The glass of the car's back window stood no chance against my fist, even when I threw it while having nothing but a few holes I dug with my fingers to hold on to. And just like all the other windows I smashed thus far today, it was made with tempered glass, opening a relatively clean path for me to slide into the car once the very first structural disintegrity came to be.
"Henlo," I casually threw, lowkey regretting my lack of ability to include smiling emoticon within spoken word.
And wasting no further time, I swung myself forth, going for the very same tactic as in the first car that I've taken over, only for everything to play out in, more or less, the same fashion.
The gunner in the passenger's car started to turn right as my foot kicked into the backrest of his seat, pushing it with more than enough force for it to swing and crush the man underneath.
