Rain dripped from her unkempt hair, though no one could see her in the dark shadows of the alley. She eyed the street with fervor of gravity. People walked by, hurrying home after a days’ work or just headed out for an evening shift, she paid them no interest, her eyes waiting for one in particular. A woman passed by with her child in tow, stopping for a moment in view of the alleyway. She paid no notice, but the child gazed into the darkness feeling fear of the impenetrable blackness. The clap of thunder and flash of light, Jezebel was seen clear as a spring day, hood pulled over her head, glossed boots shimmering like a mirror. Her hand gripped a Desert Eagle, cocked and ready; her lips gave notice that she was not to be trifled with this night. The young boy gasped just as his mom tugged him along as she continued on her way.
This night was neither for drinking or street racing nor for dancing. This night was for revenge. He would pay for what he has done. Drag racing brings Jezebel to the edge of life, 120 mph through narrow streets and back roads. Win or lose it makes her feel alive. More than any heist or bold escape, higher than any drug, more pleasure than any meat injection. The night before was no exception, her friends and she were drinking after a night of racing, laughing and joking in boastful fun. A spray of bullets, not even aimed at them whizzed by them. Before they could pull their own weapons the shots stopped and a car raced off. Cursing was soon replaced by cries; one of her crew was shot. Chest, through and through, Jezebel was drenched in blood as she tried in vain to stop the bleeding. The paramedics tried, but everyone could tell that they were just going through the motions. They knew what Jezebel and her friends deep down inside knew, but were not ready to acknowledge to themselves. Dawn invaded the night sky, as the doctors told them that Jezebel’s friend was dead, his doom was sealed the moment the bullet left the muzzle. Her friends walked out weeping and cursing, but not her. She walked out with an inferno in her eyes and darkness in her heart. A few hours later she had a scumbag at her feet who knew who fired the shots that night. He went by the name Speed Demon; he was nothing more than a young rich kid who had a dick for brains and a Glock mixed with booze for courage.
The rain picked up, pouring out as if the heavens themselves and burst lose to flood the earth of sin as if in biblical revelation. From across the street the door opened. Jezebel was told he would be here; rich boy liked slumming around with a stripper named Daisy. She stepped out of shadow and called out his name. He turned and before he knew the danger he was in, the first shell it the ground. He flew back and fell. Jezebel walked across the street as the crowds ran for cover. Standing before him, his leg quivering, his left arm reaching for his right that her first shot had just half amputated for him. She took a moment to savor the revenge and said, “You mess with one of my friends you mess with me.” “Who are you?” he asked. “The last face you will ever see.” One ultimate slug into his head, Jezebel holstered her gun as she turned and as soon as she was there she was gone, back into the gloom from hence her vengeful anger came. This was not the first man she killed and he would not be the last, but for now a bottle of single malt scotch whiskey waited for her and she was not going to keep her date waiting any longer.
The rain had subsided, Jezebel extensively drunk, listened to the final sounds of the slow drips of water fall from the gutter of her cheap apartment. The flickering of neon lights sown through her window as rain now began to fall from her eyes.
[Hi my name is Jezebel and I am looking forward to the release of APB, a dangerous place, but even more so alone. I am looking for a crew to run with, to have fun with and share a few laughs and share in the pain.]
This night was neither for drinking or street racing nor for dancing. This night was for revenge. He would pay for what he has done. Drag racing brings Jezebel to the edge of life, 120 mph through narrow streets and back roads. Win or lose it makes her feel alive. More than any heist or bold escape, higher than any drug, more pleasure than any meat injection. The night before was no exception, her friends and she were drinking after a night of racing, laughing and joking in boastful fun. A spray of bullets, not even aimed at them whizzed by them. Before they could pull their own weapons the shots stopped and a car raced off. Cursing was soon replaced by cries; one of her crew was shot. Chest, through and through, Jezebel was drenched in blood as she tried in vain to stop the bleeding. The paramedics tried, but everyone could tell that they were just going through the motions. They knew what Jezebel and her friends deep down inside knew, but were not ready to acknowledge to themselves. Dawn invaded the night sky, as the doctors told them that Jezebel’s friend was dead, his doom was sealed the moment the bullet left the muzzle. Her friends walked out weeping and cursing, but not her. She walked out with an inferno in her eyes and darkness in her heart. A few hours later she had a scumbag at her feet who knew who fired the shots that night. He went by the name Speed Demon; he was nothing more than a young rich kid who had a dick for brains and a Glock mixed with booze for courage.
The rain picked up, pouring out as if the heavens themselves and burst lose to flood the earth of sin as if in biblical revelation. From across the street the door opened. Jezebel was told he would be here; rich boy liked slumming around with a stripper named Daisy. She stepped out of shadow and called out his name. He turned and before he knew the danger he was in, the first shell it the ground. He flew back and fell. Jezebel walked across the street as the crowds ran for cover. Standing before him, his leg quivering, his left arm reaching for his right that her first shot had just half amputated for him. She took a moment to savor the revenge and said, “You mess with one of my friends you mess with me.” “Who are you?” he asked. “The last face you will ever see.” One ultimate slug into his head, Jezebel holstered her gun as she turned and as soon as she was there she was gone, back into the gloom from hence her vengeful anger came. This was not the first man she killed and he would not be the last, but for now a bottle of single malt scotch whiskey waited for her and she was not going to keep her date waiting any longer.
The rain had subsided, Jezebel extensively drunk, listened to the final sounds of the slow drips of water fall from the gutter of her cheap apartment. The flickering of neon lights sown through her window as rain now began to fall from her eyes.
[Hi my name is Jezebel and I am looking forward to the release of APB, a dangerous place, but even more so alone. I am looking for a crew to run with, to have fun with and share a few laughs and share in the pain.]
