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Aaron’s rifle repeatedly shuddered as he fired at the Jeep in front of him. He leaned out of the passenger side window in the back of Matt’s car, resting his gun on the roof. White-hot shells ricocheted off of the hot metal, haphazardly flying out onto the streets. Matt was in the front passenger seat, copying the actions of the man behind him. Michael was in the back seat on the driver’s side of the Toyota Corolla, leaned over the roof next to Aaron. Bill stood on the floor in the back seat. He was leaning out of the sunroof, holding his weapon on the car between his two partners. John drove, as fast as he could.
The escaped mercenary frantically sent his Jeep across the road. He weaved sporadically in between other vehicles in a desperate attempt to save his life. He was like a startled mouse fleeing from a cantankerous, salivating cat. The swarm of bullets insatiably assaulted his car, puncturing infestations of holes into it.
John and his partners got closer to the other car. They had been right on the lone man’s heels as he sprung from the warehouse. A barrage of lethal metal rained down on the absconding car, hindering its performance. The Toyota closed the distance between them a handful of times. But each time the killers gained ground, they quickly lost it because the mercenary was so evasive and reckless. John was forced to focus on finesse over haste. The hunters sent paroxysms of projectiles at their enemy.