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You speed past the burning and mashed wreckage of his motorbike. None of the bullets hit you directly, but your face is cut and covered in gashes from the exploding glass, impairing your vision.
You have been inflicted with the status:
Blurred Vision
Your car is faintly smoking, perforated and riddled with bulletholes; there is a slight smell of burning, but the steering and power train all still feel responsive.
Having utterly smashed through the Machine Pistol Motorbike Rider, the Freightliner simply continues driving through, blaring its horn, its momentum utterly indomitable.
