|Rashaam||Rashaam is sitting on his couch, his massive brindle pitbull curled up next to him with his massive head resting upon the mans lap. The T.V. is on, tuned to cartoons, while he casually lights the herb in his fancy blue bong. Despite being relaxed, Rashaam is never truly at ease. His SCAR rifle lay propped up in the corner, while one pistol remains on the coffee table, and the other in it's permanent home amongst his shoulder holster. Paranoia is a reality for Rashaam, his body armor lays next to his rifle, ready to be applide hastily if needed.|
|Kitten||The only warning Rashaam has that something is amiss is the very moment the front door of his house breaks down followed by the back door as a Spanish-accented voice calls out loudly, "El Papa sends his regards pig!"
Automatic weapons fire swept through the residence, punching through walls, shattering picture frames and NARROWLY missing Rashaam's prized bong on the table.
The dog barks loudly and rushes off towards the back door and rips a guys nuts off, he can be heard screaming.
|Rashaam||Rashaam instantly reacts when the front door bursts open, his giant Desert Eagle being plucked off the table with the quickness as he dives behind his couch. The pistol was already loaded, so Rashaam instinctively levels the massive pistol over the couch, and aims for the intruder who still had their balls, depressing the trigger multiple times, the massive blasts of the .50 caliber ammo ringing loud. "GET 'EM BIGGIE!"|
|Kitten||The hitman takes a solid hit to the chest but he doesn't back down thanks to the drugs in his system, he lived for the Cartel and El Papa and he had been sent to stop Rashaam from looking further into Las Islas del Paraiso.
Opening fire again on automatic with the AK-47, the bullets tore through the home, some of them hitting the couch and hitting Rashaam in his chesticles.
|Rashaam||The gunfire surprises Rashaam, whose pistol had managed to strike true. There is ringing in his ears as a bullet penetrates his torso. He grits his teeth, hand tightening around the the handle until his knuckles are white. "Son of a BITCH!" Rashaam jumps back over the couch, his other pistol being drawn out of his shoulder, ready to shoot at the other intruder who was being handled by Biggie Smalls the Blue Pit.|
|Kitten||The cartel hitman doesn't even have a chance to open fire again as Rashaam's shot catches him directly between the eyes; a smoking hole marking the bullet that had splattered the mans brains everywhere.
In the back of the house, Biggie had done a good job at self-defense and the other Hitman was /running/.
There was blood all over the floor and Biggie spat out a big fleshy lump of something unsavory before barking happily at his master.
|Rashaam||Rashaam raises his pistol towards the mans lower spine, his eyes focusing down the iron sights of the pistol. When he's positive of his shot, he slowly depresses the trigger so that it's perfectly still when fired, and his shot is remarkably accurate! He doesn't waist any time. The secret agent is running towards his assailt, his arm pushed up against the hole in his chest to block the bleeding. "|
|Kitten||The other hitman takes a bullet directly in the spine as he attempts to run away, stumbling and falling to the ground. He doesn't offer much information to Rashaam but it is clear he is dying, he takes a moment to stare at Rashaam, stating coldly, "More will come. El Papa will have his vengeance, you stupid fucking pig. Better run while you can..." His eyes roll back into his head and he is dead.
Biggie runs over, lifts his leg and pees all over the man before barking happily and doing a little doggie flip!
Rashaam knew the name. El Papa was a Cartel Leader in South America. He must be tied to Las Islas del Paraiso...
|Rashaam||Rashaam laughs, "What kind of cartel leader calls themselves El Papa.." He kicks the dying Hitman, and moves back inside to call on his people, "Good doggie." He says, reaching down to pet Biggie on the head. He looks down at his wound, wincing at the blood. He moves back over to the couch, returning to his bong like his house didn't just get shot up.|