!!KXY0i5Og9kN 03/21/10(Sun)03:14 No.8697072|
Based on >>8696867
Well, the first mistake we make in picking a fight with the local veterans was that they were humans. Of course, with our gang's reputation, we thought they would lay down and let us do as we pleased. Give us the food and ganja we wanted, bow down, and/or cower. I mean, that's how these things go. Hit and run, hit and run. When we landed, we went straight to the center of the little desert town and beat up the first person we came across. Avnari fella, smart, brave, but outnumbered. He went crunch, somebody dragged him off to the hospital, and we let'em go. We wanted to send a message. We were there overnight, intimidated the innkeeper into a few good rooms for Scratch amd the other high-ups, while we camped in an empty lot. We took what we needed from the supply post, ate, and went to sleep for the night.
It's about four in the AM when we hear this BANG BANG BANG, coming from our skiffs, and when we get there, they are trashed. I mean, total scrap. Some humans, young ones too. Almost adults, but not quite. We were about to put the hurt on when we hear a gunshot, and its this human- older, too. We could tell because he was a bit taller and had these silvery streaks in his hair. Anyway, he had these eyes like a devil and he was carrying a machine gun (who does that?) pointed right at us. Not being stupid, we got the hell out. That's what we do- hit and run. We made full gallop into the ravine, and left him in the dust. We thought we had gotten away, and the boys and I decided to rest. About three minutes later, we see him. Walking. Just... walking. We made tracks- again- further into the desert, and stopped to rest. He was still there. Walking. It was fuckin' disturbing.