So our ambush got ambushed, and Purgatory was in flames. The bikers had decided to burn the town down, so we rushed back to make good on our promise of murdering the bastards. We made it to the town square where a bunch of them were circling around, with their minions throwing Molotov cocktails all over the place. Some joker stood in the center of the square with a pair of pistols, just pot shotting at the centaur jerks. Well, Wu Tang Clan ain’t nothin’ to fuck with, so I joined in the fray. Jason did his acrobat thing, and Tristan got out his cell phone and started playing Flappy Bird or something, hell if I know.
I sent the first bike I came in contact with sailing down the street, when the pistol guy just started flying overhead (Damnit, another one of THESE jokers! Why can’t anyone keep their damned feet on the ground?) and popped two rounds into his head, just exploding it. Bastard wanted to play that game, huh? Nobody wants to let Kevin have his fun? Fine! Jason was bouncing all over the place, popping arrows into any bit of flesh he can find, so I left him to his devices. I saw another mark who’d just tried to put a round in me, and decided to have an adventure.
I sprinted towards him and leaped into the air, landing on the seat of his bike, and shredding his colors as I landed. He started bucking and flailing to get me off, but I hung on tight. I lined up a shot, and waited. After what felt like forever, Tristan shouted out, “Eight Seconds!” At that mark, I drove my sword down to where spine met bike, and he shouted in agony and quit bucking. I bounded off, landed, and took a bow. Deep into my bow, I saw him struggling to raise his sawed-off 12-gauge, so with a jump and a flourish, I slashed my sword across his face, bifurcating his jaw line.
A few arrows and bullets later, the square had gotten fairly quiet, and we had several dead centaurs and a bunch of fleeing bikers. I bent down and grabbed some metal to twist into a rough belt buckle, a fitting trophy for my first rodeo, and used my noble steed’s VP patch to give the trophy a splash of color. Just when things started to get boring, the last of the centaurs (four of the bastards) and the rest of the biker gang (just a whole acre of them jerks) roll up to party. The leader, I assume since it was the guy from before and he had a “president” patch, started talking.
He apparently wanted to offer to release the rest of the captives, and say all of us go our separate ways. I explained how that was unfortunate, since he’d sent us to get the key, and in order to get the key, we had to promise to kill all of the centaurs. It was admittedly a really embarrassing situation, but since it was tricky, he needed to talk it over with his people. They made ready to talk, and that’s when the future head over my mantle decided it would be a good idea to launch a 40mm grenade at me. Rude, if you ask me.