#john limbo

[burdened-boy]

[V]

@wanderingpride

John piloted his new but damaged Mazda RX-9 up the rocky slope using the last remaining ounce of his strength. He looked down at the frayed, oozing remains of his left leg and felt a gagging sensation in his throat. The city was still too far away.

There weren’t many times in his life when John Limbo was sure of his death, but this...this was real. In this day and age, one with enough political clout or money (both of which John had a lot of) could get an advanced prosthetic limb, but John had been injured far too long ago to make it to the hospital.

Slowly rolling to a stop against a tree, John turned off his sports car and fell asleep, wondering if he would ever see his fiancé again.

[burdened-boy]

[V.2]

@alabastaprincess

Carrying his doggie bag of sketchy leftover street noodles, the hitman walked judiciously back from Chinatown. His car, a late model Oldsmobile Toronado, was parked where he left it.

After letting a slick Vanderhall Venice float past, John Limbo crossed the alleyway and approached his car. Hopefully nobody would jump out at him again.

[burdened-boy]

[ Z ]

@twiggenstein

“Yeah?”

“You got a black eye from tripping on your shoelaces.”

The hitman sitting across from her was obviously skeptical.

[burdened-boy]

[V]

@bluelectric

John walked out of a grimy hotel to find his car. Seeing as he had some time to spare on the parking meter, the assassin walked into the busy Chinatown sector of the city. After a hard day’s work, he was on a quest to score some street noodles.

[burdened-boy]

[SNAP]

@keep-those-memories-away

“Come on. Hasn’t your dad or someone ever done this?”

He was holding his belt in one hand with his thumb and the other end by the buckle. It was folded in half, and when he pulled with his thumb it sounded like a whip cracking.

“You’re messing around and your dad tells you to put your hand in the belt. It doesn’t hurt but it still snaps and everyone laughs.”

[burdened-boy]

[STREET-FIGHTER]

@lonemight

The superchargers in John Limbo’s car whine furiously as the 1968 Oldsmobile Toronado understeered around a quiet corner in the middle of the night. His prey, on a Harley Davidson Softail, was just ahead. The hitman floored it, and the tuned LS7 V8 engine before him shrieked.

The front tires struggling for purchase, the loud muscle car surged forward and slammed into the motorcycle, causing the target to fly off the bike and onto his hood. John stomped the brake and sent the person flying onto the street.

Surprisingly, the victim stumbled to his feet and scrambled through the doors of an abandoned sawmill. John put the car in park and followed, gun in hand.

[burdened-boy]

y’all ain’t ready for this one !

[burdened-boy]

[J TURN]

ask response @komala-scientist

Suddenly, two red and white tail lamps appeared across the street as a jet black 1968 Oldsmobile Toronado arced across the sky...backwards. The driver had used the pier’s exit as a ramp and launched his vintage car across the road. A roaring sound filled the cool, crisp air as the car’s V8 sang the song of valkyries.

“No! Get out of here! He’ll kill you-” cried the man, who looked as though he had just received a proper ass kicking.

Landing with a shower of sparks after flying through the sky for a few seconds, the car bared down on its prey like a great black panther. The Olds accelerated towards them.

At the last possible second, the driver did a neck-breakingly fast J turn and spun the car around with the screaming of tires. Like Babe Ruth hitting a grand slam, the enormous steel fender of the Oldsmobile whacked the man right off his feet and flung him into a parked forklift, instantly killing him.

Smack!

After the violent vehicular attack, the car paused, shining its bright LED headlights right at Ricardo.