"I only really know the difference between one you and the you that shot me," he said. "But you used to be - it was like -"
How to encapsulate the South he'd actually trusted at his back.
"You were kind of always a dick." Helpful. "Just...we could count on you to be a dick at everyone else for us."
And then there is a memory. It is of a mission - a bad one. One that dipped him, South, and Wyoming temporarily off the leader board (though South at least scored above the other two) even if they climbed back up again later. They were with Wyoming, pulling god-knows-what (given they were lied to about it so often) at a Charon Industries base.
They got righteously fucked by a whole lot of dudes suddenly showing up with way too many rocket launchers. Despite all of them diving out of the way, one hit a little too close to Wash and the shockwave and ensuing damage to a walk0way send him careening over a railing with a panicked yelp.
His head slammed into another walkway with enough force that he saw double, and he stumbled in a way that made it clear he was at least lightly concussed.
Which made the fact he was right in the line of fire of a fucking heavy machine gun generally a FUBAR situation all around. God knows how he'd managed to hold onto his rifle through that, but he managed to pick off a few soldiers around it - but not enough. Not enough of them fast enough. He only just managed to stay ahead of the trail of bullets that arced towards him and stumbled behind some kind of concrete outcropping, yelling "Son of bitch son of a bitch son of a biiiitch!"
Trying to lay down any fire was pointless. Every time he tried to get an angle around, the bullets pounding around him grazed his arm or his gun, making it impossible to line up a shot. Tossing a grenade? Also nada - they shot it out of the air with their rifles, all without letting up with the machine gun. Firing while the HMG was reloading? A big fat nope because they were smart enough to lay down covering fire then too.
"I could use a little help over here!" he called over the comms. "I'm pinned down by an HMG and pretty sure I'm concussed because everyone's got a twin now and I doubt they're all like you, South!"
"I'm currently taking heavy fire and can't move!" calls out Wyoming, in that weird, ridiculous accent of his.
"Fuck fuck fuck, South!" Wash calls out, his voice high and anxious, as the concrete around him chips away. A hole actually pings through a narrow spot in the concrete, just next to his helmet. "I'm losing cover!"
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How to encapsulate the South he'd actually trusted at his back.
"You were kind of always a dick." Helpful. "Just...we could count on you to be a dick at everyone else for us."
And then there is a memory. It is of a mission - a bad one. One that dipped him, South, and Wyoming temporarily off the leader board (though South at least scored above the other two) even if they climbed back up again later. They were with Wyoming, pulling god-knows-what (given they were lied to about it so often) at a Charon Industries base.
They got righteously fucked by a whole lot of dudes suddenly showing up with way too many rocket launchers. Despite all of them diving out of the way, one hit a little too close to Wash and the shockwave and ensuing damage to a walk0way send him careening over a railing with a panicked yelp.
His head slammed into another walkway with enough force that he saw double, and he stumbled in a way that made it clear he was at least lightly concussed.
Which made the fact he was right in the line of fire of a fucking heavy machine gun generally a FUBAR situation all around. God knows how he'd managed to hold onto his rifle through that, but he managed to pick off a few soldiers around it - but not enough. Not enough of them fast enough. He only just managed to stay ahead of the trail of bullets that arced towards him and stumbled behind some kind of concrete outcropping, yelling "Son of bitch son of a bitch son of a biiiitch!"
Trying to lay down any fire was pointless. Every time he tried to get an angle around, the bullets pounding around him grazed his arm or his gun, making it impossible to line up a shot. Tossing a grenade? Also nada - they shot it out of the air with their rifles, all without letting up with the machine gun. Firing while the HMG was reloading? A big fat nope because they were smart enough to lay down covering fire then too.
"I could use a little help over here!" he called over the comms. "I'm pinned down by an HMG and pretty sure I'm concussed because everyone's got a twin now and I doubt they're all like you, South!"
"I'm currently taking heavy fire and can't move!" calls out Wyoming, in that weird, ridiculous accent of his.
"Fuck fuck fuck, South!" Wash calls out, his voice high and anxious, as the concrete around him chips away. A hole actually pings through a narrow spot in the concrete, just next to his helmet. "I'm losing cover!"