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> Forgo the weapons and wrestle the bastard toward the plane door.
Suicidal. But here we go.
Trying your best to surprise him, you lunge at the Were-Grue, grab his shoulders, and begin shoving him backward in a pathetic imitation of what you take to be wrestling.
He responds by grabbing your shoulders and pushing the other way. Most likely, he's not just biting your head off because he finds your patheticness amusing.
However, you seem to have the upper hand; you're able to counter his force and are pushing him further and further toward the plane door.
> Push harder!
Closer...
> Push HARDER!
Closer...
> Harder!
Closer...
> HARDER, BABY, YEAH!
...uh...
> I'm sorry...I don't know where that came from.
Don't think I won't bring it up later.
...but returning to the wrestling match...it's working! As the plane continues to plummet and the oxygen continues to thin, you and the Were-Grue are getting closer to the door! The Were-Grue's feet are mere inches from it!
> PUSH!
You give an extra hard push. The Were-Grue stumbles, trips...and falls out the plane!
> VICTORY!
And due to his firm grip on your shoulders, he drags you out with him.
> ...you mean...
Oh yeah. You and the Were-Grue have just fallen out a plane, and are currently plummeting several thousand feet toward the ground below. While still brawling in mid-air.
> FUCK! PANIC!
You express the panic currently sweeping over your body by fighting the Were-Grue more viciously than ever. He's quite overcome, and you give him a black eye and punch out several teeth. In mid-air, which is quite impressive.
But even now, you can almost feel the ground getting closer. And closer. Aw man...here it comes...
> Close eyes and spend last few minutes of my life praying to every God there ever has been for redemption.
You attempt to do so, but before you can...WHAM!!!
...
You regain conciousness.
You lift your head and cough up some sand. You stand up, your knees trembling, and dust yourself off.
You examine your surroundings; you're standing on a flat, broad stretch of dry semi-desert, currently illuminated by the cool light of twilight. Several yards to your left is a long, straight, empty highway
...and further down it, on the horizon, is a cluster of tall buildings and bright-coloured lights standing out against the twilight sky. You can hear the traffic from here. Looks like you made it to Vegas after all. More or less.
But returning to your more immediate surroundings, the ground looks pretty familiar; you're pretty sure you were plummeting towards it just now.
> Yes, I was; how the hell did I survive?!
Well, glancing down, you realise what you were just lying on top of: lying on the ground at your feet, on its back, is the Were-Grue from the plane, now completely motionless. From the looks of it, you managed to get the Were-Grue under you (LULZ! AN INNUENDO!) just before you hit the ground...and it cushioned your fall.
> Bless improbability in fiction.
Aye aye. The Were-Grue itself, being a Grue, is of course not dead...but, having landed on its back, it's paralyzed. For life. And since no one would ever help a Grue, it'll probably just starve to death out here.
> That's immensely satisfying.
Good. But speaking of the plane, you suddenly remember what just happened; and glancing up, you can see the plane on the ground just a few dozen yards ahead of you. Or what's left of the plane after it hit the ground and was obliterated in a firey explosion. That's fifty people dead because of you.
> Meh.
"Meh"? That's all you have to say? "Meh"? Don't they put people like you away?
> Let's just see about getting to Vegas, hm? This page is too long, anyway.
Fine, sociopath.
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