Flyaway: Chasing Mattkarov

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic

Jace Connors, a man of many titles and professions, drives head-on into one of America's darkest cities in search of his long-time nemesis. However, he'll soon realize that what he finds during his search may be more than he can handle.

Chapter 1 (v.1) - Flyaway: Chasing Mattkarov

Submitted: July 16, 2014

Reads: 230

Comments: 1

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Submitted: July 16, 2014





----------------CHAPTER 1: INSERT



“Headshot” “Handshot” Jace Connors parkoured his Prius past another vehicle. He’d been on the highway for almost twenty minutes now, and there was no exit in sight. He was running behind.

He was on a tactical mission to Hartford Connecticut to finally pull the plug on a Muslim who had been a thorn in his side from the beginning. This slanderous coward had posted countless illegal videos, each and every one a blow and a mockery to the future past retired wounded veteran Specops Marine rape survivor rapper artist warlord’s good work. His calm voice had long masked a burning hatred of Jace, America, and the USMC, and now it had reached a boiling point. He couldn’t be allowed to continue his actions, or he would soon be a danger to not just Jace's way of life, but to all of America.

Jace was driving to finally take down “FlyAwayNow” Matt.

His phone rang yet again. Wow, this was gay. His informant kept calling back and changing the address like a niggo. Hopefully he’d gotten it right this time. “Yeah, okay, you know who this is, okay,” he snapped as he answered the call.

“Hey man, it’s Frank,” the niggo on the other end replied. “Look, I know you’re getting close and I just wanna confirm the address, you know?”

“Yeah, you’ve called like five fucking times, okay? I know already, okay!” Jace yelled. He blared his horn as he juked his car through another lane.

“I know man, I just—“

“I KNOW, OKAY! I KNOW ALREADY, OKAY?!?!” Jace hung up and threw the phone into the side seat. He needed no distractions from civvies now. He knew where he was going and what he had to do.

Already the buildings of Hartford were showing up down the road. He didn’t need some faggot niggo’s help for directions now—his Marine’s instincts and the address written down in his pockets were all he needed now. This shit had gone on for far, far too long.

He was about to finish this fight.

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