Survival Of The Fittest

Bryan clenched his teeth at the ultimatum the younger boy offerred him. 'I won't get hurt? Who the hell does he think he is, threatening me?' Bryan was a very proud, stubborn individual, and took it as a personal affront that his newfound adversary supposed he was in the position to boss him around. No one bossed Bryan C. Calvert around. Ever. Peering out from behind the cover of the truck, Bryan eyed him over and scoffed.

"Hey, I've got a better idea!" he hollered. "You just do a 180 and fuck off, then maybe I won't put my foot up your ass!" He became so swept up in that one command that he blocked out everything else.

The boy was too far away to attempt to hit with the SPAS-12, so Bryan merely kept his eyes on him as he headed for cover behind a dumpster. He was packing some serious heat, a curiously shaped submachine gun. He said something else, but Bryan didn't really care. Something clanged off of an delapidated car nearby, but it definately wasn't a slug. Bryan grabbed a round off of the thick, dangling shoulderstrap and loaded it through the bottom of the gun, then another. He was still good for ammo, but so far he hadn't hit anything. That was yet another aspect of his game that he'd have to improve upon.

The boy was now safely deposited behind the dumpster, and Bryan felt as if he was much more vulnerable. His opponent would definately have an advantage of range; he knew enough about guns at least to know that. Plus, Bryan wasn't fully covered with the truck's suspension being as high as it was. He would have to find a better spot.

Bryan shifted towards the front of the truck, the circular side mirror catching his eye immediately. He'd seen action heroes use mirrors during standoffs in all sorts of movies. Come to think of it, all of his tactics so far had been derived from action flicks. Where the hell else would they come from? He tugged at the mirror fiercely, and with some effort it came off, delivering the coup-de-grace with the heel of his boot. He picked up the detached mirror and remained crouched behind the hood of the truck, sticking it out subtley to see if the other boy had made a move.

Harry Constantine checked his Agram with shaking hands. Mostly due to adrenaline, but there was some recognisable terror in there. Definately recognisable. Peeking around the edge of the dumpster, he saw the kid move towords the front of the truck, yelling something about putting a boot up Harry's ass. Temper, Temper, thought Harry, It seems sunshine over there has quite the hair trigger.


There was a large racket, followed by something falling, and then a car mirror flashed in the light.Harry took aim at the mirror and fired his first shot of the game. Then he moved to the other end of the dumpster.Damn! What the hell am I doing? Playing the game? What the Hell!

Peeking out around the edge again, he was slightly farther away from the truck, and there was less covre on this end. The only advantage was that he could see behind the truck a little better. Harry was on the ground crawling. The smaller I make myself, the better.

Lets see what this player does...

It took a second to adjust the mirror properly, but it did the trick. The other boy wasn't visible at all, which was really frustrating as hell. Bryan focused hard on the inverted surroundings reflecting in the glass, and he noticed that there was a large, rectangular metal container to his right...er...shit...left, rather. He couldn't tell how far it was from his current position, but it was closer, and it touched the ground. He'd have to sprint through open ground though--

A shot flew by Bryan's head, and he realized he'd taken his eyes off of the sonofabitch for too long. "God-dammit!" he cursed, beating his fist against the side of the truck. That was another strike. He would've been out by now. Fuck, he would've been out at one, had he not been so lucky. This was like no fistfight. You couldn't receive the odd hit and still pull it out; just one, and you were fucked.

Now the gap showing off his feet to his enemy was getting to be a real pain in the ass; he'd have to go for that big cargo box. It seemed like the boy was taking a big advantage off of his hiding place's fatal flaw, but maybe there was a way to...shit...he was so bad at this kind of thing...

He was kneeling in front of the front tire of the truck, so hopefully the boy couldn't see him at the moment. He thought about it hard, but nothing came to mind. He paced quickly to the opposite end, racking his brain and stopping behind the other tire. 'Ok, he knows I'm on this side now...' he grumbled. That wasn't any better. But he had to get a better spot. This one gave away every step he took.

It came to him as he ran his hand along the box of the truck. There was a thin metal shelf running across near the top. It was a plan pulled right out of his ass, but it was worth a shot. He'd have to run like shit, though. He stuck the mirror out again from the rear, checking on his good buddy one more time before taking action. He made it a little more obvious this time, just to establish to the boy that he was there. With that, he deposited the mirror in his bag, pressed the safety button on the SPAS-12, and, shouldering his weapon, reached up and grabbed the frame jutting out. This was gonna be tricky.

The truck rocked a little as he shimmied over to the cover of the other tire. It was conspicuous, but maybe the guy would mistake it for frustration or something, considering the pacing earlier. The ledge stuck out just enough for him to get a decent grip, but the desperate act seemed to take forever, and it was hell on his fingers. He made it far enough along the box to grab the side handle by the cockpit door, and from here he could set his feet down behind the tire again, crouching to avoid the window (although he figured the angle was cut off anyway).

'Ok, ok,' he thought, shaking his sore, dirty hands and contemplating his next move. He clicked the safety off, glad he'd remembered it. 'This better work...' He grabbed the mirror again, hesitated, and finally threw the small but fairly hefty mirror towards the rear of the vehicle as hard as he could. He heard it skid along the ground in the opposite direction, but he was already running as fast as his legs would carry him to the industrial container, hoping to God that he'd done the whole thing right.

Uh. What the hell is he doing?

As far as Harry could tell, it was something either very dumb or so tactically astute that it was beyond comprehension. The guy was Shimmying the side of the car. Right in plain view of Harry. In fact, he was so surprised that he didn't fire. Then Harry remembered what the trigger was for and fired at Mr Sunshine as he was trying to get behind cover.

Harry the glanced at the mirror as it skidded, but wasn't interested. He'd dealt with sound fients before.

Neither of us has any training for ranged fighting and we're just taking pot shots at eachother. Woo hoo. Why the hell am I doing this? Oh, yeah...

Survival.


(ooc: Short one today... Gaah!)

((OOC: He's crawling across the side of the truck, not under it. The ledge he's holding is at the top of the truck's box/cab, and he's using to to hold himself up as he climbs across to the other tire, not showing his feet.))

((OOC: Ooops. Misunderdstood. Edited.))

As a line of of gunfire sped towards him on the ground, Bryan finally became aware of his opponent's shift of position to the other side of the dumpster. He'd seen nearly the whole thing, but had neglected to do anything about it until he'd started running (why was beyond him). He barely made it to the cover of the industrial container without getting his ass shot, and as he skidded to a stop behind his new, far superior barricade, he slammed his fist against the hard metal wall.

'This is hard fuckin' work...' he thought, exhaling sharply. It didn't help that there was so much open ground between him and the other boy, and there was no way to close it safely. This cargo unit was as close as he could get. On the plus side, he could now make his next move without being seen. Hopefully.

Bryan looked around. The container (nearly) met the perimeter fence at an angle, with a miniscule gap between the two barriers. He could use that somehow, probably. He thought about it for a second, and concluded that he indeed could not. Dammit, what were the odds of him encountering someone with a better weapon than his? In such an advantageous spot for a rapid-fire weapon, no less. He began to wonder if maybe the shotgun was that great of a weapon in this game.

'Of course it fuckin' is,' he said to himself, shaking his head. 'I'm just really bad at this.' As much fighting prowess as Bryan had, he was quite out of his element here. He would've been better off if nobody had been issued any weapon at all. He looked at the chain-link fence once again, and decided that this was a waste of time. There was no way to get over there without getting wasted.

"Fuckin' hassle..." he grumbled, throwing the safety off on the SPAS-12 and shouldering it as he clutched the fence, making his way up and over (with the container just barely covering him). It was around 7 feet tall and the top was lined with barbed-wire, but fortunately it was facing the exterior of the factory yard. He grabbed a clear spot on the barbed-wire and dangled, letting himself drop the rest of the way.

"I'll see you later," he said under his breath. "You can count on it."

((continued in Dan Birch))

Harry waited for about five minutes, breathing heavily. Then it occured to him that the guy had left. Mr. Constantine peeked through one of the slits in the top of the dumpster. He could see him running  outside the fence. By now he was way out of range. To be entirely honest, Harry was a little angry that the whole episode. Maybe if he'd handled it better, Harry and Mr. Sunshine would have been allies. Then again, Mr Sunshine seemed to be a tad on the psychotic side.

Thank the fates. I didn't kill anyone and I'm alive. Hah.

Then Harry laughed.

For a pacifist I'm doing pretty damn well at this game!

Then Harry shut the fuck up. There could be other psychos in the area! As much fun as having a fight with Mr. Sunshine was, Harry didn't want to repeat the process again with some other psycho.  He wasn't a good enough shot to pull it off.  Over all, Harry wished he was at home with a nice cup of hot cocoa (coffee stunts your growth,) and reading a bit on the newer Type 2 decks. TimeSpiral just came out, and it looked good. Specifically,  he wanted to see if Ghazi-Glare made it into this round. Harry was of the opinion that Ghazi-Glare was a strong enough archetype to make in the new tournies, but there had been the loss of some key cards, like Shining Shoal. However, there were a ton of cards in TimeSpiral that could possibly replace the dropped cards. Anyway, back to reality.

Plan A: Find a bunch of cool, smart people, and get the fuck off this island with them and his friends, if they were here. Harry peeked around the corner to make sure no psychotics were in the area, I hope they aren't; no-one deserves this goddamn shit.

And with that, Harry ran in the opposite direction of Mr. Sunshine.

((Continued in The Genocide in Our Fucking Minds))