MAD BULL cut the engine on his cruiser and stepped out onto the streets of Alpine Alley. Like any other side-street in the 6th Tier, it was full of punks, pushers and punters all trying to make a living at the expense of their neighbor. As always, the air had a soiled and sickly color that never seemed to go away from the ever-present fluorescent lights that couldn’t seem to properly work in tandem with an actual night-day cycle.
“It's like livin’ under a french-fry lamp in this shit-hole. No wonder everybody’s gone batty,” he thought to himself.
The corridor ahead of him typically housed all manner of cut-rate shops and vendors, their bright neon signs cutting through the yellow-haze of the myriad street lamps, but today it looked like a war-zone. Twenty yards ahead another cop cruiser was already in shambles, its battered blue paint alit from a molotov cocktail. Officer Diego sat propped up behind his smoking cruiser, a blank stare in his eyes and his weapon lying limply in one hand.
“Yeaahahaha!” a laughing voice twittered through the din of explosions and sprays of sub-machine gun fire.
MAD BULL hoofed it over to the prone officer and gave the man a look over. His front chest was peppered with holes oozing out reddish-black blood.
“Thats what ya get for bein’ a cheap bastard,” Mad Bull thought aloud. “If your tight ass woulda sprung for a vest, maybe you wouldn’t be headin’ to the morgue.”
MAD BULL drew his revolver from its hip holster and held it firm in his right hand, cocking the hammer. With his other he grabbed Officer Diego, a big tuft of the man’s uniform captured in the sergeant's gorilla-sized fist. With his powerful forearms, Mad Bull lifted the officer up and held him aloft like a shield. Cautiously, he began to walk towards the maniacal laughing.
As he walked passed the wrecked police cruiser, he saw a thug swiftly shoving handfuls of glowing battery cells into the saddlebags of a hover-bike. Smoke billowed from the shop windows of an electronic boutique. Another thug stood cackling within the broken pane of glass that once displayed the shop’s name. Like his fellow gang-member, the maniac wore an ankle length trench coat that was covered in colorful airbrushed images of peonies, roses and chrysanthemums. The thug was further garbed in a madcap mix of unmatching boots, leather pants and a mesh vest. The cacophony of colors was eye-blinding, and finished with a neon green mohawk. His pal by the bike sported a brilliantly red dyed mullet himself.
“Get a move on you stupid cows!” the green mohawked man exclaimed as two women dressed like store attendants scurried out of the smoking shop, a crate full of unopened power cells between them both. A middle aged man wearing a suit, perhaps the store’s manager, followed not far behind, his arms cradling more looted cells for the bandits. “Dump ‘em by the bikes or you’ll be eatin’ lead, capisce?”
One of the ladies screamed in reply, caught a heel on a piece of rubble and tumbled to the pavement, scraping her knees and bringing a tear to her eye. As she fell, she took with her the crate she was helping the other carry, and its contents spilt all across the ground.
“What’d I tell ya, ya dumb bitch!” the green mohawked bandit bellowed.
TWHIP! TWHIP! TWHIP! TWHIP!
To punctuate his point, he let out a spray from his uzi in the vicinity of the woman, her body dancing with the impact of dozens of small rounds splashing across her chest. The other woman covered her eyes and began to wail, infuriating the mohawked bandit. In a fury, he lept down from his perch on the shop window and began to race over to the remaining woman, his hand raised for a heavy slap...until he saw the giant lumbering body of MAD BULL 34, Officer Diego still held aloft like a human shield.
“I thought we iced you!” the thug exclaimed after seeing Officer Diego floating towards him, held by Mad Bull’s grip.
“EAT LEAD COPPER!” the thug shouted out as he let loose another spray of bullets that wetly plopped against Diego’s limp torso.
“Unngghh…” Diego whispered.
“Ah shit, he wasn’t dead yet…” the sergeant mused before he tossed away the lifeless corpse and raised his piece shoulder high, gripped it with two hands and squeezed off two rounds.
KAPOW
KAPOW
MAD BULL 34’s Smith & Wesson NY-1 rang out like a thunderclap, and in the blink of an eye the first round widely missed, but the second splattered in the green mohawked thug’s left orbital socket, smearing bone, brain and gooey eye across the cowering woman.
“Nyyyyyyyahhhhhhh!” the thug cried out as he careened to the ground. Instinctively, his finger depressed the trigger of the uzi, letting loose another spray of bullets that eviscerated the store manager. The old man’s arms drooped limply and all the power cells he was carrying spilled across the road.
The second thug looked up from his work at the sound of the revolver’s crack, and was stunned to see the enormous body of MAD BULL 34 stalking towards him like a bear reaching for its prey. He quickly glanced at his dead partner. The green mohawk was ruined once the Smith & Wesson cracked his skull open like a dropped cantaloupe.
“WHOA there!” the red-mulleted thug cautioned as he held up his empty hands. “You’re a cop, you wouldn’t shoot an unarm…”
KAPOW.
A third shot rang out as the revolver’s hammer snapped against another .38 special round. The thug’s jaw was obliterated, teeth splintering as if a bomb had gone off in his mouth. Blood poured down his neck and chest while his hands miserably felt around where his face should have been. He gurgled, unable to make human sounds any longer.
KAPOW.
A fourth shot rang out and traveled in and out the space where his heart normally would stay. With a clomp, the man fell dead across his still idling hover bike.
MAD BULL 34 unclipped his radio from his belt and growled into the receiver, “Sergeant Estes to Dispatch. 10-24, both assailants neutralized. Over!”
“Copy that Sleepy, return to precinct HQ; the captain wants you to meet your new partner. Over and out!”
“It's like livin’ under a french-fry lamp in this shit-hole. No wonder everybody’s gone batty,” he thought to himself.
The corridor ahead of him typically housed all manner of cut-rate shops and vendors, their bright neon signs cutting through the yellow-haze of the myriad street lamps, but today it looked like a war-zone. Twenty yards ahead another cop cruiser was already in shambles, its battered blue paint alit from a molotov cocktail. Officer Diego sat propped up behind his smoking cruiser, a blank stare in his eyes and his weapon lying limply in one hand.
“Yeaahahaha!” a laughing voice twittered through the din of explosions and sprays of sub-machine gun fire.
MAD BULL hoofed it over to the prone officer and gave the man a look over. His front chest was peppered with holes oozing out reddish-black blood.
“Thats what ya get for bein’ a cheap bastard,” Mad Bull thought aloud. “If your tight ass woulda sprung for a vest, maybe you wouldn’t be headin’ to the morgue.”
MAD BULL drew his revolver from its hip holster and held it firm in his right hand, cocking the hammer. With his other he grabbed Officer Diego, a big tuft of the man’s uniform captured in the sergeant's gorilla-sized fist. With his powerful forearms, Mad Bull lifted the officer up and held him aloft like a shield. Cautiously, he began to walk towards the maniacal laughing.
As he walked passed the wrecked police cruiser, he saw a thug swiftly shoving handfuls of glowing battery cells into the saddlebags of a hover-bike. Smoke billowed from the shop windows of an electronic boutique. Another thug stood cackling within the broken pane of glass that once displayed the shop’s name. Like his fellow gang-member, the maniac wore an ankle length trench coat that was covered in colorful airbrushed images of peonies, roses and chrysanthemums. The thug was further garbed in a madcap mix of unmatching boots, leather pants and a mesh vest. The cacophony of colors was eye-blinding, and finished with a neon green mohawk. His pal by the bike sported a brilliantly red dyed mullet himself.
“Get a move on you stupid cows!” the green mohawked man exclaimed as two women dressed like store attendants scurried out of the smoking shop, a crate full of unopened power cells between them both. A middle aged man wearing a suit, perhaps the store’s manager, followed not far behind, his arms cradling more looted cells for the bandits. “Dump ‘em by the bikes or you’ll be eatin’ lead, capisce?”
One of the ladies screamed in reply, caught a heel on a piece of rubble and tumbled to the pavement, scraping her knees and bringing a tear to her eye. As she fell, she took with her the crate she was helping the other carry, and its contents spilt all across the ground.
“What’d I tell ya, ya dumb bitch!” the green mohawked bandit bellowed.
TWHIP! TWHIP! TWHIP! TWHIP!
To punctuate his point, he let out a spray from his uzi in the vicinity of the woman, her body dancing with the impact of dozens of small rounds splashing across her chest. The other woman covered her eyes and began to wail, infuriating the mohawked bandit. In a fury, he lept down from his perch on the shop window and began to race over to the remaining woman, his hand raised for a heavy slap...until he saw the giant lumbering body of MAD BULL 34, Officer Diego still held aloft like a human shield.
“I thought we iced you!” the thug exclaimed after seeing Officer Diego floating towards him, held by Mad Bull’s grip.
“EAT LEAD COPPER!” the thug shouted out as he let loose another spray of bullets that wetly plopped against Diego’s limp torso.
“Unngghh…” Diego whispered.
“Ah shit, he wasn’t dead yet…” the sergeant mused before he tossed away the lifeless corpse and raised his piece shoulder high, gripped it with two hands and squeezed off two rounds.
KAPOW
KAPOW
MAD BULL 34’s Smith & Wesson NY-1 rang out like a thunderclap, and in the blink of an eye the first round widely missed, but the second splattered in the green mohawked thug’s left orbital socket, smearing bone, brain and gooey eye across the cowering woman.
“Nyyyyyyyahhhhhhh!” the thug cried out as he careened to the ground. Instinctively, his finger depressed the trigger of the uzi, letting loose another spray of bullets that eviscerated the store manager. The old man’s arms drooped limply and all the power cells he was carrying spilled across the road.
The second thug looked up from his work at the sound of the revolver’s crack, and was stunned to see the enormous body of MAD BULL 34 stalking towards him like a bear reaching for its prey. He quickly glanced at his dead partner. The green mohawk was ruined once the Smith & Wesson cracked his skull open like a dropped cantaloupe.
“WHOA there!” the red-mulleted thug cautioned as he held up his empty hands. “You’re a cop, you wouldn’t shoot an unarm…”
KAPOW.
A third shot rang out as the revolver’s hammer snapped against another .38 special round. The thug’s jaw was obliterated, teeth splintering as if a bomb had gone off in his mouth. Blood poured down his neck and chest while his hands miserably felt around where his face should have been. He gurgled, unable to make human sounds any longer.
KAPOW.
A fourth shot rang out and traveled in and out the space where his heart normally would stay. With a clomp, the man fell dead across his still idling hover bike.
MAD BULL 34 unclipped his radio from his belt and growled into the receiver, “Sergeant Estes to Dispatch. 10-24, both assailants neutralized. Over!”
“Copy that Sleepy, return to precinct HQ; the captain wants you to meet your new partner. Over and out!”