Absolute Unit
In any case, Angry Fox is toast, while Big Jim and the Mountain are still standing, and this is a huge problem.
Angry Fox’s finger twitches on the trigger of his weapon, and maybe that frees up the firing mechanism because it sprays another burst that smacks the Mountain in the chest. A pink mist of aerosolized blood drifts over us as the big man groans and collapses.
Angry Fox falls at the same moment, face-down in the puddle, gray smoke wafting from his fur. We hope he’s dead.
Screaming, Big Jim empties his pistol into the prone furry.
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