Side Story Overwatch: Tomb of Kings

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Yun Lee

Yun Lee

The Sculptor
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The Convergence Series GM
Staff Member on Hiatus
(A roleplay between Ringmaster, @CrunchyCHEEZIT , and @BarrenThin that can also be found here.)



Overwatch.

A mythic name for a mythic group. Invocating images of the Heroes of Ancient Greece, the crew of the Argonaut or the Fellowship of the Ring, Overwatch was everywhere. They were the emblems of hope, justice and of pride. They were people who accomplished the impossible. But that was a long time ago.

What remains is now bits and pieces.

Writing on the wall, from both those defiant as images of Tracer and others are graffiti'd over to those who still have hope, even if its so much as a small addition saying simply 'Overwatch lives'. Hope is a precious commodity. It is hope that our story begins here.

Saudi Arabia.

Always a place of conflict, despite the riches this country has accumulated. During the ominic crisis, they have seen their fair share of turmoil in addition to the rest of the dregs that show up in such time. The vultures and the scavengers, those who make a killing in blood and iron. One such den of thieves and worse being the city informally known as Shaitan's Seat. Now rumored to be the site of a Talon Operation, seeking something beneath the city.

Its a grubby, ancient city. Old construction of baked brick and electrical wiring. Solar panels catching the sunlight and the streets clogged with camels and jeeps. Herds of goats as always are a staple as following the traditions of their fathers, they are led to market and then led away to their pens. Omnics perform the degraded jobs that humans would be loath to perform and overall, there is a sense of equilibrium in this place. A balance of fear perhaps, as thugs masquerading as soldiers stalk the streets, or worse....But it is there. The people have been under this domination their whole lives. To think it could change for the better is impossible....But then again...

'Impossible' can be just a word.

-----------

The scream of a steam whistle shook the cars, the outdated yet still powerful steam engine crossing the desert to the supply depot. Most modern forms of transport tended to break down in the desert and so far from parts as well. In such times, they fell back on old means and ways. A steam train was not exactly impossible to care for and did the job it was meant. Nothing more needed to be said.

The cars were filled with cargo, foodstuff, electronics....Water of course, drinking water was a powerful commodity in a desert. Water and guns. This was the most protected car of all. Though like the stories of such vehicles before....A train, more then most....Was incredibly easy to sneak on....

-------------

The other path into Shaitan's Seat came from the open road. Old-school Jeeps driving over the rocky path towards the gates of the city, the sun slowly setting in the sky. It was the cool hour soon- Where people could move about more freely, bereft of the heat of the day.

However you entered....Via one way or your own, you were drawn here for a reason.

Overwatch Lives.​
 


At a time, long ago, they would have called this a heroic mission.

Just how the media wanted it look, just how everyone expected. The evil, vile terrorist organization bested by the upstanding heroes, who save the day for everybody. Every man, woman and child can go to bed that night knowing that the very icons of justice, valor and hope will look down upon them and smile. They would've had nothing to fear, because everyone thought the world worked.

That is what everyone wanted to think; but the truth is, the world isn't just heroes and villains. It's a world of the old and the bitter, who send the young and the stupid to die. It's a place where the man in the lab coat has to watch the man in the suit send his weapons to kill the world, and the real threat just sits back and enjoys the show. And when the time comes when the world needed more heroes to stop something beyond the scope of anything we'd seen before?

They spit in their faces, and kicked them when they got stabbed in the back. That was the day when the world got gripped by the talons of injustice, that was the day Jack Morrison had died, and that was the day Soldier: 76 had declared war.

An old, rusty jeep lurched across a dusty road leading down to the distant pillars of sun-bleached brick and glistening panels. The old soldier sat in the drivers seat, aged blue eyes glaring down the ancient road through the barely-transparent window. A black mask with a piercing red visor lay on the passenger seat beside him, and a black duffel-bag shook and stirred in the backseat as the jeep bounced up and down. The sun was making its slow descent to the sandy horizon, just in time for the operation. The last thing 76 wanted was to get the public involved with this, whether it was to protect the innocent or just to get the heat (both literally and figuratively) off of him.

Either way, he knew the next target lied in this scorched, lawless dump of a city. It was hard to make out the exact words coming from that agents bloodied, bruised mouth, but a good interrogator knows how to translate. God knows what Talon would want with a city like this, but if the screaming words of "U-U-UN-UNDER!!" mean't anything, that means there is something underneath the city.

Are they setting up a research facility? Are they setting up a bomb? Did they find an old, dormant omnium? There were too many variables to count, but the only things Soldier can trust nowadays is what he can see with his own two eyes. Talon was just phase 2 of Soldiers personal war, and with each passing month, more connections are formed. Each and every line leads back to Talon, and each pin on the map will have a string leading back to Talon.

Whatever they wanted with this poor, pathetic city, Soldier 76 is going to be the one to stop it. The man gritted his teeth and glared down at his radio, turning up Bad Company a bit louder as he began to pull into Shaitans Throne.

The operation begins now.​
 
McCree wasn't one for travel. He wasn't one for family reunions. He wasn't one for friends, even though he was a friendly guy. Now, on a train (his preferred means of travel), he could go for the first class treatment. The food, the water. From where he was hiding on top of the relatively slow train, though, he knew, as always, they would not have let him inside. This was a cargo train, and he wasn't a thief. His eyes narrowed as the train approached Shaitain's Seat... His current destination. He'd heard of something shady going down here, and, if it meant getting a crack at more Talon agents while saving lives in the process, he wanted in. When the train screeched to a halt inside the city, he chewed on his cigar a little. It was a slum. Full of dirt and sorrow and pain. Probably ruled by some criminal that sees himself as a god.

Felt just like home. He'd been that kind of crook before. Seen the fear in the people's eyes when his gang rolled around. Thinking about it now made him feel sick. Well... That wasn't him anymore, and it would never be him again. He jumped down from his perch and snuck around the train until he was in the clear. No need for unnecessary heat. He tipped his hat politely to the train's conductor on the way out. When he entered the city itself, he found himself sneering with distaste at what he saw, despite him expecting to see it. Soldiers keeping people in line. Omnics being forced to work horrible jobs. Jesus Christ, it made him angry. Not angry enough to necessarily start a gunfight, but, you know... Angry enough to do something stupid.


He came up on a couple of the soldiers, singling out a smaller group of four. His gun wasn't drawn, and he had the biggest grin on his face. "'Scuse me, misters. Could I just have a smidgen of your time?" The first one that turned around quickly figured out what a cybernetic armed tasted like as McCree probably broke his jaw in several places. He fanned the hammer into two of the others, flashbanged the last one, and rolled away to where he shot the last guy in the forehead. He promptly executed the guy on the ground. Well, that was a start. Hopefully this more contained demonstration would make a point and scare people back inside, because this was about to get messy. He was going full vigilante, and he didn't have a plan.

He did take time to wink at a lady staring at him, though.

With a puff of smoke, he ducked behind cover as other guards began to open fire. He waited for it to stop, and... Held up his hands in surrender? Standing from behind cover with his gun holstered at his side, he stared six more guards in the face. Right now, he was making a point to these people. That hope isn't dead. "Alright, alright... You got me. Good on you. Now, I'm gonna... Oh, my goodness! Would you just look at the time?"

"It's hiiiigh noon."

Six shots. Six confused thugs down.

With that, McCree vanished down an alley to find a way under this goddamned city.​
 
Gunfire was a distinct thing in Shaitan's Seat.

But 76 with his experience would recognize that particular gunbeat, heard to the west. Mcree was here, though whether as a merc or a vigilante was yet to be seen. A possible ally....Or enemy.

Both their paths would lead them to the lifeline of the city, the Bazaar. Discount weapons, electronics and more would be seen on full display- There was no law here, save that the criminals enforced. Also present were food stalls and the lights of coffeehouses and laughter would be seen and heard. A sharp smell of the desert and camel shit pervaded the rest of the marketplace. The best thing about this too, was that such a crowd and all these unique people ensured that they could blend in reasonably enough....If they wished to go through it. Other venues along the way included rooftops, but while faster it was more exposed. Somewhere, along this route they would find a way underground.

The only question was where and if they'd trust each other to work together.​
 
Soldier 76 would stare out the window of his discount jeep, glaring into the shit-smelled sea of poverty and lawlessness, everything that he was once trained to wage war against. Back then, everything seemed so simpler, but times change just as much as he aged. The large crowd wasn't convenient; he would still stand out like a sore thumb to any Talon thug that was paying attention. Getting into a fight on the streets of the marketplace would draw too much public attention, the wrong people getting pulled into the wrong fight. The soldier took a turn and began to drive off to wherever was the least populated section of the Bazaar, turning his attention to the rooftops. It isn't the most subtle option either, but he needed to get to the target destination as fast possible. The engine roared and sputtered to a stop as the jeep lurched into a sandy alleyway.

The drivers door creaked open, and Soldier: 76 would step ou--

*BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG*

Gunshots. Not just any gunshot-- revolver shots, heavy and powerful. 76's mind began to wrack as he tried to recall the distinct noise, almost like he heard such a gunfire long before. He flinched and turned into the general direction of the roaring gunfire, just as everyone else in the marketplace did. The beating drum of the revolver sounded so familiar...that was when it hit him.

"Jesse McCree..."

The pause felt longer than it actually was. The small light would fade just as quickly as it hit, as the old man growled and reached inside the jeep, zipping open the duffelbag. A prototype, military-grade heavy pulse rifle rested within, the patriotic red, white and blue colors glistened in the glaring sun. 76 ripped the rifle from its containment and grabbed his mask from its resting position on the passengers seat.

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Wearing the mask always made things easier, the disconnect from the shattered pieces of the past. No one could see any mistakes and regret underneath a cold, red visor. All they saw was a vigilante, fighting a war against nobody.

Heaving his pulse rifle on his back, Soldier: 76 looked around before he began to scale the dusty bricks of the building, up to the rooftop. much to the dismay of his aging body. That enhancement program is what kept everything together, but sometimes its better not to ask whether it was a blessing or a curse. "I'm not...getting....any younger than this.." 76 told himself as he grunted his way up to the rooftops. The weak bricks would crack slightly underneath the enhanced grip of the soldier, but he made it up to the rooftop.

Staring out over the sea of the Bazaar, he almost didn't notice the barely-armored thug that was there too. The mercenary would be taken aback, before approaching Soldier: 76 and waving his gun around. "Hey, you old fuck, what the hell do your--", that was all the thug had to say before a red fist would fly towards his jaw. The enhanced strength of Soldier: 76 did a number on the punk, a sickening crack being heard coming from his jaw as it snapped under the force. Staggering back, the thug growled and struggled to find the walkie-talkie on his belt, but before he could try and call for backup, Soldier: 76 spun around and caught the thug in a military choke-hold, restricting his breathing and preventing him from yelling for help. The thug kicked a couple times and grunted, trying to break free.

"Go to sleep."

*SNAP*

The moving quickly stopped, and he dropped to the floor. Whether or not he was dead or unconscious could be determined by whoever found him, as Soldier was already bounding off the rooftop to another, and another, and another, hoping that McCree wouldn't try to single him out as one of these thugs. The last he wants is for McCree to even interfere with his operation.​
 
McCree had his hat tipped down to hide his identity as he moved through the slums. He didn't stand out too much, but he still might be recognized from the earlier incident. His grin still hadn't faded as he puffed out smoke from the dwindling cigar. His eyes darted to the first entrance he found, being the efficient person he was. No plan. No idea what he was getting into. All he knew was that these people had a problem, and he intended to deal with it. Underground he went.​
 
The rooftops were as much a street as the ones below. Leaps, boards and wires crossed over, preventing most save the most limber to evade the passive dangers. But a man dressed like 76 attracts attention. And the deaths of the men up to that point, did not go unnoticed. The sound of a helicopter began to be heard as a military-grade(if currently ancient) chopper flew, a searchlight scanning the rooftops as a soldier was seen sitting within, a minigun turret in place.

A soldier, in the uniform of Talon.

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Down below, Jesse would see the helicopter searching....Were they looking for him? Or someone else? If so, who else could be here?

What other ally of Overwatch might be investigating the same thing as him?​
 
Soldier: 76 growled, instinctively halting his roofjumping to duck into whatever cover nearby at the all-to familiar noise of helicopter blades chopping together, looking for its next prey. Soldier: 76 only took out one target, so the search may have been sparked by McCree.

The very mention of that name still left his mind racing, wondering why the hell Jesse came all the way here. He knew the former members of Overwatch had become little more than mercenaries and wandering heros, but of all people, Jesse was the last person he expected to show up in some place like this. Truth be told, he expected McCree to crawl back into that shithole of Route 66, nobody would have stopped him. The star pupil of Reyes, a lowlife scumbag hustling people on the highway, now becoming an upstanding hero. 76 didn't know what to think, but for now he just hopes McCree doesn't mistake him for a Talon merc. The last thing he needs is someone making the same mistake he did, and costing the mission as a result of it.

But, hey, Jesse never listened to orders anyway.

76 would let the helicopter pass over, glaring at the black hawk as it scanned the darkening skies of the city. Trying to take it down is a risky move, especially with all these civilians out. As soon as the prying eyes of the helicopter passed over his makeshift cover, Soldier: 76 would transition from the rooftops to the ground, taking a short hop off of the building and landing on the ground with a gru--

*snap*

"Shit!" 76 grunted, taking a moment as he felt his back ache. The old man would proceed to do a quick little old man stretch, as the very confused bystanders stared.

*snap*

"Ugh, there."

Age before beauty.

Soldier: 76 would look around before quickly sprinting through the marketplace and shoving past crowds of shoppers, searching for the entrance to the underground facility.​
 
Beauty watched in dumbfounded silence as age made a lot of noise. The gunslinger thought that, at first, he was a Talon agent, with the people in the helicopter. Then, he saw the numbers on the man's back, though, and... Well, everything stopped. He was wearing Morrison's jacket. Dirty and beaten. Probably took it off the corpse they never found. Throwing caution to the wind, he took after the man with a growl. Damn, this guy was fast, but the fury he felt that someone would disrespect an old comrade kept him going. He'd have to cut him off to catch up. It took a few tries, and he almost lost 76 on the way, but, the next time the old man rounded a corner, he'd run right into a metal arm if he didn't duck under the clothesline in time. Either way, the old man would quickly find the Peacekeeper pointed right at his head before he could even hope to raise his gun. "Who the Hell are you, and what gives you the goddamn right to wear that jacket!?" McCree had left willingly to avoid the infighting. Hell, he'd never listened to Morrison anyways. The soldier had been a good man, though. A beacon of hope. A big reason why the cowboy was what he was instead of another thug dead in an alley. Right now, he really wanted to shoot the imposter he saw in front of him for this disrespect. The thought that Morrison was still alive didn't even occur to him. No one could've survived that explosion... Right?​
 
Soldier: 76 would hear incredibly loud footsteps ringing behind him, singled out from the hustle and bustle of the Bazaar. Even in this crowd, the soldier trained himself to listen to specific noises and single out enemy approaches. He didn't want to risk a brawl in the middle of a huge crowd, so he simply kept sprinting. Shoving past the confused and the innocent, as the merc trailed behind him. The footsteps would eventually fade out, so everything seemed to be in the clear. Wherever McCree was, hopefull--

What, you thought the old man had slow reflexes? All it took was a single moment of thought, as Soldier: 76 would duck under the flying metal fist, a blur of red standing before him. McCree managed to get his Peacekeeper aimed...but, as the cowboy thought he had caught the old man off guard, he would find a Heavy Pulse Rifle gripped in both of the strangers hands, aimed towards his gut.

Everything seemed so tense, and Soldier nearly pulled the trigger had he not gotten a good look at the attackers face.

Hmph, lucky bastard still looks the same as he did years ago. For a moment, McCree would observe as the strangers body posture would lighten up a little, the eyes underneath that red, demonic visor looking at him for what seemed like forever."..Listen, I am not your enemy. We're on the same side." the stranger spoke in a graveled, aged voice.​
 
McCree's eyes widened briefly when the old man managed to dodge his arm, despite the element of surprise. When it came to the standoff... He might make it through a gut shot. He'd survived worse from stronger weaponry. This guy would be short the top half of his head if he pressed his luck, so McCree was pretty confident even with the gun to his stomach. The gunslinger growled, but hesitated at the voice. It sounded a bit like like... No. "The man that jacket belonged to deserves better than copycats spiittin' on his grave. Now, I reckon I blow your brains out here in a second or two if you ain't saying what I want to hear. You get a few shots off, yeah, but I'll live. And, I'm tellin' you now, partner... I don't miss." 76 would have seen him in the field enough to attest the fact that McCree, when given a moment to line his targets up, had nigh-perfect aim, regardless of movement. Fortunately, he was bluffing, and, though McCree was the best damn poker player Overwatch had ever seen, his uncertainty about who he was facing made that fact obvious for a moment or two.

Jack Morrison is dead.

Overwatch is dead.

Hell, I think I'm one of the only ones that didn't just retire or go full-fledged mercenary.

His expression hardened once more as his finger adjusted on the trigger. "Start talkin'."​
 
Soldier: 76 wouldn't lighten up his posture any more, even when facing an old comrade. Jesse was always one to act on his gut feeling anyway, hopefully the cowboy would just stop for a minute and get the idea on his own. 76 couldn't risk being compromised, not here, not now. The old man would growl and look up briefly, the twirling blades of the Talon helicopter reminding him of the mission at hand. Everything was going to be compromised if he were to stand here any longer..

So, he decided to give McCree an ultimatum.

"Listen, I am the only ally you have in this city, and there is a terrorist organization underneath this ground as we speak, doing god knows what and possibly threatening every life in this city. This jacket belongs to Jack Morrison, and Jack Morrison wouldn't compromise a mission if it meant that much collateral damage."

"...but, if your so sure I am the 'villain' here..."

Soldier: 76 would drop his gun, the heavy pulse rifle dropping to the ground with a heavy thud. The helicopter was getting closer and closer to uncovering the two.

The soldier made a sudden movement, reaching his hand out...

..and grabbing the barrel of the Peacekeeper, resting it on his own forehead.

"Shoot me."​
 
His eyes narrowed, and he almost did exactly as he was told. His finger twitched on the trigger. His head said that Jack Morrison was dead, and that this guy was just a copycat that would get people killed, or worse. His gut was saying something else, though. Something that was insane. For now, he put his gun at his side. He grabbed the pulse rifle and pulled 76 along for a bit until they were away from the searching helicopter. "Move a little strange, you're gonna get a bullet. Not a warning, not a question...a bullet. Now, I'm gonna trust that you ain't gonna get me killed, but you're gonna tell me how you got that damn jacket... Or, if that ain't actually pertinent, how the Hell you're still alive and where you went." He growled as they moved.​
 
Soldier: 76 would let out a sigh of relief, knowing damn well that move was a gamble. McCree never betrayed his gut feeling, but if his memories are in order, Jesse never acted well under intense emotion. Looking up until the helicopter was gone, 76 would hope that McCree isn't going to spill the beans to whoever he can find. The old soldier would look around before staring at McCree for...what felt like forever. It seemed like he was pondering something, making a decision. Truth is, he was, a decision that he hoped wasn't going to compromise his entire war, let alone his mission.

Soldier: 76 didn't know if it was worth keeping someone like McCree in the dark, but...

"...ah, screw it."

The old man would look down in what seemed like shame, before reaching up to his face mask. The red visor would darken, a light plastic click sounding as Soldier: 76 removed his face. The face that those considered a ruthless vigilante, targeting Overwatch facilities or reasons unknown. The face that was born upon the death of the last good things this world had, surrounded by cynicism and fake hope.

That face comes off, and a fallen hero stares at Jesse McCree.

"Sorry."​
 
Bright eyes stared at Morrison's face in dumbfounded silence. It really was him. Jack Morrison. A mixture of confusion, hope, and anger flashed in his eyes all at once. His normal hand suddenly flew at 76's jaw in an admittedly half-hearted punch. "Sorry!? You're goddamn right, you're sorry! Reyes takes a shit on everything, and you just let the world croak and go on a damn killing spree!? Goddammit, if we didn't have bigger things to worry about, I'd shoot you myself!" A disgusted sigh escaped him as he turned to keep moving, though he suddenly stopped and looked Morrison in the face. This time, there was a more quieted air about him. "I'm glad you ain't dead, Jack. And I'm guessin' you won't want me tellin' nobody. But I gotta ask. Did you even look back? Did you think about the people that cared about you? Lena? Winston, the goddamn monkey? The least you could have done for them was let them know you wasn't dead."

He paused and held out a hand to silence any retorts. "We need to move." With a steely frown, he kept searching for an entrance to the underground.​
 
The old man only stared in silence, not even flinching or reacting as McCree gave him a slug. The pain that stabbed relentlessly at his mind made everything on the outside...numb. Jesse once saw a bright, idealistic man who wanted to make the world a better place on his own terms. That was everything Jack Morrison wanted to be, and everything he sacrificed to make it as such.

But, now. McCree is staring at a broken, bitter old man. A hollow, lifeless shell that is just as dead and twisted as Reaper is, compared to their former selves. It doesn't take a skull mask and a burning hatred for the world to show just how hollow a hero could become. He didn't say anything, staring down at the sandy ground in silence.

He solemnly grabbed the mask, putting on his face again. Soldier: 76 was back in control. Lifting the pulse rifle up, he began to walk ahead of the cowboy. "They already know we're here, and their facility is probably already on high alert. No doubt they got guards downstairs, waiting for us. We're going to be quick about this." 76 growled, looking around for the entrance. Absolutely no color in his voice or his movement, just a desire to get the job done. The same desire that made Reyes the way he is now.​
 
Interlude of Heroes

Jesse Mcree and Soldier 76.

Relics of a long-gone, but not forgotten era. One of heroes and villains, where war and strife was easier then peace and rebuilding but wasn't that always the way? It was far easier to destroy then to heal. To tear down then to uplift and often, you gained no thanks for it.

But it didn't mean you shouldn't do it.

As they ran together as comrades once more, they passed by alleyways. Places where the emblem of Overwatch was painted and the addition 'Overwatch lives!' stood as a defiant act, even here in the heart of scum and villainy. Lena often said 'the world needed heroes'. Now? More then ever, that statement would ring true.

The entrance of Talon would be found and the two go down the elevator, state of the art and glowing a fluorescent blue.

Talon! An organization shadowy and bent on destruction, with old allies such as Reaper or brainwashed figures such as Widowmaker among their number. Into the belly of the beast they'd find themselves and how true that would be, both would find out.

Into a laboratory they'd enter....And then the doors slammed down behind them, clicking with heavy locks as a figure spoke over the intercom.

"So. The Soldier....And the Cowboy. Talon bids you both welcome. You are just in time as it is."​
 
McCree drew the Peacekeeper in uneasy silence as the voice rang out. Well... That was exactly what he expected. Not what he'd wanted. Hell, he'd been looking forward to the chance for a good fight. Maybe take a crack at that Reaper bastard, whoever he was. A trap was more Talon's style, though. He tilted his hat back s little. "Alright, alright, get on with the dastardly plan so I can shoot you in the head, go home, and have some whiskey. I ain't got all day." The cowboy seemed more relaxed now. Nothing they could throw at him that he couldn't deal with alone, let alone with Morrison's help. In a quieter tone, though, he spoke to 76. "Any idea what's going on?" ​
 
Soldier: 76 wouldn't be nearly as whimsical as McCree, as to be expected. Gripping his heavy pulse rifle, he quickly scanned the area around him, expecting a bunch of mercs to jump out at any second. He didn't respond to the enemy voice, simply growling and waiting for the enemy to appear. He wasn't playing any games, he wanted to get a mission done.

"No, but keep your guard up. These bastards love being dramatic." 76 grumbled to McCree, glaring down at every angle like a hawk, through the iron sights of his trusty pulse rifle. He dropped the hero act, but Talon didn't feel like dropping the generic villain act, it seems. At this point, Soldier is expecting the "mastermind" of Talon to leap out of the shadows, twirling his mustache.

People need to grow up, goddammit.​
 
"Impatient as always, Overwatch. But then again, isn't that your nature? Skulking and sneaking into affairs that you have no right to? You slay our agents, you dog our footsteps and always we are frustrated in our designs-If not by you, then others. So be it. As we are irrecoverably enemies, it seems fitting to test our newest acquisition upon you. Heroes love monsters, don't they?"

Dark amusement colored the voice over the intercom as the figure ended his speech.

"So lets give you a monster."

The wall opposite began to open. Thick and heavy, to prevent anyone from just shooting their way through....Or to keep something in. A creature so alien to their world, for it was never of their world to begin with. In the shadows, chains clinked as they kept it leashed and upon seeing the two, it flexed an arm. Metal creaked and then was ripped out as the thing stomped forward.

Boom......Boom.....Boom.

Into the light it blinked and let out a monstrous howl, fitting of its appearance.

latest


"ARRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARWWWWWRRRR!!!"

The voice on the intercom took on an intonation of wicked glee.

"Gentlemen, meet....The Cyberdemon. Do die in a way to demonstrate its powers to the fullest."

Let the battle begin.

 
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