First thing you do, because it's probably the most important thing to do, is observe your reflection in your desert eagle. You look good. In fact, you look clean. You could have sworn you were covered in blood and ash not an hour ago. Okay so, you should probably go check out why the founding fathers are playing baseball. You start to stumble confusedly over to the diamond, not sure whether or not you're going to participate or watch. You considered for a minute that maybe you'd shoot at a light or something but apart from the streetlights, there are none to shoot.
Before you can make it to the diamond, Thomas spots you and walks over to greet you. The ball whizzes past his head and into the shortstop's glove.
"Steeeeeerike THREE!"
"You're worthless, Thomas!" screams an irate man who looks a hell of a lot like George Washington. Thomas looks back momentarily to flip him the bird.
"I hold certain truths to be self-evident! You are a pissant!" he cries back.
"That wasn't funny the last two hundred times and it isn't funny now!"
Thomas shakes his head, walks up to you and shakes your hand. You return the shake, bemused.
"Good to meet you, sir. You're the new one, then? Of course you are. Terrible buisness. We don't know who killed out last Defender of Liberty, but we will find out!"
You're a little confused. You're a... Defender of Liberty? I mean, obviously you knew that already but seriously?
It's all in the pants. It must be. A good American has American pants, naturally. You shrug; this makes perfect sense to you. You're about to ask Thomas what exactly you're supposed to be doing but before you can, a baseball clonks him in the back of the head. He wheels round to see George Washington roaring with laughter. He screams in rage and charges at him. Several other players are shaking their heads. Ben Franklin (you assume) appears to be coming towards you to explain.
"Hello!" he says cheerfully and Thomas spear tackles George and they begin to brawl. "Don't mind them, they're just playing. I'm Benjamin Franklin, and you are our last, best hope or some drivel like that. I don't know, I forgot to memorize what I was supposed to say."
You ask him what exactly is happening today, because it all seems very odd. Not in so many words, of course.
"Gosh, such language! I suppose it is warranted, you must have had a rather trying day. Let me speak frankly. America is under siege by none other than the Lord of Darkness himself."
You ask if he means Satan. He laughs, and shakes his head.
"My friend! No, no, not Satan. Satan doesn't exist. I'm talking about Georgechev."
Ah. Naturally.
"From the very seat of Hell itself, he plans to overthrow this great country! You, you, our chosen and very well dressed savior, must stop him. Find a way into Hell, destroy him! Only then can this nation be saved!"
What do you do?
Wearing:
Mask of Sensibility
PANTS OF LIBERTY
SHIRT OF DEMOCRATIC VALUES
UNDERPANTS OF NOT-FULL-OF-TERROR-SHIT
Steel capped boots
Helmet
Kevlar vest
Inventory:
Wallet ($90)
Wrist Watch (1:11)
Valium (too much)
Scum
Sock ($1000)
Colt 45 (0/0)
Backpack (5 clips - Thompson) (Rations - unAmerican (4))
Water bottle (full)
Thompson (average) (30/3)
Desert Eagle (slightly better than average) (BULLETS ARE PATRIOTIC) (4/10)
Babe Ruthless (PATRIOTIC) (proficient) (bayonet) (covered in blood)
Wielding:
Mental State:
Don't tell them I killed him I didn't kill him anyway totally not my fault.
Author
Topic: America Prevails (Read 25737 times)