Sir_Draco & DarkLordoftheFins present . . . [hr] Midair, the click warned him of the inevitable . . . he had run out of ammo. Both weapons stopped firing the second he hit the floor and he rolled away from the raging impacts of the two guys UziÂ´s hammering into the floor of the bar. Uzi-Guys. he called men like this. Not precise, but uncaring and not worrying about collateral damage, they simply pumped lead into the air, knowing they eventually kill the guy they came for. Among all others. People were screaming, running, panic spreading like a radioactive cloud. Soon the Club above, the streets outside and everyone around would be contaminated. Making the Uzi-guyÂ´s escape easier, if they managed to kill him. A big if, actually. He made it behind the bar, and splinters hit his face. Causing small wounds, as the bullets of both sub-machine guns hit the oak-wood of the bar. The bartender desperately tried to get to safety. Watching him, he did not even twitch as the splinter hit him. Instead allowing his hands to do their thing. Magazine. Thrown out. New one from the jacket. Pushed inside. Reloaded. Ready. It all happened while he tried to estimate the situation. He saw one of the guys nearing him through a mirror above the bar he was hiding behind. A second of his movement he saw, before the mirror was shattered by another hit. And alcohol was spattered all of him. He cursed. The wood he was leaning against trembled and splintered, as another wave of lead hit it. Then there was silence and screams. He is reloading . . . His body moved, before his mind gave his okay. Leaping up, the Glock 17 ready and raised, his eyes lurking over itÂ´s barrel searching for something to kill. The second Uzi-guy had a full magazine, though. And he pulled his trigger. Bottles, wood and ash-trays exploded around him. As his own finger pulled the trigger. Once, twice. A third time and the third bullet got the raging guy with the firing Uzi. Probably he had been killed by the second shot. But a forth made it a sure thing. And went to the head. Then there was silence. Nobody there. Nothing. The second guy in hiding, probably, as the dust settled and the last people made it out of the shattered remains of the bar. Slowly turning he checked every corner, slowly stepping out of his cover of the bar. The sound of something hitting the floor behind him made him turn. Grenade. He realized it as his body was already moving. Running, his left leg taking the energy of his acceleration and leaping through the last remaining window, as the explosion behind him grabbed him in the shock wave and send him against a car waiting out there. The alarm went of. The emergency system made water sprinkle from the ceiling above. And as he managed to get his eyes opened - the foams of the explosions biting in them, like little insects - he saw the Uzi-guy in front of him. He had his Uzi one handed pointed directly to him and his grin revealed several golden teeth. Spitting out, Joe looked up. As the guy pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Desperately, he tried to do it again. "Chinese replicate, hm?" Joe asked the Uzi-guy. "Yeah they do that. Sometimes." He raised his Glock and shot Mr. Uzi twice. As the man made his way to the ground, a third one got him in the head. Joe raised himself to the feet, his ears still ringing. He checked them, but it would stay that way for hours. He knew. His headache had gone worth. And the question who wanted to kill him and why his partner and best friend had tried to lure him into a trap seemed less pressing than to find out who send the guys themselves. And where had these guys from Miami got to, anyway? And then . . . Somebody would have . . . [hr] [hl=firebrick] A Bad Day in L.A. ~ An Action Adventure Game[/hl] [hr] Tomorrow in the NSWRPF!