Pff. I thought amnesia was a cool setup. I am just going to blame Comrade and his communism. CURSE YOU COMMUNISM! WHY MUST YOU TRY TO DERAIL EVERYTHING!
How about a dead body/ audio type / note from our land lady for a plot tread?
I tried to put one in the box. You guys shot it. Oh well, I can think of something. I AM GOD OF THIS WORLD AND YOU PEASANTS SHALT NOT DEFEAT ME.
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Idea is of superior quality. Idea is accepted. We are rolling on it like a log! Probably not while reloading. Or, failing that, pretending that it is our mighty steed. Or, failing that, getting the carriage and riding that out.
I set my gun on the ground. For some odd reason I want to ride it like a log.
Am...Am I trying to kill myself? Is that the end goal of all this? Because I am pretty sure I have now broken every law of gun safety, several of physics, and more then a handful of man.
I set it on the ground and try to get it moving, while standing on top of it. It makes almost a full rotation before the crank stops it. Then the crank bends and snaps as I somehow create enough force with my feat to move the 750 pound weapon. Well, it was inevitable.
Then I start back up again, leaving even more scratches in the tiled floor. I get it going pretty fast. Like, it is still the speed of a turtle, but this is like moving a car with only my feet, so I consider it a win. I head towards the hole in the wall that I created, the clouds of black smoke still lingering in the air making it difficult to see absolutely anything that isn't right in front of me.
Or, in some cases, something that is right in front of me.
My neck is clotheslined by a shotgun. A big shotgun. I fall down on the cold, unforgiving floor and hold my neck reflexively.
I can tell that it was a 4 gauge Ks-23 shotgun, or 23mm carbine if I am Russian. I might be, I still know nothing about myself except I am insane.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING!"
A voice calls out from above me, inside the dark cloud. I should thank it.