Status: In development!
A Goddamn Moskal
Sixty-four minutes and counting.
Elvis' voice crackling on the old radio, singing devil in disguise, melting in with various other broadcasts when the frequencies met. Dry tires screaming along the asphalt. The blistering sun glazing the car. The driver, clenching his fists firmly around the steering wheel, his mind impaired by the overwhelming anger he’d held captive his whole married life. He saw the store up ahead, and turned sharply into the parking-lot out front. The car came to a full stop in an instant.
He saw what he was looking for inside those large shop-windows. He shook with anger, struggling with keeping it in. He opened the door and got out; he took one last look into the shop as if to confirm what he was seeing. He grabbed his assault rifle, and pulled its bolt, it cocked with a satisfying clang. He hurried towards the shop, eager to relieve himself, to empty his anger into the beast. He opened the door. The shopkeeper gave him the usual look she gave her customers, and upon seeing his weapon threw herself behind the counter and exclaimed; “Dear god, save me.”
The shattering sound of steel against steel burst the silence that surrounded the shop, bullets ripping through shelves, exploding pressurized cans squirting food unto every surface, clouds of flour forming strange mists that floated above the dirty floor-tiles. A lady screaming in the back, shot and bleeding profusely.
Five seconds was all it took, all the seconds needed to wreak havoc upon the store, empty shells bounced across the floor, clinging sounds echoing through the crumbling devastation.
Anton stood silent as he gazed upon his deed, he felt incredibly calmer. To Anton's surprise, Artiom came forth from behind a crippled shelf, his leather jacket covered in the excrements of spoilt food. He gave the shooter a despising look, fixing his gaze on him. Anton shook in anger, grinding his teeth and clutching his fists. He rushed Artiom, his face red with the hatred that fueled him. He got a hold of Artiom's waist and ran him straight into the shelf behind him, busting it as he did so. Anton got pushed back, tripping from the force of his foe. The pain seemed only to provoke his furious intent further. He landed a punch in his Artiom's face, though he seemed unscathed from the hit. Anton was now vulnerable to the reprisal of his target.
The first hit landed square in Anton's face, shattering his cheek, bursting the skin. The next flew straight into his chest, busting his ribs. He came crashing to the floor. His senses told him to cease, beg if it'd be necessary. But the hate was overwhelming, death or not, the beast would be slain. Artiom felt so confident in his retribution, that he halted his offensive. Anton took his chance and threw himself yet again at his enemy, bashing his fists across Artiom's face. His heart pumped harder and harder as his fist flew faster and harder. The adrenaline rushed through his body, blocking all his sense of pain, judgement and every piece of sympathy.
Artiom however, seemed only graced by Anton's actions, and after a few seconds he landed an uppercut upon Anton, briefly stunning him. He fell over, however when he came to his senses, Artiom had a firm grip around his neck, and with what seemed like superhuman power, raised him into the air and lunged him into some shelves, toppling them over.
Anton's body now started to realize it’s own mortality. He was now on the defensive. His opponent hurried towards him and he braced himself, awaiting any possible opportunity. A powerful kick landed straight in his chest, propelling him across the floor. He struggled for air and started throwing every available object towards the massive thug, though Artiom seemed not to care of anything as he locked his eyes on his victim.
He was thrown once again, this time into the glass window freezer, glass shards cut into his back, showering his posterior with warm blood, he managed to get up and went for a steel bar he saw lying beside him. He tossed it at his foe. It hit Artiom's stomach and halted his approach. Anton hurried for the door in shear panic. Artiom grabbed the bar with a swift move and lunged it at his fleeing opponent. The pipe hit him in the side of his knee, busting it and forcing Anton to the ground. He screamed at Artiom as he went in, prepared for another blow. With all his force the steel bar came rushing through the air striking Anton's temple with an audible crunch. His scream cut short, his body crumbling lifeless to the floor, bathing in his own blood.
Artiom gazed upon the limp body, his own body ached from the ordeal, his nose was busted and his face had seen enough trauma to kill a normal human being. He dropped the steel bar, and headed towards the door, on his way he saw a woman lying still on the floor, eyes wide and blood oozing out of her mouth. He was just about to leave when he heard the shopkeeper standing up from behind the counter, as if she saw a ghost. He gave her a sedated look before he reached for his Tokarev and put a bullet in her chest. The shot hung heavy in the air, doorbell ringing as he opened the door.
He saw what he was looking for inside those large shop-windows. He shook with anger, struggling with keeping it in. He opened the door and got out; he took one last look into the shop as if to confirm what he was seeing. He grabbed his assault rifle, and pulled its bolt, it cocked with a satisfying clang. He hurried towards the shop, eager to relieve himself, to empty his anger into the beast. He opened the door. The shopkeeper gave him the usual look she gave her customers, and upon seeing his weapon threw herself behind the counter and exclaimed; “Dear god, save me.”
The shattering sound of steel against steel burst the silence that surrounded the shop, bullets ripping through shelves, exploding pressurized cans squirting food unto every surface, clouds of flour forming strange mists that floated above the dirty floor-tiles. A lady screaming in the back, shot and bleeding profusely.
Five seconds was all it took, all the seconds needed to wreak havoc upon the store, empty shells bounced across the floor, clinging sounds echoing through the crumbling devastation.
Anton stood silent as he gazed upon his deed, he felt incredibly calmer. To Anton's surprise, Artiom came forth from behind a crippled shelf, his leather jacket covered in the excrements of spoilt food. He gave the shooter a despising look, fixing his gaze on him. Anton shook in anger, grinding his teeth and clutching his fists. He rushed Artiom, his face red with the hatred that fueled him. He got a hold of Artiom's waist and ran him straight into the shelf behind him, busting it as he did so. Anton got pushed back, tripping from the force of his foe. The pain seemed only to provoke his furious intent further. He landed a punch in his Artiom's face, though he seemed unscathed from the hit. Anton was now vulnerable to the reprisal of his target.
The first hit landed square in Anton's face, shattering his cheek, bursting the skin. The next flew straight into his chest, busting his ribs. He came crashing to the floor. His senses told him to cease, beg if it'd be necessary. But the hate was overwhelming, death or not, the beast would be slain. Artiom felt so confident in his retribution, that he halted his offensive. Anton took his chance and threw himself yet again at his enemy, bashing his fists across Artiom's face. His heart pumped harder and harder as his fist flew faster and harder. The adrenaline rushed through his body, blocking all his sense of pain, judgement and every piece of sympathy.
Artiom however, seemed only graced by Anton's actions, and after a few seconds he landed an uppercut upon Anton, briefly stunning him. He fell over, however when he came to his senses, Artiom had a firm grip around his neck, and with what seemed like superhuman power, raised him into the air and lunged him into some shelves, toppling them over.
Anton's body now started to realize it’s own mortality. He was now on the defensive. His opponent hurried towards him and he braced himself, awaiting any possible opportunity. A powerful kick landed straight in his chest, propelling him across the floor. He struggled for air and started throwing every available object towards the massive thug, though Artiom seemed not to care of anything as he locked his eyes on his victim.
He was thrown once again, this time into the glass window freezer, glass shards cut into his back, showering his posterior with warm blood, he managed to get up and went for a steel bar he saw lying beside him. He tossed it at his foe. It hit Artiom's stomach and halted his approach. Anton hurried for the door in shear panic. Artiom grabbed the bar with a swift move and lunged it at his fleeing opponent. The pipe hit him in the side of his knee, busting it and forcing Anton to the ground. He screamed at Artiom as he went in, prepared for another blow. With all his force the steel bar came rushing through the air striking Anton's temple with an audible crunch. His scream cut short, his body crumbling lifeless to the floor, bathing in his own blood.
Artiom gazed upon the limp body, his own body ached from the ordeal, his nose was busted and his face had seen enough trauma to kill a normal human being. He dropped the steel bar, and headed towards the door, on his way he saw a woman lying still on the floor, eyes wide and blood oozing out of her mouth. He was just about to leave when he heard the shopkeeper standing up from behind the counter, as if she saw a ghost. He gave her a sedated look before he reached for his Tokarev and put a bullet in her chest. The shot hung heavy in the air, doorbell ringing as he opened the door.