| The Artist has been at work. Just as he is about to spray the final stroke of his masterpiece, an awesome light illuminates the concrete wall from behind him, and the noise of chopper blades fills the air in a maelstrom of wind. He spins around and realises the situation in a second. He's been caught in the act and he knows what he must do. With his back to the police chopper he reaches into his backpack, seething with an incredible hatred for this oppression of his art. The cold steel feels so soothing in his hands. "This WILL be the last time they try to stop me!" He turns slowly and aims. The Tech-9 explodes and rains hellfire in all directions. Hollow-tipped bullets trace paths back and forth across the cockpit, shattering glass. The Pilot takes two to the head and one to the chest. His co-pilot finally opens fire, but it is too late. A bullet has pierced the fuel tank, and the whole chopper explodes in a gargantuan ball of flame. "Nobody can stop my art!" The Artist remains, and watches this predator die--this symbol of everything he has hated in his life. The predator has become the prey.http://www.owenprior.comOwen Prior (c) 2000 |
