Board Thread:Forum Games/@comment-30517583-20180202102714/@comment-30517583-20180218064437

Karen.celedestin wrote: Drop the radio Ah, you use your innitiative to do something that wasn't dictated by the game.

You can kinda expect a bad ending :P

You chuck the radio into a car behind you, and scurry off, slotting another mag into the barret.

You've got just that one mag left.

Where the hell is your squad?

The brute, still clouded by the last vestiges of the milkshake, zeroes in on the squawking radio (His limbs are too awkwardly misplaced to wipe the cloudy stuff off).

The brute grunts, heaves back his arm, and hurls the club at the car.

The car skids from the force of the club, and collapses on it's side.

You can't hear the radio anymore. It's been crushed by the car.

The brute grunts again with satisfaction, as you pop up behind it...

And display your knack for quickshots.

Bipod set down, sniper- stance perfected...

''Boom. Chk.Chk-chk. Boom. Chk. Chk-chk. Boom.''

Three shots drilling into the brute's skull before he'd even turned around.

'''Boom. Chk. Chk-chk. Boom. Chk. Chk-chk.'''

The sound of the Barret firing repeatedly next to your ears has reduced your perception of sound into a series of dull thuds among a background of shrill ringing. Your fingers feel numb, and the recoil from each repeated shot have cracked your collarbone.

You will yourself to press the trigger again, knowing that you'll be spending the next year in a cast..

click.

That sound that you shouldn't be hearing forces its way through the shrill ringing, the dull thuds, the creaking of your shattered collarbone... And where is the muzzle flash? The booming? The numbness of the collarbone, followed by a flaring of pain?

You look down at your feet.

Through your eyesight, stung by scattered, singed gunpowder, and dusty tears, you see.

5 bullet cartridges.

This is the end, isn't it?

Something warm dribbles down the side of the ear, and you don't have to look to see what it is.

Blood splatters down onto the asphalt, and the brute, circling around blindly to try to locate you, zeroes in on the sudden smell of blood.

The club draws back....

As the hand seperates from the arm suddenly.

That isn't possible, right...?

> Continue

> Give up on life