Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26892768-20190509204551/@comment-32932951-20190510025931

A grey 11-year-old appaloosa speeds across the pavemnt of New York City, a much older New York city. The horse was completely fine, but the rider? Johnny ain't doing so hot. The front part of his knee cap had been sliced off, with metal wire, gravity, and a brit from another dimension to thank for making it all possible.

His breathing was labored...Most of it coming from the pain he was enduring from that whole attack with the metal wires, it's a miracle his horse wasn't injuried! Slow Dancer deserved to catch a break after getting his throat slit by the president recently and getting shot at. Poor horse.

Unseen by most, a pink mechanical looking stand bearing star desgins over it's body floated by Johnny. Tusk act 3 produced a whirr sound beside it's user.

"A-Again! He stopped time for the third time so far! First it was with the knives...I barley managed to live from that, then he hit me with all of those rocks. What's worse is that he knows everything about Tusk, that's why he's keeping his distance. Fuck, the president must have told him everything about act 4 and the corpse! He was in range to, if I can get get in range one more time I should be able to hit him with a nail bullet or someth-

Johnny's gasps for breath and jerks back while coughing. Accidently bumped the injuried part of his very exposed knee into his horses side. Yowch.

"HUHUUHAHHAAAAAAA!!! HAAH!!" His breathing went to hyperventilating in an instant.

Despite all this immens pain, the Jockey pressed on. He had come so far. So far, with a friend. So far, with a goal he was very close to beating. So far that he ended up killing the fucking President of the United States of America. No way he'd turn his back on everything now, for Gyro, for Lucy, for Steven. All that mattered was getting that corpse.