borncop-deactivated20190219:

❛ What are we doing here? ❜

├   Send me a sentence for my muse’s reaction    ┤

       →   disciipled​​  ||   A C C E P T I N G

❝ The fuck do you think? We’ve got a job, man. Bell’s
countin’ on us. ❞

Fingers tighten around the grip, stomach clenching in
anticipation. The thrill of a hit allowed Murphy to LOSE
himself. A d r e n a l i n e  already vibrated his
bones. Gun pressed against his stomach, [ cold even
through the fabric of his jacket ] . If he wasn’t walking
towards the cafe doors, he would have been fidgeting.
❝ There’s gonna be about fifteen people in there. The guy
with the facial tats is the one who KILLED Roma. ❞

Grounders didn’t walk the streets unarmed, unready. Gang
wars had a way of making people w a r y, ESPECIALLY
when you were directly involved. Although it was almost
a m u s i n g  to picture a man with a gun having coffee in
such a quaint corner shop. Two of them SHOULD deter
any resistance.

❝ Green’s manufactured a problem with the security
camera’s in the area. As long as the other people inside the
cafe don’t see our faces, we won’t have a problem. ❞
Tugging the hood of his jacket down further over his head,
letting his hair OBSCURE his eyes, his features were
shadowed. ❝ Hope you’re ready for this. ❞ The smirk that
coloured his lips bordered on S A D I S T I C. 

Bursting through the front entrance, the gun was pulled
from his pocket. The CLICK of the safety was audible and 
chatter quickly died. ❝ Everyone get the fuck DOWN. As long
as no one tries to play h e r o, deaths are gonna be minimal, ❞
he yelled.