'Eh, this old fart isn't worth the bullets.' Colin thought to himself as he began to quietly walk past the old timer, tip-toeing around to the front of the fence before slowly climbing up a trash can as it rattled. As soon as he peeked over the fence, the sound of a pump caught his attention.
"And just where are you goin'?" the old man asked, clutching a rifle aimed squarely and the gamer's head.
"Well, you see, I'm just pa-aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" Colin yelped as he fell off the trash can and flipped onto the concrete sidewalk.
"Ooooooh, that's gonna hurt in the morning." he groaned as he staggered up and grabbed his shotgun.
He frantically loaded and fired as the front door swung open. He hobbled down the sidewalk as fast as he could, occasionally turning around to return fire. But nothing seemed to phase the old man, not the shots that wizzed past his face, or the crumbled chunk of a stone arch, not even the blood of a bimbo splashing on his face deterred him. Colin was running faster, dart around each shot the old timer returned as thing were increasingly clear: Colin had about four, three shots left while this old coot had a full box of bullets on him.
Colin ran harder, his breath growing heavy and the pain in his back welling up as the shots became more frequent. He ran inside a house and hid beneath a desk next to a couch as the old timer barged in.
"You can't hide from me!" the crazed old nut yelled.
A hand with long fingernails rested on his shoulder.
"Oh I ain't hidin' honey." a sultry voice purred as the old man was yanked into the kitchen nearby.
Colin paused before deciding to...