mbt schuhe bestellen Gunplay The Story of Victor

GUNPLAY: THE STORY OF VICTOR
The sound of dripping water echoed through the ravaged sewer system. Some time ago, a section of the pipe here had collapsed,Ropa Belstaff, allowing in a dismal, gray light. There, sprawled among the wreckage of crumbled stone, lay a man.
Long gray hair splayed outward from his head, thrown in random directions from what must have been a fall. A scar running from his forehead to just under his left eye was a memento from the fall through the frail concrete. Blood caked his features and torn clothes, and his hand gripped onto the handle of a gun.
His mind stirred. Images, faded and shaky, of a fight on a roof top. And then an endless, releasing fall . . .
He sat up suddenly,louis vuitton Monogram Vernis, a gasp of air filling his lungs and echoing in the near- darkness of the pipe. Blue eyes opened and swam with bright lights. He put a hand to his head to clear away the lights, and then the pain hit.
Pain is really the only way to tell you're alive. Reports from all over his body told him that he was intact, for the most part. A fresh lance of pain from his left arm and a brief glance at the odd angle at which it bent told him the arm was broken. His legs and other arm, however, seemed all right, and it was pointless right now to worry about his ribs.
He looked at the gun his right hand had held. Picking it out of the damp spot it had come to rest in and placing it on a dry slab of stone, he returned his attention to his arm. The break was in the middle of the forearm, about halfway down. Turning his upper body and placing the arm on a long, cool slab, he mentally prepared himself for the pain he was about to endure.
Bracing his left side with the elbow of the arm, which was numb from pain, he held the broken arm in place with his right hand on the wrist. Pulling, slightly at first, and then more and more as he got used to the searing bolts of pain that assaulted his brain, on the wrist, he stretched the arm and took a deep breath.
He raised his head, ever-so-slightly, and then slammed it down on the break.
The resounding crack of the bones setting into place was only heard by him as the scream tore its way out of his mouth. The pain flared up anew,gucci sac France, causing explosions of light and color all across his vision. He lay there for a long time after that, thinking . . .
Meanwhile . . .
The door of the office burst open, bringing the man at the desk to full attention. He sat in his plush chair, sweating. It wasn't the heat he sweated from, but fear. An icy chill of terror that seemed to have an arctic grip on his spine.
"Er . . . Victor . . . I can explain everything, just-" The man in the suit began. The ominous click of a pistol being readied brought his stammering to a halt.
The man in the door with the gray hair and the blue eyes raised one of his twin pistols. "No, Lenny. You can't explain it."
"It wasn't my idea,mbt schuhe bestellen, Victor, seriously! You have to believe me,asics laufschuhe!" Lenny shouted nervously.
"I tried believing you," Victor spoke coldly, "and now I'm going to try something different."
Lenny's final thoughts as he took four bullets to the face were spent worrying about how he could possibly explain things in a way that wouldn't get him killed. He didn't think nearly fast enough.
. . .
Word travels fast in a big town. So fast, sometimes, that people talk about an event that hasn't even happened yet. Lenny Rodinski's death was something like that. Everyone knew that when Victor the Immortal went into a place guns blazing, that someone was going to die.
Victor was legendary,Polos Polo Ralph Lauren, to say the least. He was, according to the rumors, over two thousand years old, moving seamlessly from age to age, destroying evil wherever he found it. He was literally a legend in his own time. But legends aren't always legends. Sometimes they're stories about vengeance.
Lenny Rodinski had been Victor's latest business partner. Even a ruthless bounty hunter needs an agent now and then. No one knew when the relationship went sour, but it was somewhere between the cargo bust and the eradication of the Limbadi Gang. According to the rumors, Lenny tried to sell Victor out for a large sum of money and even more favors from a certain lady, and Victor found out about it. People guessed that Lenny thought Victor wouldn't come back from the ambush, but he was wrong. Legends didn't bill him as Victor the Immortal for nothing.
Victor didn't do promotions or endorsements. His boots weren't made by Reebok and his coats weren't made by London Fog. Even his unmistakable twin pistols didn't have a make or model number anyone knew of. Victor was known simply because he existed. He was part of countless news reports throughout history, and the hero of millions of children's stories. He was the man everyone wanted to be or be with.
But it was an unspoken word that kept everyone a fair distance from the man himself. Victor the Immortal was a dark hero, a last resort. When the police failed to negotiate with the criminals, and when the SWAT teams couldn't save the hostages through sneaky tactics, Victor often appeared on the scene and slaughtered the men responsible for the crime. People gave up trying to count how many people he killed more than fifty years ago, and he's never been on any wanted poster. The government knew it wouldn't help matters any.
So Victor wandered through the annals of history, his name appearing at some important junction in the history books every ten or fifteen years. His Legend seemed to span all of time.
But Legends end. They have to, because it is only with the ending of one Legend that another can begin . . .
And deep in the sewers, a man staggered down the pipeline, and he had every intention of ending the Legend of Victor the Immortal once and for all.By:toryburchbootssale.com
Relevant information：


mbt france

nike shox frauen air max