"The drone is sliced up and collapses in that way drones collapse when they for some reason don't explode"
-WilliamWC3
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| This is a plug | | | Author: | | | IP: | h24-65-1XXXX | | Date: | 12/28/00 08:12 | | Game Type: | Other | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 7, Min: 7
Lifetime Rating for Fractal_Wave: 8.2537 |  | damn those bloody raiders and damn their damnable eyes and ears and every bit of them that could possibly notice me, 'cause if i'm noticed i'm dead, so damn those damn raiders...
For some stupid reason, I'm crawling on my belly through some underbrush towards a wall of sandbangs. The stupid reason is about six feet tall, has a pot bell, and has the biggest fucking pimple I've ever seen on his nose. More importantly, he's got a rifle, and is keeping our sniper pinned down behind some other sand bags about forty feet behind me.
Strom, the squad leader, and the guy with the submachine gun, is further out on my right, flanking merrily away. He said he's gonna cover me. I took three week's pay off of him last night at 7-card stud. I figure the odds are against me.
Deadeye is yelling. Along the lines of "Shade you ass, I'm WAITING!!". Deadeye can go screw a wild pig. My ass is on the line here, not his. Although, to be fair, rifle slugs are flying above him from Big Pimple up ahead, so he's got a right to be stressed. Every now and again he pops out and returns fire, and then promptly ducks back down to avoid having his hair cut by a 7.28 round.
Blaster is grinning like the idiot he his, casually stroking his shotgun as he books it from cover to cover on the far, far left of me. I hope the dumbass gets his head blown off.
The Doc, bless his heart, is sitting in the middle of it all, pistol and medkit ready. Anything short of a lost limb, the Doc can fix it.
Slag is hopping between two pieces of cover near Blaster, carrying one of his cocktails in each hand, just waiting for a chance to light a raider on fire.
Back at the bloody ranch, I pull myself another inch forward and wince as bullets fly around. If one comes for me, I'll probably never know. I also really hope that Strom can take out any guys that come for me, after I remove Pimple's liver.
Crawl, crawl, pray, crawl and crawl some more.
I reach the wall that Pimple is using for cover. The smart move would be to go around on the side near Strom, hamstring him, and then go for the neck. The stupid move would be to go around on the other side, right into the middle of the crossfire.
SHADE YOU MOTHERLESS SON OF A GOAT, DON'T MAKE ME TAKE YOU OUT MYSELF.
Deadeye is such a pleasure to work with.
A gun barks to my right. Strom has been found out. Goddamn. He dives back into the undergrowth, shooting one handed to keep the fuckers honest.
Great. Now there's attention on both sides of the wall. No graceful way to get around now.
Blaster yelps as a bullet creases his shoulder. Slag sets a barricade on fire.
Distraction on both sides. To hell with it. Time to pull a bruce lee.
I stand up, draw my chain knife in my left hand, pistol in my right, do a diveing roll over the barricade, just to the left of Pimple the sniper. A raider about 10 feet behind me yells a warning to Pimple. I roll up, spin to my left, and pray that the warning-guy is being distracted by someone.
The knife backhands into Pimple's knees, chopping his right leg in two, and shattering his other knee. He screams and falls as I raise my pistol and pull the trigger. His screams are cut dramatically short by the fact that he no longer has a throat. They don't pay me enough.
you're clear deadeye!, says I, as I dive behind a crate just in time to avoid the burst of submachine gun fire that the warning yeller has decided to send my way. I take a deep breath, yell for Strom to do his goddamn covering better, and check on the rest of the team.
Blaster and Slag are grinning like a pair of cats who have finally figured out how that damn ball of yarn keeps escaping them. A sandbag barriers is in flames, and a raided corpse lies near it smouldering quietly. The body has a shotgun shaped hole in it. Owch.
Strom is in a fire fight with three, no two, nope, only one other guy. Seems that Deadeye's taking advantage of not having another sniper to deal with. The doc is calmly injecting Blaster with speed and cauterizing his wound.
I risk a look out from behind my crate, and see three, maybe four remaining baddies to be killed.
Two make a run towards the burning barricade, and one takes a slug in the arm from Deadeye as he goes. The other guy joins warning-boy, and they pin down Strom very nicely, thank you.
Alright. Let's go pull his chestnuts out of the fire.
I flank to their left, into the now unnocupied center of the map. One of the more stupid things I've ever done. I'm stealthing up behind the two who have Strom pinned, ready to do my duty as the de facto squad ninja when the impossible happens.
The Doc bellows Shade! Behind you!.
I don't even look, just leap to my left and draw my pistol.
The guy who Deadeye tagged before is stiching a steady line of bullets into the ground. This line is coming towards me. My pistol fires, misses, fires again, misses again, and by then I'm under cover, with a guy coming in from each side. Shit shit shit shit. This is going to be mother-loving ugly. I wait. The bullets crash into the barricade I'm behind. Dammit, someone save my ass.
...
...
...
too late.
Ever notice how times slows down when things like this happen? It went something like this:
I move right back the way I came, pistol firing in my left hand, screaming at Strom to give me a hand. The guy on the left drops his head down, which gives me time to drop my gun, draw my knife, go horizantal over what I pray is the right four-foot tall wall of sandbags, throw my knife at the guy on my right, slam into the ground and bounce my head off a stone, look frantically around, and thank god there it is, tear Pimple's rifle from his cold hands, pop up and send a bullet through Left-Guy's (he's now on my right)eye, and spin to see the mist from what used to be the other guy's head falling softly to earth.
Time speeds up again.
I take another deep breath and casually faint from the near-concussion the fall gave me. The fucker's don't pay me enough.
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