Promo: The Grand Finale

[Guest Insanityman]

Easton, Pennsylvania, June 24th 2002.

---

Thunder booms across the darkened sky, and the storm clouds are slowly rolling into place. A rain has begun to descend from the midnight sky. As the rain changes to bullets of rain they slam and break violently against the parked cars, against the crummy old houses, across the worn down back alleys where blood has been spilt. The beaten streetlights provide a small area of light and on the far away corner of one of the streets a man stands under the light. His body langue seems tense at first but he slowly eases against the lamppost. He stands around 6’2” and his slender body quivers with fright, he looks around paranoid, waiting. The rain splat upon his black reefer coat and his light brown hair is under a rain cap. He slowly reaches into one of his coat pockets and reveals a package of new cigarettes he fumbles excited as he flips over the flap and he pulls a long slender cigarette out as he places the pack to the original spot. He quickly glances around then looks at the digital watch that glows. “12:45.” He mutters to himself as the rain continues to beat on his hat. He reaches into his blue jeans pocket and he pulls out a lighter he fluently flips the lid over and flicks it on as he lights the cigarette with cupped hands. He inhales the tar (eh, smoke) in and he slowly blows it out. Soon he tugs off the rain cap and he slips a Berretta from a sewed in pocket inside the jacket and he places it carefully in the rain cap as he rolls it up tightly, but not too tightly. Scott Smith was excited, it’d be his first assassination in awhile, but he had to make the little bugger talk first. Soon he heard a faint noise and he twirls to his left to see a rock roll into a darker alley. He slowly takes soft steps towards the rock but suddenly hears another noise, breath. He spins around to receive a swift kick to the gut. His arm instinctively reaches under his jacket and he pulls out a thin switchblade and he lunges it forward for the stab. His attempts fail as his wrist gets caught and twirled into a hammerlock and from behind a cold hand grasps around his neck. Smith struggles but slowly he drops the switchblade. In his free hand, glad the assaulter didn’t notice, he slips the rain hat into the pocket he pulled the silenced gun from. He fells himself pulled into the darker alley where the rock rolled. Smith puts his foot under the switchblade as it drags with him. He makes wheezing sounds to cover the scraping sound and soon a dim light is seen in middle of the alley.

 

As they continue the drag turn and Scott nearly uses all conscious he loosens the grip and lets go of the hammerlock. He twirls around in the dim light as he sees the man’s body but a hooded face. He grabs the top of the hood and throws it down as Andrew Rickmen just as Smith remembered him (except taller). Scott goes to speak but Andrew smirks and his eyes indicate for Scott to look below him. A silenced Walther PPK is only inches away from his gut. “Been watching James Bond, Andrew?” Smith talks first with a low gruff voice. Rickmen’s eyes turn to stone and he barks, “Who sent you?”

 

“Who do you think, I’m not a freelance, or a rat.” He adds in taking a step back, Rickmen with anger lunges forwards smacking the cigarette that remained at the side of his mouth out of place. He end nearly hits Scott’s jaw and he spits it out and Rickmen bends down keeping the gun at the same spot and he covers it from the rain. Scott takes the chance to examine the SJL dud Insane Luchador. Tan cargoes the hooded black sweatshirt. The same style of shoe he’s had since he has fifteen. He also noticed that he gained a lot of weight, as even though the sweatshirt was baggy he could see some parts bulging. Andrew Rickmen then takes another step forward the gun still trained at his gut. “Now, now be a good boy and tell me why you’re here to take me out, again.” He barks.

 

“I’m not saying anything… for fun, okay?” Insane Luchador pauses confused, Scott bends down throwing his shoulder into IL’s gut and as IL reels backwards Smith goes to bend down but is barked at. The Walther pointed at his head Scott sighs, “Still have it.” He comments.

 

“Why’d you bump off Matthews, he was my boss! My fucking best friend... Dude, we ran together for a brief amount of time in Easton, remember? You were merely fifteen! I was only seventeen.” Smith says beginning the mind games.

 

“Yeah, you act like I care too.” IL says nonchalantly. “Revenge?” He asks.

 

“Something around that.” Scott adds in. “Also a few thousands, I was hoping your death would pay more… meh it happens. So how come you haven’t ratted on everything?” Smith asks and he raises his hands in the air as he slowly leans under the beaten lamp pole that shed the light. “Your dad… he didn’t approve, your brother would of killed you himself if he was alive when you ratted.” Scott replies with his own five star smirk. Andrew lunges forwards with the cigarette still hot as it slams into Smith’s cheek flesh. He screams in pain and he slowly begins to sink as Rickmen pushes it inward more. Scott’s hands grab onto IL’s and he squeezes in an attempt for him to let go. A scolding hot chunk of flesh sorry dribbles down Scott’s face as tears fill his eyes and the chunk slams onto the ground. The rain splats onto it and Rickmen drops the cigarette letting the rain put it out as Smith grabs the bleeding wound with both hands and he sinks even lower against the wall Rickmen is content with the damage as he grins like a maniac as blood slowly seeps through Scott’s hand. “Rickmen… your gonna die.” He slowly mutters nearly losing his senses.

 

“If I ever needed my slate cleaned again, I tip them off, they know better than to not.”

 

Smith lets his right arm hang limp by his foot as he clutches the switchblade and Scott replies, “You really think you are larger than life…. Sure, your good, but not that good.”

 

“You always had an ego too.” Andrew snaps and is becoming hurt with the visions of his brother’s funeral. That day it rained just like this night, well technically day. “I’m sick of this, you go back I’ll let whoever your working for kill you, because I’m getting very tired of all this.” Rickmen says and then he sighs. Scott nods slowly and Rickmen turns around and begins to walk down the alley back into the darkness yet not into the street and Smith raises to his feet slowly taking out his rain cap as he unrolls it taking out the gun. Turning the safety lock off with a sudden click Andrew whirls around and gets a look of shock as Smith softly says, “Goodbye Andrew. Now we can see what your brother will do to you in hell.” He pulls the trigger twice as Andrew aims the gun and pulls the trigger. Three cough like sounds (in total) are emitted and Scott goes reeling backwards as he grabs right under his rib cage in pain. Rickmen however falls straight to his back as two shots are landed near his heart. Scott staggers just letting the blood flow onto his hand as it stares at it in fear. The light only reveals IL’s feet that are still and Smith reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell phone as he hits a number his body giving away. “It’s done…” He slurs and he drops the cell phone staggering forwards and then he takes a step back, a baby step forward and then he falls onto his back. Soon his body has a short spasm reassuring he’s moved on from Earth. Only about four feet away Rickmen lies there and he slowly blinks and he lefts his head up looking at his sweatshirt with two holes in it. His breathing shallow as it felt like to hard kicks to the chest he pulls himself up. At his feet he regains his breathing and he peels off the sweatshirt revealing a lighter version of a Kevlar vest. He slowly lifted that off wearing a thin black tee shirt and he tucked the gun in his pocket and he swiftly took off with a smirk. He quickly looked back and saw the switchblade and was thankful he didn’t get any closer. Sighing with relief he ran off towards no-where, for he is “dead.”

 

OoC: Had to misguide you guys... IL's in hiding and soon the word will be he's "dead." I figured you'd assume all that but meh.

[Guest Renegade]

Farewell IL, for now anyway...

 

Im going to miss the IL promo's

 

Good good stuff.

[Guest kelloggs]

Peace IL and come back as soon as you're ready

[Guest Tyler McClelland]

Finally another one exits the lawn...

 

Stay the fuck off, biyatch.

[Guest hhh6294]

*~* Jake pisses on Outcast's lawn *~*

 

Outcast: "WHAT THE FUCK!!!!"

 

*~* Jake blames it on Cutthroat *~*

 

Cutthroat: "CUTTHROAT!!"

 

*~* Jake laughs as Outcast beats Cutthroat to hell *~*

 

 

Hi-Ho... Hi-Ho... back ONTO the topic we go...

 

Kick ass promo, Luchadore. Sorry to see you go, and I hope that you come back for the big B-U-M-P some day!

[Guest -Cutthroat-]

Great Stuff!

See you later IL...Come back soon..don't remember to write!!!

[Guest Ace309]

w00t

 

Nothing beats a death angle!

 

Just ask Mercury!

[Guest hhh6294]

phht... Merc sucks a death angles.

 

 

I 0\/\//\/z d/\ <|-|3/\/\|5T!!!!1111!!!1!!!11

 

What?

 

I 0\/\//\/z d/\ <|-|3/\/\|5T!!!!1111!!!1!!!11

 

 

B) Pimpin' B)