Quoted By:
BANG
A .308 round fires from the second floor of a blackened house, cutting through the air, a masterful shot directly into the cockpit of the small single engine plane. Tunneling through the glass and into the chest of the pilot, a spray of blood coating the windscreen, he wrestles against the pain pinning him into the seat attempting to pull the plane up, trying to see through the splatter of blood.
Burnt hands eject the casing and slide in another round with effortless speed, another shot snakes out from the same house.
BANG
directly into the engine compartment of the aircraft.
Thick plumes of black smoke coat the sky as the engines of the plane scream and wail, its body careening towards the earth in a hellish display, Michael shambles from his seat, throwing himself against the door to his left in a last attempt to survive.
You hear the screams over the speaker, the plane tearing apart, Michael yelling in anguish.
“Fuck!” You stand up, nearly knocking over the table. Your wife stands in the doorway holding a hand over her mouth, your son runs to you with the bar in his hand, your daughter looks up at the ceiling of the bunker. Hearing the rumbling. “Oh my god!”
You can hear the carnage from below ground, the plane descends from above, howling and falling apart at the seams as it catches ablaze, the propeller cutting apart anything in its way as it descends, the wing clipping a telephone poll that rips it from its body in a brutal display.
It’s coming in fast, it’s coming straight for you.
Everyone Roll 2d100s
One for Michael, the other for the damage caused by the craft.
