09-23-2008, 12:33 PM
OOC: ah, my favorite part. The chase scene.
IC: Dukes Of Hazzard-Style, Diesel slid across the hood of his car, and got in. He tossed the bag through the gaping hole where the back seat previosly resided, and fired up his old, battered muscle car.
Four-Hundred and Forty-Six cubic inches of Detroit iron roared to life, as he pulled up on a pair of handles by his left leg. The exhaust cutouts swung open, allowing the mechanical cacophony to echo angrily off of the walls of the alleyway. He hit another switch, and an electric fuel pump fired up, mounted to a hidden cheater tank. Diesel fuel flowed into a pair of injectors, which sprayed the substance into the hot exhaust, causing a thick cloud of smoke to bellow from just under either door on the car.
Diesel slammed the ratcher-shifter forward once, putting it into first gear, and he floored it. The engine roar got deafening, and the tires began to squeal helplessly against the pavement, adding a white smoke to the dark grey smokescreen.
The car shot forward when the tires caught traction, as he drifted around the van, cloaking it in the cloud of smoke. The phrase "No Man Left Behind" always stuck to him, especially when he was in his element. Right now, that element was the 1973 Dodge Dart Sport.
He kept off to the side, but in between the big rig and the van, to provide cover for Ivan's escape. He was toying with the Black-Ops man, dropping back to flip him off, making sure to make eye contact with him, before he tromped down on the throttle, and speed-shifted the car, for an insane burst of speed.
IC: Dukes Of Hazzard-Style, Diesel slid across the hood of his car, and got in. He tossed the bag through the gaping hole where the back seat previosly resided, and fired up his old, battered muscle car.
Four-Hundred and Forty-Six cubic inches of Detroit iron roared to life, as he pulled up on a pair of handles by his left leg. The exhaust cutouts swung open, allowing the mechanical cacophony to echo angrily off of the walls of the alleyway. He hit another switch, and an electric fuel pump fired up, mounted to a hidden cheater tank. Diesel fuel flowed into a pair of injectors, which sprayed the substance into the hot exhaust, causing a thick cloud of smoke to bellow from just under either door on the car.
Diesel slammed the ratcher-shifter forward once, putting it into first gear, and he floored it. The engine roar got deafening, and the tires began to squeal helplessly against the pavement, adding a white smoke to the dark grey smokescreen.
The car shot forward when the tires caught traction, as he drifted around the van, cloaking it in the cloud of smoke. The phrase "No Man Left Behind" always stuck to him, especially when he was in his element. Right now, that element was the 1973 Dodge Dart Sport.
He kept off to the side, but in between the big rig and the van, to provide cover for Ivan's escape. He was toying with the Black-Ops man, dropping back to flip him off, making sure to make eye contact with him, before he tromped down on the throttle, and speed-shifted the car, for an insane burst of speed.
The last mutt standing.
The one and only, Cowboy from Hell.
******
Bury me with my guns on,
So when I reach the other side,
I can show him what it feels like to die.
I can show him what it feels like to die.
Bury me with my guns on,
So when I'm cast out of the skies,
I can shoot the Devil right between the eyes.
