The haphazard repairs you performed on the stolen dirt bike you’re currently using to attempt an escape from the two police cars chasing you have proved… inadequate. You don’t think they’re inadequate, because you don’t know what that word means. You’re an idiot. They are, however, inadequate. Woefully so.
As you take a turn into a field off the side of the road, the chain on the dirt bike snaps. It clinks and clanks and feeds a final time through the gears, exploding out of the top end at high speed and taking a sizeable chunk out of your left calf.
Time slows down for a moment as the flesh of your leg is ripped from the bone. You have a moment to savor the pain and ponder the line of thinking that resulted in what will no doubt be a debilitating and disfiguring injury to your person. If you had received higher than a fourth grade education, you might be inclined to think you… miscalculated. However, your parents are still paying off your truancy tickets from twelve years ago, so instead you think you done fucked up real bad which, of course, you have.
You crash to the ground and quickly gather a nose and mouth full of dirt and grass. Your first instinct is to spring to your feet and try to run, but your leg injury permits little more than a near-arthritic struggle to stand followed by a feeble hobble.
You turn to see a rather large member of the local constabulary has unmounted his vehicle and is pursuing on foot. Had you ever read a single book in your entire life that didn’t have pictures in it, you might have thought to yourself that this generously sinewy gentleman was about to perform a pursuit-terminating immobilization technique upon you. You haven’t even read a single book with pictures, though, so instead you simply realize that this big motherfucker is about to lay me the fuck out.
He does.