Re: Battle Royale! (Game Start!) Round 3: Sanctuary/Ark
12-23-2009, 03:41 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Drakenforge.
Mike kept a slow pace to deal with his condition. He didn't want to risk a confrontation if he could help it until he was healed again.
Of course, he realised that thing's never work out that way. He drew his shotgun, making sure there was still a shell in the barrel. He stalked forward, making sure to take cover where possible. The frame of the corridor was mangled and twisted in places, causing him to take become cautius, a trait that he felt didn't suit him.
He heard a crash behind him, and he started to worry.
'What?! What could be behind me? Could Whit have doubled back... Damn, better move forward fast. Screw stealth!'
He bolted from his position, quickly reaching the familiar deck. No matter how fast Mike ran, the crashing kept coming from closer and closer distances. He ran straight into the mast, crouching and spinning at the last moment to stare right back at the hole he came from, gun raised. He looked down the sights, sweat slowly dripping from his forehead.
Silence. It unnerved him, causing him to keep moving his hand from the barrel of the gun to stop it becoming too sweaty.
Whit turned and looked below from the cabin. He heard crashing noises from the way he had came. The mast blocked his view of the door, but he slanted to the side to see through it. He guessed Mike had began to rush him, and steadied his gun. Suddenly, an idea came to him. He moved back so the mast was directly in front of the door, and blasted it down. It fell over like a tree, and collapsed onto the doorway, blocking it. He smiled, knowing he would have bought more time, and turned his attention back to the cabin.
Mike would have sworn under his breath if he had any left. The strain of keeping the mast off of him made his muscles scream in agony. The vectors on their own couldn't hold it, forcing him to hold it up with his limbs too. His lungs begged for air, so he maneuvered the mast to the side, making it seem like it had bounced after crashing.
Mike lay there, breathless, his rib causing tears to come to his eyes. At least Whit hadn't seen him, he thought. But it wouldn't be this way for long.
Mike waited. For what, he knew not.
Mike kept a slow pace to deal with his condition. He didn't want to risk a confrontation if he could help it until he was healed again.
Of course, he realised that thing's never work out that way. He drew his shotgun, making sure there was still a shell in the barrel. He stalked forward, making sure to take cover where possible. The frame of the corridor was mangled and twisted in places, causing him to take become cautius, a trait that he felt didn't suit him.
He heard a crash behind him, and he started to worry.
'What?! What could be behind me? Could Whit have doubled back... Damn, better move forward fast. Screw stealth!'
He bolted from his position, quickly reaching the familiar deck. No matter how fast Mike ran, the crashing kept coming from closer and closer distances. He ran straight into the mast, crouching and spinning at the last moment to stare right back at the hole he came from, gun raised. He looked down the sights, sweat slowly dripping from his forehead.
Silence. It unnerved him, causing him to keep moving his hand from the barrel of the gun to stop it becoming too sweaty.
Whit turned and looked below from the cabin. He heard crashing noises from the way he had came. The mast blocked his view of the door, but he slanted to the side to see through it. He guessed Mike had began to rush him, and steadied his gun. Suddenly, an idea came to him. He moved back so the mast was directly in front of the door, and blasted it down. It fell over like a tree, and collapsed onto the doorway, blocking it. He smiled, knowing he would have bought more time, and turned his attention back to the cabin.
Mike would have sworn under his breath if he had any left. The strain of keeping the mast off of him made his muscles scream in agony. The vectors on their own couldn't hold it, forcing him to hold it up with his limbs too. His lungs begged for air, so he maneuvered the mast to the side, making it seem like it had bounced after crashing.
Mike lay there, breathless, his rib causing tears to come to his eyes. At least Whit hadn't seen him, he thought. But it wouldn't be this way for long.
Mike waited. For what, he knew not.