this is a repost, the last one was accidently wiped. If you guys would like to give some feedback or even some constructive critisism It will be viewed positively and appreciated.
Nighthawk
The victor and the spoils
Moderator: Redline Fox
-
Lightfoot
- Legend of Sorts
- Posts: 2345
- Joined: Wed Dec 31, 1969 4:00 pm
- Location: Somewhere in the Southwest
- Contact:
Yup...
...looks like it was a full DB blowout for the last day.
Repost what you had put up earlier and remember to take Wing's advice and double space between your character dialogues.
~out~
Repost what you had put up earlier and remember to take Wing's advice and double space between your character dialogues.
~out~
-Lightfoot
http://twitch.tv/dsavage66
http://discord.me/ultrafunk
If only you could see what I've seen...
http://twitch.tv/dsavage66
http://discord.me/ultrafunk
If only you could see what I've seen...
The victor and the spoils
6th June 1977
Wind howls through the rusted brown bullet holes strewn across the passenger door of my faded blue Marshall. With the windows rolled down the factors of speed and the surging tempest almost spell relief to the searing dry heat experienced many times beforehand. As I climb the seemingly never-ending sand hills of US 40 in northwestern Arizona my mind wanders further and further away.
Lost dreams of another life flicker in and out of my head...."if only I knew in time I could have stopped this" I always conclude by mauling my weary mind.....always followed by the hot reminders of why I am in this sandy hell hole. A simple doctrine I hold states that in order to kill the pain, one must kill the brain.
My revenge has long come and gone but no words can explain the infinite agony I carry with me. Only a pounding heartbeat and a warm elixir prolong my existence. Reaching over the sticky hot leather passenger seat of my baby, my greasy hand drags another warm beer out of its sweaty cardboard home. I bring my hand and its metallic benefactor back to rest between my legs, as I watch my fingers slowly crack the top of its aluminum shell.
It has been a long two years of chasing ghosts out of the shadows and into the chilling deserts dusk. Far too long for my body wasn?t made to handle the extremes of this lifestyle. Sleep deprived for two days I speed along the endless highway on my way ?home? or what I could call home, the closest thing I have left to one. My extended body bounds quicker than lightning and howls louder than thunder across the heavens.
Roaming the lonely desert searching and scanning through piss yellow sand dunes and water deprived shrubs, the radar penetrates every nook and cranny the barren landscape has to offer. I slide my visor down blocking out the dreaded sun and its blinding light and I adjust my gaze for the endless horizon.
As I race across the desolate lands I see a figure down the open road in the distance. I draw closer to it and now I can make out the more ever-present trunkline of a war torn Catamount lying halfway onto the road. The car looks as though it had seen better days judging by the missing Phaedra nine inch rear end laying broken a dozen paces away down a steep gravel embankment.
I back off the throttle more aggressively while my engine howls and yelps like an injured young wolf desperate for food. Cautiously I scan the area for any possible ambush at the hands of our common foe. My radar screen sweeps empty, nothing at all. My stomach was telling me something. I knew that it just didn?t feel right. Either this was a setup, or someone would be back for their spoils.
?Logic states that the victor of an auto-combat game of chess always scavenges his victim?s car and person for anything that can be salvaged and reused again.? AVG Pamphlet on Salvage?.?Your enemy?s loss is your gain?
This was not the scene. I parked my car on the narrow gravel shoulder beside the highway, close to the damaged wreck. Knowing full well the risks I have assumed, I bumped the toggle switches to the ignition and to the electric fuel pump, killing the engine. I radioed home on the CB and called for in a friendly wrecker.
Wind howls through the rusted brown bullet holes strewn across the passenger door of my faded blue Marshall. With the windows rolled down the factors of speed and the surging tempest almost spell relief to the searing dry heat experienced many times beforehand. As I climb the seemingly never-ending sand hills of US 40 in northwestern Arizona my mind wanders further and further away.
Lost dreams of another life flicker in and out of my head...."if only I knew in time I could have stopped this" I always conclude by mauling my weary mind.....always followed by the hot reminders of why I am in this sandy hell hole. A simple doctrine I hold states that in order to kill the pain, one must kill the brain.
My revenge has long come and gone but no words can explain the infinite agony I carry with me. Only a pounding heartbeat and a warm elixir prolong my existence. Reaching over the sticky hot leather passenger seat of my baby, my greasy hand drags another warm beer out of its sweaty cardboard home. I bring my hand and its metallic benefactor back to rest between my legs, as I watch my fingers slowly crack the top of its aluminum shell.
It has been a long two years of chasing ghosts out of the shadows and into the chilling deserts dusk. Far too long for my body wasn?t made to handle the extremes of this lifestyle. Sleep deprived for two days I speed along the endless highway on my way ?home? or what I could call home, the closest thing I have left to one. My extended body bounds quicker than lightning and howls louder than thunder across the heavens.
Roaming the lonely desert searching and scanning through piss yellow sand dunes and water deprived shrubs, the radar penetrates every nook and cranny the barren landscape has to offer. I slide my visor down blocking out the dreaded sun and its blinding light and I adjust my gaze for the endless horizon.
As I race across the desolate lands I see a figure down the open road in the distance. I draw closer to it and now I can make out the more ever-present trunkline of a war torn Catamount lying halfway onto the road. The car looks as though it had seen better days judging by the missing Phaedra nine inch rear end laying broken a dozen paces away down a steep gravel embankment.
I back off the throttle more aggressively while my engine howls and yelps like an injured young wolf desperate for food. Cautiously I scan the area for any possible ambush at the hands of our common foe. My radar screen sweeps empty, nothing at all. My stomach was telling me something. I knew that it just didn?t feel right. Either this was a setup, or someone would be back for their spoils.
?Logic states that the victor of an auto-combat game of chess always scavenges his victim?s car and person for anything that can be salvaged and reused again.? AVG Pamphlet on Salvage?.?Your enemy?s loss is your gain?
This was not the scene. I parked my car on the narrow gravel shoulder beside the highway, close to the damaged wreck. Knowing full well the risks I have assumed, I bumped the toggle switches to the ignition and to the electric fuel pump, killing the engine. I radioed home on the CB and called for in a friendly wrecker.
Last edited by Nighthawk on Thu Jun 08, 2006 8:33 pm, edited 2 times in total.
The victor and the spoils
?Break for One?This is the Nighthawk, Anyone at AVG got there ears on?.come back? followed by
?Nighthawk this is Satan?s-Lil?Sis what?s your 20??
?I?m on eastbound 40 about seventy odd miles out of Silver Creek Jct? -
?I need a wrecker brought out here for a downed red ?72 Catamount, Make sure he?s got a crane lift on the back cause it don?t look like this ones gonna be moving under its own power.?
?We copy that Nighthawk? - ?We?ll get one out there in a bit...? - ?We have one in Bakersburg, North of you forty minutes we?ll send him out there, just hang loose?
?I?ll be waiting, Nighthawk out.?
The CB hissed and crackled dead airspace that my dual 110? whips pick up over the mountainous terrain. The black plastic and vinyl mouthpiece slid back down to its resting place on top of the Galaxy twenty three channel CB that was newly installed. I loaded my Colt Peacemaker and readied it in my right hand while sliding my once police issued Maglite to my back pocket. I slowly lowered the chromed door handle and cracked open the door to my battle worn ?70 Marshall. Once again I checked my radar and scanned the endless distance for a possible setup.
Slow and alert I strolled up to the charcoal crisped Cat while taking keen notice to the hell that had been unleashed upon it in its days. The once crimson red paintjob with black speedster decals must have looked sharp before the sticky green napalm caused bubbling as a result of it speeding over a now long extinguished flame drop. Towards the hindquarters 30 cal bullets had been sprayed all over the rear leaving scars the size of quarters, yet the back window was left unscathed.
Ultimately the game of cat and mouse must have came to an end early on when the driver of the Catamount underestimated the sleep graded slope of the embankment, thereby ripping his rear end completely off the body of his car. He at least died a quick death noticing the blatantly obvious 7.62 rounds through the driver side door armor of this once proud machine. The car has sat there ever since, dying a long, slow cancerous death.
?In a cars mind rust is a form of cancer. It slowly eats away until there is nothing left.? Unknown
Chills crept down my spine as I readied my pistol and leaped for the open driver door, half expecting for someone to jump out and start blasting. On the ground I can see animal tracks, insuring me that whoever once piloted this worn down beast had met his maker. Inside the cockpit of the fighter I noticed the musty seat covers and worn carpeting had dried splotches of blood, which had once pumped through another mans veins. I reached in and pulled the hood release lever and slammed the door shut though the crumpled armor plating prevented it from closing all the way, returning a pissed off steel on steel shriek.
I snuck a peek of the half intact grille, more than enough evidence that the car had a rough life. And upon a closer inspection of the engine bay I noticed that who ever previously owned this wicked vehicle of destruction must have been proud of it. He?.I assume took the painstaking time to convert this car into a mongrel half Potomac half Quicksilver powered tool of warfare, an engineering feat many talk of doing and few accomplish. As my Maglite shined light on the greasy shadows of the bay, and noticed that the engine block itself looked in fairly good shape as I could make out no warping or bullet penetrations across its bulky majestic blue figure.
?Nighthawk this is Satan?s-Lil?Sis what?s your 20??
?I?m on eastbound 40 about seventy odd miles out of Silver Creek Jct? -
?I need a wrecker brought out here for a downed red ?72 Catamount, Make sure he?s got a crane lift on the back cause it don?t look like this ones gonna be moving under its own power.?
?We copy that Nighthawk? - ?We?ll get one out there in a bit...? - ?We have one in Bakersburg, North of you forty minutes we?ll send him out there, just hang loose?
?I?ll be waiting, Nighthawk out.?
The CB hissed and crackled dead airspace that my dual 110? whips pick up over the mountainous terrain. The black plastic and vinyl mouthpiece slid back down to its resting place on top of the Galaxy twenty three channel CB that was newly installed. I loaded my Colt Peacemaker and readied it in my right hand while sliding my once police issued Maglite to my back pocket. I slowly lowered the chromed door handle and cracked open the door to my battle worn ?70 Marshall. Once again I checked my radar and scanned the endless distance for a possible setup.
Slow and alert I strolled up to the charcoal crisped Cat while taking keen notice to the hell that had been unleashed upon it in its days. The once crimson red paintjob with black speedster decals must have looked sharp before the sticky green napalm caused bubbling as a result of it speeding over a now long extinguished flame drop. Towards the hindquarters 30 cal bullets had been sprayed all over the rear leaving scars the size of quarters, yet the back window was left unscathed.
Ultimately the game of cat and mouse must have came to an end early on when the driver of the Catamount underestimated the sleep graded slope of the embankment, thereby ripping his rear end completely off the body of his car. He at least died a quick death noticing the blatantly obvious 7.62 rounds through the driver side door armor of this once proud machine. The car has sat there ever since, dying a long, slow cancerous death.
?In a cars mind rust is a form of cancer. It slowly eats away until there is nothing left.? Unknown
Chills crept down my spine as I readied my pistol and leaped for the open driver door, half expecting for someone to jump out and start blasting. On the ground I can see animal tracks, insuring me that whoever once piloted this worn down beast had met his maker. Inside the cockpit of the fighter I noticed the musty seat covers and worn carpeting had dried splotches of blood, which had once pumped through another mans veins. I reached in and pulled the hood release lever and slammed the door shut though the crumpled armor plating prevented it from closing all the way, returning a pissed off steel on steel shriek.
I snuck a peek of the half intact grille, more than enough evidence that the car had a rough life. And upon a closer inspection of the engine bay I noticed that who ever previously owned this wicked vehicle of destruction must have been proud of it. He?.I assume took the painstaking time to convert this car into a mongrel half Potomac half Quicksilver powered tool of warfare, an engineering feat many talk of doing and few accomplish. As my Maglite shined light on the greasy shadows of the bay, and noticed that the engine block itself looked in fairly good shape as I could make out no warping or bullet penetrations across its bulky majestic blue figure.
The torquey Super Duty Potomac 455 coupled with a Cram Air IV intake mystified me; it was a rarity when it was new due to skybound gas prices, but its low stroke and low rpm power would certainly accommodate my needs. I could feel a rush overcome me while I created fantasies of what endless tuning setups I could rig up, and also of the feeling induced while shifting; we all know the feeling of being thrown back into the furthest reaches of the driver?s seat. This new toy I summed up would become a long overdue replacement for the well built Ransom 350 Rocket that I have had tucked into my Marshall for far too long.
The hot desert wind rarely dies out for long and I found myself hearing faint whispers of an approaching overworked engine carried across the treacherous Sierra hills, just outside the snow capped peaks that this part of Arizona is well known for. With ferocity I quickly sprang up from under the great red shark, dropping my Maglite on the ground knowing that I wouldn?t need it.
?The first rule of Creepers a rookie Auto-Vigilante must learn when dealing with them.
Creepers are pack animals, they almost never work alone.? Unknown
In a mad dash I leaped for the driver seat of my Marshall. Quickly I mashed in the toggles for fuel and spark and hit the push start to awaken the proud beast under the hood from its short midday rest. I took notice that there was only a single blip on the radar? I thought to myself ?Is this my truck? cut in by ?I can?t take that risk?
The silver footprint gas pedal mashed down to the deepest leagues of the floorpan. The mid-sized Ransom gave me all she had, I could feel the positrac lock in as I slid back onto the hot asphalt baked in the oven of the fiendish noonday sun; the sound of mildly balded tires meeting hot pavement never will grow tiresome to me.
Upon my tires attaining traction I straightened myself out and prepared myself to fight not only for my life but for my newfound treasure. My thumb rested on the duct taped trigger of the linked forward facing 30 caliber machine guns, while modest in size and firepower, they were ready to lay waste to anything that crossed them.
Knowing that I wasn?t equipped to wage an all out battle I slowed my wildcat so that my adversary would have to fight the sun as well. With clever tact I would open fire as soon as he would spring from this last ascent, praying that one of my lead arrows would penetrate his radiator. A radiator hit is a very critical one indeed, as it would diminish my opponent?s endurance, should he decide to give chase or to flee his powerplant would cook itself.
Anticipation poured from my forehead as I readied myself for a battle of sheer wits and tactics. I was almost on top of the blip, yet I could see nothing overtaking the hill. Suddenly a lone Cavera faded into the steel crosshairs grafted on my hood. Not the elaborate setup I had imagined earlier but as he charged blindly towards me through the heat waves I could make out dual 7.62 machine guns mounted atop and to the side of his lime green instrument of warfare. Still a viable threat compared to my 30 cals in sheer firepower and suppression. I had to react fast to get the jump on him.
The hot desert wind rarely dies out for long and I found myself hearing faint whispers of an approaching overworked engine carried across the treacherous Sierra hills, just outside the snow capped peaks that this part of Arizona is well known for. With ferocity I quickly sprang up from under the great red shark, dropping my Maglite on the ground knowing that I wouldn?t need it.
?The first rule of Creepers a rookie Auto-Vigilante must learn when dealing with them.
Creepers are pack animals, they almost never work alone.? Unknown
In a mad dash I leaped for the driver seat of my Marshall. Quickly I mashed in the toggles for fuel and spark and hit the push start to awaken the proud beast under the hood from its short midday rest. I took notice that there was only a single blip on the radar? I thought to myself ?Is this my truck? cut in by ?I can?t take that risk?
The silver footprint gas pedal mashed down to the deepest leagues of the floorpan. The mid-sized Ransom gave me all she had, I could feel the positrac lock in as I slid back onto the hot asphalt baked in the oven of the fiendish noonday sun; the sound of mildly balded tires meeting hot pavement never will grow tiresome to me.
Upon my tires attaining traction I straightened myself out and prepared myself to fight not only for my life but for my newfound treasure. My thumb rested on the duct taped trigger of the linked forward facing 30 caliber machine guns, while modest in size and firepower, they were ready to lay waste to anything that crossed them.
Knowing that I wasn?t equipped to wage an all out battle I slowed my wildcat so that my adversary would have to fight the sun as well. With clever tact I would open fire as soon as he would spring from this last ascent, praying that one of my lead arrows would penetrate his radiator. A radiator hit is a very critical one indeed, as it would diminish my opponent?s endurance, should he decide to give chase or to flee his powerplant would cook itself.
Anticipation poured from my forehead as I readied myself for a battle of sheer wits and tactics. I was almost on top of the blip, yet I could see nothing overtaking the hill. Suddenly a lone Cavera faded into the steel crosshairs grafted on my hood. Not the elaborate setup I had imagined earlier but as he charged blindly towards me through the heat waves I could make out dual 7.62 machine guns mounted atop and to the side of his lime green instrument of warfare. Still a viable threat compared to my 30 cals in sheer firepower and suppression. I had to react fast to get the jump on him.
The victor and the spoils
I swung out far to the left, jumping off the road onto reddish brown dirt. Moving to intercept his lightly armored front driver side fender I lashed out with my 30?s from a mid-ranged distance.
The ensuing barrage on his left flank chewed away at his fenderwells but caused only minimal damage to the soft spot in his defenses. Continuing with the assault the E-brake in my hand I brought the car into a controlled skid to center my attack in on his driver side b pillar, as did he, squaring off head to head he opened his first volley of unguided FireRite rockets barely missing the passenger side of my Marshall. ?Jesus Christ!? I thought to myself ?What other cards does he have up his sleeve??
Not at all prepared to fight head on with the overpowering Cavera, lacking the firepower I needed, and with that in mind I whipped my Ransom around 180 degrees exposing my rear clip to 7.62 rounds as he set out to prevent my escape.
Zigging and Zagging around cacti I mashed onto the pedal to create some more distance between us as he gave chase launching another volley of rockets blasting right behind me, the concussion busting heavy rust deposits off of my rear bumper. ?Think fast? are the only two words going through my mind??gotta think fast? With a sadistic grin on my face I ram the E-brake again sending my car into another 180 degree spin.
I opened fire with my 30?s and exchanged blows with the Cavera head on sending about a dozen pieces of lead flying through his windshield just barely grazing by his head while his 7.62 went to work on the front clip of my car, evidently striking my upper radiator hose, as steam poured out of the new bullet holes he graciously gave me.
FUCK ME! I knew that I have already lost this battle but I wasn?t going to go down without swinging. I drew closer to him; I could see the white in his eye as we played the game of chicken. Closer?.Closer?..at the last second we both swung the wheel around, dangerously avoiding the close call head on collision, in a last ditch effort I swung my cars ass end around for the last time, riding close on his six running hard and fast for the gravel embankment coming up ahead.
I knew that neither one of us could make it up that steep of a grade, but did he? I rammed his ass end a good one knowing he couldn?t effectively use his mine dropper to shake me off, at least without taking himself with me.
We were about one hundred feet away and closing in on the impending embankment when he tossed his steering wheel hard left, I saw this opportunity he set up for me and took it. With all the force I could muster out of my badly weakened Ransom I closed my eyes and steered into his driver door, taking us both into the side of the hard gravel embankment at close to forty miles an hour.
The shock stopped us both in our tracks. At the moment of impact time stood still, god it seemed like eternity had gone by between the initial contacts and coming back to rest, though it was probably only a few stretched out seconds. Still alive but badly rattled from the collision I looked out my spider-cracked windshield to see him. His entire driver side B-pillar gave in from the force of the collision, sending him flying into the passenger door of the gravely damaged Cavera.
Realizing that my door was damaged beyond the point of exit, I slid out through the shards of glass that once formed a window, cutting parts of my back open with paper cut precision. I stumbled my way up to the heap that used to resemble his SS, now partly infused with the front fenders of my machine.
Drawing my .45 out of its hip holster and bringing it to bear I pointed it towards him?..noticed that he was knocked unconscious from the blast, lying doubled up over the console. His body suffering internal bleeding he was coughing up blood every few seconds. I felt a slight gathering of pity in my gut for this man?... Once again lifting my .45 into the air and aiming point blank for his skull I finished with two shots. The second was acting on reflex for first had done its job, entering his left temple and exiting through his earlobe, killing him upon delivery.
Another half hour went by before I seen the truck barreling down the highway. I hadn?t had enough time to gather my head. In a haze I can remember standing above my kill and my once beloved on the shoulder to the highway, flagging him down as he approached.
The driver demanded to know if I needed first aid, my arms and lower back dripping a little blood on the hot concrete. The only words that I could muster were, ?She?s in a lot more pain than I am?, pointing down to my baby and the horrid monster conjoined at her skull.
The ensuing barrage on his left flank chewed away at his fenderwells but caused only minimal damage to the soft spot in his defenses. Continuing with the assault the E-brake in my hand I brought the car into a controlled skid to center my attack in on his driver side b pillar, as did he, squaring off head to head he opened his first volley of unguided FireRite rockets barely missing the passenger side of my Marshall. ?Jesus Christ!? I thought to myself ?What other cards does he have up his sleeve??
Not at all prepared to fight head on with the overpowering Cavera, lacking the firepower I needed, and with that in mind I whipped my Ransom around 180 degrees exposing my rear clip to 7.62 rounds as he set out to prevent my escape.
Zigging and Zagging around cacti I mashed onto the pedal to create some more distance between us as he gave chase launching another volley of rockets blasting right behind me, the concussion busting heavy rust deposits off of my rear bumper. ?Think fast? are the only two words going through my mind??gotta think fast? With a sadistic grin on my face I ram the E-brake again sending my car into another 180 degree spin.
I opened fire with my 30?s and exchanged blows with the Cavera head on sending about a dozen pieces of lead flying through his windshield just barely grazing by his head while his 7.62 went to work on the front clip of my car, evidently striking my upper radiator hose, as steam poured out of the new bullet holes he graciously gave me.
FUCK ME! I knew that I have already lost this battle but I wasn?t going to go down without swinging. I drew closer to him; I could see the white in his eye as we played the game of chicken. Closer?.Closer?..at the last second we both swung the wheel around, dangerously avoiding the close call head on collision, in a last ditch effort I swung my cars ass end around for the last time, riding close on his six running hard and fast for the gravel embankment coming up ahead.
I knew that neither one of us could make it up that steep of a grade, but did he? I rammed his ass end a good one knowing he couldn?t effectively use his mine dropper to shake me off, at least without taking himself with me.
We were about one hundred feet away and closing in on the impending embankment when he tossed his steering wheel hard left, I saw this opportunity he set up for me and took it. With all the force I could muster out of my badly weakened Ransom I closed my eyes and steered into his driver door, taking us both into the side of the hard gravel embankment at close to forty miles an hour.
The shock stopped us both in our tracks. At the moment of impact time stood still, god it seemed like eternity had gone by between the initial contacts and coming back to rest, though it was probably only a few stretched out seconds. Still alive but badly rattled from the collision I looked out my spider-cracked windshield to see him. His entire driver side B-pillar gave in from the force of the collision, sending him flying into the passenger door of the gravely damaged Cavera.
Realizing that my door was damaged beyond the point of exit, I slid out through the shards of glass that once formed a window, cutting parts of my back open with paper cut precision. I stumbled my way up to the heap that used to resemble his SS, now partly infused with the front fenders of my machine.
Drawing my .45 out of its hip holster and bringing it to bear I pointed it towards him?..noticed that he was knocked unconscious from the blast, lying doubled up over the console. His body suffering internal bleeding he was coughing up blood every few seconds. I felt a slight gathering of pity in my gut for this man?... Once again lifting my .45 into the air and aiming point blank for his skull I finished with two shots. The second was acting on reflex for first had done its job, entering his left temple and exiting through his earlobe, killing him upon delivery.
Another half hour went by before I seen the truck barreling down the highway. I hadn?t had enough time to gather my head. In a haze I can remember standing above my kill and my once beloved on the shoulder to the highway, flagging him down as he approached.
The driver demanded to know if I needed first aid, my arms and lower back dripping a little blood on the hot concrete. The only words that I could muster were, ?She?s in a lot more pain than I am?, pointing down to my baby and the horrid monster conjoined at her skull.
a possible series....
that is a newer viginette i wrote last week while sitting at home on strike, Ive toyed with the idea of righting a followup and making it into a full story, but for now I think I will stick to viginettes, maybe with a reference tossed in every so often; Full storys are way beyond my current writing skills, but maybe in the future who knows
EA might decide to revive the series....anybody thinking movie? and hire us to write out a screenplay and a story for the new game.......I guess we could pray for that to happen.....but I guess im rambling again
nighthawk
EA might decide to revive the series....anybody thinking movie? and hire us to write out a screenplay and a story for the new game.......I guess we could pray for that to happen.....but I guess im rambling again
nighthawk
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Ace English
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