The pause he had from his family was only temporary. Errol - who had verbally given as good as he got - swept by him almost immediately. The static shock that was delivered made him flinch, and was surely not an accident. Yet the older brother bit his tongue. The better he played along, the earlier he'd be able to get away from them again. Of course, that'd mean having to put up with them in an even smaller space first. 

Begrudgingly, Duncan followed them to where Errol had his car parked. [color=9e0b0f]"Once you're home we need to have a word Clementine,"[/color] Duncan said. [color=9e0b0f]"because I'm not going to put up with this anymore."[/color] Was he going to tell her that he was running out of money? The idea formed a knot in his stomach - there was simply nothing more humiliating than having that conversation with her. [color=9e0b0f]"It's for your own good."[/color] He wasn't sure who that was directed at. Himself, or her? Duncan tightened his grip on the briefcase he held under his arm. That, the content of his seemingly only piece of luggage, was his final hope.

Once in the car, Duncan moved to the other side to give Clementine the space to enter. As she sat down, he remarked [color=9e0b0f]"don't forget to put your seatbelt on."[/color] It came out bitterly. That was because they were apparently going for hot dogs first, without bothering to ask him at all. Karma came to his rescue though, as the girl who had asked all of them but him hit her head against the dashboard. At first he ignored that it happened to cut her some slack. That changed when she put the music on. "Is your head okay? Because I can't believe anyone in their right mind would put this on." He commented. 

Duncan leaned back and grumpily stared out of the window, waiting for the group to persecute him again, when a black van obstructed his view. Cursing under his breath, Duncan shifted to stare out of the other window only to watch the same thing happen. He reached for his glasses. "I don't think they're-" 

It felt as if an immense weight was thrown on him while gravity had lost it's grasp. The world spun outside the car, and a waterfall of glass came cascading down on him from behind. Or below? Then his head spun. His neck filled with sharp jolts of pain. 

And the survival instinct of a battle-hardened veteran kicked in.  

'Red' came to him from the blood on Clementine, the speedometer's pointer, his own red socks, and wherever else he could find it to form a vibrantly coloured orb the size of a golf ball in the palm of his hand. He slammed his hand against the car door, and the thing violently burst from its hinges. The door skidded to a halt five meters from the wreckage. 

Duncan rolled out, glass crunching underneath his jacket as he did. His red blazing eyes scoured his surroundings. The collision had pushed them toward the center of the crossing. He counted five jet-black vans spread over two of the four streets. Men in black uniforms came pouring out of them. Each of them pointing an automatic rifle in their direction. He had only a heartbeat to react. 

Still crouched down, Duncan drew the red of two cars he spotted in the traffic toward him immediately. The red kept the shape of the cars - he had no time to transform it into anything else - and positioned them on either side to cover the wreckage. 

A storm of bullets slammed into them almost immediately, forming cracks in the haphazardly thrown-together barriers. He barely found cover behind the hood of the translucent truck to his left, and saw bullets graze the wreckage that was once Errol's yellow car. 

[color=9e0b0f]"Couldn't you at least have gotten one in red?"[/color] Duncan yelled out to his half-brother.