Sunteria
Forum Newcomer
- Joined
- Dec 23, 2018
- Messages
- 7
- Capital
- Salt Lake City
- Nick
- Marty
Emil Ezra Krizmanic looked out the bus window on his way home from work after reading the news bulletins of the day. He worked in one of the few factories left in Salt Lake City, and he couldn't be more disgusted by the Dictators Christmas announcement. He was going on a cruise, on the taxpayers dime, and those LDS fucks were praising him for it like he was gonna talk to Jesus himself. As one of the non-LDS Sunterians, Emil was not a fan of the State.
When the heroin epidemic first started a few years back, Emil remembered how rich the LDS Pharma companies got. He remembered all the friends he lost to overdose, remembered the damage it did to his community. He also remembered the 3 years he did in prison for selling the same shit that the Mormons brought into his community! As the bus rolled up to his stop, he exited and began walking to his apartment complex.
This area of Salt Lake was not the shining, vibrant economic center that downtown. This was Sugarhill, a neighborhood filled with desperate tweakers, and stick up men waiting for a chance to earn a quick buck at other's expense. Emil kept a gun in his waist for this very reason, or maybe it was just an old habit. His Parole Officer certainly wouldn't understand. Nor would he understand the 7 grams of Heroin he had picked up on his lunch break... The factory didn't pay much.
"Aye E-Z! I was hoping I'd catch ya." Came a familiar voice from behind. It was Austin, one of Emil's best customers.
"What's up Austin. What do you need buddy?" Emil responded.
"You got a half gram bro? I'm starting to get sick, and my girl's at home bitching too man."
"You got fifty bucks?"
"I got 30 bro, but you know I'm good for the other 20, I could get it to you before tomorrow man. I put that on my white skin homie."
Emil knew as well as Austin that he was in fact not good for it. But Emil needed a pack of smokes and some lunch. So he made the deal and continued on his way home. When he got to the front of his complex was when everything sort of turned upside down.
Cop cars swarmed around him. Before he could even think about it he started running. There was an alley nearby he could escape through. He couldn't go back. Not with his wife and kid at home waiting. As the yells for freeze and hands up began getting louder behind him, he pulled out his gun. It was a revolver, that fired either .45 Long Colt or .410 Shotgun Shells. Currently the .45 Long Colt was packed in. He also ripped the heroin out of his pocket and through it into a dumpster.
As he exited the other end of the alleyway, a regular street cop was standing there on the sidewalk. Seeing the tattoo covered Emil with a gun, the cop reached for his own. Emil fired before the cop could even yell freeze.
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4 hours later
Hiding in a trap house, Emil had to think of his next move. Fuck had he really just shot a cop? How the fuck did the cops have him set up like this? Who snitched? Where the fuck would he go? Then it hit him... he could hide in the Quohadi Native Reservation.
When the heroin epidemic first started a few years back, Emil remembered how rich the LDS Pharma companies got. He remembered all the friends he lost to overdose, remembered the damage it did to his community. He also remembered the 3 years he did in prison for selling the same shit that the Mormons brought into his community! As the bus rolled up to his stop, he exited and began walking to his apartment complex.
This area of Salt Lake was not the shining, vibrant economic center that downtown. This was Sugarhill, a neighborhood filled with desperate tweakers, and stick up men waiting for a chance to earn a quick buck at other's expense. Emil kept a gun in his waist for this very reason, or maybe it was just an old habit. His Parole Officer certainly wouldn't understand. Nor would he understand the 7 grams of Heroin he had picked up on his lunch break... The factory didn't pay much.
"Aye E-Z! I was hoping I'd catch ya." Came a familiar voice from behind. It was Austin, one of Emil's best customers.
"What's up Austin. What do you need buddy?" Emil responded.
"You got a half gram bro? I'm starting to get sick, and my girl's at home bitching too man."
"You got fifty bucks?"
"I got 30 bro, but you know I'm good for the other 20, I could get it to you before tomorrow man. I put that on my white skin homie."
Emil knew as well as Austin that he was in fact not good for it. But Emil needed a pack of smokes and some lunch. So he made the deal and continued on his way home. When he got to the front of his complex was when everything sort of turned upside down.
Cop cars swarmed around him. Before he could even think about it he started running. There was an alley nearby he could escape through. He couldn't go back. Not with his wife and kid at home waiting. As the yells for freeze and hands up began getting louder behind him, he pulled out his gun. It was a revolver, that fired either .45 Long Colt or .410 Shotgun Shells. Currently the .45 Long Colt was packed in. He also ripped the heroin out of his pocket and through it into a dumpster.
As he exited the other end of the alleyway, a regular street cop was standing there on the sidewalk. Seeing the tattoo covered Emil with a gun, the cop reached for his own. Emil fired before the cop could even yell freeze.
-------------------------
4 hours later
Hiding in a trap house, Emil had to think of his next move. Fuck had he really just shot a cop? How the fuck did the cops have him set up like this? Who snitched? Where the fuck would he go? Then it hit him... he could hide in the Quohadi Native Reservation.