Hit my muse with a blunt object.
The first sign that something was about to go very, very wrong was his drone dropping at his feet, pierced by a sniper shot and gurgling static.
He should have turned tail at that. Thermal Station was an irritatingly open area full of death traps. If the lava didn’t get someone, the large amount of people wielding guns surely would. Instead of following sound logic, Crypto shoulders through the nearest door, into Thermal Station’s center room.
Only to be met with the butt of a Peacekeeper, slammed into his nose with pinpoint precision.
“Fuck,” Crypto hisses as he stumbles backwards into the nearest wall, one hand flying to the pistol at his hip while the other attempts to mop up the blood cascading down his face.
His pistol, he finds, does little help when a shotgun is being jabbed into his stomach, forcing him to his knees.
The Wingman skitters across the floor as Crypto balances himself on one hand, spitting out blood and gasping for breath. Stupid. He should have known Caustic would have already claimed this area. And he would have too, had his drone not fallen a few feet short of the entrance.
Caustic’s crouched down in front of him, removing a canister from his belt and muttering something nonsensical under his breath. The willing must be tested, or something similar.
“I mean this with respect,” He starts, eyes trained on Caustic. “Your experiments are a farce.” Crypto spits blood at Caustic’s feet, wiping the back of his mouth with his free hand. “There’s nothing to learn from death in a place like this. We all die the same here. Even you.”
Caustic gives him a look that’s almost pitying as he tosses a canister before standing, leaving Crypto to choke on the fumes.
