold down the fort double d" the now masked Ayo sniped in reference to the chubby officer's unmistakable set of man-tits. Fabricating a meme'd pistol with his thumb and fingers, pointed directly at the unknown suspect whom Ayo had assumed was a meta-human criminal, deserving of such mocked castration.
Minutes later the seductive ignition of a Testastretta DVT 1262 engine echoed throughout the motorcade. Seconds after that and the red-helmet, jacket wearing outlaw exploded out from beneath the parking garage out into the streets at an already accelerated rate. 5000 rpm and a twin-cylinder engine reaching maximum torque equal to 13.1 kg in the blink of an eye. "Dispatch." he called out into his mask's closed channel communicator. "This is Ghostshell. I'm in route." Almost instantly the department's rapid response dispatch had patched the runaway Fire truck's prior and current position based off traffic cams, eye witness reports, and a myriad of other nuanced micro-algorithms. Using a computer generated layout and inserting it into a HUD display for the red rogue to track.
It didnt take long before the Last Republican was upon the out of control target.His instincts were to grab his gun, the one with the live rounds naturally, and rain down an ungodly barrage of human justice with America's number one cause of death. However the unexpected sight of an enormous woman clinched to the outer shell of the truck was not only puzzling, but slightly amusing. Causing even the quick-drawing renegade to pause. "Anyone listening? Come in.....I got eyes on the truck. Looks like it picked up a passenger. Goddamn NFL linebacker best I can tell......"
@the_ghostshell: Insert middle finger gif and strong language including f-bombs here.
@evander_slade: Speaking of...
the overweight team mascot
@cutthroatbitch said:
Build me a super vehicle, por favor.
@assassinatrix: @special_agent_crews: @cutthroatbitch: @evander_slade: @earnest_marks: @agent_sarah_castillo:
Gideon remained motionless as his phone continued to go off during the eval. Eventually, he reached over and answered it while fully acknowledging the evil glare his shrink was giving him. He was silent for a few seconds before responding to unintelligible voice from the other end. "Alright, I'll let her know." He sat his phone down on the table and looked into his shrink's eyes. "We got a situation. Slade made the call. I'm in."Gideon stood to his feet, grabbed his cell and opened the door. "If that doesn't sit well with you, then I'd take if up with him." He shut the door behind him and made a beeline to the cage to get his custom gear.
Gideon suited up in a standard black tactical suit, complete with the standard kevlar vest, his sidearm of choice, and his rifle. "If I survive this op, I need to see if I can get some better gear." He wished he still has access to the custom rounds affectionately known as "Cape killers" on the street. Gideon procured a few boxes while working undercover as gun runner. He never figured out the point of origin for these highly explosive shells. At the time, he just assumed that they were experimental rounds cooked up by Maverick that somehow found it's way on the street. A lot of gangs made bids for'em like crazy at first. In time, the gangs realized the rounds were problematic in most conventional firearms. Continuous use would often times lead to your guns jamming, and possibly exploding a few seconds later. The standard guns just couldn't deal. Still, they were called Cape Killers for a reason.
Gideon jumped into one of the vehicles that was on route. The group he was with seemed to be The Force's equivalent of a Swat Team. He breathed in and out and leaned his head against the inside of the rocking vehicle. "This your first response?" He looked over to the left and saw a young officer all decked out in gear similar to his. "No."He wasn't lying, Gideon rode out on ops like this at previous stations. "It's mine. The call that came through said she left her victims in pieces." Gideon merely shrugged, "That's Intel for ya. Just keep your head down. You'll be alright." The rookie placed his hand on Gideon's shoulder. "What if our guns have no effect?" "Well, I'd aim for her eyes anyways. At least try to blind her, or piss her off long enough for her to make a mistake. Everyone's got a weakness, it's just a matter of figuring it out and exploiting it. Besides, I'm sure we got something, or someone in one of these vehicles that can setter her ass down." Gideon was probably lying to the rookie. But the situation was what it was. "If worst comes to worst, run like hell." Gideon flashed a smirk as he slipped on a generic black balaclava over his face and readied himself.
@_grifter_: @closure: @special_agent_crews: @assassinatrix: @cutthroatbitch: @agent_sarah_castillo: @evander_slade: @the_ghostshell:
Atop the building, his curly toed shoes on the rooftop's edge, the Connoisseur cast his gaze below, his eyes thickly rimmed in black, unblinking as he waited for the passage of Kaede's truck. Explosive containers of 5-MeO-DMT, a powerful psychoactive agent, hid in every street corner and by the sides of buildings. And their remote detonator? In the Connoisseur's firm grasp as he stood silent, the air around him misting, and the atmosphere darkening and growing gloomy as though all sources of light had given way to airborne dread. His presence, it stretched across buildings, blanketing them and leeching off the positive emotions of those within them until they became no more than emotionally inert husks.
Cruel that he dried the emotional reserves of others and wore a sloppy red grin, one painted over a Glasgow smile that stretched from his mouth to his ears. Soon his ears perked, the distant sound of a speeding truck drawing his gaze to Kaede as she carved a path of destruction in her wake. He sense her, her emotional faculties, oh how she enjoyed the mayhem she wrought. Holding his features in earnest as he caught sight of the 21st century Amazon clinging to the side of a truck. Bringing his mobile radio to his lips, he alerted Kaede, rasping in his characteristic deadpan, "You know, if you want my personal opinion.. you don't seem to be having as much fun as the big b*tch hanging from the side of your truck". Instructing her to slip her gas mask on, the Connoisseur's thumb pressed down hard on the remote detonator and in street corner after street corner, there were chains of explosions, each one blasting copious amounts of gaseous 5-MeO-DMT into the air until clouds and a visible haze of the psychoactive agent hung thick in the atmosphere.
The gas'd seep in through the ventilation systems of his enemies' vehicles, and if breathed in, warp their worlds with shifts in perspective, psychoactive visuals, and the sensation of being sat on by an elephant. It'd heckle their brain chemistry and lure them into spending hours barely conscious and wondering "Why?" at the whims of the universe, all while the sky folds into itself and a light bulb explains the virtues of a good education. It would deal no direct harm to his foes, but to those it afflicted, 5-MeO-DMT would fling them into an incredibly vulnerable state, long enough for the Connoisseur to send his message. His legs extended at the joints, the sound of creaking wood echoing as he stretched his legs, extending them as he stepped into the streets below. Returning to his usual length, the Connoisseur strode onto the road, stopping firm in it's middle, and waiting for the arrival of the Force.
@assassinatrix: @_grifter_: @closure: @connoisseur: @cutthroatbitch: @evander_slade: @agent_sarah_castillo: @earnest_marks: @special_agent_crews:
"Pull back Agent Hawkins. We have specialists in route and your squad needs time to cordon off the intersecting areas. Insuring the safety of the immediate public is paramount. We need to deescalate the situation, not turn it into a scene straight out of Gothic City. Do not engage, repeat, do...not...engage." But the Motor City Militant pressed his perceived advantage in flamboyant fashion instead.
Dismissing the authoritative radio-transmission, wrenching on the throttle; producing a 'stubby-double barrel' blast of exhaust, he was shotgunned forward into a position which allow for an acrobatic insertion in through the passenger side window. Or rather......would have..........
KABOOOOM! BOOOMBOOMBOOOOOmmmmm
A shattering series of shockwaves had instantly conspired to form a catastrophic symphony of psychoactive chaos. The concussive force aerially lurched the stolen vehicle enough to offset its initial road-based trajectory. And in concert with the instant shower of debris, smoke and clutter, the unexpected eruption dramatically wiped the deviant Force recruit out. Sending his bike skipping down the street in a bath of flammable sparks before exploding and sliding to a stop. Ayo, having been ejected at least a block or so back, remind motionless for what seemed like forever. Eventually low groans and maneuverability began to premiere his relative health, but the mysterious and unknown Connoisseur had enacted the secondary tier of his plan. Unleashing his villainous cocktail of 5-MeO-DMT, once again showcasing his ability to remain one-step ahead of the newly formed team.
"This is Agent Hawlins." he grunted. Sending out a desperate communcay through his trademark helmet, completely unaware of its unintentional protection against the in-coming cloud of toxic psycho-trope rolling down the city streets. "They're multiple players out here. We're gonna need the CDC, or our version of it anyway."Pausing to perform a visual biopsy, taking note as citizens slowly began to succumb to the clouds dreadful affects. "Someone let off a chemical agent out here, its in the air, its.....*&^$, its everywhere...this wasn't some random killing spree, this shit is premeditated." Again he paused, but this time for different reasons entirely. "Step back man, I aint gonna tell you again." Ayo warned.
Rolling backwards into a tactical crouch while simultaneously drawing and spinning one of two Heckler and Koch Mk23 SOCOM .45's into an aimed position. For from just beyond the thin overcast veil of 5-MeO-DMT the slumbering silhouettes of the intoxicated descended upon the Ghostshell's position. Their empty eyes telling the tragic tail of how a criminal clown's chemical carnival had infected their cerebral functions like a psychotropic cancer. And turning them into mindless authors of violent conscription.The Ghostshell's gloved finger slowly began to apply pressure to the highly sensitive trigger, "Dont make me does this......"
@eerybody
"Martinez and Watkins, Coordinate with the basics and set up car barricades four blocks squared from where the suspect is now. We won't stop the truck, but we might slow it down. " Evander says slamming a magazine into his pistol and holstering it, turning for the front door but spotting Maddox Junior Newcastle (@closure) the former Force detective with a checkered past turned CEO interesting in a meeting and stops dead, turning on one heel and leaning over the front desk, "I'm not here."
Bolting down to the garage he hops in light skinned tank of a squad car and kicks up gravel in his wake and burning out and down the city streets. "Auto mode, limited."
*Engaged, wheel only*
This was some bullshit. Not two days into the job and already he had a city level threat on his hands. No wonder the people of this city were so open to a special unit. But why here and now? Why this level of mayhem, what's the gain? Or is this woman just a lunatic on a joy ride? All these questions and more pop in and out of his mind as the Chief slides on his white taloned gloves and fixes a full faced mask with two small points near the hook of the back of his head onto his face. Pressing just beside his eyes two white lens slide down and turn the world amber.
The questions had to fall back to the wayline. Evander had the mind of a detective but the heart of a soldier and it was beating with the blood of a warrior when spotted Ayo riding Crews's motorcycle in pursuit of the engine.
Squinting to engage the enhancing feature of his masks thin circuitry Evander picks up his walkie, "Switch to auto-full, ignition and brake inclusion"He says before clincing the button on the walkie "- Copy Hawkins I'm on your six. (@the_ghostshell) Check you're fire that Amazon is on our side. Moving in."
The bulletproof window on his door opens at a hinge for the exact purpose of easy climbing out and in for escape and access. His body slides out with an acrobatic dexterity like a gymnast on rings, his body never touches the edges of the window. Flipping to the roof he flicks his fists out and his finger becomes pointed and curved. He bends down on one knee, gauging his trajectory. The fire engine was wild. He needed to time it precisely...
...
The engine hops the curve and swerves back into the main road
NOW
“Chief, it’s a trap! IT’S A TR---” @detective_whitakeryells into the channel now patched to hsi mask's earpiece.
But it was too late. The chief was already airborne and focused on his landing and descent. Breaking concentration meant breaking his neck. He wasn't about that death.
He only lands for a second before the truck overturns and sends him flying into the air.
He lands on another vehicle with The Force Logo on the roof, peering inside upside down to see Detective Gideon with a bullet sweating rookie. Gideon's face is almost like he saw a blimp in the sky, an 'oh, hm,that's different,' kind of expression. That's a tried and true soldier right there.
As if the scene wasn't already out of control he gets a radio in from Crews, "-Whitaker's down. Me and Castillo are trying to bring him back. A series of explosion rip through the city releasing some sort of gas; the civilian populace had reacted negatively towards it. How should we proceed."
Gas? " Copy!" He had no time to acknowledge that Whitaker was down. Clicking the side of his ear twice he opens a full channel to all units, "Gas masks on! Repeat masks on! Hawkins, check on the andrea the giant (@cutthroatbitch) and see if she's alright, then apprehend the suspect. Do NOT kill her we need answers!" It was too late for most of the units, the cars all flying headlong into a vapor of green mist, but if this was some type of bio bomb it could kill everyone. If a few lives were saved it'd be something, at the least. Luckily his mask came with a filtration system sewn into it or he'd b tossed off the roof like a limp rag doll. The cruiser turns a corner. Time slows to a crawl. Evander on the roof, a man in green and purple, hunched over and smiling, smug and assured of himself, in the middle of the road that had been cordoned off. Nobody else in the area, save for this one, pale-faced man with eyes like a shark. Lifeless and hungry
Evander smacks the roof twice giving the signal to stop the vehicle. Hopping off he looks into the cab to see if Gideon and his rookie partner were alright. He couldn't really make them out through the fog of the gas.
Turning back to the man in the road he starts power walking towards him, his hand on his pistol with the safety off and the holster unbound "YOU! Put your hands behind your head and get on the ground!" @connoisseur
@assassinatrix: @_grifter_: @closure: @connoisseur: @evander_slade: @agent_sarah_castillo: @earnest_marks: @special_agent_crews: @the_ghostshell: @AnybodyIMissed
Unlatching her holster, Nastya raised the custom-made sem-auto dubbed "Marshall" to the side window of the fire engine. Slowed as she was from the impact she still recovered fairly quickly, and hardly any time later several gunshot reports echoed. Yet it was only by her incredibly enhanced and precise hearing that she was able to distinguish them from the sound of several explosions drowning out the firearm. Explosions which rocked the fire engine along with the earth itself. The truck swerved and skidded but somehow the driver was able to maintain a semblance of what passed for control.
Nastya's foothold loosened and her back slammed once more against the side of the vehicle, feet dangling inches above the speeding ground, but she held on. By the time she gained control of her momentum enough to swing back into position, before her consciousness had even become alert her eyes had already started to register minute differences in the atmosphere surrounding them.
"Shit, this is a set-up! Aeon..."
{I have already analysed the atmospheric composition for properties. By now you should be perceiving the information through your own eyes.}
True to its word, the A.I. had already sorted the information even before it'd spoken. But seeing a thing coming and being able to do something about it are often world's apart. Nastya had no protective mask available.
"What can I do?"
{Simple. Brace for it and let the superior engineering of your body handle the rest.}
The following sensation could perhaps best be described as a bad experience with Zadkhiau. Her world shattered into white light, as did her body. Whatever happened next, she was barely conscious enough to perceive as the immortal atheist lost herself in an inexplicable experience of faded spirituality.
"F-...F-....Uuuunngnnnghh!"
{Catalogue of Trauma:
-Full-body collision with asphalt resulting in severe concussion and acute fractures in skull and collarbone...
-Fully loaded fire engine impacts resulting in near-full compression between asphalt, 27215.542 kilograms of steel and 6803.886 of other materials. Multiple rib fractures (3, 4, 5) piercing both lungs at various angles and complete severance of spine at L3 vertebra resulting in temporary paraplegia...
-Recurrent fracture of left knee, left shoulder, ruptured bicep tendons...
Results:
-Distributive shock from multiple rapid trauma; respiratory collapse due to impaired lung function and inadequate perfusion. Subject previously unresponsive, regaining consciousness.
-Kinetic energy of multiple impacts reinforcing trion in hands and feet.}
The mercy of the affecting drugs dulling sensation was short-lived. Although susceptible to their influence her body still filtered the toxins through her system faster than usual. She regained consciousness attempting to scream out, managing but a pathetic, drawn-out groan and several shallow breaths.
“Nnnhh…” She groaned.
Two shallow breaths filtered through her nose.
“Hnnhh…”
Two more. She growled. And then she began crawling. Pulling herself along the ground with her one good arm. Blood red filled the sclera of both eyes. Her body lay drenched in blood. It poured down her head and covered the entirety of her face. Seeped through her clothes and dripped through the small openings in her armour. She looked and moved like something out of a zombie movie and her mind was only just as sharp.
“Nnghhrrts…”
Through some distant quality and the rush of madness her eyes fixed upon the gun-toting assailant several yards away. Her upper left side began piecing itself together and soon she was crawling on both arms. The wounds all over her wrecked body began to close up. Her spine healed and feeling returned to her legs, awakening her to even more pain.
“Nnnhuuurts!”
She pounded her fist into the ground and bounded onto her knee, body broken and just barely beginning to hold itself together. Exploding into a sprint at a full ninety miles per hour, she would cross the distance in less than two seconds. Seeking, once she did, to floor the object of her ire with an unrestrained punch registering over 4,000 PSI—and to continue battering her with all of her savage Amazonian might until she was somehow no longer physically capable.
@cutthroatbitch: @evander_slade: @closure: @special_agent_crews: @detective_whitaker: @assassinatrix: @the_ghostshell:
There was a silence in the air, one that hung as thick as the psychoactive haze that'd taken the city hostage. Keeping his shoulders bowed and his back somewhat hunched, the Connoisseur's gaze pierced through the psychedelic mist, his unblinking eyes like endless dark tunnels as they held the veteran officer's silhouette in view. Motionless, and his pale features devoid of emotion, the Stranger's presence, the effect of his very existence, began to seep out his pores, darkening the atmosphere and making it grow cold. Frost steadily covered the walls of buildings around them, and the air misted when they breathed. And those around him would be forced to experience a haunting and all too traumatic sensation as his presence threatened to feed off of them.
Threatened to sap their emotional selves dry of their positive emotions. The officer whose hand reached for his pistol and commanded that he submit to a man-made law would feel depression probing at the borders of his being. The Connoisseur's presence thickened, casting an overwhelming sensation of dread and hopelessness that did it's damnest to break the officer's will, to bend his sanity, contort his emotions with dread and latch onto his psyche, to mangle it, to make him feel as though he will never know or feel joy and cheer again, to break him and leave a catatonic emotionally inept husk in it's wake. "Hrm.. you're one hell of a cop aren't you?", the Connoisseur rasped, his tone serious and monotone, his expression static, "Staring down the barrel of a gun and spewing that officer of the law bullsh*t.., and you're not even high out of your mind", he paused, "Unlike everyone else", the Connoisseur commended mockingly.
"Well, you're definitely on the ball today, guy. If you were a dog, I'd scratch your belly. And I don't think a "well done" will suffice. So I'm going to kill you, and record it so I can fall asleep to it every night", he deadpanned. Extending his arm, the sound of creaking of wood echoing as it extended from every joint, growing abnormally long until his palm covered the mouth of the officer's pistol, the Stranger goaded, "Go on. Shoot. I can't handle it, I'm a big boy". He was waiting. Waiting for a bullet to break into his palm and for his diseased blood to splatter on any patch of the officer's skin. His blood, it was a twisted and perverted concoction, one that carried a physical corruption. A sickness that killed within days without treatment. A sickness that broke the body with bouts of excruciating pain. That violently pushed the bones out against the skin.
That decayed the body, eroding the skin and breaking down organs into swollen sacs of rotting black puss. It'd emaciate the body and strip away the victim's sense of self while their eyes disappeared, leaving behind empty sockets covered in folds of blackened and rotting skin. All with a drop of his blood on the skin of another. All he'd need was his blood, wet on a victim's clothes for it to seep through the fabric and touch the skin underneath. It was what he craved. And as he stood, grinding his yellow hell-hound teeth, the Connoisseur asked, almost genuinely, "Where's the rest of your squad? I'm running on an empty stomach", he confessed, entirely serious.
@special_agent_crews@detective_whitaker
“Captain’s hands are full, I think we’re on our own.” Crews spoke as she stood by the shattered windows of the liquor shop they managed to get inside.
“I swear Whitaker you cabron, BREATH!” Castillo yelled at the unconscious officer, kneeling down and slapping him hard across his face.
“Just give him CPR already! Why are you waiting for?!”
“Because I don’t know how to give CPR!”
“What do you mean you don’t know!? We all had to take the course for it!”
“I paid Donut Danny a box of Krispy Kremes to do the class for me!”
“Why!?”
“Because I figured YOU would always be the one doing CPR!”
“But what if I needed CPR!?”
“THAT’S WHAT DONUT DANNY IS FOR!”
“GODDAMN IT CASTILLO!”
But as the two were bantering back and forth, a crowd of civilians who were exposed to the gas began to cry out from a distance. Some where crying in agonizing pain, while others were almost howling in a feral state of mind. The two stopped bickering as Crews slowly walked over to the fractured windows to see a mob of civilians fighting among each other for no reason while others were laying on the ground, clutching their chest in pain.
“I think we need back up.” Crews whispered, trying not to draw any attention to them, realizing the kind of situation they were in.
“What? Are you gonna call Donut Danny to come on over on his white steed and save the day?” Castillo couldn’t even finish without cracking a smile and chuckling under her mask.
“We need to get Whitaker to a hospital, we don’t know what kind of gas he was exposed to or what kind of injuries he sustained from the accident.”
Castillo nod her head, grasping her gun in her hand. “I’M READY!”
“We need to do this WITHOUT killing civilians! We need to get them help too!”
“You’re such a killjoy Crews.” Castillo put her gun back in her holster and pulled out her radio to dispatch. “Dispatch this is Castillo, we had a funking NBC at our location. The gas is unknown and is exposed to the civilian population. We need the funking CDC down here now!”
Crews was kneeling next to Whitaker. “He really needs medical attention.”
“I KNOW Crews, stop getting your panties in a twist. I’m going to assist the situation and then we’re going to go to the car and drive his sorry a** to the-”
Before she could finish, a savage civilian side tacked Castillo to the ground, catching her completely off guard. The two rolled around as Castillo managed to pin the young man to the ground as his face was greeted with her fist, knocking him out cold. “ALRIGHT! THAT’S HOW THEY WANT TO PLAY!? THEY DON’T KNOW WHO THEY’RE MESSING WITH!” Castillo grunted as she pushed herself up from the ground and began making her way towards the door.
“What are you doing!?”
“I’m going to control the situation the old fashion way!” She yelled at the door as she pulled out some brass knuckles from her back pocket.
“What, by knocking them all into a coma? That’s police brutality!”
“Do YOU want to explain to Whitakers wife that he died because you were too much of a puta?”
“Hold up, Whitakers married?”
“I don’t know! He looks like one of those guys who are married, doesn’t he?”
“I mean… I guess… I don’t know I never thought about it.”
“Oh come on, look at those pants, the way they’re ironed? He HAS to have some woman ironing them for him, there’s no way a guy does that on his own. And that tie? Who would buy a tie like THAT? Only a wife would pick out something like THAT.”
But the conversation was put to a pause as a massive mob of gas infected people came rushing into the liquor store, forcing both Castillo and Crews to fight them off in a brutal fight for survival. Kick, punch, throw out the already broken windows, slammed a bottle of vodka over the head, whatever was around them, they used. But they couldn't keep it up forever, and an unconscious Whitaker wasn't going to be able to defend himself. Goddamn it Whitaker! Always making everything so goddamn difficult! “Crews! Get to Whitaker! I’ll clear a path to the car!”
“DON’T SHOOT THEM!” Crews yelled out as she punched one straight in the jaw that was making their way towards Whitaker.
“I’M NOT GOING TO SHOOT THEM...MUCH!”
“CASTILLO!”
“GODDAMN IT FINE! JUST GET WHITAKER AND GET IN THE DAMN CAR!"
Castillo went on a fighting spree. One by one she knocked them to the ground as Crews not only dragged Whitakers dead weight body to the car, but also fended off anyone who tried to get close to her.
"Get in!" Castillo yelled, finally reaching the car as she opened the side door, helping Crews literally throw Whitaker in the back of their car as Crews slide in with him and Castillo jumping in the drivers seat.
Crews could see that crazed look in her eye as the engine roared to life, she was going to try and run a few of them over, she could feel it. "CASTILLO, NO!"
"CASTILLO, YES!"
Her foot slammed into the gas pedal as the person who was directly in front of her (who was a 50+ year old man with a walker) was suddenly sent flying as the car slammed into his body, his walker going in another direction. The tires screeched as the three were now driving off to the nearest hospital.
@zauberin said:
@agent_sarah_castillo: Okay. Y'know, I could see myself giving her a Spartan kick.
IDK WHAT THAT IS BUT YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!!
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