"A care package dropped off by a drone of some kind lands a suit for Toni Cipriani. The mobster never fully became accustomed to technology. With skepticism high, Toni Cipriani opens the package. A tailored suit with a note attached reading “bulletproof in time of need.” The mobster suited up, a custom two-toned ski mask with a giant letter “T” outlined the suit. Packing up MP5 clips along with as many armor piercing shotgun rounds into a duffel bag. As Toni Cipriani loaded up his black matted sports car, the ideal battle format was simple; engage the federal agent targets and flush the streets out with bullets."
It had been a very regular day at school, the bus as usual came late, and as usual threw me into a frenzy of anxiety, hoping I could get to class on time. I made a quick stop by my locker, changed into my scrubs, and I was rushing off to class when I noticed the door was still locked and the room was dark. I checked my watch, this was not the first time the prof was late and a few of my classmates were outside the class urgently studying. One of them perked up and said "Class is canceled."
Two men living in the same apartment building wake up at 7 AM on a Tuesday and prepare for their day. They both hit snooze on their smart-phones and lie in bed, wishing for more sleep. Then they each sigh, resign themselves, and get out of their respective beds.
“The mobster’s plan to organize the underworlds mercenaries, and gain the political power to change history definitely was at stake to Toni Cipriani and the legacy of his family tree. With super enhanced people getting into turf wars all around New York City with criminals and crime lords of all kinds, Toni knew he had to begin strategizing differently. A few vigilantes in particular were known to have some pretty spectacular and daring powers. Perhaps one day Toni Cipriani could exploit these power through specific means. The TV in Toni's small one bedroom apartment showed white and blue collared workers gathered by the masses on the New York streets were to start a strike outside the industrial research facility known as Green Tangerine Industries. The owner of the industries named Norman Osborn, had built up commotion which caused a protest at first among the citizens of Hell's Kitchen, yet now it has turned to the citizens of Yonkers, New York.”
Larry sat in his car puffing on a cigarette. Loretta hated it when he smoked in the car, but he continued to do it anyways. Glancing out the window he watched as the young kids played basketball in the school playground. And the young girls were sitting on the bench chatting among themselves. He wondered if they had any clue about real life yet. Did they even know what could happen to them. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Loretta. She was on the other side of the street at the dirty run down motel. He had followed her there and waited for her to come out again. He knew what he needed to do, and it had to be done today.
Agent John Rathbone was transported back to Iraq and to the last moment he had held his partner Corporal Bosco, as she was dying. She had been shot twice at close range; the second shot found its mark under her left arm, bypassing her Kevlar vest. Rathbone saw what he thought was the shooter melting into the crowded market a short distance away. He called out to him in Arabic, “Wakef, Wallana Petucha,” Stop or I’ll shoot. The assailant turned, pointed his gun at him and leaned his head to the side and imitated shooting him, and he was gone.
Scarlett slowly pulled the mascara wand through her eyelashes. She was careful not to get any of the makeup on her skin and to not leave any clumps. She meticulously repeated the process on her other eye before examining her reflection to make sure that the amount of mascara was even on both eyes.