Zahzi
Grade-A Jackass
Roland Thompson
From a hill overlooking Oasis, a Roland sat upon a boulder with a monocular. He scanned the perimeter around the city. Looks like the fence was not electrified yet. So plan B was on the table then. At least he guessed. Demeter wasn't all too precise with her instructions. He had been on the other side of the table and could smell the moonshine as if he was swimming in it. Crazy woman drank more than him- And that SCARED him. He shook his head and continued scanning the area.
"...Four on the east side....Three southward....Ooo, nine to the west. And three more...Make that two on the north." he had to correct himself, seeing a small light-show as one wolf had a rather shocking experience.
He put down the monocular and took out a metal flask from off his gear. Taking a moment to unscrew the top, he then proceeded to down the rest of the contents before sliding it back into place on his pack. Now, while many people of authority would say drinking while working was a bad idea, Roland gave no visible fucks.
Roland put the monocular away as he hopped off the boulder and walked over to a lone tree on the hill. Near the trunk, a rather old-fashioned shotgun rested; its age was well-apparent, the countless nicks seemingly endless tarnishing told more than a few stories- at least one of them apparently dealt with teeth large enough to bite through a previous stock. That was probably the newest part on the entire weapon, too. Roland reached down and picked up the relic and dusted it off before reaching into his pack and retrieving a drum magazine and fitting it into place onto the shotgun. Clearly inspired by a 21st century design, this shotgun was more than capable of dealing with more than a simple 'territory dispute'. The semi-automatic firing capability makes sure the dispute is put to rest indefinitely.
After checking the weapon for any signs of breaking down, Roland gave a smirk. All good to go.
A single blast rang out from the western section of the city. One wolfound was down and wouldn't be moving again. A rather large chunk of its left side missing made sure of that. Within five seconds of the first blast, two more followed in quick succession.
Three down.
Now, for all the folks reading at home thinking; 'Oh great, another speedy guy we don't see SHIT about', well I'm gonna stop you RIGHT there. Especially YOU. Yeah. YOU with the overly critical personality. NO ONE LIKES THAT YA KNOW.
Roland sprinted through the badlands around the western front toward the next group of Wolfhounds, three in a group this time. Clearing the distance of forty meters in seconds, he ran just left of the closest one, holding the shotgun in front of him. As he past them, he spun to face his target and fired. The explosive shell ripped through the target and sent him backward. Behind him was the non-electrified fence- at least he HOPED it was still dead; otherwise this would spark up a new conversation for the boozehound scientist.
Yes. It was stupid, but dammit if that wasn't a trait Roland used the hell out of for money.
Fortunately, it was still dead, so he not only landed on the fence, but used the momentum to bounce off of it and launch towards the other two, leading to their expiry as well.
Six down.
He finally stopped for a moment to see where the last three on this end were. Sure enough, they picked up on his idiocy, or maybe the whiskey. Probably the whiskey. All three were converging on him, causing Roland to grin as he held up the shotgun, blasting the first two in another quick succession. The third came from out of his sight, which was rather large due to missing an eye. Slight hindrance, sure. But chicks digged the eyepatch. He wasn't sure why. Instead of using the shotgun, he went with the other course of action, now that the wolfhound was far too close for firearms.
Roland pulled out a knife near his chest and buried the blade deep into the animal's temple as it lunged at him. It flew past him and stayed motionless on the ground after it landed.
Nine down.
He looked around for a moment before reaching over to the right side of his head and pressing a button on a headset behind his ear.
"West cleared, Miss Drunk Science." he said before walking over to the corpse with the fancy new head-piercing.
He knelt down and attempted to get his knife out of the wolfhound's skull. Unfortunately, it liked its new fleshy sheathe.
"....Givit." he began tugging to try to pry it loose.
"Giviiiiiiiiit........" No avail.
"GIMME MISTER KILLINGSWORTH YOU LITTLE SHITSTAIN."
One-Eyed Merc for Hire
From a hill overlooking Oasis, a Roland sat upon a boulder with a monocular. He scanned the perimeter around the city. Looks like the fence was not electrified yet. So plan B was on the table then. At least he guessed. Demeter wasn't all too precise with her instructions. He had been on the other side of the table and could smell the moonshine as if he was swimming in it. Crazy woman drank more than him- And that SCARED him. He shook his head and continued scanning the area.
"...Four on the east side....Three southward....Ooo, nine to the west. And three more...Make that two on the north." he had to correct himself, seeing a small light-show as one wolf had a rather shocking experience.
He put down the monocular and took out a metal flask from off his gear. Taking a moment to unscrew the top, he then proceeded to down the rest of the contents before sliding it back into place on his pack. Now, while many people of authority would say drinking while working was a bad idea, Roland gave no visible fucks.
Roland put the monocular away as he hopped off the boulder and walked over to a lone tree on the hill. Near the trunk, a rather old-fashioned shotgun rested; its age was well-apparent, the countless nicks seemingly endless tarnishing told more than a few stories- at least one of them apparently dealt with teeth large enough to bite through a previous stock. That was probably the newest part on the entire weapon, too. Roland reached down and picked up the relic and dusted it off before reaching into his pack and retrieving a drum magazine and fitting it into place onto the shotgun. Clearly inspired by a 21st century design, this shotgun was more than capable of dealing with more than a simple 'territory dispute'. The semi-automatic firing capability makes sure the dispute is put to rest indefinitely.
After checking the weapon for any signs of breaking down, Roland gave a smirk. All good to go.
A single blast rang out from the western section of the city. One wolfound was down and wouldn't be moving again. A rather large chunk of its left side missing made sure of that. Within five seconds of the first blast, two more followed in quick succession.
Three down.
Now, for all the folks reading at home thinking; 'Oh great, another speedy guy we don't see SHIT about', well I'm gonna stop you RIGHT there. Especially YOU. Yeah. YOU with the overly critical personality. NO ONE LIKES THAT YA KNOW.
Roland sprinted through the badlands around the western front toward the next group of Wolfhounds, three in a group this time. Clearing the distance of forty meters in seconds, he ran just left of the closest one, holding the shotgun in front of him. As he past them, he spun to face his target and fired. The explosive shell ripped through the target and sent him backward. Behind him was the non-electrified fence- at least he HOPED it was still dead; otherwise this would spark up a new conversation for the boozehound scientist.
Yes. It was stupid, but dammit if that wasn't a trait Roland used the hell out of for money.
Fortunately, it was still dead, so he not only landed on the fence, but used the momentum to bounce off of it and launch towards the other two, leading to their expiry as well.
Six down.
He finally stopped for a moment to see where the last three on this end were. Sure enough, they picked up on his idiocy, or maybe the whiskey. Probably the whiskey. All three were converging on him, causing Roland to grin as he held up the shotgun, blasting the first two in another quick succession. The third came from out of his sight, which was rather large due to missing an eye. Slight hindrance, sure. But chicks digged the eyepatch. He wasn't sure why. Instead of using the shotgun, he went with the other course of action, now that the wolfhound was far too close for firearms.
Roland pulled out a knife near his chest and buried the blade deep into the animal's temple as it lunged at him. It flew past him and stayed motionless on the ground after it landed.
Nine down.
He looked around for a moment before reaching over to the right side of his head and pressing a button on a headset behind his ear.
"West cleared, Miss Drunk Science." he said before walking over to the corpse with the fancy new head-piercing.
He knelt down and attempted to get his knife out of the wolfhound's skull. Unfortunately, it liked its new fleshy sheathe.
"....Givit." he began tugging to try to pry it loose.
"Giviiiiiiiiit........" No avail.
"GIMME MISTER KILLINGSWORTH YOU LITTLE SHITSTAIN."