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Viewing Single Post From: Bitti Rüya
laZardo
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^This is not what a Laz looks like^
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((All GMing previously worked out with Goose beforehand, for those reading.))

Rashid smiled toothily as his friend got up. Surely the smaller boy would have noticed when he picked the gunblade up, but at this point, it was expected from the way Harun scrambled to his feet like a helpless small animal, all the way down to that helpless look on his face. All that confidence that little ratbastard had built up while wielding that gunblade was slowly melting away in front of him.

Oh yes, this time it would work. This time, he had the gunblade firmly in his hands with his target backed up against the wall (or rather, the railing). This time, he had finally pulled one over on the man he knew would double-cross him sooner if not later. Even if Harun decided to bolt, he would be the prey and not the predator.

All Rashid had to do was cock the damn thing and pull the trigger. Was that so hard to do?

CLICK.

He was only able to do the first when Harun finally decided to do something, raising the rather heavy and unwieldy thing to take the shot. Unfortunately, Rashid didn't believe Harun had really intended to do what he did right up until the moment right before his head was a split-inch from his torso.

"FU-" was all he could say as Harun's headbutt impacted square in his solar plexus and sent him straight back onto the wood floor of the gazebo. For a moment he thought the wood had buckled under him, and the two had fallen into the closed area underneath.

But he held on, his grip tightening in reflex around the gun-blade upon impact. He didn't want to let go, not when he was so very close. He didn't want to be as fucking useless as he was only a few days ago. His finger slipped toward the trigger from the trigger guard. Harun was diverting its aim with one arm grabbing the blade regardless of the obvious consequences to his fingers - no doubt a result of the adrenalin rush. The other arm sent its fist straight into his face. The only thing he could do was try to bring his other arm around to reinforce his grip...but that was already hard enough to do with the familiar weight of an entire scraggly teenager on top of him.

As the most rotten of luck would have it, deja vu had its own way of sneaking up on him, having its way with him and leaving him crying and curled up on the bedsheets while it smoked a drag and casually tossed him a twenty just for not leaving it dissatisfied.

CRACK.

It was that second punch knocked the wind out of him and the grip out of his hands. Hell, he even felt like his head had been nailed straight into the ground. His arms felt much lighter as Harun pried the gun out of his still-warm, living hands. He could feel his opportunity, his hope snatched away from him and turned upon him. There was little time to regret anything at all before Harun's own instincts took control.

POW.

And in that instant, when that gunshot rang out and sent fire and GSR raging into his jugular, he knew that he had failed. A numbing cold began to spread into the rest of his body, starting from the extremities and working its way up to his torso. Blood splurted and trickled out of the rather large wound the gunblade's bullet had torn out of his flesh. To add mortal insult to fatal injury, Rashid had actually enabled his own demise by making Harun's firing of that weapon a little bit easier.

Now, of all moments, would have been the perfect time to make amends with a deity. Although the obvious circumstances of being mortally wounded through a rather gruesome jugular wound would have exempted him from other duties, Rashid would at least have been able to slow his thoughts in the few seconds he had left to recite the same verses his parents had told him when he was born - and the same ones he would have to recite with whatever strength would help him do so in earnest sincerity upon his painful, very imminent death.

Yet rather than anything religious, his thoughts had instead rested upon the realization that there was nobody here to help him, no person, group or deity, the realization that his 18 years of existence had led him up to this crucial week, this moment where his attempt to double-cross someone was fatally reversed upon him. That all this - effectively - was for nothing. And rather than even try to utter the blood-splattered beginnings of the last Shahada, he instead uttered a blood-spattered whimper to the world. Or at least, to the boy that finally justified the silent paranoia he had stewing in him for the better part of a whole week. He raised his head - about the only physical motion he had the strength to do at this point, to glare at the man that killed him.

"F...fuck...I...knew..." he coughed and sputtered as his vision began to fade, "Fucking...use-...useless..."

After that, the only noises out of his mouth were his own reflexive death gurgles as his head landed back on the ground with a soft thump. The only thing he could see was the washy brown of gazebo's ceiling slowly turning to black as his brain began to shut down on itself. There would be a point - perhaps a few seconds - where his thoughts would recognize oblivion before they too dissolved, but it was already too late to care.

He tried to force a little smile as he found a twisted measure of peace.

After all, nobody ever said that a person could go out with both a bang and a whimper.

At the Hassan residence, the TV had been switched off the moment the gunshot rang out.

Voices in my head, I'm goin in' shock, I'm reaching for the Glock but the music stopped.


B144 - HASSAN, R - WASTED!

Unfucked: Cisco Vasquez (V4)
Proper Fucked: Harris Van Allen (The Program), Rashid Hassan (V4)
Fucked Soon: Carlos Lazaro and Eliza Patton
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