You can’t fight city hall

I’ve been working a loop for NOW! Pro Wrestling.  I got a parking ticket at a show.  The promoter told me that all I had to do was go down to the courthouse and they would take care of it since I was supposed to be there.  Normally I’d ignore something like that but since I have an identity now and it sounded like I was fine, I went.

Did you know that the ’92 GMC Typhoon truck is faster than a contemporary Lamborghini?  Cars they make now are boring.  I like driving old cars even though most of mine are wrecks on the verge of flying apart without magic chicken wire holding them together.  At least they have some character.

I was on the steps of the courthouse admiring a teal colored Typhoon coming down the street when I noticed that the guy sitting in the back wearing an old Bullet Club shirt had a gun.  A dude in the back of a truck with a gun is not totally out of the ordinary in Texas, but still it makes you sit up and take notice.  Never a bad idea to keep an eye on any gun in the area.

When the Typhoon screeched to a stop and the guy pointed the gun in my direction, I really took notice.  While my brain was deciding if it was better to try and cast my armor spell or hit the dirt, the gunman shot a lady reporter in the back.  I think he was aiming at the Colonel Sanders looking dude she was talking to.

Did you know that the Typhoon can go zero to sixty in five seconds?  That thing can haul ass.  I saw it haul that ass as a couple other reporters who didn’t get shot ran around like chickens and Colonel Sanders stood there looking at the blood all over his suit. 

I saw a big dude in a non-Colonel Sanders suit that looked like what I assume the Rock would look like if he was a white guy with red hair try to chase after the truck on foot like a dope.  In the confusion, I grabbed the reporter lady by her fancy boob shirt and dragged her inside the courthouse.

Inside, a security guy was standing doing nothing with his jaw on the floor.  A bunch of frightened office people in suits and skirts were clumped together like bait fish.  I used my healing spell on the reporter.  Made me think about when I did the same thing for Gary, saving his life when he got shot.   And now he’s fine and the detective is fucking dead.  Some day I’ll make a good decision. 

I figured with all the commotion, no one would notice what I was doing.  Or if they did, they wouldn’t think “clearly that woman is casting a healing spell”.  I was wrong on both counts.  When I was done, I saw the Ginger Rock standing there gawking at me.  He pointed right at me and shouted “I know what you did!”

Way to be subtle, briz.

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