Gangster Chase
Gangster Chase
A slender white male is running down the street and he comes to an alley way. As he stops to catch his breath, he hears the sound of a motorcycle engine. The man begins to run at the sight of the motorcycle and the two boys riding it, stalking him as they sit at the entrance of the alley. The motorcycle revs a roar to warn the man before treading after him. The man gets out of the alley and keeps running. The motorcycle pursues closer and closer. The driver of the bike pushes the bikes limits and catches up to the runner, cutting in front of him, and screeching to a sideways halt, immovable as a wall. The man nearly falls trying to stop. He crawls on the ground, turning around and running away, panting fear escaping his mouth.
The motorcycle pops a wheelie, accelerating with perfect balance. The young man on the back of the bike puts his left hand up and exclaims with shouting whoops and yelps for the exhilaration of the hunt. The motorcycle lowers its front tire, riding steadily on both wheels. Gaining amazing speed, the driver revs the engine and speeds on, the smell of burning rubber fueling his lust to end this chase.
The runner looks over his shoulder as he continues to run. The sight of the motorcycle closing in fills his heart with painful adrenaline. Fear bites his legs. The sensation of collapsing engulfs him but he battles through and continues on strong.
The motorcycle, oblivious to tiredness and pain, presses on with its deadly, unwavering stride and rides the heels of the target as he runs. The driver comes out to the left so to ride side by side with the adversary and busts an instant stop. The jerk of the brake ripples through the bike. The back end slides around in an elliptical motion to the left. The motorcycle begins to go sideways, the engine sputters for breath. The runner looks over his shoulder praying that the motorcycle is stuck. The driver leans to the right and the motorcycle follows, leaning to the right as well. It falls to the concrete and skids the ground, screeching a death call to the running man as it continues his way.
As the young man dashes, his shirt flaps in the wind as if attempting to fly away from the assailants as well. Sweat chokes his eyes with stinging anguish. He blinks away the beads of perspiration and puts all power into the rhythm of his run. The thought of death behind him with its shrieking song empowers the ferocity of his pounding feet.
The bike continues sliding on its side, getting dangerously close to the target. Sparks dance upward from the street as the bike rubs the back of the road. The boy on the back of the motorcycle climbs onto the side of the bike that is tilted upward. He stands on it, balancing steadily as if surfing the waves of a turbulent sea.
The bike continues to slide after the runner and the young man standing on top of it jumps off, stretching his body through the air for precision. His frame soars through the air, chasing after the runner. His fingers are inches from the man when the leverage of the jump reaches it limit! The jumper falls to the ground rolling forward. He ends up on his feet due to the force of his break falling roll. Instantaneously, he pursues the target on foot, treading with might and alacrity in each step.
The victim speeds on across an intersection, followed by his hunter. The driver on the motorcycle whips the bike back on its wheels and faces forward. He pops a wheelie once again to gain speed. The light at the intersection turns red before the driver; the lights to the left and right go green hailing the traffic to flow. The driver has no choice but to stop as the current of the road shifts. Profanity billows out of his mouth as the anticipation to catch his prey surges to eruption.
All energy is drained from the runner. His muscles slumber against his will as he pulls on whatever strength he is able to find within. The pursuer hasn't yet met weariness and battles forward, closing the distance between himself and his quarry. The tired runner spots a white house ahead of him. The house sits with a metal wire fence around the green and yellow yard. The chimney is smoking and the front door is opened, shielded only by the screen door. Paint on the house is chipping in major areas and the yard seems dreary. The years of wear and tear due to the elements, rivals, and raids are evident in the structure of the wooden porch and the damaged yard. The runner pleas to the God to carry him into the yard: his Sanctuary.
The pursuer notices the house and knows what is going through the mind of his hunt. He hastens his pace, matching the runner's speed.
The light turns green at the intersection. The tires of the motorcycle spin rapidly, kicking up smoke as the rubber grinds the street. The bike speeds on, ten points higher than the speed limit. He dodges cars, merging left and right to catch up to his partner...and their fleet footed foe.
The runner crosses the street, aiming to get to the yard. The pursuer continues on, his breath escaping in wheezed puffs. He ignores harshness in his chest and continues on, letting no distance grow between their bodies.
Just as the two nearly make it across all five lanes on the street, the pursuer jumps on the runner's back hoping to make the kill. They roll through the street as cars crash around them, trying not to crush them. They grip to one another for stability. Finally, they stop rolling and let go of one another, parting on the ground. They lay side by side. The sound of a car's horn takes their attention. The car speeds their way and can't stop in time. They roll away from one another. The honking car tries to stop as it nears a burgundy Toyota that is sitting in two lanes at once. The screeching car rams into the Toyota, denting its side. The front of the speeding car dents in almost completely. The horrible, eerie sound of twisting metal and broken glass shocks even the two men on the ground as they watch, shielding their eyes and heads from any airborne debris. More cars screech to a halt and others crash as they attempt to stop. The whole street is rendered isolated due to the ensuing car crashes.
The two guys lay on the ground trying to catch their breath. After seconds of eternity, they roll on their stomachs and look at one another, blaming the other for what has happened with the pierce of their glares.
Finally, the motorcycle comes on the scene; the driver stops for nothing. As a result of his arrogance, he cuts too close in front of a gas truck. The truck driver drops his coffee and pushes the brakes with both feet in an attempt to stop. The eight tires seem to ignore the order of the brakes telling them to stop as they skid forward rebelliously. The driver looses control of the truck, but fights to gain it back, turning the wheel with authority to contend the untamed beast his truck has become.
The motorcycle heads on toward the accident site. The driver can see his partner fighting with their target, trying to wrestle him back to the ground within the ring of crashed cars. Bystanders flee. More brakes screech in the background as more and more cars continue toward the mass accident.
The gas truck drifts on towards the accident scene as well. The motorcyclist is right in the trucks way, followed by a small convertible. The truck driver fights and fights but the truck continues its conquest forward. It hits the convertible sending it spinning. The truck continues forward, ramming into the side of the spinning convertible. The small car flips through the air, over the motorcyclist. The car comes down with a great smash onto its top, cracking part of the street. The car slowly shifts on its top. When it stops, it is pointed at the accident site and is inclined like a ramp slanting upward.
The motorcyclist speeds on toward the makeshift ramp. The truck driver wishes not to hit the car and desperation takes his judgment. He cuts the wheel to the right and the tires obey. The truck turns abruptly to the right and stops. The trailer drags along to follow, but can not make the turn. As the trailer makes its way around to line up with the truck, it dislodges and rolls down the road, following the motorcyclist toward the accident site.
The motorcyclist uses the flipped car as a ramp. Speeding full throttle over the bottom of it, he launches into the air, rising higher and higher. The trailer of the truck rolls to a stop as gas leaks out through small cracks caused by the tumbling.
The heroic song of police sirens ride into the motorcyclist's ears. He turns his body partially in order to see behind himself and he pulls out a pistol. The bangs of continuous fire echo through the street as bullets hail upon the gas trailer. The gas catches fire and flames possess the liquid within seconds. With nary a moment to escape, the trailer explodes! Fire and debris spray in all directions. The blast sounds through the street and trumpets into the air for all to hear. Waves of power emanated by the boom bust the glass of all surrounding cars. One of the squad cars is unfortunate to be just within reach of the fiery gust and is carried high into the air and blown away. It collides with the side of a building, molding its impression in its side. Stone chips and glass rain down on the street. Cops and innocent civilians duck for cover as fear quakes their hearts at once.
The motorcyclist begins to fall, aimed at the accident site. The runner and the motorcyclist's partner continue to fight. The runner jabs at his enemy with quick punches. The pursuer blocks each hit with mild mastery. The hunted man lays great desire into one final right hook as a grunt of anger erupts from his loins. The hunter grabs his adversary by the wrist and wrenches the arm upward. The runner winces. The pursuer wrenches the arm higher and then takes it backwards to allow a new gate of pain to be unleashed. The runner voices his pain uncontrollably. The yanking of the arm causes him to bend forward. His spine locks into place and won't allow him to move. He wiggles stiffly with wishes to contend immobility.
The pursuer smirks with sadism in his cheeks before raising his foot high, erecting it over his own head. The foot comes down with immense force, right onto the runner's back. The runner grunts from the blow, trying not to give his opponent the joy of hearing his pain.
The runner buckles under the weight and pain of the pursuer's attack. He puts a knee down so not to fall completely. This shift causes the pursuers grip to loosen. The runner wiggles his arm free from the clutch of this predator. He turns toward the pursuer, causing the leg to slide off of his spine. He has no time to enjoy the comfort he has finally found. He must act and destroy his foe.
The runner continues to turn, connecting a karate chop to the pursuer's hip. The sting of the blow sends a jolt through the pursuer's leg and he falls down to his knees. The runner stands only slightly, just so that he is but inches taller than his kneeling assailant. He swings his foot inward, performing a quick, yet effective, round kick.
The kick carries the pursuer backwards, limping his body and mind. The runner attacked so fast that he didn't give himself a chance to stabilize his own weight and he falls on his front, rolling slightly. He skins his elbow on the concrete and rips his pants at the knee. The adrenaline of the fight ignores the pain and so the runner doesn't even react to the throbbing scrape. He rises, keeping his eyes on the lustful hunter that lay near him.
The motorcycle falls out of the sky, aiming to fall right on the runner's head. The runner looks up in time. He stumbles onto his back and the motorcycle follows. The front tire overshoots and lands ahead of the runner's body. The back tire nearly skids his face before landing on the ground, inches from the top his head.
The motorcyclist continues forward. He turns within the circle of crashed cars and faces the prey once again. With a swift handspring, the runner is on his feet again. He turns to face the motorcyclist as well. The motorcyclist revs his engine with an intimidating tune. The runner wonders what to do at this point. His thoughts come at him as swarming locust, hazing out reason. The motorcyclist leaves him no chance to decipher the situation and speeds onward for the kill. The runner turns and runs, his feet flirting with hope. The motorcyclist pulls out his pistol once again, the mouth of his bullet biting down into the runner's ankle.
The runner falls to his face. His howling agony beckons the bloody rapture of the grim. The motorcyclist gets off of his bike and walks to his downed victim.
The runner crawls in a pitiful attempt to escape. Hearing the approaching footsteps, he ends his foolish dream of evasion and turns to face his damnation.
The pursuer finally rouses on the ground, just in time to see that his partner had captured their quarry.
The motorcyclist hovers over the runner. As a hawk with a mouse he bears his talons and dives for the kill. He points the gun at the runner and pulls the trigger, unleashing four forms of death from the chasms of the gun. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.
"This hunt is over," the baritone of the motorcyclist's voice seems to reverberate as the world drifts away from the runner...forever.
A slender white male is running down the street and he comes to an alley way. As he stops to catch his breath, he hears the sound of a motorcycle engine. The man begins to run at the sight of the motorcycle and the two boys riding it, stalking him as they sit at the entrance of the alley. The motorcycle revs a roar to warn the man before treading after him. The man gets out of the alley and keeps running. The motorcycle pursues closer and closer. The driver of the bike pushes the bikes limits and catches up to the runner, cutting in front of him, and screeching to a sideways halt, immovable as a wall. The man nearly falls trying to stop. He crawls on the ground, turning around and running away, panting fear escaping his mouth.
The motorcycle pops a wheelie, accelerating with perfect balance. The young man on the back of the bike puts his left hand up and exclaims with shouting whoops and yelps for the exhilaration of the hunt. The motorcycle lowers its front tire, riding steadily on both wheels. Gaining amazing speed, the driver revs the engine and speeds on, the smell of burning rubber fueling his lust to end this chase.
The runner looks over his shoulder as he continues to run. The sight of the motorcycle closing in fills his heart with painful adrenaline. Fear bites his legs. The sensation of collapsing engulfs him but he battles through and continues on strong.
The motorcycle, oblivious to tiredness and pain, presses on with its deadly, unwavering stride and rides the heels of the target as he runs. The driver comes out to the left so to ride side by side with the adversary and busts an instant stop. The jerk of the brake ripples through the bike. The back end slides around in an elliptical motion to the left. The motorcycle begins to go sideways, the engine sputters for breath. The runner looks over his shoulder praying that the motorcycle is stuck. The driver leans to the right and the motorcycle follows, leaning to the right as well. It falls to the concrete and skids the ground, screeching a death call to the running man as it continues his way.
As the young man dashes, his shirt flaps in the wind as if attempting to fly away from the assailants as well. Sweat chokes his eyes with stinging anguish. He blinks away the beads of perspiration and puts all power into the rhythm of his run. The thought of death behind him with its shrieking song empowers the ferocity of his pounding feet.
The bike continues sliding on its side, getting dangerously close to the target. Sparks dance upward from the street as the bike rubs the back of the road. The boy on the back of the motorcycle climbs onto the side of the bike that is tilted upward. He stands on it, balancing steadily as if surfing the waves of a turbulent sea.
The bike continues to slide after the runner and the young man standing on top of it jumps off, stretching his body through the air for precision. His frame soars through the air, chasing after the runner. His fingers are inches from the man when the leverage of the jump reaches it limit! The jumper falls to the ground rolling forward. He ends up on his feet due to the force of his break falling roll. Instantaneously, he pursues the target on foot, treading with might and alacrity in each step.
The victim speeds on across an intersection, followed by his hunter. The driver on the motorcycle whips the bike back on its wheels and faces forward. He pops a wheelie once again to gain speed. The light at the intersection turns red before the driver; the lights to the left and right go green hailing the traffic to flow. The driver has no choice but to stop as the current of the road shifts. Profanity billows out of his mouth as the anticipation to catch his prey surges to eruption.
All energy is drained from the runner. His muscles slumber against his will as he pulls on whatever strength he is able to find within. The pursuer hasn't yet met weariness and battles forward, closing the distance between himself and his quarry. The tired runner spots a white house ahead of him. The house sits with a metal wire fence around the green and yellow yard. The chimney is smoking and the front door is opened, shielded only by the screen door. Paint on the house is chipping in major areas and the yard seems dreary. The years of wear and tear due to the elements, rivals, and raids are evident in the structure of the wooden porch and the damaged yard. The runner pleas to the God to carry him into the yard: his Sanctuary.
The pursuer notices the house and knows what is going through the mind of his hunt. He hastens his pace, matching the runner's speed.
The light turns green at the intersection. The tires of the motorcycle spin rapidly, kicking up smoke as the rubber grinds the street. The bike speeds on, ten points higher than the speed limit. He dodges cars, merging left and right to catch up to his partner...and their fleet footed foe.
The runner crosses the street, aiming to get to the yard. The pursuer continues on, his breath escaping in wheezed puffs. He ignores harshness in his chest and continues on, letting no distance grow between their bodies.
Just as the two nearly make it across all five lanes on the street, the pursuer jumps on the runner's back hoping to make the kill. They roll through the street as cars crash around them, trying not to crush them. They grip to one another for stability. Finally, they stop rolling and let go of one another, parting on the ground. They lay side by side. The sound of a car's horn takes their attention. The car speeds their way and can't stop in time. They roll away from one another. The honking car tries to stop as it nears a burgundy Toyota that is sitting in two lanes at once. The screeching car rams into the Toyota, denting its side. The front of the speeding car dents in almost completely. The horrible, eerie sound of twisting metal and broken glass shocks even the two men on the ground as they watch, shielding their eyes and heads from any airborne debris. More cars screech to a halt and others crash as they attempt to stop. The whole street is rendered isolated due to the ensuing car crashes.
The two guys lay on the ground trying to catch their breath. After seconds of eternity, they roll on their stomachs and look at one another, blaming the other for what has happened with the pierce of their glares.
Finally, the motorcycle comes on the scene; the driver stops for nothing. As a result of his arrogance, he cuts too close in front of a gas truck. The truck driver drops his coffee and pushes the brakes with both feet in an attempt to stop. The eight tires seem to ignore the order of the brakes telling them to stop as they skid forward rebelliously. The driver looses control of the truck, but fights to gain it back, turning the wheel with authority to contend the untamed beast his truck has become.
The motorcycle heads on toward the accident site. The driver can see his partner fighting with their target, trying to wrestle him back to the ground within the ring of crashed cars. Bystanders flee. More brakes screech in the background as more and more cars continue toward the mass accident.
The gas truck drifts on towards the accident scene as well. The motorcyclist is right in the trucks way, followed by a small convertible. The truck driver fights and fights but the truck continues its conquest forward. It hits the convertible sending it spinning. The truck continues forward, ramming into the side of the spinning convertible. The small car flips through the air, over the motorcyclist. The car comes down with a great smash onto its top, cracking part of the street. The car slowly shifts on its top. When it stops, it is pointed at the accident site and is inclined like a ramp slanting upward.
The motorcyclist speeds on toward the makeshift ramp. The truck driver wishes not to hit the car and desperation takes his judgment. He cuts the wheel to the right and the tires obey. The truck turns abruptly to the right and stops. The trailer drags along to follow, but can not make the turn. As the trailer makes its way around to line up with the truck, it dislodges and rolls down the road, following the motorcyclist toward the accident site.
The motorcyclist uses the flipped car as a ramp. Speeding full throttle over the bottom of it, he launches into the air, rising higher and higher. The trailer of the truck rolls to a stop as gas leaks out through small cracks caused by the tumbling.
The heroic song of police sirens ride into the motorcyclist's ears. He turns his body partially in order to see behind himself and he pulls out a pistol. The bangs of continuous fire echo through the street as bullets hail upon the gas trailer. The gas catches fire and flames possess the liquid within seconds. With nary a moment to escape, the trailer explodes! Fire and debris spray in all directions. The blast sounds through the street and trumpets into the air for all to hear. Waves of power emanated by the boom bust the glass of all surrounding cars. One of the squad cars is unfortunate to be just within reach of the fiery gust and is carried high into the air and blown away. It collides with the side of a building, molding its impression in its side. Stone chips and glass rain down on the street. Cops and innocent civilians duck for cover as fear quakes their hearts at once.
The motorcyclist begins to fall, aimed at the accident site. The runner and the motorcyclist's partner continue to fight. The runner jabs at his enemy with quick punches. The pursuer blocks each hit with mild mastery. The hunted man lays great desire into one final right hook as a grunt of anger erupts from his loins. The hunter grabs his adversary by the wrist and wrenches the arm upward. The runner winces. The pursuer wrenches the arm higher and then takes it backwards to allow a new gate of pain to be unleashed. The runner voices his pain uncontrollably. The yanking of the arm causes him to bend forward. His spine locks into place and won't allow him to move. He wiggles stiffly with wishes to contend immobility.
The pursuer smirks with sadism in his cheeks before raising his foot high, erecting it over his own head. The foot comes down with immense force, right onto the runner's back. The runner grunts from the blow, trying not to give his opponent the joy of hearing his pain.
The runner buckles under the weight and pain of the pursuer's attack. He puts a knee down so not to fall completely. This shift causes the pursuers grip to loosen. The runner wiggles his arm free from the clutch of this predator. He turns toward the pursuer, causing the leg to slide off of his spine. He has no time to enjoy the comfort he has finally found. He must act and destroy his foe.
The runner continues to turn, connecting a karate chop to the pursuer's hip. The sting of the blow sends a jolt through the pursuer's leg and he falls down to his knees. The runner stands only slightly, just so that he is but inches taller than his kneeling assailant. He swings his foot inward, performing a quick, yet effective, round kick.
The kick carries the pursuer backwards, limping his body and mind. The runner attacked so fast that he didn't give himself a chance to stabilize his own weight and he falls on his front, rolling slightly. He skins his elbow on the concrete and rips his pants at the knee. The adrenaline of the fight ignores the pain and so the runner doesn't even react to the throbbing scrape. He rises, keeping his eyes on the lustful hunter that lay near him.
The motorcycle falls out of the sky, aiming to fall right on the runner's head. The runner looks up in time. He stumbles onto his back and the motorcycle follows. The front tire overshoots and lands ahead of the runner's body. The back tire nearly skids his face before landing on the ground, inches from the top his head.
The motorcyclist continues forward. He turns within the circle of crashed cars and faces the prey once again. With a swift handspring, the runner is on his feet again. He turns to face the motorcyclist as well. The motorcyclist revs his engine with an intimidating tune. The runner wonders what to do at this point. His thoughts come at him as swarming locust, hazing out reason. The motorcyclist leaves him no chance to decipher the situation and speeds onward for the kill. The runner turns and runs, his feet flirting with hope. The motorcyclist pulls out his pistol once again, the mouth of his bullet biting down into the runner's ankle.
The runner falls to his face. His howling agony beckons the bloody rapture of the grim. The motorcyclist gets off of his bike and walks to his downed victim.
The runner crawls in a pitiful attempt to escape. Hearing the approaching footsteps, he ends his foolish dream of evasion and turns to face his damnation.
The pursuer finally rouses on the ground, just in time to see that his partner had captured their quarry.
The motorcyclist hovers over the runner. As a hawk with a mouse he bears his talons and dives for the kill. He points the gun at the runner and pulls the trigger, unleashing four forms of death from the chasms of the gun. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.
"This hunt is over," the baritone of the motorcyclist's voice seems to reverberate as the world drifts away from the runner...forever.
