#spitbullets

[detectivewoof-a]

@spitbullets - chris is here for a punch

Ah, crap. 

Maybe he should’ve listened to the old bat when she mentioned that his recent hunting of the sun people didn’t go unnoticed. Maybe he should’ve been a bit more careful and actually cleaned up his mess. But bioterrorism? 

Shit, what the hell were they getting into now? 

Manny tried his best to shake the thought off and at least act like he was listening to his boss do the introduction and discussion for purpose of the visit. Hell, he was even proud of the fact he had at least a bit of sensibility to hold a hand out for a proper greeting. 

“Manuel Morales, head of the homicide department.” There’s a moment of pause. “And I guess your liaison for information on the crime scene as well. Don’t worry, may be middle of bumfuck nowhere but we at least got a computer ready for you.” 

[ursianima]

            '𝐒𝐎𝐀𝐏' 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐇 [@spitbullets]

      it was quiet now - quiet enough to make barrett's ears start ringing. the kind of oppressive SILENCE that would fool most men into believing they were safe. but truly, it was the silence that barrett was more worried about. at least when things were exploding, he knew where the enemy was.

      his breaths & soft thudding steps weren't quite enough to ease the ringing in his ears. barrett longed to find the main road, hoping to find a landmark that would point him in the direction of exfil.

      but as of now, he'd be LUCKY to make it in time. the other shadows may just count him KIA & leave before any more follow the same fate.

            " fuckin' backroads bullshit.... "

      but a sound forces his focus away from his unfamiliar surroundings. a single, quiet scrape of boot on concrete, but it was enough to have barrett spinning the barrel of his rifle in its direction.

      it never found it. not before somebody grabbed it, forced it to aim at the sky, & attempted to wrench it FREE from barrett's grip. but his adrenaline still ran hot - his knee jerked up with barely a second thought, slamming into the stomach of the shadow who attacked him.

      no, not a shadow. not his PREFERRED kind, anyway. shadows don't usually have mohawks.

[voicestm]

@spitbullets The backless chairs were uncomfortable, wobbly and old enough he could hear every creak under his weight. He had woken five minutes ago with a massive throbbing in his right temple and firm warmth at his back. Distorted, sore and fighting growing concern he attempts to roll his wrists. Zip ties. Right. It wouldn't be that easy. He tests the plastic just to be sure, twisting left and then right but the material only threatens to cut into him. That's to be expected. No one with any sense would have left him free to use his hands or left him poorly restrained. What was the last thing he remembered? Mission. Turned south. Intel was wrong. That or something had changed. He wasn't sure which. Ghost had been.. An explosion. Gun fire and Ghost running. Blood. He remembers blood. Whose? His or Riley's? Fuck. He straightens, attempting to get a cleaner look around the room, see if his partner had been taken with him. It's this movement that finally makes him realize whatever he's been bound to was alive, warm and drawing in breath. It only made sense.. That they'd be bound together. "Ghost." He grunts out, voice rough and scratchy. There's a stirring at his back but no answer.. He plants his feet firmly on the ground and shoves, trying to rock them so his weight adds a little pressure.. He needed him awake. There was questions to be answered. An escape to pull off.. One or both of them were bleeding.. They needed to get out of here. Now. "Ghost.. Damn you.. Wake up."