View Full Version : Prison Break: Hollywood vs L.L. Bust

07-21-2014, 02:56 AM
This is the Civil War battle between Crank's Hollywood and Aquila's L.L. Bust. They are fighting during a prison break. Sounds fun. May the best fighter win!


Ever get the urge to tell someone you love them? Badly, I mean. Like, no matter what’s going on around you, you have to tell them, but it kills you that you can’t.

Well that’s exactly where I was. I just wanted to give my little brother a call, just say I’ve always been proud of him and I know Mom and Dad are too. That they’re looking down on him smiling with each step he takes, choice he makes and know just how much of a good man he’s going to grow up to be. I wanted to tell him that I love him, that I love him more than anyone else in my life, even if I don’t ever say it and that I was sorry for not saying it more.

But he was asleep, and my roommate and I weren’t on speaking terms. I was about to get guilted out if I dialed home, probably have to argue to get my brother on the line, and have then do a little more just so he’d wake him up. I didn’t have that kinda time. Thirty seconds tops. My ears were ringing, skull was pulsing, and I could feel my limbs shaking in intense anxiety because in a literal sense, I was exactly where I didn’t want to be. Desperately, I slid my phone open and pounded my thumbs into the keyboard, sending a message to someone else entirely.

‘Aug its hollywood 1465 main st room 303 please keep leo safe lock doors stay inside’

To be fair, my grammar would been much better if my ears weren’t bleeding.

“If that was Facebook, I swear I-”

“Shut the Hell up.” Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I gripped the side of the car we both hid behind before taking a quick glance at the mummy looking Mother- “Is that a cannon!”

“Tell me to ‘shut the Hell up’ again and I’ll show you exactly what it is.” The robotic reply came as cold as you’d expect from a machine, disheveled hair seeming to be the only human thing about him. Under five feet, he had to stand at his full height just to see over the vehicle, resting his massive weapon on the hood. It almost looked like it belonged on a pirate ship, aimed at the sea of orange fleeing the prison a short distance away. His open palm seized the handle as my eyes snapped to escapees. The men and women varied in almost all ways, but the one that registered immediately was their expression. They looked beaten, worn, exhausted, and broken even. Bruises riddled their faces and blood soaked their clothes, both fresh and dry. Faces of relief were passed between some of the runners, while others looked past the point of desperation, terror screaming in their eyes as their feet pounded across the earth, while the rest carried the ruthlessness, bloodthirstiness and vileness you’d expect from a horde sprinting out of a prison.

That last group was not the majority. By any stretch of the imagination.

A metallic whirr gradually began to resound and a chill raced down my body as I saw light funneling into the cannon beside me. Whatever it was doing would end with certain death, but neither the cyborg or I were their judge or jury, and we sure as hell weren’t their executioners.

My body became alive in an instant, feet pivoting in self-righteousness as my entire arm swung towards the massive weapon beside me. Hooking a handle with my elbow, I tore my other hand through the air snatching it as well before lurching back suddenly, ripping it away with the full force of my weight. The angle of the gun tilted upwards as it’s balance shifted, but the force of my yank helped slam it into the ground leaving a fissure of cracks as both the cyborg and I staggered back. Unbraced and unprepared, he hit the ground hard as his cannon, sending a blazing beam of energy hurtling into space.

Noise was void for a moment as civilian and convict alike stopped dead in their tracks, eyes tracking the laser as it became nothing but a light in the distance, almost like a star in the daylight. The cannoneer and I slowly exchanged glances before looking back out of our cover. There were maybe fifty of them now, men and women coated in orange from head to toe scattered across a thirty foot area. Front and center however, was a man with hazel eyes and sloppy brown hair. A soul patch prevented him from being clean shaven, however raging burns across his body questioned that definition of ‘clean’. It looked as if someone had come deadly close to burning him alive and left him halfway to being Two-Face, flesh and muscle scattered around his neck and crawled up his cheek. Wielding a pair of shivs, he was the first to make us, expression neutral as he stood his ground.

The man beside him however, was significantly less quiet.

“Cut down the gladiators!”

Noise erupted like we were a rival team scoring the winning point in overtime. The burned man was lost in the yellow-Red Sea as the others rushed us, but a fist cracked against the side of my head before I could even fumble a dart out of my sash. Reflexively, I swung my blowgun blindly as I staggered, but a metallic clang echoed as jolts of pain shot through my wrist from the blocked strike.

Retracting my arm as my body stabilized, my free hand found itself where my skull was throbbing, close to my ear just behind my mask. A blazing inferno ignited in my eyes as they snapped to the bandaged bastard, who was somehow shrinking his cannon into a handgun. I opened my mouth to shout, but he beat me to the draw.

“Do you have any idea what you did!”

“I kept blood off my hands!”

“You did that because you don’t want blood on your hands?” I was suddenly staring (glaring) down the barrel of something that loosely resembled a Desert Eagle, “I could’ve ended that as soon as it started, but now I don’t have the time to charge a second shot! There’s about to be a shitload of blood on your hands, you dumbass!”

I would’ve quite literally spat on him if I was in less masks. My fists clenched but as the roaring of the inmates came rapidly approached us, my only option was to take a handful of darts out of my sash. I had no chance of outrunning a mob, and even if I abandoned my clothes they could just track down the guy in his boxers. Worried sweat stained the cotton on my face, and as even more made the metal in my hand slick, I swallowed hard.

“Get that out of my face, I’m all you have right now,” Despite everything, my fear was cloaked as I replied in a growl, rising from my cover as I tore my hockey mask up. Hot air rushed against my skin as my hands flew, swift to load my blowgun but even quicker it spit it back out. Their numbers were far too high for me to miss, even though the leaders of the mob were able to duck out of the way, a blonde man directly behind them ate it in the shoulder. His visible wince was all I needed to know it pierced flesh, and with the powerful sedative laced inside my weapons, that was all I needed. Faking a grin like I had any confidence whatsoever, I pounded another projectile into the tube before firing off that one as well, finding similar results.

A third was clenched in my mouth as I readied another, but the roars of gunshots exploded next to me without warning, startling me to the point that my teeth snapped it in half violently as I flinched. Screaming tore into my mind as I heard blood spatter against the pavement, grey cement now a rich crimson as bodies hit the ground, ignored as they howled in anguish. Glancing up at L.L., there wasn’t a shred of mercy within him. His gaze failed to waver or flinch as he rapidly pulled the trigger, bursting from the nozzle as it sent death in a hellish flash while casting a heavy, almost black shadow, about as dark as his soul behind him. At least Abra’s men showed intent to kill before August cut them down.

I believe in second chances.

Bust didn’t.

He was no ally of mine, and I had no intention of waiting for a reload before striking at my enemy.

The grip on my blowgun tightened after twirling it once more in my hand, but snapping it shut I held like I was wielding a dagger, blade pointed down as my palm sweat on the handle. Already half crouched I lunged up as swiftly as I could, arching the rod up diagonally having chosen to sacrifice accuracy for speed and strength. My body was a temple self righteous the moments my metal sped at him, but it shattered like pagan church during the crusades when a deafening clang echoed upon contact.

Bone’s not supposed to sound like that, and I couldn’t keep my eyes from widening when he only took a few steps to the side, rubbing his cheek. “You’re behind this!”

As fired up as he was, the accusation turned me into an inferno myself. Bust jerked his gun back into my face, but half seeing it coming I swung my steel tube to intercept. Another clank as it smashed into the armor he wore, doing little more than keeping me out of his firing line. Keeping my eye locked on his weapon, I failed to see him step in until his left arm shot at me like a bullet, pounding into my ribs and skidding me back. It felt like my organs took his side as they struck it from the inside, heart and lungs both agitating the forming bruise as they both frantically tried to do their perspective jobs.

Focus returned a second too late, gaze finding the gun the moment its butt smashed against my mask. If there was crackling, it could’ve been the soundtrack of a Rice Krispies commercial. Plastic snapped to the power, sharp edges digging just under my eyes as they impaled through the cotton between flesh and plastic, but the entire blow transferred to my nose, breaking it violently in a horrifically loud, nausea inducing pop.

I screamed like I took a bullet as my hands rushed to my face, chucking my hockey mask away in a desperate effort to ease the pain. Above me, L.L. twirled the handle around and aimed the barrel of his handgun back at me, but a stone bashed against his eye causing him to stumble to the side, squeezing the trigger just a moment too soon. Pavement beside me shattered as what looked like a tiny cannonball embedded itself inside, but as I scampered to my feet I heard hands slam on the hood of the car we hid behind. Snapping my neck back to look back as I turned tail and ran, I saw a buff prisoner springboard over it, tackling the cyborg to the ground while another whipped a stone at my back.

Leaping to the side I dodged it by inches, but another unseen one bashed into my calf, sending my planted foot flying into the air and me onto my ass. Moaning in the street, all I could do was moan before the orange army had the both of us surrounded in seconds. I don’t know what they were doing to Bust, but boots beat against my skin like baseball bats to a mob informant. Lacking any defenses and excruciation numbing all other thoughts, I only rolled into the fetal position, taking most of the shots to my back. I felt my eyes dampen as all hopes of survival died inside me and a hopelessness started making my body limp.

“That’s enough!” I barely even heard the booming voice as the mob around me begged for my blood, presumably unsatisfied with what I was coughing, but an outside yelp made them all pause suddenly. “I said that’s enough!”

Bust and I were the only ones making any noise, but both of us were limited to groans of agony as we lied on the ground, limbs shaking as we fought to stand.

“You don’t even know who these men are!”

“I know that one isn’t your old Bloodshot boy! Even if your sources tell you he and the gangster both work at the same diner.”

“Bullshit!” Having made it back to my knees, a massive foot blasting into my ribs murdered all my progress, sending me reeling back into the fetal position. “Only Harper would have what it ta-”

“Hollywood’s clearly squeamish but you told me Harper shot you three times point blank without blinking. They’re different people.”

I was too busy throbbing everywhere for all that to sink in.

“Ya know what? I’ll let this rat show you his true colors himself. Get the bounty hunter, I’ve got Pointe.”

Feeling a massive hand grip my neck, an intelligent thought finally struck me, sliding my hand to my darts and slipping one into my hoodie sleeve. If anyone saw, no one said anything as the massive man dragged me back to the car. Taking a glance up at him I only confirmed we never met. He looked to be about six and a half feet, bald with a scraggly brown beard and piercing blue eyes. The most evident giveaway that he was a stranger however, was the four tattoos he had under his right eye beside his nose, all of them being the same just repeated. A blood drop containing a crimson bullet, and if tear tattoos meant what I thought they did, I might’ve screwed up when I stopped Bust at the beginning of this whole mess.

Feet dragging behind me, my exhausted eyes shifted back forward only to see L.L. in a similar predicament, bandages torn around his face and bandanas missing, revealing what lied beneath. Fresh gashes drained down his mangled face, transforming once dead pale skin to a deep red. Heavy scarring put the original burnt man to shame however, it almost looked like flames had outright digested him, claiming both his nose and ears. His jaw was wired shut, but he had outright metallic eyes, each with a haunting red pupil and steel cheeks beside them, one of which was dented, presumably by me. All in all however, he made my stomach churn while I made him sick in more of a rage type way. Armor intact however, he was still faring better than me in that regard, although his gun was missing. A brief look located it in the hand of man with the soul patch, who motioned to my blowguns which were unceremoniously ripped away on cue.

“So, who wants to see a live wRHG fight?” Cheering erupted as bloody-tear-tattoo crackled, completing our Rice Krispies commercial and planting me on my feet in the middle of an orange circle. Swaying as standing became difficult, the behemoth of a man slowly offered me a crude knife, grinning wickedly as I accepted it. “Tell you what Harper, you can live as he dies.”

I was too weary to argue, panting heavily as it was it was too much effort to frown. A gradual nod passed from me to him as Bust was given a weapon of his own.

“You’re wasting time we don’t have, sirens are going to be coming in the distance soon.”

So Soul-patch was the one who stopped them from stomping us into oblivion…

“So you don’t want me to kill my traitor without knowing its him for sure, and then you don’t want to me to prove it either?” Ominous chuckles exited the Bloodshot, “You can’t have it both ways you, nameless shit. Besides, you want their organization to burn, why not watch it?”

The man didn’t reply, crossing his arms as my heart sank.

“Get on with it!”

Tear-Tattoo shoved my back violently, sending me staggering forward as Bust took a fist to the back of the skull, causing him to do something similar. Intensity burned in his worn out eyes, but as he rolled what looked like a broken toothbrush, snapped and sharpened for stabbing, I could at detect a part of him that didn’t want to impale my throat.

“This is your fault.” Fine, a it was a tiny, microscopically little part.

“I didn’t blow a hole in the prison.”

The wall of men surrounding us closed in, rapidly growing impatient as they started chanting for a fight. Seeing how there were somewhere between fifteen and twenty of them, they were going to get it whether or not we liked it. The tip of a shank poked my shoulder to egg me on, but as I flinched L.L. lunged forward, aiming low at my waist yet failed to close the distance before I pivoted to the side, replying with a diagonal slash. Ripping my half hazard blade down at him, it uselessly clanged against his armor while he spun on a dime, the back of his gauntlet zooming at me like a car.

I dropped my knees out from under me, ducking as it passed overhead but then the other hand came into my sight as he brought the makeshift weapon down on me like a hammer, tip first. My shriek filled the air as it wedged deep beside my collarbone, blood squirting enough to soak the entire tool before coming back down and staining the entire upper left section of my jacket. I fell on my rear as he ripped the shank out, blood arching before splattering against his armor to match the angle, but as I quivered from a slew of dread related emotions, Fight or Flight kicked in. Struggling just to scoot back, Bust took a small step closer to me with his eyes deadlocked on mine. Lifting his foot again for another pace, I slid mine under it, between them both.

Desperate men don’t fight fair.

My leg flung up at the man like the better half of a bear trap, shin slamming into an unprotected place that made every guy around us wince while two women clapped. L.L. gasped as air rushed out of his lungs, eyelids slamming shut as his body hunched forward. Quick to follow up, I booted his feet out from under him causing him to join me on his knees, groaning in the fetal position.

My fist clenched down on my knife as I moved to capitalize, shoving off pavement as I awkwardly dove at him, out bodies colliding at anti-climatic speeds but ended with me on top of him. Planting a palm on his chest, I tried pushing myself upright only to lose the ability to breathe when he grabbed my neck like a vice. Sweat had already soaked my exterior like a watery shell, but when I noticed the toothbrush out of the corner of my eye I knew I had started a new layer.

I don’t know what your definition of block is, but I more less sacrificed my left arm for my face, lifting just swiftly enough to be impaled somewhere that wasn’t fatal. My voice was too raw for another scream and a wave of hacks spluttered forth as I instinctively attempted it. Dragging my right wrist against the ground, the tip of my dart emerged from my sleeve only to vanish into my palm, concealed behind the knife. Possibly nearing heart-attack levels of panic and stress, both of my weapons sped at Bust while he wiggled his to get it out of my arm.

On the way to his throat, my projectile found a home in his clavicle, making L.L. do little more than wince as sedatives rushed into his bloodstream, spreading quickly due to his small stature. Strength draining rapidly, he suddenly lost the power to keep me pinned down and I tore myself to my knees, one placed on his diaphragm, while the other slid onto his shoulder, pinning it to the ground with the satisfying thud of the toothbrush on the street. Left palm having covered the dart from the eyes of the crowd, I slipped it up that sleeve before rushing the same hand onto his neck.


The quiet rasp was all I could deliver before jamming the flat of my knife between throat and hand, dread keeping hesitation from slowing me down as I twisted it sharply, ripping it out in a gruesome flash. His robotic eyes shut as crimson flowed freely, draining down his neck while I paled from the sight. My stomach quaked as a rapidly grew sick, having to snap my neck to the side as my breakfast spluttered beside us both, leaving traces of acidic bile to sear the inside of my throat. Clamping my own eyes, I couldn’t force myself to look, hand having never left his neck as I applied pressure, not that it helped.

“Well I’ll be damned!” The Bloodshot’s laughter spurred the crowd around me into a frenzy, screaming and howling as they leapt about, “Miller, get his phone and wallet! We’ve got some organizing to do!”

While I don’t carry anything with my name on when I’m in my Gladiator gear, images flashed of the last text I sent, ignoring the hand that snatched the leather out of my pocket, instead swiping at the other that grabbed my cell. Surprise was the only reason I was able to rip it from the scrawny inmate’s hands, but seeing how it was a lost cause, I slammed it straight to the ground like it was a clam and I was an otter. The screen shattered immediately, and when the battery flew out I immediately smashed it into pieces with my elbow. I was too busy being distracted by a boot to the spine to register the jolt of pain in my funny bone however. Yelping as the blow knocked me forward, my hand slid off Bust’s throat momentarily, leaving a crimson trail following my palm up to his chin as hit the ground beside him.

Shaking my head rapidly as I returned my palm, I wasn’t at all surprised to hear the gang leader speak. “Well I guess we’re both liars, now aren’t we H-”

“Holy shit!”

I couldn’t see through the mob surrounding me, so I didn’t even try. Instead, I looked at them, relieved at first, but then growing terrified as their horror registered as something universally bad to me. Even the muscle head looked concerned.

“What the hell are you waiting for? Go get it!”

“I’m not fighting a lion!”

My eyes almost exploded out of my skull as I scampered to more of a crouched position, waves of denial striking the banks of my mind, but when I actually heard it roar, the dam broke. It had to be Abra’s! It was the only possible explanation, August and I had only scared it!

What sounded like a bomb exploded somewhere in the distance, rapidly followed by another and then a third without warning. Was there a terrorist attack happening too? Beyond scared and plummeting into panic, my eyes started darting all around like I was having a seizure, desperately begging for insite to what I was hearing. Instead, they heard an aircraft fly overhead, deafening us all momentarily as it raced far too low for a safe landing, one of the engines even blazing in a horrible fire. All eyes were on it when a box plummeted from the backside, free falling downward at breathtaking speeds with a breathtaking accuracy.

“Scatter!” The bellow came from Tear-Tattoo, his boots scraping against the ground as they pivoted violently, “The city’ll kill Harper itself!”

Whether or not they were all in his gang, the inmates listened, sprinting in all directions as the crate only picked up velocity, leaving only three of us behind. If Soul-patch looked away, he did it after me, turning my head while I braced for a final impact.

It felt like the earth shook as the massive box exploded into splinters ten feet before us, petrifying the lion and sending it fleeing as quick as it came. A shower of woodchips pleted me, but it was just water in the bucket at that point. Another bang burst in the distance before my eye could even crack open, half expecting to see demons spilling from the earth and fire pouring forth.

Instead, I saw the barrel of a gun. Bust’s gun, in the comparatively less burnt man’s grip. His face was stoic as he stood behind it, unphased by holding life and death into his hands, but I was too tired to beg for my life. Shaking my head pleadingly, I rose my open palms in front of my face, having finally pulled away from the cyborg.

Soul-patch’s face softened upon the sight, grin growing as his eyes traveled from my hand to L.L.’s neck. I swallowed hard as a quiver slid down my spine. Unless shaking counts, I was motionless as blood continued to drain from the self inflicted slice across my palm. Head turning, but his eyes locked on me, the man paced to the side to gather my fractured hockey mask from the ground.

“I’ll make you a deal.”

Being in no position to bargain, I just nodded as I took a slow seat beside Bust, wiping my blood off his unscathed neck. “What?”

I finched as one of my blowguns struck the ground beside me, bouncing once before rolling to a stop at my shoe. A frown tugged my panting expression down as my gut told warned me against having any high hopes whatsoever.

“Get undressed.”


His smirk faded as he stepped towards me, crouching to be at my height. One hand checked Bust’s pulse while the other pressed the firearm against my skull. “I’m not getting far in orange. You might’ve spared a life, but I’ll take one if I have to.” Wiping his fingers on his sleeve, his cold eyes returned to mine, dead serious, “Which’ll be in about thirty seconds.”

Quieter than a whispered secret, I heard a police siren in the distance as my mouth fell open, but I knew I wasn’t the only one as the convict’s ear twitched. Not even looking its direction, he flicked his wrist and blasted a bullet beside my ear, slamming into the car like it was part of a master plan to deafen me. Jolting back, my breathing accelerated like a space shuttle.

“Now ten.” His eyes narrowed as he donned my hockey headgear, applying pressure to his trigger finger, visibly tensing. “You can keep your ski mask.”

“And boxers.”

L.L. Bust:

“Shit.” Bust sighed as he rested his back against the car. He listened to the screaming and howling of escaped convicts mix with the panic of innocent bystanders as they fell victim to the criminals. Mugging, murder, and rape festered all over the streets but where being dragged further away as the criminals began branching out more. L.L really didn’t want to do anything, his job was to catch convicts so the more that escaped, the more jobs he can contract.

He went to pull out the cigarette but noticed that it was gone. It had been knocked out, he remembered and turned towards the perpetrator. The teenager was dressed in white as far as he could tell as he couldn’t see the person’s face, but he did notice his weapons, golden blow guns. There was also a belt of darts wrapped across his chest.

Hollywood was too busy to pay attention to the cyborg besides him scrutinizing him as he tried to take down as many criminals he could with his darts. His accuracy was deadly as each of his marks were put down, snoring away.

Bust sat there and simply watched, his scoping lens analyzing all of Hollywood’s movements. Satisfied with the data he tapped Hollywood on the shoulder, and as Hollywood turned to face him Bust swung his fist. Everything was calculated and his armored left hand clocked the masked man in the face.

Hollywood’s hard plastic mask and his soft cotton one absorbed some of the shock but he was still sent reeling back, toppling him over. L.L took out a cigarette and a lighter and fit the cigarette into the hole in his mouth. With a quick flick, the small, dancing, orange flame lit the cigarette and he relished the deep inhale.

Hollywood struggled back to his feet and Bust could hear the anger in his voice, “What the hell was that for?” He waved his hand out at the escaping convicts, “Don’t you see what’s happening?”

Smoke puffed out of Bust’s cheeks as he gazed at what was happening. Some convicts were standing by, staring at the two yell at each other, while more were getting out to the streets and still more poured out of the prison. He shrugged, “Yea, don’t really care. More that escape, more I get to hunt for my job.”

“What’re you? A dirty police officer?”

“Hahaha nothing that gaudy or goody-two-shoes. I’m a bounty hunter. Now if you please and let them escape?”

“Innocent people are getting hurt!” Bust couldn’t see any expressions behind Hollywood’s mask but the tightening of fists, hunching of the shoulders, and gritting of teeth signaled his displeasure.

“You really need to tell this all to someone who cares.” Bust chided Hollywood. His scoping lens caught movement and he turned in time to catch a shiv in the chest. His armor screeched as the metal shiv carved from a spoon scraped off, cutting into the bandages. Prisoners had flanked them and Bust had to divert his attention away from Hollywood.

Blunderbuss shrank in his hand and the mechanical bounty hunter began his work. The enemy never stood a chance to begin with, makeshift knives, cinderblocks, and metal pipes versus a cyborg with a fire arm. The concrete became dyed in blood and gore as Bust didn’t need to do anything but aim and pull the trigger. Blood dripped from his armored left arm and stained his bandages.

Another ping and Bust turned, face to face with Hollywood. His pistol pressed against the masked teenager’s head and a blow gun was fitted into Hollywood’s mouth and pointing at Bust’s face.
Hollywood tried to analyze Bust, but the bounty hunter was unreadable. All he could detect was the heartlessness and coldness radiate from the cyborg’s small stature. “Good lord you’re worse than Abra.”

The name obviously meant a lot to Bust as he readjusted his grip on the pistol, “You know the genocide magician? The smiling demon with a $4 million bounty? Where is he?” His tone turned dark and menacing and his trigger finger tightened, “Tell me or I will put a bullet in your head.”

His threat was interrupted by a full nelson and Hollywood took the chance and shot a dart at the unprotected Bust. It pinged off his metal beanie and Hollywood couldn’t load another shot as he had to fend off the next wave of prisoners that were coming.

“Can’t. You. Just. Leave. Me. Alone!” Bust pummeled away at the prisoner with his left elbow, punctuating each word with a heavy jab. He wrestled out of the man’s grasp and shoved the barrel of his gun against the man’s forehead, pulling the trigger and blasting the man’s brains at the prisoners behind him.

The prisoners behind him were the least of his worries. He had a lead on Abra, and he needs that lead to stay alive. “Hey blow gun freak!” He shouted, his voice heavy with static, “Get down!” It was a simple reload as Blunderbuss grew in his hands. He popped out the cannonball charge and fit in the flame one. Hoisting the cannon on his shoulder he aimed and fired.

Hollywood didn’t like the name but he knew that if a psychopath was trying to warn you, you better take it seriously. He dropped and felt the hot flames scorch the air above him. People’s lives ended with them writhing in pain, screaming, watching their bodies being eaten by the flames.

The nightmarish scene of struggling black corpses was burned into the mind of all that stood witness, a scene that would haunt them for the rest of their lives. The prisoners ran in panic and he was left alone with Hollywood.

Blunderbuss shrunk in his hands and he fit it into his pocket. He grabbed Hollywood by the nape of his hoodie with his right hand and he pressed Hollywood’s mask against his scoping lens, peering deep into the hole to stare at Hollywood eye to eye.

“Now that we’re alone. Tell me what you know, and I won’t kill you.” His left hand flexed and he balled it into a fist. “Now,” he shook Hollywood, “tell me!” He coughed from straining his throat.

Suddenly Hollywood swung his left arm and jabbed a dart into Bust’s face. He waited for the grip to lax but instead it simply tightened. Smoke billowed out of Bust’s cheeks and he hit Hollywood with a left hook.

Holding tightly onto his hoodie he pummeled away at Hollywood’s face, cracking through the mask. Hollywood’s head tilted back and his hood slipped off. The ski mask grew wet with blood, and he coughed weakly as he clung onto his consciousness. “Now are we willing to talk?” Bust commanded.

“H… How?” Hollywood tried to keep hold of his blow guns.

L.L picked the dart out of his cheek and tore away at the bandages, revealing the metal plate underneath. He blew smoke out of the slit cut into it, “Being a cyborg has its props it seems.”

Hollywood jabbed his blow gun into Bust’s scoping lens, the dart bent as it hit the metal eye and sealed the sedative inside. Bust backed off screaming, it came out as a static screech. He pulled the dart out of his left eye and tore out the bandages from his right eye, revealing both of his pupils.

Hollywood pulled the mask off his face and spat out a wad of blood and spit, a tooth was among the mess. His nose was scrunched in a bad angle and blood dribbled out. He wiped blood off his lips and stood up, “He’s dead! I killed him with a friend of mine.” He took a simple stance, his blow guns protecting his face and chest. His mouth slacked as he took deep breathes and his concentration sharpened as the fresh oxygen filtered through his brain and body.

Bust picked green glass out of his face but couldn’t take off the bent metal frame, wires sewing it into his skull. He could tell Hollywood was tired but so was he. His hands opened and closed as he worked blood back to his fingers. The two tired gladiators clashed, but it was obvious from the beginning Bust had the advantage. With his metal bones and metal plates, the blow guns simply pinged off his body. Bust grabbed Hollywood’s arm and keeping a tight hold he hit Hollywood hard, dropping him.

Bust grabbed Blunderbuss from his pocket and aimed it at Hollywood’s head. “So you killed Abra, with your skill? I don’t believe it. Well good bye.” He pulled the trigger.

Hollywood’s eyes stared at the bullet hole a few inches from his face. His eyes moved back to stare at Bust, who stared back.

Bust puffed a smoke out of his cheeks and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth. He flicked it onto Hollywood’s body and turned around, “Pity you killed Abra, if you hadn’t, seems like I would’ve done completely fine against him.” He walked away from the mangled teenager, Blunderbuss grew in his arms and he slung it onto his back.

07-24-2014, 07:06 PM
What I don't get is why prisoners would be fighting not only each other, but a cyborg and some kid with a blow gun when their ticket to freedom is being waved in front of them. Maybe I just don't have that mentality but if I was a prisoner and a hole got blown in the wall I'd make a break for it maybe go see my family, take a shower, check out that new italian restaurant down the street? Idk. That was something that happened in both stories that made me go "why?" Then....Then I realized that was the details of this fight's location....Then I realized the other fights had details too...Then I realized I glubbed up. lol! xD

Anyway here's some quick CnC.

I know that this was a bad match up for your character. I believe most fighters in the wRHG are just bad match ups for your character since most range from super-humans to Gods. :rolleyes: I digress, so that I may mention how utterly desperate this whole piece felt. At no point did I think to myself "Oh Hollywood's got this in the bag. How can he lose?" Rather I found myself thinking, "Well...how much more will he get shat on before he's done for?" I felt I was able to really understand Hollywood's mortality in this and that's key for a character like him in my opinion. Especially aginst a monster (excuse my loaded adjective of truth) like Burst where Hollywood has no real way of winning a fight without some intense eventervention....ah~? anyone? anyone? eventervention? Event-intervention? ah~? :D....Anyway, the sheer level of chaos you added into this fight was a nice additive as well. I totally forgot that the entire city is going to hell. That's all I got for the fun part of story critique, I'll let someone else handle the dry stuff and I'll even leave you with a quote from my favorite prison inmate. "It's a good thing. -Martha Stewart "

What your piece lacked was stakes. You didn't let the situation overwhelm your character and couldn't put him in an interesting position. What I read was a situation that your character had under control at all times, without any regard to the possibilities presented before you. Now, I'm not saying that would have been the only way to garner more interest in your writing, but it is a path to take. I'd say you read through Crank's piece just to see how much more intense a battle can be without story wrapped around it. I'll leave you with a quote as well: "Art is the daughter of freedom -Friedrich Schiller" Take what you will from that. :)

My vote goes to Crank. Well fought you two. I hope I get the honor of honing my skills with you both in the future. :D