𝓢𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : 𝙸𝙽 𝚆𝙷𝙸𝙲𝙷 . . .
A woman named Y/n DeChu Donowitz A.K.A "The Walking Wipe Out" and her dog Mischa, meet two reporters while seeking shelter from the harsh desert. One thing is for sure, Donowitz would never have guessed th...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Paperback Writer" The Beatles
𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃
The sun was hot as I trudged my way through the harsh wind of the desert. My boots made sizable marks in the sand as they made contact with the ground. My dog panted beside me, his name was Mischa. Mischa's tongue was hanging out of his mouth, saliva dripped from the pink flesh. He looked much better than I did.
My large machine gun was strapped to my back, the overbearing weight of the weapon wasn't making my suffering any better. The leather band was around my chest, one side was connected to the back of the big chamber and the other side on one of the farther away barrel clamps. The strong sun light bounced off the metal, making everything even more excruciatingly hot.
"Ugh, I'm getting tired of this." I wined, brushing the dust of my cream colored dress shirt. I looked over at my dog and sighed. "You're doing so much better than I am in this heat. You should feel happy, Mischa." All he did was slightly bark.
The dog huffed then paused, looking out into the horizon. I stopped as well, dusting off my loose fitting slacks, my skull bolo tie swaying in the wind. I looked back over at the black and brown dog.
"What's up, bud? Something wrong? Need some water?" I reached for my water bottle which was attached to one of my belt holes with a clip. Mischa let out a quiet noise that only him and I could hear.
"Ruff..." once again. The horse-like dog took one step forward and began to bark loudly, successfully startling me. Mischa was a quieter dog and rarely ever barked. He began to sprint forward casting a cloud of dust behind him.
"Woah! Hey, where are you going Mischa?!" I yelled. He only got faster, barking as he did so. I followed him, trying my best to keep up with his fast pace. My black jean jacket flailed at my sides. I never took my eyes off the dog until I saw a puff of smoke appear in the horizon of the desert.
A car. A big one at that.
A smile came across my face. "Mischa, you heard a car. Thank goodness." The vehicle made its way closer to us and Mischa finally slowed down. When the large truck got closer I began to yell for it.
"Hey!" I waved my arms above my head, fighting against the strap of the mini gun which was weighting my shoulder down. "Hey! Over here! We need help!"
The car was coming closer and closer, finally it reached Mischa and I. The dusty vehicle stopped right in front of us and I wiped sweat off my forehead, the liquid transferring onto my worn finglerless gloves
Thank the lord that this person stopped.
The driver of the car was a dark haired woman, in the spot next to her was a bored looking old man and in the passenger's seat was a man with blond hair and sunglasses. He was sleeping, his loud snorting gave that away.
