06-16-2017, 07:18 AM
Like many of the best beaches in the world, the water was relatively shallow for a long distance, and presumably did not drop off until one journeyed far out to see. Sergeant John Estes had waded out until the ocean had reached about chest height, roughly four feet. Afterwards, the lawman had adjusted his goggles and snorkel and began to swim along the brim of the waves, the old plastic flippers propelling him along.
He pushed ahead, frog like, and was glad to have found the used the gear he had looted from the resort's pool. Trudging through four foot high water would have been laborious with every step and an absolute chore. The burly cop could remember how much of a struggle it had been to walk in and out Coney Island's surf as a kid, and he was satisfied that he had thought to properly equip himself for once.
Mad Bull's snorkel snorted and puffed with his heavy breath underwater, but for any other prying eyes, he might have seemed like a very curious submarine periscope. As he looked through the cloudy visor, the cop's mind wandered and he began to consider the situation at hand a little deeper. Since arrival, he had not seen another competitor, but given the explanations shared before his arrival, he knew there were probably still another 29 killers roaming the island. With each of them equipped with the same locating devices, each would know the sites of these special item drops.
Mad Bull snorted frustratedly as he considered the possibilities. His police training reminded him that nothing was more guaranteed to attract scores of violent criminals than the chance at a big score. If these items were as powerful as the event's organizer had led them to believe, every dirtbag and crook would be all over that zone like flies on fresh dog crap.
“Great…” Sergeant Estes muttered to himself.
The cop had been sent to kill a criminal who had clandestinely entered the contest, so it was inevitable that it was going to come to this eventually. Nonetheless, the realization that he was among other Primes, and very dangerous ones at that, filled the ruthless cop with a rare feeling of trepidation.
He pushed ahead, frog like, and was glad to have found the used the gear he had looted from the resort's pool. Trudging through four foot high water would have been laborious with every step and an absolute chore. The burly cop could remember how much of a struggle it had been to walk in and out Coney Island's surf as a kid, and he was satisfied that he had thought to properly equip himself for once.
Mad Bull's snorkel snorted and puffed with his heavy breath underwater, but for any other prying eyes, he might have seemed like a very curious submarine periscope. As he looked through the cloudy visor, the cop's mind wandered and he began to consider the situation at hand a little deeper. Since arrival, he had not seen another competitor, but given the explanations shared before his arrival, he knew there were probably still another 29 killers roaming the island. With each of them equipped with the same locating devices, each would know the sites of these special item drops.
Mad Bull snorted frustratedly as he considered the possibilities. His police training reminded him that nothing was more guaranteed to attract scores of violent criminals than the chance at a big score. If these items were as powerful as the event's organizer had led them to believe, every dirtbag and crook would be all over that zone like flies on fresh dog crap.
“Great…” Sergeant Estes muttered to himself.
The cop had been sent to kill a criminal who had clandestinely entered the contest, so it was inevitable that it was going to come to this eventually. Nonetheless, the realization that he was among other Primes, and very dangerous ones at that, filled the ruthless cop with a rare feeling of trepidation.
Quote:Moving from D9 to D13