CRACK ATTACK!
You get into Rob's old, beefed-up Monte Carlo and drive down to the local grocery store. Before you commit your crime, you mentally prepare yourself for what may occur in the wake of it. You look down at the pistol in your hand and feel a rush of empowerment. And even with your high raging as methamphetamines course through your body, thoughts of crack still cloud your wits. You need some crack. But crack seems to be alluding you lately, like some stupid bitch playing 'hard to get'.
You push these thoughts out of your mind and focus on the task at hand. You take a deep breath, and exit the car. Here goes nothing... The next few minutes are a blur, as you nonchalantly mosey your way over to the medicine aisle. You find the Sudafed almost immediately, and take a few wary glances around to make sure no one is looking. The only other soul in the aisle is an old lady who seems to be eyeing you suspiciously. "You got a problem, bitch?" you confront her. Her eyes widen in shock and she backs away. "Ya, that's what I thought," you add smugly. Confident no one else is watching you, you grab all of the Sudafed and toss it into the bag you brought with you. Then, like a robot focused on a single task, you make your way toward the exit.
You've made but a few paces out the door when you feel a heavy hand land on your shoulder. You reel around and see the old codger that serves as 'security' scrutinizing you with total disdain mirrored in his sunken eyes. "Son, please come with me," he says forcefully. You snicker and pull out the 9mm Rob lent you. "See you in Hell, old-timer," you reply, and pull the trigger. pop!
The old man collapses to the ground, and blood pools around his prone form. Err, actually it was a packet of ketchup in his front pockets. Don't even bother to ask he why he had a packet of ketchup in his pocket (old people like to steal petty shit like sweeteners and Social Security and packets of ketchup from McDOnald's). Just accept it. It might hurt a little at first, but you'll get used to it. You might even find yourself liking it after awhile! (Just like your camp counselor said in 7th grade! Although that was in reference to something else entirely. *ahem!* Let's get back to the present, shall we?) Seems Rob gave you a weak-ass pellet gun. Damn him. You don't give the guard a chance to recover, and make a mad dash to the car.
You peel away from the scene and pray to God no cops are on your trail. But your in luck, seems the cops around here have better things to do like eating donuts and beating minorities. Rob greets you as you pull back into the overgrown lot. "So did you have to cap any fools?" he asks in his leisurely way.
You nod. "Some old fart," you reply in monotone. "But I got the fucking Sudafed." You glare at him. Rob smiles. "Sorry, bro," he offers lamely. "I mean, you don't really think I'd entrust your ass with a real gun, do you? Good. I'm glad there's no hard feelings."
You merely grunt in reply. The two of you go back into his shack. "Okay, man. You've done good so far," Rob lauds you. "Now what I need you to do next is test our newest batch of product. No worries, there's only the slimmest of chances it will kill you." And he hands you a pipe full of crank and a lighter. Both he and Juan look at you expectantly.
You push these thoughts out of your mind and focus on the task at hand. You take a deep breath, and exit the car. Here goes nothing... The next few minutes are a blur, as you nonchalantly mosey your way over to the medicine aisle. You find the Sudafed almost immediately, and take a few wary glances around to make sure no one is looking. The only other soul in the aisle is an old lady who seems to be eyeing you suspiciously. "You got a problem, bitch?" you confront her. Her eyes widen in shock and she backs away. "Ya, that's what I thought," you add smugly. Confident no one else is watching you, you grab all of the Sudafed and toss it into the bag you brought with you. Then, like a robot focused on a single task, you make your way toward the exit.
You've made but a few paces out the door when you feel a heavy hand land on your shoulder. You reel around and see the old codger that serves as 'security' scrutinizing you with total disdain mirrored in his sunken eyes. "Son, please come with me," he says forcefully. You snicker and pull out the 9mm Rob lent you. "See you in Hell, old-timer," you reply, and pull the trigger. pop!
The old man collapses to the ground, and blood pools around his prone form. Err, actually it was a packet of ketchup in his front pockets. Don't even bother to ask he why he had a packet of ketchup in his pocket (old people like to steal petty shit like sweeteners and Social Security and packets of ketchup from McDOnald's). Just accept it. It might hurt a little at first, but you'll get used to it. You might even find yourself liking it after awhile! (Just like your camp counselor said in 7th grade! Although that was in reference to something else entirely. *ahem!* Let's get back to the present, shall we?) Seems Rob gave you a weak-ass pellet gun. Damn him. You don't give the guard a chance to recover, and make a mad dash to the car.
You peel away from the scene and pray to God no cops are on your trail. But your in luck, seems the cops around here have better things to do like eating donuts and beating minorities. Rob greets you as you pull back into the overgrown lot. "So did you have to cap any fools?" he asks in his leisurely way.
You nod. "Some old fart," you reply in monotone. "But I got the fucking Sudafed." You glare at him. Rob smiles. "Sorry, bro," he offers lamely. "I mean, you don't really think I'd entrust your ass with a real gun, do you? Good. I'm glad there's no hard feelings."
You merely grunt in reply. The two of you go back into his shack. "Okay, man. You've done good so far," Rob lauds you. "Now what I need you to do next is test our newest batch of product. No worries, there's only the slimmest of chances it will kill you." And he hands you a pipe full of crank and a lighter. Both he and Juan look at you expectantly.