Post by Aidan Halowell on Jan 31, 2016 6:43:42 GMT 2
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[attr="class","dec1"]WE COULD
BE
IMMORTALS
BE
IMMORTALS
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Whooo!! Let's get this show on the road. Btw, the TW is just for the blood and wound descriptions, just in case o.o
[attr="class","dec3"]OUTFIT | [attr="class","dec3"]Max Madden |
Whooo!! Let's get this show on the road. Btw, the TW is just for the blood and wound descriptions, just in case o.o
The afternoon was cold and crisp, something that was unusual for Chicago, but not for Dan. This was nothing compared to the freezing winters back in England, but that wasn't important right now. What was important is that the sniper can pat himself on the back for a job well done, looking at the dead body of a Bianchi, who was supporting a bullet wound in the head. Thick red blood pooled around the victim's head as reporters and police investigators alike flashed cameras at it.
The train station was also unusually packed, all set on one goal: to see who had died, and why. The track lines were covered in patches of dried blood, as if the victim had stumbled down before finally settling into its position right now.
With his hood down but hands slipped into the pockets, Dan watched the scene unfold behind the crowd of too-nosy civilians. His face was a mask of deep worry and curiosity, easily blending in as he tried to look over heads and shoulders. He easily slipped through the masses of tightknit bodies to approach the police officers who were currently interrogating eye-witnesses.
His eyes were full of fake-franticness, zooming in on the corpse -- Dan tried to hide a victorious smirk -- before looking back at the officer. "Di-Did that guy just really died? In broad daylight?" His eyebrows were furrowed and lips pursed, as if he really couldn't believe an assassination just happened.
Even though he was the one who killed that Bianchi piece of shit.
Dan swallowed a cackle to look like nervousness, and his voice came out shaky to hide his silent laughter. "Are we really safe now?"
The train station was also unusually packed, all set on one goal: to see who had died, and why. The track lines were covered in patches of dried blood, as if the victim had stumbled down before finally settling into its position right now.
With his hood down but hands slipped into the pockets, Dan watched the scene unfold behind the crowd of too-nosy civilians. His face was a mask of deep worry and curiosity, easily blending in as he tried to look over heads and shoulders. He easily slipped through the masses of tightknit bodies to approach the police officers who were currently interrogating eye-witnesses.
His eyes were full of fake-franticness, zooming in on the corpse -- Dan tried to hide a victorious smirk -- before looking back at the officer. "Di-Did that guy just really died? In broad daylight?" His eyebrows were furrowed and lips pursed, as if he really couldn't believe an assassination just happened.
Even though he was the one who killed that Bianchi piece of shit.
Dan swallowed a cackle to look like nervousness, and his voice came out shaky to hide his silent laughter. "Are we really safe now?"
I TRIED TO PICTURE ME WITHOUT BUT I CAN'T
PHARAOH LEAP.
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