Benjamin Scheinfieldo: A deadly shadow slithers into the garage. It’s Ben. Moving at a half crouch, he makes his way behind the sofa and checks his blue paintball gun at the ready in his twitching fingers.
Still smarting from where Angela’s shot hit his thigh, his mind is busy formulating a plan of wholesale destruction. A grim and ghastly smile illuminates his visage. It’s on like Donkey Kong. Suddenly he hears a noise coming from the cafe door….
Angela: Angela slides the barrel of her gun and *put put* fires two shots at the sofa and ducks back behind the mattress.
Ben: Maddened by his thirst for vengeance, Ben slowly inches out from the sofa. He flips his gun to semi-auto mode, checks his ball supply. All full. He approaches the mattress slowly from the windward, side, so as to not give Angela a hint his her impending fate.
He fires blue suppression shots around the mattress even as he moves, inevitable as the rising tide.
Angela: Angela stands to submit a red card to Ben for carrying illegal weapons when blue shots pummel her chest.
Angela jerks with every *put put* made by the semi-automatic. Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings plays while Angela reenacts the scene from Platoon.
Jaselyn: *Jaselyn quickly shifts from behind the couch and aims for Ben’s back. Realizing that if she uses her gun’s sight, she might actually hit something for a change, she lines up the shot: POW! It connects fully with Ben’s back, splattering him with lush-suburban-lawn-green paint, causing a pause in the fire fight that was raining down upon Angela as he topples onto the mattress. Jaselyn quickly throws herself back toward to couch, but trips on an old garden hose.*
Angela: Ben arches his back into the shot fired and Angela falls to her knees with that blank look anime characters get when they’ve been handed more than they can handle…like this.
Ben: An explosion of pain alights Ben’s back. Then, he is falling. The world goes away and blackness invades the very core of his being.
He hits the floor and the impact brings his mind rushing back. Ben rolls away in one smooth motion and backs into a corner paintball gun up at the ready. The garage is empty.
Shame assails his soul for perhaps the first time. Ben ejects the suppression rounds and switches his weapon back to single fire. He smears blue warpaint over his rugged mien and sets out in search if prey…
Angela: War by Edwin Starr plays on the speaker overhead.
Jaselyn: *Jaselyn can’t help it. She pokes her head out over the top of the sofa and bobs along to the beat. Then the music carries her to her feet, and she’s engaged in a full-on boogie, complete with imaginary microphone and off-rhythm lip-syncing. As the song reaches its crescendo, she accidentally fires her gun into the ceiling and the paint rains down onto her head.*
Crap. Does that count as friendly fire?
*As Jaselyn looks around at the mess she has made from her absent-minded boogie-ing, she spots the clock.*
Oh, man! I gotta go–time to pack for tomorrow’s 12-hour drive.
*Jaselyn gently places her paintball gun back in its case and lifts it onto the shelf. She can only imagine what this garage will look like when she’s able to return to the battle. But for now, she heads to the Cafe Kitchen to wash the paint off, looking back over her shoulder before she slowly closes the door behind her.*
Angela: As the door closes behind Jaselyn, the wind shifts and Angela falls forward landing flat on her face. The impact wakes her from her shock induced stupor. Palms to the floor, Angela lifts herself up and raises her bloodshot eyes to the corner where Ben cowers. With blue paint smeared down her spiffy new black leather armor, Angela pops the magazine from her weapon. With her gaze forever locked on Ben, Angela trades out the forest green paint balls for blood red balls.
Angela reaches into her pocket and withdraws a grenade. With her teeth, she pulls the pin, and chucks it.
Red paint covers the corner, the garage, and Ben. Tiny droplets shower down like crimson rain and Angela smiles.