By Guest Columnist Marcus Fenix
Son, you really hauled ass out there. Really gave 'er the ol' heave ho. And I'm not just talking about these ten crates of ammo I just had you hump up the side of this volcano. You got the guts to slop shit and shoot piss better than mosta the swingin' dicks I seen get shot to death out here.
Sure, your godawful aim and reckless use of munitions have left us stranded in this catacomb with some sort of worm creature, but before you threw those three grenades that all fell short of their targets, we had a good thing goin' there.
REAVERS, EVERYBODY DOWN. COLE, MAN THOSE TURRETS. WE GOT INCOMING GRUNTS.
BAIRD'S DOWN, SOMEBODY GET OUT THERE AND REVIVE HIM BEFORE THOSE BLOODMOUNTS GET ANY CLOSER.
Anyway, you really cleaned up today. Really kicked er' up, smacked 'er down, and didn't show up to be sentenced in court for domestic abuse. You're hard, Private, 'bout as hard as they come.
SANTIAGO, LIGHT UP THOSE BARRIERS, WE NEED TO CLEAR THE L.Z. BEFORE THOSE COBRAS TOUCH DOWN.
INCOMING GRUNTS, FIRE UP THOSE LANCERS. YEAAAGH.
THEY'VE GOT CHAINSAWS, TOO. RAPIDLY TAP B TO COUNTERATTACK.
Like I was saying, you got it where it counts kid, and that takes some serious cojones. Personally I wouldn't have jumped behind enemy lines to blindly attempt a shotgun assault, only to limp back to safety with only the slightest amount of health remaining, but again that's just a conflict of interest.
NEMACYSTS, EVERYBODY DOWN. PRIVATE, HAND ME ANOTHERhkk AUUGHH...
Marcus Fenix is a columnist for the Post and a frequent contributor to the National Review