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| Xeogaming Forums - Story Realm - Neo-Western(untiltled as of yet) |
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Xeios You WANKER!         Since: 08-16-04 Since last post: 4870 days Last activity: 1180 days |
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| A waterfall cascaded down the crystal slope. Shining in colors of red, green, and yellow. Intermittantly being interrupted by the white light from a nearby vehicle. A figure was sitting in an old wooden chair, legs outstretched onto the also wooden table before him. His weather worn brown leather boots dripped lightly onto the table. It was a terrible rain, and appeared as if it would not let up any time soon. His head was cocked to the side, revealing his eyes as their natural shade of hazel, almost amber in appearance. His straight black hair fell in strands onto his soaked face and collar. At the door was his overcoat and hat, he hardly removed them from his body, but enjoyed the warmth that removing a wet coat left him. Outside others gathered around a storefront. With almost all-knowing eyes he winced seconds before the fateful crash of glass. Looters, they're all that's left in this damn city. The honest people, and the looters, robbing them of their honest lifestyle and locking them in the brutally honest truth that they'll amount to nothing here. Another family screwed over and another that will be forced to move off or die. The only sort of of justice in this town will be here hours from now, they're all sleeping on the job most likely.
"Cretins." The voice spoke rhaspily. The whiskey seems to have had a permanent effect on his voice. It was better to be this way, more detached than usual, his voice was descriptive of a loner. He shrugged off the feeling of disgust and took a swig of his favorite alcohol. Those men from before, the looters made off with their fair share of electronics. But they seemed dissatisfied, the man sitting alone knew that what they were missing was the blood, they have a violent tendency that's almost necessary. They'd take on the closest human being, for fun. Just so happened they chose this lone man. The goons looked over, dropped their stuff, and drew their guns. .9 millimeters, can't get get me. He thought with a joyful look on his face. The sound of gunfire was less dramatic from here, and the bullets hit the glass and crushed. Bulletproof. The man took this as all that was necessary as an invitation for his protection. He slid away from the table and drew his trusty side-arm, .457 Magnum, a beast of a gun. He slung his coat over his body in one fluid motion, and lifted his shoulder abruptly underneath his hat sending it into the air, and landing on his head. He straightened it quickly and drew it's brim before his eyes. He kicked open the door as the goons reloaded and let loose. The sound of the bullet exploding from the chamber resonated within the gun, sending the heated metal hurtling towards the man who decided to pick a fight with the wrong man. Drops of blood poured onto the ground after a moment's hesitation, and a hole a half inch wide was seen in the man's chest. His heart pumping to fill that gap, but of course to no avail. No human could patch up a wound on an artery that close to the heart. His death was vocalized through a series of gurgling. The bullet continued on, hitting another and blowing him to the ground, disabling his right shoulder and consequently his whole right arm. He'd be the only other to live this encounter. The other bullets resounded just as loudly from the 16 centimeter barrel of his choice weapon. Modern technology in guns gave him many more than six shots, his gun actually toted a massive 16 shots. However, he only needed six. That's the most he's ever been rumored to use in a single gunfight. He was a legendary gunman, one of high status, and of higher bounty. A grin spread across his face. "Remember the day you were struck by Lightning." A perfect white smile spread across his lips. He walked over and kicked the one he left alive, "Hear me boy?" He returned to his home, and put to rest his revolver. He wished he didn't need to be so rough, but he justified this by not using his token gun. A long-barrelled revolver made of perfectly shining platinum. A gun with an astounding amount of power behind each bullet. He placed too much time custumizing his power-house of a gun, and loved every minute. Lightning Jack Cloud, he longed for a time in which he could use his gun again. (Last edited by Xeios on 08-17-06 02:32 AM) |
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