Can you hear the countdown, with every hour
Characters: Garrus Vakarian (popaheatsink), Catty Turner ( idkmybffpandora)
Location: Downtown somewhere.
Planet: Coruscant
When: Morningish, day of event starting
What: Fighting stuff without a sniper rifle. Getting in trouble. Getting saved by teenage girl half your age :|
Rating: PG-13 for Regulator ew?
Whatever these things were, they weren't friendly. At all.
Garrus swing the butt of his pistol against the temple of one of the monsters as it leapt towards his face. It went down hard, but Garrus moved his arm and pulled the trigger, planting a bullet in its head at point-blank range to make sure it didn't get up again.
Most of the screams had died away; Garrus hoped that meant that the other civilians from this street had reached safety, and not that they had run into another group of monsters a few blocks down. There were more than enough here to keep even him busy; they had simply appeared, crawling through doorways, tearing through windows, pale and deformed and almost human.
But they weren't. They were too strong, too quick-- almost like husks; the leftover shells of what might've once been human, now incapable of anything except violence and destruction.
Garrus probably should have run. He couldn't, not when he might earn innocent bystanders the few precious seconds they needed to escape-- but from a logical standpoint, he could recognize the tactical errors. He wasn't outfitted for this; and the only arms he had was a pistol borrowed from a fallen guard-- one that would never wake to mind its missing. He wasn't a melee fighter, and this armor was new, unfamiliar-- but, thank whatever spirits were watching, it was at least deflecting the deranged attacks from these desperate, clawing things. What he wouldn't give for a decent shield generator. Or maybe a sniper rifle. Actually, he'd give up the armor, the shields, and his boots for one damn rifle with limitless ammo and a high perch. Give him the high ground and some distance, and he could really do some damage. This, here, now-- this was just a stalling tactic, a temporary solution to keep the monsters interested in him while the civilians ran for their lives. He was already getting tired, his movements slowing as he tried to preserve his strength and stamina. For the long-term, his chances weren't looking so great.
And there were a lot more of these things than there were of him. They kept him busy, and slowly but surely he was finding himself horded into a corner.
Location: Downtown somewhere.
Planet: Coruscant
When: Morningish, day of event starting
What: Fighting stuff without a sniper rifle. Getting in trouble. Getting saved by teenage girl half your age :|
Rating: PG-13 for Regulator ew?
Whatever these things were, they weren't friendly. At all.
Garrus swing the butt of his pistol against the temple of one of the monsters as it leapt towards his face. It went down hard, but Garrus moved his arm and pulled the trigger, planting a bullet in its head at point-blank range to make sure it didn't get up again.
Most of the screams had died away; Garrus hoped that meant that the other civilians from this street had reached safety, and not that they had run into another group of monsters a few blocks down. There were more than enough here to keep even him busy; they had simply appeared, crawling through doorways, tearing through windows, pale and deformed and almost human.
But they weren't. They were too strong, too quick-- almost like husks; the leftover shells of what might've once been human, now incapable of anything except violence and destruction.
Garrus probably should have run. He couldn't, not when he might earn innocent bystanders the few precious seconds they needed to escape-- but from a logical standpoint, he could recognize the tactical errors. He wasn't outfitted for this; and the only arms he had was a pistol borrowed from a fallen guard-- one that would never wake to mind its missing. He wasn't a melee fighter, and this armor was new, unfamiliar-- but, thank whatever spirits were watching, it was at least deflecting the deranged attacks from these desperate, clawing things. What he wouldn't give for a decent shield generator. Or maybe a sniper rifle. Actually, he'd give up the armor, the shields, and his boots for one damn rifle with limitless ammo and a high perch. Give him the high ground and some distance, and he could really do some damage. This, here, now-- this was just a stalling tactic, a temporary solution to keep the monsters interested in him while the civilians ran for their lives. He was already getting tired, his movements slowing as he tried to preserve his strength and stamina. For the long-term, his chances weren't looking so great.
And there were a lot more of these things than there were of him. They kept him busy, and slowly but surely he was finding himself horded into a corner.