01-28-2016, 07:20 PM
Tartaros sat on a stocky wooden chair in the break room, calmly flicking through the pages of the latest Security Monthly with one hand and gripping a small glass of Mjød with the other, while trying to ignore the stomping and crashing near the couch. That Grundy fellow had made quite the mess downtown, and trying to pacify him was a bitch, but other than that this job was fine. Quiet and simple, with some fair extras on the side. Working for a billionaire has it's upsides, after all.
Looking up from the journal, he noticed the colossal undead form of Grundy looking around the fridge, eventually digging out a large chunk of smoked ham before sitting back down. Tartaros sighed. The green one never liked people stealing his food, and he sure as all hell wasn't going to deal with the mess afterwards...
It wasn't long before the marine's break was interrupted again, by the blaring sound of sirens and crackling yells emerging from the break room speaker.
Taking a final bite from the ham shank, Grundy got up first, shouting something about "smashing bad guys" before squeezing his way through the door.
"Hrm...", Tartaros said, taking a final swig of his ale, "Suppose today will be more lively after all."
Planting his dull grey boots on the ground and putting his helmet back on, the marine calmly walked through the now ruined door frame and into the hall. Heading down a flight of stairs into his quarters, Tartaros found his steel equipment rack. Grabbing his chainsword, shotgun, boltgun, a belt of grenades, a knife and his personal Volkite pistol before rushing back out. There was no time to waste.
Slinging his firearms over his back, the marine rushed to the stairwell. Leaping down almost whole flights at a time, cracking stone and denting steel along the way, he soon found himself at the ground floor. Making his way into one of the brighly lit Stark Tower halls, he found a single man standing in the center, alone by the window. Dressed in a deep green armoured vest, military fatigues and a stone grey helmet, he gripped a shotgun with a single bloodied fist.
Readying his trusted bolter, Tartaros spoke. "Sir. Lay down your weapons and come with me."
The man scoffed, pumping his shotgun as he spoke. "Or?"
"Or I'm going to have to have to use force."
"Hah!", Doomguy laughed. "Good fucking luck. Say now, how about you turn around now? Or you'll be having a real heart-to-heart my little friend here."
"I'm afraid I can't do that. Contractual obligation.", Tartaros said, aiming his rifle.
"Ah well, ain't that a shame Tinman?", the man smirked under his helmet as he fired the first shot, the pellets skimming across Tartaros' cracked helmet with a short, sharp plink.
Looking up from the journal, he noticed the colossal undead form of Grundy looking around the fridge, eventually digging out a large chunk of smoked ham before sitting back down. Tartaros sighed. The green one never liked people stealing his food, and he sure as all hell wasn't going to deal with the mess afterwards...
It wasn't long before the marine's break was interrupted again, by the blaring sound of sirens and crackling yells emerging from the break room speaker.
Quote:“All security personnel, we have a class A intruder on Floor 83! That means highly dangerous for the noobs here. I want everything SEALED OFF. NO ONE GETS UP TO THE TOP FLOOR, UNDERSTAND? Suspect is wearing green and is armed to the teeth. If possible, take him alive, but if at all impossible, SHOOT TO KILL.”
Taking a final bite from the ham shank, Grundy got up first, shouting something about "smashing bad guys" before squeezing his way through the door.
"Hrm...", Tartaros said, taking a final swig of his ale, "Suppose today will be more lively after all."
Planting his dull grey boots on the ground and putting his helmet back on, the marine calmly walked through the now ruined door frame and into the hall. Heading down a flight of stairs into his quarters, Tartaros found his steel equipment rack. Grabbing his chainsword, shotgun, boltgun, a belt of grenades, a knife and his personal Volkite pistol before rushing back out. There was no time to waste.
Slinging his firearms over his back, the marine rushed to the stairwell. Leaping down almost whole flights at a time, cracking stone and denting steel along the way, he soon found himself at the ground floor. Making his way into one of the brighly lit Stark Tower halls, he found a single man standing in the center, alone by the window. Dressed in a deep green armoured vest, military fatigues and a stone grey helmet, he gripped a shotgun with a single bloodied fist.
Readying his trusted bolter, Tartaros spoke. "Sir. Lay down your weapons and come with me."
The man scoffed, pumping his shotgun as he spoke. "Or?"
"Or I'm going to have to have to use force."
"Hah!", Doomguy laughed. "Good fucking luck. Say now, how about you turn around now? Or you'll be having a real heart-to-heart my little friend here."
"I'm afraid I can't do that. Contractual obligation.", Tartaros said, aiming his rifle.
"Ah well, ain't that a shame Tinman?", the man smirked under his helmet as he fired the first shot, the pellets skimming across Tartaros' cracked helmet with a short, sharp plink.
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