30: Compromised

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Although it's been at least five minutes since you've (reluctantly) taken over the wheel from your gun-loving buddy, you haven't stopped screaming once as you clumsily steer the vehicle through side streets and narrow roads, following your procrastinating GPS woman.

"Continue straight for two miles," the voice chirps. Usually monotone, you can almost hear a spark of cruel amusement in the GPS lady's voice as she guides you.

Freaking technology.

"Can you please shut up?" Yoongi barks through the open window. He's on his knees in the seat, turned to face backward with the upper half of his body leaning out of the car. "Your squealing is making my ears ring."

Immediately after, you see him dart his body back into the car just as a metallic ping! bounces off your eardrums.

Yoongi laughs and mumbles something under his breath about poor aim and amateurs before sticking his head out again, popping off shot after shot at the trailing vehicle.

"Yeah,%#*¥&$! eat it you &*%*#^s!" His voice is a raspy growl, his words burning your cheeks at the vulgarity

He's enjoying this way too much.

You, however, try to ignore him for the most part as you focus on not impaling the very expensive car you're maneuvering onto a light pole. Although you do manage to avoid making yourself a car kebab, you don't avoid clipping someone's trash bin that's laying too close to the street.

You wince at the hard thump of the plastic container against the corner of your car, watching trash and old food roll up the windshield and shoot into the air, a disgusting show of flying garbage.

An old banana peel latches onto the back of Yoongi's head, clinging there like a determined octopus.

"What the-?!" Yoongi growls and swats it off his head as a crazy giggle works it's way up your throat. His expression is one of complete and utter disgust, small nose wrinkled up into a tiny mound.


Good times.

If you survive this, you won't ever forget the look on his face.

Another bullet ricochets off the frame of the car, causing Yoongi to retreat momentarily through the window.

"Okay," he says. "I'm gonna take out their tires. You good?"

"Nope," you reply.

"Good," pops back the black headed man. He sticks his head out the window, peering back at their pursuers. "I think we better hurry back to the house. They can't be the only ones."

"Why do you say that?" you ask through gritted teeth, stomping down on the gas pedal when you glimpse the other SUV abruptly lurch forward.

Taking this opportunity, Yoongi flings his upper body back out into the vulnerable space and directs both handguns at the SUV.

Pop, pop, pop. Pop pop.

There's a sound that's kind of like a balloon exploding, but much louder and more screechy. The vehicle following you wavers in your rear view mirror, jerking off the the side and crashing over the curb.

You turn your eyes away from the wreck, not wanting to see what kind of damage the car has done to the buildings there.

Satisfied, Yoongi retracts himself from the outside, sliding casually into the seat and rolling his window up, as if this whole time he's just been viewing the scenery with admiration.

With your shaking hands still clasped like glue around the steering wheel, you take a glance a the man beside you.

The excitement has drained from his face, leaving it once again at that boredly blank stage. His long fingers snatch up the cell phone from the dashboard, temporarily silencing the GPS as he hits a button, bringing the device to his phone.

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