“I wouldn't try that, smooth skin,” Charon said, his gaze locked with Inculta's.
The head of the frumentarii looked one half a second from throwing caution to the wind and tackling Charon to the ground. He wouldn't be the first or last to attempt something like that.
“Make no mistake, profligate, you will pay for your transgressions against Caesar,” Inculta said.
“Gladly,” Minerva said, “Do you take caps or credit?”
A3 sang as it fired. Inculta had a moment to comprehend his fate before he dissolved. Caesar roared. So much for letting his underlings handle the dirty profligate whore, she mused as she watched him bum-rush her. She sidestepped, missing his displacer gloved fist to the head by a fraction.
The man in the lab coat watched. Did she imagine it or was there a flash of hope in his eyes? Hope at the prospect of Caesar's death? She sidestepped another blow as she reloaded A3.
“Arcade, don't just stand there! Help us.”
The man in the lab coat made a sound that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
“Why would I do a thing like that?” he asked, “I hate you and everything you stand for.” The courier circled around, holding back as Caesar tried to land a solid punch. He fired a few good shots from some kind of modded out laser rifle, but most of the blasts did little to no damage thanks to her armor. It was a fucking shame none of the other members of the Mojave Brotherhood had survived. They deserved to see him brought to justice.
She dodged another laser blast as Caesar's fist clipped her shoulder. She hissed. The shock wave was incredible. Before she could counter, he staggered, his chest suddenly a bloody mess from Charon's shotgun. He collapsed face down in the puddle of Vulpes as the man in the lab coat, the one Caesar called Arcade, cheered. Green goo spattered everywhere.
The courier scowled.
“You're only making it worse for you and your friend,” the courier said, “If you end this now, if you surrender yourself to me, I can see he doesn't suffer.”
“I think you missed your calling,” she said, “You should start your own comedy club, because that line's fucking hilarious.”
“I know it's difficult for a woman to comprehend,” he said, “But your actions will have serious repercussions for your friend. Accept your place in the world. As a woman, as my slave, I promise you will not pray for death. Not often anyway.”
“Hear that Charon? Pencil dick here won't torture you if I bend over and take it like a good little bitch.”
“Better get to that then, you know how I hate to be tortured.”
The courier barely flinched as she shot the laser rifle out of his hands. If he was anything like the other Legionnaires (and she was pretty sure he was), he was at least trained in basic close quarter combat. The loss of his weapon would mean little to him if he could get in one good hit.
Fear the Reaper 7/?
The head of the frumentarii looked one half a second from throwing caution to the wind and tackling Charon to the ground. He wouldn't be the first or last to attempt something like that.
“Make no mistake, profligate, you will pay for your transgressions against Caesar,” Inculta said.
“Gladly,” Minerva said, “Do you take caps or credit?”
A3 sang as it fired. Inculta had a moment to comprehend his fate before he dissolved. Caesar roared. So much for letting his underlings handle the dirty profligate whore, she mused as she watched him bum-rush her. She sidestepped, missing his displacer gloved fist to the head by a fraction.
The man in the lab coat watched. Did she imagine it or was there a flash of hope in his eyes? Hope at the prospect of Caesar's death? She sidestepped another blow as she reloaded A3.
“Arcade, don't just stand there! Help us.”
The man in the lab coat made a sound that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
“Why would I do a thing like that?” he asked, “I hate you and everything you stand for.”
The courier circled around, holding back as Caesar tried to land a solid punch. He fired a few good shots from some kind of modded out laser rifle, but most of the blasts did little to no damage thanks to her armor. It was a fucking shame none of the other members of the Mojave Brotherhood had survived. They deserved to see him brought to justice.
She dodged another laser blast as Caesar's fist clipped her shoulder. She hissed. The shock wave was incredible. Before she could counter, he staggered, his chest suddenly a bloody mess from Charon's shotgun. He collapsed face down in the puddle of Vulpes as the man in the lab coat, the one Caesar called Arcade, cheered. Green goo spattered everywhere.
The courier scowled.
“You're only making it worse for you and your friend,” the courier said, “If you end this now, if you surrender yourself to me, I can see he doesn't suffer.”
“I think you missed your calling,” she said, “You should start your own comedy club, because that line's fucking hilarious.”
“I know it's difficult for a woman to comprehend,” he said, “But your actions will have serious repercussions for your friend. Accept your place in the world. As a woman, as my slave, I promise you will not pray for death. Not often anyway.”
“Hear that Charon? Pencil dick here won't torture you if I bend over and take it like a good little bitch.”
“Better get to that then, you know how I hate to be tortured.”
The courier barely flinched as she shot the laser rifle out of his hands. If he was anything like the other Legionnaires (and she was pretty sure he was), he was at least trained in basic close quarter combat. The loss of his weapon would mean little to him if he could get in one good hit.