Smoke poured from the cigarette Ninja didn't have. He crouched on a building looking down at the filth below him. Someone needs to die. And I don't.
The only person he had to turn to was his girlfriend. He didn't have a girlfriend. He had nowhere to turn. He pressed the cigarette against the palm of his hand. It didn't hurt. Nothing hurt. Except him.

He pulled out his silenced pistol with a scope, and aimed into the streets. A cop was coming by on a motorcycle. A **** sweet motorcycle. Ninja quickly lifted the cap off of the scope and fired, and jumped back into the vent, crawling through 20 storys. By the time he got outside, the place was surrounded. Surrounding that sweet a$s motorcycle. He calmly walked into the crowd, shot the cop who was closet to the bike, grabbed his shotgun, threw it onto the bike and took off. Sweetness


Five hours later, he woke up in a dark cell. (thing) had happened. (thing) had came to him. It didn't matter HOW it happened, it's that it HAD happened. So he was going to die. Who cares. He was going to kill. Someone was going to die, anyway.

(Good time for someone to create a character. D<)