You check the magazine of your gun once more - a Beretta 92F Samurai Edge, standard department issue - before snapping it closed. Five at the dogs outside and one at the lock on the front door makes nine. Not nearly enough for a proper excursion into this gloomy shitheap of a mansion. From Meenah's nearby hissed epithets, you're pretty sure that she's up in the same predicament you are.
Great.
Isn't this just a veritable cornucopia of suck? Scratch's immediate order to split up just exemplifies everything in this trainwreck - namely that no one has kept their shit together.
Not like there's a lot of it to keep together anyway. Nitram buggered off with the chopper at the first sign of trouble, half of Alpha Team is missing or dead, and there's still no trace of Leijon and the rest of Bravo Team.
Well, you've stalled as long as you can. Nothing left to do but book passage on the S.S. Clusterfuck and drift away down the river of We're Screwed.
Meenah ambles over, cigarette in hand and eyebrows raised in a silent question. You nod, fold your shades into an open front pocket on your vest, and pull out your lighter as she leans in to make it easier. A flick of the wheel is rewarded with a "Thanks, guppy," and a long draw.
"No problem, Ariel. Anything for my favorite mermaid wannabe."
"Clam it, Strider. No need for your shit, I already got zombies all up in my gills." She's smiling, though; for all your little barbs, you're still bros.
"You feeling as off about this as I am? Zombies, haunted mansion right off a movie set, all that jazz?"
"Yeah. Weird's shit's going down out here, and I don't think we're gettin' any kelp from anyone else." She inhales deeply, taps ash off the butt, then drops it and grinds it out on the Carrara marble floor of the foyer. "Ready when you are."
"See you in an hour, princess."
"Later, shrimp."
You slide your shades back on as you ready your gun and edge into an adjacent corridor.
Fill: Team Rose<3Roxy - Resident Evil (1996)
Great.
Isn't this just a veritable cornucopia of suck?
Scratch's immediate order to split up just exemplifies everything in this trainwreck - namely that no one has kept their shit together.
Not like there's a lot of it to keep together anyway. Nitram buggered off with the chopper at the first sign of trouble, half of Alpha Team is missing or dead, and there's still no trace of Leijon and the rest of Bravo Team.
Well, you've stalled as long as you can. Nothing left to do but book passage on the S.S. Clusterfuck and drift away down the river of We're Screwed.
Meenah ambles over, cigarette in hand and eyebrows raised in a silent question. You nod, fold your shades into an open front pocket on your vest, and pull out your lighter as she leans in to make it easier. A flick of the wheel is rewarded with a "Thanks, guppy," and a long draw.
"No problem, Ariel. Anything for my favorite mermaid wannabe."
"Clam it, Strider. No need for your shit, I already got zombies all up in my gills." She's smiling, though; for all your little barbs, you're still bros.
"You feeling as off about this as I am? Zombies, haunted mansion right off a movie set, all that jazz?"
"Yeah. Weird's shit's going down out here, and I don't think we're gettin' any kelp from anyone else." She inhales deeply, taps ash off the butt, then drops it and grinds it out on the Carrara marble floor of the foyer. "Ready when you are."
"See you in an hour, princess."
"Later, shrimp."
You slide your shades back on as you ready your gun and edge into an adjacent corridor.