The "General Games Chat" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only. You cannot post here or create a new thread or review on this forum.
I have decided to write me a short story based on GTA3 because a) it rules and b) We can't have MGS2 dominating everything. Wish the GTA3 bloke had a name though...So instead I'll use names of SR chaps and lasses for characters. Enjoy.
Oh, it doesn't relate to the games storyline.
--
Pb hammered on the door of the shack, rain bouncing off the wrecked cars and mechanical stuff that lay scattered about the yard. He clutched his side with one hand.
"Open up, man!" he yelled. The door was flung open. A shaven-headed black man peered out, clutching an Uzi in one hand.
"Oh, hey man. What the fun happened to you?" said 8-Ball, looking Pb up and down. "You like you've being funning run over by a psychopathic Columbian!"
"Funny you should mention that..." said Pb, and fell inside.
--
3 days ago...
Pb hung up the phone. So the Yakuza wanted King Goatboy dead, did they? That would be hard. The Hicks Cartel didn't generally let anyone inside the Entertainment District. He shrugged. He had other stuff to do first. The Yardies wanted some Cartel Cruisers, and Miguel had them all locked down inside the construction site. For reasons yet unknown. Pb didn't like that. He stepped out of the shadows.
"HEY! STOP!" yelled a voice. Pb swore as he saw a police car screech to a stop at the entrance. A cop leant over the doors, pistol locked onto him.
"You are under arrest for the assassination of a judge of the Supreme Court, name of Your Honour."
"Oh fun you, cop." Pb now regretted taking Donald Love's money. That man made too many enemies.
"Yeah, you want to shake hands with the devil, scum? Press me one more time and you will." yelled the cop.
His pistol was shaking with anger. Pb smiled, and pulled the Uzi from behind him. He dived forward, finger compressing the trigger. He bullets smashed through the glass frame to implode into the cop's body. Red blood splattered the car. Pb smirked, and stepped up to the shaking body.
"Are you gonna kill me...?" muttered the cop, blood flowing from a dozen wounds.
"Yeah, I'm bored." Pb picked up the cop and bundled him into the car. Then he pulled a grenade free, yanked the pin out with his teeth, and put it in the cop's hand.
"Sweet dreams." gloated Pb, and ran for cover. The car blossomed outwards as the grenade exploded, the shockwave sending Pb smashing into the bodywork of a Landstalker. He moaned and got up. Sirens were wailing around the city. he shouldn't have done that. He looked around. He was near Asuka's condo. He could escape by boat, but the choppers would be on him in seconds. Then his eyes flickered to the dark blue Banshee parked nearby. He smiled.
'Hi, I'm Laslow, with open ears and a closed mind...'
Pb revved the Banshee's engine as he sped around the corner, munching a passing hooker under the spiralling wheels. Chatterbox played in the background. He wrenched the gearlever into 5th and accelerated as two cop cars fell into place behind them. No cop in the city could keep up with a Banshee in the hands of a good driver. And Pb was a bloody excellent driver. He pulled up on the handbrake, skidding round a corner, wheels spinning. The two cop cars piled past, trying to turn on top of each other. They smashed into a wall, and immediately one's engine began to flame. Pb smiled as he drove away.
Then he saw a fat person. Pb disliked fat people. They disgraced the streets of Liberty. Only one solution to this.
'No, but if I did eat too much squirrel, I'd use the DORMATRON..' droned Laslow in the background. No, not that...
Pb kicked open the door and aimed the Uzi. He let rip, laughing insanely as the fat man was driven backwards into the wall. Pb held the trigger for a few more seconds, and smirked as an old lady was smashed over a flowerbed. Then he drove off. Today was looking good so far. He reached over into the back seat. Where was that damn M16? He took his eyes of the road and looked. Aha, there it was. Damn good weapon. He dropped it into the passenger seat and looked round.
"OHHHH CRAP!" he yelled, and grabbed the M16, kicking open the door again. He dived out of the Banshee as it zoomed over an embankment and into the sapphire sea. He yelled out in pain as he landed on tarmac and rolled. Someone in a Stallion hooted as they swerved to avoid him. Pb would never swerve to avoid anyone. And someone hooting at him deserved pain. He raised himself to one knee, and aimed the M16. He let fire, sending an array of bullets into the car. It exploded too soon. Pb must have hit the petrol tank.
"Cool." he muttered. He raised himself to his feet and limped into the road. Someone skidded to a halt. Pb's luck was in - it was a Cheetah. The guy hopped out.
"Hey, you OK buddy? You got blood dripping fro..."
Pb sprayed 12 bullets into him with the Uzi. Then he got into the car, and flicked the radio over to Chatterbox. What kind of an idiot listened to Double Cleff FM anyway? As he reversed over the body of the former owner of the car, his mobile rang.
"Hey honey, it's Maria! You know, you're so big and stron.."
Pb hung up. Damn, she annoyed him.
'Guns don't kill people, Laslow, death kills people...'
Rednecks. Pb disliked rednecks. He turned the corner into Fort Staunton, slowing to a crawl. The construction site was up ahead. Pb counted 15 Columbians guarding it.This would require tact, and diplomacy...in a game like Metal Gear Solid 2. Pb slammed his foot down on the accelerator and smashed through the red-striped barrier. The Cheetah soared up into the air as he cleared an earth barrier. A Columbian was below, yelling in some foreign language. Pb disliked foreigners. He leant out with the Uzi and slammed a few bullets into the guys head. Then the car crashed to a stop, something squelching underneath. Probably another Columbian. Pb shrugged, and dived from the car seconds before machine gun fire peppered it.
He rolled for cover, bullets kicking up earth as they followed him. He rolled to a halt behind a door, and wrenched a bottle from his belt. He pulled out a lighter from his pocket and lit it. Smiling, he threw it backwards over the wall behind him. Screams immediately erupted.
"Aiii, amigo, mai poncho eeesss on faiiire..."
Pb leapt over the wall. 5 Columbians were dancing around, on fire. He considered this for a second, and then showered them all with bullets. He dived forwards over a wall when a small grenade bounced into the area. He was bowled over as the blast caught him and slammed him through a crate of rotting wood. He lay still, clutching the M16.
"Eeesss he deed?"
" You go, amigo."
"Aii, me?"
A Columbian inched forward, backed by two others. Pb stood up. He nodded to them.
"Guys." Then he shot them all. In the head.
A Cartel Cruiser lay tempting, parked for an easy getaway. Pb smiled, and leapt into it. Miguel ran from a hut, brandishing another M16.
"No, no, no, yoo canneet!" Pb ran him over. Then reversed backwards. Just for good measure.
As Pb accelerated out of the complex, a young lady dressed in red leant over the window.
Pb raised an eyebrow, smiling.
--
To be continued....
Oh, it doesn't relate to the games storyline.
--
Pb hammered on the door of the shack, rain bouncing off the wrecked cars and mechanical stuff that lay scattered about the yard. He clutched his side with one hand.
"Open up, man!" he yelled. The door was flung open. A shaven-headed black man peered out, clutching an Uzi in one hand.
"Oh, hey man. What the fun happened to you?" said 8-Ball, looking Pb up and down. "You like you've being funning run over by a psychopathic Columbian!"
"Funny you should mention that..." said Pb, and fell inside.
--
3 days ago...
Pb hung up the phone. So the Yakuza wanted King Goatboy dead, did they? That would be hard. The Hicks Cartel didn't generally let anyone inside the Entertainment District. He shrugged. He had other stuff to do first. The Yardies wanted some Cartel Cruisers, and Miguel had them all locked down inside the construction site. For reasons yet unknown. Pb didn't like that. He stepped out of the shadows.
"HEY! STOP!" yelled a voice. Pb swore as he saw a police car screech to a stop at the entrance. A cop leant over the doors, pistol locked onto him.
"You are under arrest for the assassination of a judge of the Supreme Court, name of Your Honour."
"Oh fun you, cop." Pb now regretted taking Donald Love's money. That man made too many enemies.
"Yeah, you want to shake hands with the devil, scum? Press me one more time and you will." yelled the cop.
His pistol was shaking with anger. Pb smiled, and pulled the Uzi from behind him. He dived forward, finger compressing the trigger. He bullets smashed through the glass frame to implode into the cop's body. Red blood splattered the car. Pb smirked, and stepped up to the shaking body.
"Are you gonna kill me...?" muttered the cop, blood flowing from a dozen wounds.
"Yeah, I'm bored." Pb picked up the cop and bundled him into the car. Then he pulled a grenade free, yanked the pin out with his teeth, and put it in the cop's hand.
"Sweet dreams." gloated Pb, and ran for cover. The car blossomed outwards as the grenade exploded, the shockwave sending Pb smashing into the bodywork of a Landstalker. He moaned and got up. Sirens were wailing around the city. he shouldn't have done that. He looked around. He was near Asuka's condo. He could escape by boat, but the choppers would be on him in seconds. Then his eyes flickered to the dark blue Banshee parked nearby. He smiled.
'Hi, I'm Laslow, with open ears and a closed mind...'
Pb revved the Banshee's engine as he sped around the corner, munching a passing hooker under the spiralling wheels. Chatterbox played in the background. He wrenched the gearlever into 5th and accelerated as two cop cars fell into place behind them. No cop in the city could keep up with a Banshee in the hands of a good driver. And Pb was a bloody excellent driver. He pulled up on the handbrake, skidding round a corner, wheels spinning. The two cop cars piled past, trying to turn on top of each other. They smashed into a wall, and immediately one's engine began to flame. Pb smiled as he drove away.
Then he saw a fat person. Pb disliked fat people. They disgraced the streets of Liberty. Only one solution to this.
'No, but if I did eat too much squirrel, I'd use the DORMATRON..' droned Laslow in the background. No, not that...
Pb kicked open the door and aimed the Uzi. He let rip, laughing insanely as the fat man was driven backwards into the wall. Pb held the trigger for a few more seconds, and smirked as an old lady was smashed over a flowerbed. Then he drove off. Today was looking good so far. He reached over into the back seat. Where was that damn M16? He took his eyes of the road and looked. Aha, there it was. Damn good weapon. He dropped it into the passenger seat and looked round.
"OHHHH CRAP!" he yelled, and grabbed the M16, kicking open the door again. He dived out of the Banshee as it zoomed over an embankment and into the sapphire sea. He yelled out in pain as he landed on tarmac and rolled. Someone in a Stallion hooted as they swerved to avoid him. Pb would never swerve to avoid anyone. And someone hooting at him deserved pain. He raised himself to one knee, and aimed the M16. He let fire, sending an array of bullets into the car. It exploded too soon. Pb must have hit the petrol tank.
"Cool." he muttered. He raised himself to his feet and limped into the road. Someone skidded to a halt. Pb's luck was in - it was a Cheetah. The guy hopped out.
"Hey, you OK buddy? You got blood dripping fro..."
Pb sprayed 12 bullets into him with the Uzi. Then he got into the car, and flicked the radio over to Chatterbox. What kind of an idiot listened to Double Cleff FM anyway? As he reversed over the body of the former owner of the car, his mobile rang.
"Hey honey, it's Maria! You know, you're so big and stron.."
Pb hung up. Damn, she annoyed him.
'Guns don't kill people, Laslow, death kills people...'
Rednecks. Pb disliked rednecks. He turned the corner into Fort Staunton, slowing to a crawl. The construction site was up ahead. Pb counted 15 Columbians guarding it.This would require tact, and diplomacy...in a game like Metal Gear Solid 2. Pb slammed his foot down on the accelerator and smashed through the red-striped barrier. The Cheetah soared up into the air as he cleared an earth barrier. A Columbian was below, yelling in some foreign language. Pb disliked foreigners. He leant out with the Uzi and slammed a few bullets into the guys head. Then the car crashed to a stop, something squelching underneath. Probably another Columbian. Pb shrugged, and dived from the car seconds before machine gun fire peppered it.
He rolled for cover, bullets kicking up earth as they followed him. He rolled to a halt behind a door, and wrenched a bottle from his belt. He pulled out a lighter from his pocket and lit it. Smiling, he threw it backwards over the wall behind him. Screams immediately erupted.
"Aiii, amigo, mai poncho eeesss on faiiire..."
Pb leapt over the wall. 5 Columbians were dancing around, on fire. He considered this for a second, and then showered them all with bullets. He dived forwards over a wall when a small grenade bounced into the area. He was bowled over as the blast caught him and slammed him through a crate of rotting wood. He lay still, clutching the M16.
"Eeesss he deed?"
" You go, amigo."
"Aii, me?"
A Columbian inched forward, backed by two others. Pb stood up. He nodded to them.
"Guys." Then he shot them all. In the head.
A Cartel Cruiser lay tempting, parked for an easy getaway. Pb smiled, and leapt into it. Miguel ran from a hut, brandishing another M16.
"No, no, no, yoo canneet!" Pb ran him over. Then reversed backwards. Just for good measure.
As Pb accelerated out of the complex, a young lady dressed in red leant over the window.
Pb raised an eyebrow, smiling.
--
To be continued....
Pb held his arms tucked behind him, casually grasping the shotgun he had pulled from the trunk of the taxi. He nodded amicably to the two Cartel members approaching him.
"Hey, wait a minu..." started one. Pb whipped the shotgun out from behind him and unloaded two pellets into the guy's gut. That propelled him backwards, crashing into the second guy. Pb stepped over the struggling man and shot him once in the neck. Blood fountained upwards, but Pb was already running. He knew other gangies would have heard the noise. Sure enough, as he rounded the corner into Goatboy's drive, shotgun pellets peppered the wall behind him. Discarding the shotgun, he pulled out his trusty Uzi and let fly. Two men went tumbling backwards over a ridge and another guard had one of his legs shot to pieces. Pb didn't slow, and took the steps two at a time. Two bullets shattered the glass and he dived through. Rising to one knee, he compressed the trigger and scythed the Uzi round. Three of the four men in the room fell before the Uzi clicked. Goatboy smiled as he raised a pistol.
"Oh s**t..." moaned Pb and dived behind a chair and a flurry of bullets smacked into the ground he had been resting on.
The click of an empty clip hitting the ground. Pb scrabbled in his combat pouches for a spare Uzi clip. A radio blared in the background.
'Absolutely Laslow. Killer bees.'
"How much is Asuka paying you, scum?" panted Goatboy's voice. Another two bullets zoomed into the floor to the right of Pb.
"I'll match it." he said again.
"Yeah?" Pb muttered, peering under the chairs. "Well, I take cheque or cre...Aha."
He shoved the Uzi under a chair corner, the muzzle erupting in fire. Goatboy's ankles exploded in blood, and he keeled over backwards into a leather chair. Pb stood up laughing, and slowly walked towards Goatboy.
"All your money won't buy your life from me. Well, maybe that clock."
"You want it?" panted Goatboy desperately.
"Only fooling with you, old man. Goodbye."
The Uzi roared again. Pb smiled as he vaulted over the railings and landed lightly in the mansion's carpark. Raised voices were yelling inside the house. Pb looked about. Ooh, a Banshee. Bonus.
Men poured from the house as Pb vaulted the side of the convertable. Bullets pinged off the exquiste bodywork and he flicked the gearlever up and floored the throttle. The engine roared and Pb spun the wheel about. He thrust the Uzi over the shattered window and treated the gangies to a shower of Uzi bullets before shooting over a sheer cliff, yelling in excitement.
"OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH FUUUUUUUUUUCCC....."
The car bounced. Pb saw swirling colours as the car spun across a road.
Then he squashed a hobo. Pb shrugged, and straightened up. Four cars landed behind him, all bearing Hicks Cartel insignia. Damn, thought Pb. He flicked the radio over to Chatterbox, and took off.
'Hey, don't pimp out my listeners...'
Laslow was having problems with Fernando again, then. Pb swerved round a corner and glanced in the rear-view mirror, fully expecting to see clear road. Instead gunfire shattered it. Bloody hell, these junkies could drive. Pb wrenched the handbrake up as he rotated round the corner to the bridge, and flattened it and opened the engine out into a roar. He skipped over the road divide into the opposite lane. This trick had shaken many a cop. All Pb caught were brief glances of other drivers speeding towards him, blaring their horns. Liberty was such a friendly place, thought Pb wryly. A glance behind him told him that the junkies were still on his tail.
'You very racist Laslow. I no like that..'
Maybe Laslow would appreciate Fernando being bumped, thought Pb and he jumped over to the other side of the road, narrowly skidded to avoid a Linerunner. Jesus, these junkies were good! He wrenched the steering wheel over, sending the car into an uncontrollable spin. He pulled his M16 free and let in roar, aiming randomly at the flashing black shapes that appeared in his vision. Then he slammed on the brakes, and nodded in satisfaction as he saw on of his tails erupting in flames. He zoomed off in the direction of the riveria, three Hicks cars on his bumper. Uzi fire was peppering the trunk. Soon one of them was going to hit the petrol...Pb soared out from the road, langing upside down just by the riveria. Oh crap, the engine was on fire! He leapt over the side seconds before the car exploded. He landed spluttering in the water, but grinned evilly as he saw two Hicks car shoot over the edge of the balcony. But the last skidded to a halt, and four men were running down the steps to a boat. Pb grunted and sppeded over to a Predator. Lousy police issue, but it would have to do. At least it had guns.
"Funning crap guns, though." he muttered, and kicked the engine to life, he took off, aiming for the cape that would take him round to Shoreside.
Two boats leapt after him, guns blazing. Pb cursed, and wrenched a grenade from his belt. He turned for a second and threw it straight, smashing the window on the second boat. He heard high voices of panic seconds before gore splattered into the water. He reached under the dash for the shotgun that was always there in cop boats. He turned. The other boat was approaching, guns blazing. Pb aimed carefully, his first shot taking the driver in the head. A second shot sent the second guy twisting in agony into the water. Pb sighed, and collapsed backwards.
The fuel was on fire. He gulped and scrambled over the edge and into the freezing water. Above him fire raced over the water. He resurfaced, gasping for breath. Rough hands grabbed him and hauled him onboard a larger boat. Coughing up water, he looked blearily into the face of a woman he feared.
"Hey chico. I gonna make you life hell, amigo." said Cartalina...
"Hey, wait a minu..." started one. Pb whipped the shotgun out from behind him and unloaded two pellets into the guy's gut. That propelled him backwards, crashing into the second guy. Pb stepped over the struggling man and shot him once in the neck. Blood fountained upwards, but Pb was already running. He knew other gangies would have heard the noise. Sure enough, as he rounded the corner into Goatboy's drive, shotgun pellets peppered the wall behind him. Discarding the shotgun, he pulled out his trusty Uzi and let fly. Two men went tumbling backwards over a ridge and another guard had one of his legs shot to pieces. Pb didn't slow, and took the steps two at a time. Two bullets shattered the glass and he dived through. Rising to one knee, he compressed the trigger and scythed the Uzi round. Three of the four men in the room fell before the Uzi clicked. Goatboy smiled as he raised a pistol.
"Oh s**t..." moaned Pb and dived behind a chair and a flurry of bullets smacked into the ground he had been resting on.
The click of an empty clip hitting the ground. Pb scrabbled in his combat pouches for a spare Uzi clip. A radio blared in the background.
'Absolutely Laslow. Killer bees.'
"How much is Asuka paying you, scum?" panted Goatboy's voice. Another two bullets zoomed into the floor to the right of Pb.
"I'll match it." he said again.
"Yeah?" Pb muttered, peering under the chairs. "Well, I take cheque or cre...Aha."
He shoved the Uzi under a chair corner, the muzzle erupting in fire. Goatboy's ankles exploded in blood, and he keeled over backwards into a leather chair. Pb stood up laughing, and slowly walked towards Goatboy.
"All your money won't buy your life from me. Well, maybe that clock."
"You want it?" panted Goatboy desperately.
"Only fooling with you, old man. Goodbye."
The Uzi roared again. Pb smiled as he vaulted over the railings and landed lightly in the mansion's carpark. Raised voices were yelling inside the house. Pb looked about. Ooh, a Banshee. Bonus.
Men poured from the house as Pb vaulted the side of the convertable. Bullets pinged off the exquiste bodywork and he flicked the gearlever up and floored the throttle. The engine roared and Pb spun the wheel about. He thrust the Uzi over the shattered window and treated the gangies to a shower of Uzi bullets before shooting over a sheer cliff, yelling in excitement.
"OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH FUUUUUUUUUUCCC....."
The car bounced. Pb saw swirling colours as the car spun across a road.
Then he squashed a hobo. Pb shrugged, and straightened up. Four cars landed behind him, all bearing Hicks Cartel insignia. Damn, thought Pb. He flicked the radio over to Chatterbox, and took off.
'Hey, don't pimp out my listeners...'
Laslow was having problems with Fernando again, then. Pb swerved round a corner and glanced in the rear-view mirror, fully expecting to see clear road. Instead gunfire shattered it. Bloody hell, these junkies could drive. Pb wrenched the handbrake up as he rotated round the corner to the bridge, and flattened it and opened the engine out into a roar. He skipped over the road divide into the opposite lane. This trick had shaken many a cop. All Pb caught were brief glances of other drivers speeding towards him, blaring their horns. Liberty was such a friendly place, thought Pb wryly. A glance behind him told him that the junkies were still on his tail.
'You very racist Laslow. I no like that..'
Maybe Laslow would appreciate Fernando being bumped, thought Pb and he jumped over to the other side of the road, narrowly skidded to avoid a Linerunner. Jesus, these junkies were good! He wrenched the steering wheel over, sending the car into an uncontrollable spin. He pulled his M16 free and let in roar, aiming randomly at the flashing black shapes that appeared in his vision. Then he slammed on the brakes, and nodded in satisfaction as he saw on of his tails erupting in flames. He zoomed off in the direction of the riveria, three Hicks cars on his bumper. Uzi fire was peppering the trunk. Soon one of them was going to hit the petrol...Pb soared out from the road, langing upside down just by the riveria. Oh crap, the engine was on fire! He leapt over the side seconds before the car exploded. He landed spluttering in the water, but grinned evilly as he saw two Hicks car shoot over the edge of the balcony. But the last skidded to a halt, and four men were running down the steps to a boat. Pb grunted and sppeded over to a Predator. Lousy police issue, but it would have to do. At least it had guns.
"Funning crap guns, though." he muttered, and kicked the engine to life, he took off, aiming for the cape that would take him round to Shoreside.
Two boats leapt after him, guns blazing. Pb cursed, and wrenched a grenade from his belt. He turned for a second and threw it straight, smashing the window on the second boat. He heard high voices of panic seconds before gore splattered into the water. He reached under the dash for the shotgun that was always there in cop boats. He turned. The other boat was approaching, guns blazing. Pb aimed carefully, his first shot taking the driver in the head. A second shot sent the second guy twisting in agony into the water. Pb sighed, and collapsed backwards.
The fuel was on fire. He gulped and scrambled over the edge and into the freezing water. Above him fire raced over the water. He resurfaced, gasping for breath. Rough hands grabbed him and hauled him onboard a larger boat. Coughing up water, he looked blearily into the face of a woman he feared.
"Hey chico. I gonna make you life hell, amigo." said Cartalina...
very good
Pb quietly drove the car away. He felt fufilled now. He watched the nice hooker in the mirror. Then he swung the car around and shot her. No use paying her unless he was going to get his money back. He quickly gathered up the bloodstained notes and leapt back in the car. He needed to deliver the Cartel Cruiser to King Courtney.
'Ants,killer bees,fat people, what plaguing you?'
Damn fat people, thought Pb. Eating away like locusts. He felt like going on a rampage and hunting the fat people down. But he had a job to do...
"Well up to ma main gansta littl' bit whuzz yah man!" said the Yardie contact. "Coutrnye big up to ya queen innit gansta massif?"
"Yes..." said Pb. "Have you got the 15 grand?"
"Five ton man of the bling-bling, whuz up?" Then he gave Pb the money.
Pb shook his head and walked off down the pavement, leaving the Yardie to look over the car.He leafed through the fat wad of cash.
"Hey, man, there's only 8K he..." said Pb, swinging around. The Cruiser's tyres screeched as the Yardier guy floored the throttle. Pb gave a wry smile. Reaching behing him, he slipped his newly acquired sniper rifle out of it's bandana. Arming it, he sighted down the laser-guided telescope. The Yardier man was clearly in view. A little bit further...
Pb squeezed the trigger nonchantly. The windscreen in front of the Yardie exploded as the bullet passed easily through the skull. Bright red blood fountained out. Pb nodded to himself, and re-holstered the rifle. Police would be here soon. He needed urgent transport. A Cheetah would be ideal, or an Infernus. A Banshee, maybe. He'd even settle for a Landstalker. Then he groaned as a car skidded to a halt beside him. A Taxi. He muttered and grabbed the Indian driver.
"Hey!Getoutofmycab!" he yelled. Pb drilled a bullet from his pistol into the guy's skull. He spun the wheel as he reversed away. That was the great thing about taxis; they had the best reversing system. As he skidded to a halt and wrenched the gearstick about, a fat person leapt into the back of the taxi.
"Portland - St Marks." he muttered, swabbing his forehead with a cloth.
"I'm not running. Get out." said Pb.
"You kidding me? You know how hard it is to get a taxi in this funning city?" The fat man leant forward. "Portland - St Marks. You stupid or something?"
Pb toyed with the idea of casually leaning over with his flamethrower and incinerating the guys flab, but he had a better idea.
"Portland - St Marks. Right you are sir."
Pb floored the accelerator just after he clipped his seatbelt into place. The fat man went flying across the back of the taxi, cracking his face against the side of the cab.
"HEY! SLOW THE FUN DOWN!" he yelled.
"Sorry, me no speaka de Engleesh!" yelled Pb, and yanked the handbrake, skidding onto the bridge from Staunton to Portland. He wrenched the gear lever into 5th and floored the gas. He steered the car into the raised paved area between the two lanes and aimed squarely at the ramp on the end of the bridge.
"WHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTT THE FUUUUUUUNN..." yelled the fat man, scrabbling for his seatbelt. PB screeched the steering wheel across, sending the car into a long spinning roll, taking off easily.
'It's fun - we get to play with knives!'
Ten seconds later, Pb applied the brakes. He looked round. The fat man was sitting stock still, white and shivering. Pb sighed, and got out of the cab. He tucked a Grenade into the fat mans pocket and ran for it. Five seconds later he heard the explosion behind him. He paid it no heed, and slowed to a walk as he approached a mansion atop a hill. Goatboy's. All around him, Hicks Cartel memebers closed in, toting shotguns. Pb smiled.
'Yesterday my friend Joey sewed his hands together!'
'Ants,killer bees,fat people, what plaguing you?'
Damn fat people, thought Pb. Eating away like locusts. He felt like going on a rampage and hunting the fat people down. But he had a job to do...
"Well up to ma main gansta littl' bit whuzz yah man!" said the Yardie contact. "Coutrnye big up to ya queen innit gansta massif?"
"Yes..." said Pb. "Have you got the 15 grand?"
"Five ton man of the bling-bling, whuz up?" Then he gave Pb the money.
Pb shook his head and walked off down the pavement, leaving the Yardie to look over the car.He leafed through the fat wad of cash.
"Hey, man, there's only 8K he..." said Pb, swinging around. The Cruiser's tyres screeched as the Yardier guy floored the throttle. Pb gave a wry smile. Reaching behing him, he slipped his newly acquired sniper rifle out of it's bandana. Arming it, he sighted down the laser-guided telescope. The Yardier man was clearly in view. A little bit further...
Pb squeezed the trigger nonchantly. The windscreen in front of the Yardie exploded as the bullet passed easily through the skull. Bright red blood fountained out. Pb nodded to himself, and re-holstered the rifle. Police would be here soon. He needed urgent transport. A Cheetah would be ideal, or an Infernus. A Banshee, maybe. He'd even settle for a Landstalker. Then he groaned as a car skidded to a halt beside him. A Taxi. He muttered and grabbed the Indian driver.
"Hey!Getoutofmycab!" he yelled. Pb drilled a bullet from his pistol into the guy's skull. He spun the wheel as he reversed away. That was the great thing about taxis; they had the best reversing system. As he skidded to a halt and wrenched the gearstick about, a fat person leapt into the back of the taxi.
"Portland - St Marks." he muttered, swabbing his forehead with a cloth.
"I'm not running. Get out." said Pb.
"You kidding me? You know how hard it is to get a taxi in this funning city?" The fat man leant forward. "Portland - St Marks. You stupid or something?"
Pb toyed with the idea of casually leaning over with his flamethrower and incinerating the guys flab, but he had a better idea.
"Portland - St Marks. Right you are sir."
Pb floored the accelerator just after he clipped his seatbelt into place. The fat man went flying across the back of the taxi, cracking his face against the side of the cab.
"HEY! SLOW THE FUN DOWN!" he yelled.
"Sorry, me no speaka de Engleesh!" yelled Pb, and yanked the handbrake, skidding onto the bridge from Staunton to Portland. He wrenched the gear lever into 5th and floored the gas. He steered the car into the raised paved area between the two lanes and aimed squarely at the ramp on the end of the bridge.
"WHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTT THE FUUUUUUUNN..." yelled the fat man, scrabbling for his seatbelt. PB screeched the steering wheel across, sending the car into a long spinning roll, taking off easily.
'It's fun - we get to play with knives!'
Ten seconds later, Pb applied the brakes. He looked round. The fat man was sitting stock still, white and shivering. Pb sighed, and got out of the cab. He tucked a Grenade into the fat mans pocket and ran for it. Five seconds later he heard the explosion behind him. He paid it no heed, and slowed to a walk as he approached a mansion atop a hill. Goatboy's. All around him, Hicks Cartel memebers closed in, toting shotguns. Pb smiled.
'Yesterday my friend Joey sewed his hands together!'
I have decided to write me a short story based on GTA3 because a) it rules and b) We can't have MGS2 dominating everything. Wish the GTA3 bloke had a name though...So instead I'll use names of SR chaps and lasses for characters. Enjoy.
Oh, it doesn't relate to the games storyline.
--
Pb hammered on the door of the shack, rain bouncing off the wrecked cars and mechanical stuff that lay scattered about the yard. He clutched his side with one hand.
"Open up, man!" he yelled. The door was flung open. A shaven-headed black man peered out, clutching an Uzi in one hand.
"Oh, hey man. What the fun happened to you?" said 8-Ball, looking Pb up and down. "You like you've being funning run over by a psychopathic Columbian!"
"Funny you should mention that..." said Pb, and fell inside.
--
3 days ago...
Pb hung up the phone. So the Yakuza wanted King Goatboy dead, did they? That would be hard. The Hicks Cartel didn't generally let anyone inside the Entertainment District. He shrugged. He had other stuff to do first. The Yardies wanted some Cartel Cruisers, and Miguel had them all locked down inside the construction site. For reasons yet unknown. Pb didn't like that. He stepped out of the shadows.
"HEY! STOP!" yelled a voice. Pb swore as he saw a police car screech to a stop at the entrance. A cop leant over the doors, pistol locked onto him.
"You are under arrest for the assassination of a judge of the Supreme Court, name of Your Honour."
"Oh fun you, cop." Pb now regretted taking Donald Love's money. That man made too many enemies.
"Yeah, you want to shake hands with the devil, scum? Press me one more time and you will." yelled the cop.
His pistol was shaking with anger. Pb smiled, and pulled the Uzi from behind him. He dived forward, finger compressing the trigger. He bullets smashed through the glass frame to implode into the cop's body. Red blood splattered the car. Pb smirked, and stepped up to the shaking body.
"Are you gonna kill me...?" muttered the cop, blood flowing from a dozen wounds.
"Yeah, I'm bored." Pb picked up the cop and bundled him into the car. Then he pulled a grenade free, yanked the pin out with his teeth, and put it in the cop's hand.
"Sweet dreams." gloated Pb, and ran for cover. The car blossomed outwards as the grenade exploded, the shockwave sending Pb smashing into the bodywork of a Landstalker. He moaned and got up. Sirens were wailing around the city. he shouldn't have done that. He looked around. He was near Asuka's condo. He could escape by boat, but the choppers would be on him in seconds. Then his eyes flickered to the dark blue Banshee parked nearby. He smiled.
'Hi, I'm Laslow, with open ears and a closed mind...'
Pb revved the Banshee's engine as he sped around the corner, munching a passing hooker under the spiralling wheels. Chatterbox played in the background. He wrenched the gearlever into 5th and accelerated as two cop cars fell into place behind them. No cop in the city could keep up with a Banshee in the hands of a good driver. And Pb was a bloody excellent driver. He pulled up on the handbrake, skidding round a corner, wheels spinning. The two cop cars piled past, trying to turn on top of each other. They smashed into a wall, and immediately one's engine began to flame. Pb smiled as he drove away.
Then he saw a fat person. Pb disliked fat people. They disgraced the streets of Liberty. Only one solution to this.
'No, but if I did eat too much squirrel, I'd use the DORMATRON..' droned Laslow in the background. No, not that...
Pb kicked open the door and aimed the Uzi. He let rip, laughing insanely as the fat man was driven backwards into the wall. Pb held the trigger for a few more seconds, and smirked as an old lady was smashed over a flowerbed. Then he drove off. Today was looking good so far. He reached over into the back seat. Where was that damn M16? He took his eyes of the road and looked. Aha, there it was. Damn good weapon. He dropped it into the passenger seat and looked round.
"OHHHH CRAP!" he yelled, and grabbed the M16, kicking open the door again. He dived out of the Banshee as it zoomed over an embankment and into the sapphire sea. He yelled out in pain as he landed on tarmac and rolled. Someone in a Stallion hooted as they swerved to avoid him. Pb would never swerve to avoid anyone. And someone hooting at him deserved pain. He raised himself to one knee, and aimed the M16. He let fire, sending an array of bullets into the car. It exploded too soon. Pb must have hit the petrol tank.
"Cool." he muttered. He raised himself to his feet and limped into the road. Someone skidded to a halt. Pb's luck was in - it was a Cheetah. The guy hopped out.
"Hey, you OK buddy? You got blood dripping fro..."
Pb sprayed 12 bullets into him with the Uzi. Then he got into the car, and flicked the radio over to Chatterbox. What kind of an idiot listened to Double Cleff FM anyway? As he reversed over the body of the former owner of the car, his mobile rang.
"Hey honey, it's Maria! You know, you're so big and stron.."
Pb hung up. Damn, she annoyed him.
'Guns don't kill people, Laslow, death kills people...'
Rednecks. Pb disliked rednecks. He turned the corner into Fort Staunton, slowing to a crawl. The construction site was up ahead. Pb counted 15 Columbians guarding it.This would require tact, and diplomacy...in a game like Metal Gear Solid 2. Pb slammed his foot down on the accelerator and smashed through the red-striped barrier. The Cheetah soared up into the air as he cleared an earth barrier. A Columbian was below, yelling in some foreign language. Pb disliked foreigners. He leant out with the Uzi and slammed a few bullets into the guys head. Then the car crashed to a stop, something squelching underneath. Probably another Columbian. Pb shrugged, and dived from the car seconds before machine gun fire peppered it.
He rolled for cover, bullets kicking up earth as they followed him. He rolled to a halt behind a door, and wrenched a bottle from his belt. He pulled out a lighter from his pocket and lit it. Smiling, he threw it backwards over the wall behind him. Screams immediately erupted.
"Aiii, amigo, mai poncho eeesss on faiiire..."
Pb leapt over the wall. 5 Columbians were dancing around, on fire. He considered this for a second, and then showered them all with bullets. He dived forwards over a wall when a small grenade bounced into the area. He was bowled over as the blast caught him and slammed him through a crate of rotting wood. He lay still, clutching the M16.
"Eeesss he deed?"
" You go, amigo."
"Aii, me?"
A Columbian inched forward, backed by two others. Pb stood up. He nodded to them.
"Guys." Then he shot them all. In the head.
A Cartel Cruiser lay tempting, parked for an easy getaway. Pb smiled, and leapt into it. Miguel ran from a hut, brandishing another M16.
"No, no, no, yoo canneet!" Pb ran him over. Then reversed backwards. Just for good measure.
As Pb accelerated out of the complex, a young lady dressed in red leant over the window.
Pb raised an eyebrow, smiling.
--
To be continued....
Oh, it doesn't relate to the games storyline.
--
Pb hammered on the door of the shack, rain bouncing off the wrecked cars and mechanical stuff that lay scattered about the yard. He clutched his side with one hand.
"Open up, man!" he yelled. The door was flung open. A shaven-headed black man peered out, clutching an Uzi in one hand.
"Oh, hey man. What the fun happened to you?" said 8-Ball, looking Pb up and down. "You like you've being funning run over by a psychopathic Columbian!"
"Funny you should mention that..." said Pb, and fell inside.
--
3 days ago...
Pb hung up the phone. So the Yakuza wanted King Goatboy dead, did they? That would be hard. The Hicks Cartel didn't generally let anyone inside the Entertainment District. He shrugged. He had other stuff to do first. The Yardies wanted some Cartel Cruisers, and Miguel had them all locked down inside the construction site. For reasons yet unknown. Pb didn't like that. He stepped out of the shadows.
"HEY! STOP!" yelled a voice. Pb swore as he saw a police car screech to a stop at the entrance. A cop leant over the doors, pistol locked onto him.
"You are under arrest for the assassination of a judge of the Supreme Court, name of Your Honour."
"Oh fun you, cop." Pb now regretted taking Donald Love's money. That man made too many enemies.
"Yeah, you want to shake hands with the devil, scum? Press me one more time and you will." yelled the cop.
His pistol was shaking with anger. Pb smiled, and pulled the Uzi from behind him. He dived forward, finger compressing the trigger. He bullets smashed through the glass frame to implode into the cop's body. Red blood splattered the car. Pb smirked, and stepped up to the shaking body.
"Are you gonna kill me...?" muttered the cop, blood flowing from a dozen wounds.
"Yeah, I'm bored." Pb picked up the cop and bundled him into the car. Then he pulled a grenade free, yanked the pin out with his teeth, and put it in the cop's hand.
"Sweet dreams." gloated Pb, and ran for cover. The car blossomed outwards as the grenade exploded, the shockwave sending Pb smashing into the bodywork of a Landstalker. He moaned and got up. Sirens were wailing around the city. he shouldn't have done that. He looked around. He was near Asuka's condo. He could escape by boat, but the choppers would be on him in seconds. Then his eyes flickered to the dark blue Banshee parked nearby. He smiled.
'Hi, I'm Laslow, with open ears and a closed mind...'
Pb revved the Banshee's engine as he sped around the corner, munching a passing hooker under the spiralling wheels. Chatterbox played in the background. He wrenched the gearlever into 5th and accelerated as two cop cars fell into place behind them. No cop in the city could keep up with a Banshee in the hands of a good driver. And Pb was a bloody excellent driver. He pulled up on the handbrake, skidding round a corner, wheels spinning. The two cop cars piled past, trying to turn on top of each other. They smashed into a wall, and immediately one's engine began to flame. Pb smiled as he drove away.
Then he saw a fat person. Pb disliked fat people. They disgraced the streets of Liberty. Only one solution to this.
'No, but if I did eat too much squirrel, I'd use the DORMATRON..' droned Laslow in the background. No, not that...
Pb kicked open the door and aimed the Uzi. He let rip, laughing insanely as the fat man was driven backwards into the wall. Pb held the trigger for a few more seconds, and smirked as an old lady was smashed over a flowerbed. Then he drove off. Today was looking good so far. He reached over into the back seat. Where was that damn M16? He took his eyes of the road and looked. Aha, there it was. Damn good weapon. He dropped it into the passenger seat and looked round.
"OHHHH CRAP!" he yelled, and grabbed the M16, kicking open the door again. He dived out of the Banshee as it zoomed over an embankment and into the sapphire sea. He yelled out in pain as he landed on tarmac and rolled. Someone in a Stallion hooted as they swerved to avoid him. Pb would never swerve to avoid anyone. And someone hooting at him deserved pain. He raised himself to one knee, and aimed the M16. He let fire, sending an array of bullets into the car. It exploded too soon. Pb must have hit the petrol tank.
"Cool." he muttered. He raised himself to his feet and limped into the road. Someone skidded to a halt. Pb's luck was in - it was a Cheetah. The guy hopped out.
"Hey, you OK buddy? You got blood dripping fro..."
Pb sprayed 12 bullets into him with the Uzi. Then he got into the car, and flicked the radio over to Chatterbox. What kind of an idiot listened to Double Cleff FM anyway? As he reversed over the body of the former owner of the car, his mobile rang.
"Hey honey, it's Maria! You know, you're so big and stron.."
Pb hung up. Damn, she annoyed him.
'Guns don't kill people, Laslow, death kills people...'
Rednecks. Pb disliked rednecks. He turned the corner into Fort Staunton, slowing to a crawl. The construction site was up ahead. Pb counted 15 Columbians guarding it.This would require tact, and diplomacy...in a game like Metal Gear Solid 2. Pb slammed his foot down on the accelerator and smashed through the red-striped barrier. The Cheetah soared up into the air as he cleared an earth barrier. A Columbian was below, yelling in some foreign language. Pb disliked foreigners. He leant out with the Uzi and slammed a few bullets into the guys head. Then the car crashed to a stop, something squelching underneath. Probably another Columbian. Pb shrugged, and dived from the car seconds before machine gun fire peppered it.
He rolled for cover, bullets kicking up earth as they followed him. He rolled to a halt behind a door, and wrenched a bottle from his belt. He pulled out a lighter from his pocket and lit it. Smiling, he threw it backwards over the wall behind him. Screams immediately erupted.
"Aiii, amigo, mai poncho eeesss on faiiire..."
Pb leapt over the wall. 5 Columbians were dancing around, on fire. He considered this for a second, and then showered them all with bullets. He dived forwards over a wall when a small grenade bounced into the area. He was bowled over as the blast caught him and slammed him through a crate of rotting wood. He lay still, clutching the M16.
"Eeesss he deed?"
" You go, amigo."
"Aii, me?"
A Columbian inched forward, backed by two others. Pb stood up. He nodded to them.
"Guys." Then he shot them all. In the head.
A Cartel Cruiser lay tempting, parked for an easy getaway. Pb smiled, and leapt into it. Miguel ran from a hut, brandishing another M16.
"No, no, no, yoo canneet!" Pb ran him over. Then reversed backwards. Just for good measure.
As Pb accelerated out of the complex, a young lady dressed in red leant over the window.
Pb raised an eyebrow, smiling.
--
To be continued....