The filthy neon light flickered, harsh flashes across stinking trash in the dead-end alley. The panicked figure desperately searched the unforgiving bricks for an impossible exit. The chromed hammer clicked back. One fat bullet tore through a defenseless male chest. Stricken, staggering, scarlet, the slight figure fell, rich red blood pooling around the shuddering, struggling body, then one last long drawn-out, rattling, desperate, delaying, lingering, faltering, fading, ending breath.
The shooter checked the corpse, holstered her gun, and turned to leave. Getting him out of the way saved time. Verb smiled.
Adjective was dead.
Luke Writes What You Read 
Oh my goodness that was awesome.
Or rather, This was a piece in which adjective died, so therefor I have no words.
This needs to be required reading in all screenwriting classes. I’d say how awesome it is, but for some reason, I can’t find an adjective.