Gregory P. Wong
Disregarding the victory Dice had won for the CTs, the score was tied two-two. This round would be the deciding factor.
Dice, hoping that the amx_screw had worn off, charged. He promptly dropped his gun, took his knife, emasculated himself, and threw himself headfirst from the Short A overhang.
Of course, he removed his helmet before jumping.
*[Myg0t]NoDice has dropped*
*[Myg0t]NoDice has left the game*
"Boys," said Smoke, they've been walking all over us every time they get into Bomb B. But here's a catch." Smoke tweaked his radio to make completely sure that he couldn't be overheard by enemy ears. "We wait outside B and let them get a false sense of security. Then we charge in from all directions and rape them."
"Roger!" came the voices of the CTs.
Except of Bob Long, of course. He had his own plans.
*[Myg0t]NoDice has joined the game*
*[Myg0t]NoDice has is joining the Counter-Terrorist force.*
Haha, he'd rejoined. Now he'd pay back the fucking admin for all this shit. Just a simple reconnection and that would be all over.
He purchased an M3 shotgun.
And then started walking towards Bomb A.
Yep, everything was in working order. He wasn't trying to buttfuck himself with a sniper rifle, or cut off his own dick, so the screw thingy had worn off.
He swung himself onto one of the green crates, and waited.
He read the markings on the crate.
"/Extremely lethal chemical/viral weapon enclosed. DO NOT BREAK CONTAIMENT. Symptoms of exposure to Compound BLDRDSH-21 include shriveling of the genetalia, defecation of coagulated blood, extreme pain in the trunk region, ringing in the ears, total detachment of the tongue, loss of hair, dementia, and laughing. THIS CHEMICAL HAS NO ANTIDOTE. DEATH FOLLOWS WITHIN TWO HOURS OF EXPOSURE/."
And then he dropped his gun and drew his knife.
To pop open the crate.
This couldn't be good. This couldn't be good at all. In fact... /OH SHIT/!
Dice cried like a slapped schoolgirl as he plunged himself into the vat of chemicals.
"Okay guys? Ready? Long A with me!"
Shafter rolled his eyes. After four rounds of total rape, Mao had still not learned. Let the damn commie go and die again. Sheesh. You couldn't teach a chairman new tricks.
The countdown ended. Time to get that bomb to B.
B rush again. Churchill sighed. Same 'ole, same 'ole.
He saw a whole load of CTs running past the doors, towards B. Woah!
"Solza, enemy spotted. Expect a hot reception."
"Affirmative," came the voice of Caboose." Made sense, since Caboose usually led the charge.
Time for a win. Dum de dum...
Bob Long stealthily moved into Short A and looped towards Long. He was T side of the map, so if he got lucky... maybe there would be Jumiliation Number Dos.
Pheermee had a bad feeling as he passed by double doors. Something wasn't quite right...
He ripped the blue furby-grenade from his belt, punched its arming switch, and chucked it into the crack between the doors. He was bringing up his Fa-Mas just as a two Ts rushed into view.
His burst-setting weapon chewed the face off of the first T. Down. He shifted aim, but is was low, dammit! It hit the Avenger's left arm and stomach, but that was it. Damn he... oh crap.
Bar stopped in his steps the moment he heard firing. He swung around and nailed the Avenger skin in the chest with his M4. Damn, Pherbee was down. Not a good start. Meh. They had this easily. Ts would stumble right in...
Bar took a breath and ran for his ambush position.
Caboose felt like scratching his head. No reception. At all. None. Had Churchill been tripping out or something? Oh well. They were all probably at Bomb A and would come streaming down as soon as the bomb countdown began. Easy as pie.
Nox tapped in the arming code and began the countdown.
Churchill knew something was damn wrong. Where had the CTs gone? Why was there no firing? Damn, that was--
He swung around, taking his eye from his Scout's scope.
Just in time to see a knife rushing towards his face.
Enfants sighed. He had managed to avenge Doogle's death, but that one CT had finished him off. But he'd been lucky.
"I got lucky," he said simply to the large SAS, who had removed his helmet. Enfants casually watched Pheermee nonchalantly dig a cupcake from a satchel and shovel it down with one gulp.
"Not so much. You got me in the head. You had some good shots," Pheermee said with a grin as he munched.
Enfants nodded. Pheermee was a nice guy.
"Hey, what flavor are those?" he asked the CT.
"Chocolate with sour cream icing. Why?"
"Can I have one?"
"Sure. I got like two dozen stored in here. Have a couple."
Enfants nodded, took the preferred pastry, and chowed down.
He took a quick look. Oh well, it looked like the Ts were going to get pwned. Damn.
Churchill felt his face. There wasn't any mark, being in Dead Zone, but Bob had stabbed him in his right temple. God... he'd just gotten jumiliated. Jumiliated. Mao would never let him hear the end of it...
Huh? Where was Mao?
Solza wondered where the CTs were. Bomb only had one and a quarter minutes to go. Hmm... Well, offense was a better defense, so maybe it was time to move out.
"Team, go, go, go!" he called. "Storm the front. Surprise the CTs!"
Solza hefted his AK-47 and charged out of the Bomb B doors. He heard other Ts following him out.
Then he felt something slam into the back of his head.
"Bombsite secured. Get around to defusing that bomb," ordered Smoke. Except for Pheermee, Bush, and Incog dying, it had been total rape. Yep, fifteen confirmed KIA Ts.
Who was left?
He turned around and faced the tunnel.
And saw the muzzle flash of an AK-47 held in an Avenger's hands.
No! They hadn't gotten Chairman--
A streamer of sunlight illuminated Chairman Mao as he leapt from the tunnel entrance, AK-47 blazing. Just as apples fell upwards or Bush loved black people, the bullets fired by the shocked CTs hit Mao... meaning not.
Mao's AK seemed magical, striking down the enemy where the stood. So fierce was the storm of lead that not one person even managed to hit Mao, much less escape.
Mao, running out of ammunition for both rifle and pistol, threw down his weapons. There was one last thing to take care of, the Chairman knew.
Whoa. It had sounded like a wicked gunfight by B.
Bob, Desert Eagle ready, barreled out of the tunnel.
And, uh, why was the body littered with CT bodies? That wasn't good.
And, shit, the bomb was bleeping like mad. He had thirty seconds at most. Well, thank God for defusal kits.
Then he saw a flash of white. There, the last T! Bob drew his knife. One last jumiliation to win this round... how fucking dramatic. There would be E-movies based on this... the Triumph Of Bob... Hell yeah.
As quietly as possible, he stalked over to where he had seen the jacket of the Avenger.
Wait a moment... wait... now!
Bob pounced, his knife pinning the jacket.
It was a jacket all right, but the T inside of it was missing? The fuck? And why was he... hearing... footsteps. Oh shit.
Bob spun around in time to see a very sharp knife, held by a jacketless Avenger, descending from a jump. God--