>>597456750 in torn up currency, 26 in your account. Easily accessible.
>>5974680>>5974732>>5974774>>5974778You walk out onto the street. The street's backed up with traffic, a couple brave people have got out and are shouting towards the obstruction - the truck's still there, and a bystander's dead infront of it. A group - three or four - gangoons are stood around, laughing.
"Yeah? Still want us to move, choom? Hahaha!"
"I told you I wan't no crook, gonk!"
On your right, the Nixx that walked past. He's leant up against a railing that divides the road from the sidewalk 'suggesting' that one of the disgruntled commuters gets back into his car before his head paints the street.
The closer look awakens some more memories - He's wearing an ill fitted suit, a frankenstein assault rifle hanging from a sling across his torso. No visible chrome. The goon's face is the most notable element: He, like every Nixx, has modelled themselves on President Richard Nixon, their faces altered to match his. The perimeter of his face, and the back of his head, are a mess of surgical scars, making up the only evidence that he wasn't born with incredible jowls and a weirdly wide nose.
The memories settle in your head. The Elvises - another posergang - were your clients. You walked into their bar, shot their master-of-arms in the face and... well, now you're here. The sole survivor.
You've probably got a few seconds before the Nixx notices you, and if he shoots or shouts - the others will notice too.
Tick tock, choom.
[Inventory:]
>Phone.>Armalite-44.>A crushed inhaler. >White Phosphorus Grenade>50 bucks of wrecked notes.[Actions:]
>Flight - try to backup back into the alley, hope he won't notice.>Freeze - maybe he'll think you're a hobo? >Flatline these bastards. (What're you doing, exactly?) 