July 01, 3022. City-state of Ainazi. Latvia, Earth.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu*k!"
A resounding curse echoed through the air, carried by the howling winds. The sound of sirens joined the chaotic mix, piercing through the gloomy atmosphere. The late afternoon sun remained hidden behind the mask of gray clouds, obscuring its brilliance.
Fernando Torres, known as Tory, couldn't contain his frustration as he gripped the steering wheel, driving the truck with breakneck speed. There were only two passengers inside, including himself. The expressway stretched out before him, desolate and barren, offering a reckless path to escape. He didn't have to worry about obstacles; his focus was on what was relentlessly pursuing them from behind.
"Everything's gone to shit since we took this job, Vik. This plan was doomed from the start. It was a suicide mission," Tory vented, his voice laced with anger.
He clenched his teeth, his determination unyielding, even in the face of impending doom. The truck barreled forward, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. However, the ominous presence of law enforcement vehicles closing in on them heightened the tension in the air.
Viktor, trying to calm his agitated friend, barked out instructions amidst the pressure of the pursuit. "Tory, don't lose it now. Keep your eyes on the road. I'll handle the cops. Give me that M-16."
Viktor's voice carried a hint of authority, urging Tory to maintain his focus. Despite the mounting danger, he refused to succumb to panic. The police vehicles were mere meters away, hot on their trail.
Four high-tech Jeeps chased after the stolen truck, gliding effortlessly over the ground. The absence of wheels didn't hinder their pursuit. In contrast, the stolen truck maneuvered swiftly, defying its massive size. The wailing sirens reverberated in the background, almost drowned out by the wind's relentless onslaught.
Vik admitted Tory's assessment was correct. This ill-fated job had spiraled into a catastrophe. Initially, it seemed like a straightforward exchange, a mere hot-swap of cargo. However, the intensity of the pursuit indicated that the contents of the truck held unimaginable value. Their lack of knowledge about the cargo they were transporting only added to their predicament. The bald mediator who orchestrated the operation had kept them in the dark.
Perhaps they should have conducted more thorough reconnaissance before embarking on this perilous venture. Maybe trusting the baldy had been their biggest mistake. Regret swirled within them, bitter and unrelenting, but dwelling on past choices offered no solution.
Vik and Tory initially believed they were involved in a double-cross within an arms deal, a common occurrence in gang-related conflicts or turf wars. They were no strangers to risks, but the sheer number of police units deployed in this chase indicated something far greater. Extraordinary goods lay concealed within the truck, creating a situation that was quickly spiraling out of control.
"M-16? Hahahaha. I carry that thing just for show, Vik. That ancient relic won't penetrate their energy shields. We need a better plan..." Tory scoffed, a tinge of frustration coloring his voice.
"Shut your mouth, Tory. Follow my lead. Your complaints can wait," Vik snapped, his stoic expression betraying suppressed anger. He couldn't comprehend Tory's ability to laugh in such dire circumstances. His ostentatious bravado, which Tory often boasted about, baffled Vik. But now wasn't the time to dwell on such trivialities.
Vik reluctantly accepted the outdated M-16 Beason rifle from Tory, who continued to curse under his breath, directing his frustration at everyone and everything. The rapid stream of Spanish invectives flowed from Tory, but Vik paid little attention.
The M-16 Beason belonged to a bygone era, its compressed air bullets outmatched by the advanced equipment bestowed upon the Ainazi police force. The officers pursuing them likely included Metahumans, waiting for the opportune moment to apprehend the ordinary criminals. Additionally, the police vehicles boasted energy shields, rendering frontal assaults futile.
Nevertheless, Vik had a different plan in mind.
As he glanced around the cabin, his eyes fell upon a liquor barrel nestled in the backseat. Evidently, the truck's previous driver had disregarded the notion of "don't drink and drive." Vik didn't have the luxury to judge the choices of others; he had to act swiftly within the confines of his own predicament. Grateful for the presence of the barrel, he understood that he had a single chance to execute his audacious maneuver.
Summoning his resolve, Vik raised his voice, the urgency palpable. "Tory... Now!"
Acknowledging Vik's command, Tory tightened his grip on the steering wheel and veered sharply. The truck swiftly aligned itself parallel to the approaching police jeeps.
Taking advantage of their rapid motion and the forces of nature at play, Vik opened the driver's window, allowing the wind's pressure to aid his plan. With a single motion, he propelled the liquor barrel into the air, directing its trajectory with precision. The barrel hurtled toward the pursuing vehicles, its path meticulously aligned with Vik's intentions.
Time seemed to slow as the released barrel neared its target. The energy shield shimmered into existence, attempting to repel the imminent impact. However, it couldn't thwart the consequences entirely.
As the barrel collided with one of the police vehicles, an inferno erupted, engulfing the unfortunate target. Yet, the outcome exceeded Vik's expectations.
The fiery barrel, defying the wind's resistance, impeded the gyro stabilization of the second police jeep. Its hovering mechanism malfunctioned, lifting the vehicle from the ground and exposing a vulnerable underbelly to Vik's line of sight.
Opportunity beckoned, and Vik seized it without hesitation. His fingers danced across the trigger, releasing a volley of shots at the exposed police jeep. The ancient M-16 Beason found its mark, and flames erupted from the struck vehicle, its imminent crash threatening to engulf the adjacent pursuing car.
Vik was on the verge of celebration when he abruptly remembered to assess the situation surrounding Tory.
What he saw drained the triumph from his expression.
Tory's clothing, once vibrant, now bore crimson stains.
Fernando Torres was critically wounded.