I think your bowing it just a bit out of proporsion.
Agreed, it's just some wangs in unexpected places.
The briefing had been grim - the evacuation of London was on the verge of total chaos. The west side of the city HAD to be secured, or the civilians would rout. Between the engineered killing machines and their own panic, it would be an unthinkable massacre.
So why entrust a single soldier with such a vital mission? I'd like to say it's because I'm the best... but no. I was all that could be spared. In fact they probably failed, making this all moot. But we were dead anyway.
Wave after wave of Horizine biotech met my sword, shotgun, and pistol. The big stuff was no problem, but the hordes of skittering spider...people...things. My pity was matched only by my hatred and desperation. It was only when I skewered the last chainsaw-handed freak, and a silence descended, that I realized how much blood I'd lost. The drugs are good (so good) but they don't fix you. They help you push your broken frame just a little farther, for another minute, so that WHEN you collapse you aren't surrounded by hungry mutants.
The pain came all at once as I collapsed against the tunnel wall. Muscles screamed from being pushed to far - some torn, I think. I would be feeling this for many mornings to come. I grinned at the thought. Then I heard him howl.
"YOU MURDERED MY CHILDREN" Who the hell? Wait... it couldn't be... there was gallows humor that the CEO himself had fashioned himself an unkillable body, and was leading the specimens. It was just a bad joke, right? Why would he even be here on the west side?
I tried to look down both sides of the tunnel at once. The damnable echo... where was he? Were those footsteps? I swear I spotted him at the right entrance, silhouetted for a moment in the light. Then he was gone, just gone. I peered into the gloom and glare - of course he would have stalker camo. Little good it would do him, I would never have survived the first day without learning to spot that freaky shimmer in the air. Like the air above hot pavement, but with claws and a big mouth. I would have known if he was in the tunnel, I would have at least heard the bastard's footsteps. No biotechnology can make a giant like that walk silently. But then he WAS there. 9 feet tall, sporting a gigantic chaingun/rocket launcher and an expression of pure hatred. I was transfixed by that expression - and also the gigantic tentacle that burst out of his chest and skewered me. He laughed without humor, his face still contorted. He flung me against the wall of the tunnel, knocking the air out of me. "STAY STILL. I'LL MAKE THIS QUICK." Gears whirred noisily as his ARM spun up, and then the bullets. So many bullets.
I'll tell you right now - the afterlife isn't perfect, but it has a lot less bullets.
Killing Floor - died to the Patriarch on the final wave of West London hard (again)
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Topic: How did you last die? (Read 2371531 times)