>>11166602Suarez will attempt to sneak up on Costa inside a parking structure, but his safety will let out an eardrum-rattling "CLACK" and Costa will scream "BUST EM!" at the top of his lungs while simultaneously pirouetting, flipping his ergonomically-placed safety and dropping urban-prone behind a concrete pillar.
In the ensuing gunfight, hundreds of rounds will be expended, but the copious quantities of smoke, and effective use of covering fire and cover by both combatants will cause each to only score a few grazing noncritical hits. Somewhere into his third magazine, Costa's rifle jams, and his forward-assist fails to drive the bolt into battery. Acting decisively, he slings his AR-15 and draws his 1911.
As Suarez advances, Costa dynamically shits himself and attempts to stealthily flee from behind a row of cars. Suarez spots him just as he runs into a stairwell, and fires his third magazine through the wall, hitting Costa several times.
Hearing the clack of a magazine against the floor, Costa lets his bleeding body tumble haphazardly down the stairs and hoists his torso around the corner. He takes aim with his beautifully-crafted race gun, and lets off a single shot of .45 ACP into Suarez's center mass.
Suarez hits the floor. He's down. Costa lowers his pistol and performs a habitual threat-scan, when suddenly Suarez begins to move again. The round had been stopped by the thin sheet-metal of Suarez's final magazine.
Costa raises his pistol, but it's too late. Suarez has already drawn a bead on Costa's forhead. Suarez pulls the trigger, the striker strikes the primer, and a massive explosion levels the entire city of Detroit.