Categories > Games > Counter-Strike > T vs. CT: Italy
/T vs. CT: ITALY/
By
Gregory P. Wong
ROUND ONE
Terrorists
The moment the countdown clock wound down to zero, Mao bolted from his spawn point-laden down with an AK, a Glock, and a full load of grenades-and headed down the long hallway to his favorite little crevice near the entrance. He ducked in and unslung his rifle. Okay, time to chill for a couple of seconds. If they pushed, he could pop out and give 'em a face full of lead. If they went around-like through middle-he could rush out and get them in their asses.
Or knife them. He'/d/ get the first knife, not Mr. Master "I Will Wait In A Dark Corner For Five Minutes Until Some Poor Dumb Enemy Blunders Past Me, Whereupon I Shall Dig My Knife Into His Back" Shafter.
Hee hee hee.
Shafter had similar sentiments, though he didn't know-and wouldn't have cared anyway-that Mao was obsessed with knifing first. He rushed down the stairs, through middle, and took up station in a little crevice that was dug out directly opposite the T side of middle.
Church, scout in hand, settled into his usual spot, at the opposite end of the "alley" from the Terrorist side of apartments. He had good cover, and his precision would tear some heads off today, yes siree...
Caboose, Rah, Tiger, Freeway, Dan, and Street raced through apartments. A strong push would work, wouldn't it? Street, in the lead with his shotgun, lead the charge. He entered the second room and-
"Oh, fuuuuuck," he whispered, and pulled the trigger.
Counter-Terrorists
Billy almost fucking jumped out of his skin when a T with a very large looking gun popped into the room. Almost panicking, he dropped into a crouch and began to squeeze shots up into the Terrorist's belly.
Shitshitshitshitshit...
The shotgun boomed, and he felt his arm take a fucking nasty hit, but, well, he had won this one.
You had to pump a fucking shotgun, dumbass. You only had to pull the trigger of a Deagle.
He rammed three rapid shots into the T's chest.
Yessss! All hail Billy, the Conquer-
Terrorist
Caboose cursed and unloaded his Galil into the somewhat triumphant face of the CT. Damn, Street was down, off in Dead Zone.
Oh well, tough shit. Respawn was for later.
Caboose paused to reload, and Nox, Tiger, and Freeway barreled past him.
"Nice shot," Dan said admiringly, gesturing to the face of Billy.
Well, at least it looked like a face. It looked like a pretty good facsimile of what came out of a cow's anus if said cow was afflicted with bloody, explosive diarrhea.
"Yeah, thanks," he answered Dan. Let's get-"
And then there was a stuttering of silenced M4s, and the lifeless bodies of the three who had rushed ahead flew back into the room.
"Ah, fuck," sighed Dan.
Jive, Rhino and Solza, raced down Long Hall. Jive felt very safe with Solza there. Solza was his god.
Solza didn't care what the fuck Jive thought he was, as long as he didn't block him. If he got blocked by Jive, he'd tell Caboose to enable friendly fire, and then he'd do bad things to Jive. Very bad things.
Rhino went left upon exiting the hall, and took a peek. Holy shit! The market was crawling with CTs! Rhino fired a quick burst from his AK-47 and tried to back away, but a large CT with a Famas came into view. He tried to maneuver, but there was no room in the little hall. He heard the Famas bark three times, and his head blew off.
Coincidentally, he squashed the chicken when he fell.
Solza's eyes narrowed when he heard the triple-shot of a Famas, and he slowly eased himself toward the right-side market entrance. A CT! He swiftly brought up his rifle and drilled a shot into the throat of a SEAL that had been rushing. More CTs popped into view and he backed up behind the wall.
Or tried to. Fucking Jive was blocking him!
"Fucking move!" he roared at the other Terrorist, and shoved hard. Jive looked up at him stupidly and didn't budge.
He felt bullets tear into his thigh, and he snarled and returned fire. CTs dove out of the way.
"Goddammit, move!" he yelled again, and this time Jive did.
Solza dived behind the wall, and checked his injuries. Oh, good lord, he was down to 43 HP! Dammit, if Jive had moved, he wouldn't have taken half the damage he'd taken.
He whirled around to glare a Jive. "Damn, block some more, why don't you. Maybe next time I'll die after-"
/ClinkÂ/-/clink/-/clink/!
Solza turned around and stared as two HE grenades landed a foot away from his boots.
This was gonna hurt, wasn't it?
Counter-Terrorists
Pheermee eased out from behind the exquisitely woven Persian rugs he'd been hiding behind when he'd nailed the first T that had popped into market.
He dug out a flashbang-as always, it was reskinned to look like an authentic Furby©, and flung it down the far-side entrance of market. He switched his gun to automatic fire and charged when he heard the Furby© go off.
Pheermee popped into long hall and exchanged fire with a terrorist up in the windows of the house. He managed to take out the bastard. Yeah! Two for the Pherbee!
And then a T popped out from the stairwell at the base of hall and blew his chest open with an AK.
Having disposed of three terrorists who'd thought rushing apartments was a good idea, Quik, Smoke, and Bizzly eased into the first room.
Smoke took the lead, with Bizzly right behind him and Quik taking rear guard. He moved into the next-
/Shit/! There were still Ts in apartments! Quik saw Smoke unload on one of the Ts, a Phoenix toting a Galil, but the other terrorist opened up his stomach with an AK-47.
The terrorist fled the room as he and Bizz gave chase.
White letters appeared on the wall.
Lol that hurt.
Pootie heard shooting inside apartments. Smoke must have haxored up a lot of bitches. Or something like that. He, Ast, and Ace, exited market and clambered up the boxes into apartments.
Ooookay, there was a lot of blood splattered everywhere and-hello. Smoke was dead on the ground. Well... there was Smoke's gun. Maybe he'd inherit some 1337 h4x or something. Yeah, that would work.
He charged off. Time to sharpen dem skills.
Dead Zone
"Okay, I can deal with it," Solza was saying very calmly. "I mean, any nub with a quarter of a brain would know that blocking is a goddamned annoying thing to do. Well, yeah, I can cope. Yeah, cope."
Solza sounded like he would cope, but in a very violent way.
The Dead Zone, the floating place above the map that all dead players went to when they, well, died. Duh. Glowing text nametags showed above everyone's head.
Pheermee was busy polishing off a muffin, most likely one with sour cream topping. The SAS finished it, looked around a bit guilty, and dug around his backpack. He pulled out a something that looked a bit flat and feathery.
Rhinolight saw it and remembered right when he died. Wait a second...
"Is that the chicken I squashed?" he asked incredulously.
"Yep," answered the large CT. "Can't pass up the idea of some good chicken fingers. Well, once I make them, that is. Shouldn't be too hard."
Caboose swung his head around and stared. "You're going to make chicken fingers? How?"
"I've got my ways. Now, where'd I put those filet knives and pans...?"
There was a pop and SuperDan appeared.
"Fuck, there were more of them. Oh well, I took out Smoke, at least."
Smoke just shrugged.
Counter-Terrorists
Now where was little Mao-Mao?
Bob shifted his grip on the shotgun and made his way through market. Jive had done a number on him before he'd blown his head off with a load of double-ought buck.
He heard firing. Okay, to hell with being quiet.
Bob charged up long hall.
And then he ran into something. He tripped, and his shotgun flew out of his hands. What the fuck?
He looked behind him.
Oh, it was Mao. He drew out his knife. Time for a Mao den ornament!
But, fuck, he only had 32 health...
Terrorists
Church yelped as bullets spattered into the corner of the building he was using for cover. He'd drilled one of the CTs in the face with the Steyr, but there was a whole load more of them. He backed away, scout up, and ran backwards back to house.
It was so cool that running with a scout was faster than running with a knife.
Church took two more potshots and then dove into the house.
Mao backed away from Bob's lunge and slashed with his knife. Rule number one of knife fights: you cut your opponent up and bleed them out, not get your knife stuck in their belly fat.
On second thought, fuck it. This wasn't real life.
He lunged back. Bob was a fraction quicker on the recovery and dug the knife into his stomach.
Ouchie.
He lashed out, and buried the knife in Bob's chest. The CT crumpled.
He quickly tapped a message into the admin wrist computer. White letters appeared in the sky.
Jumiliation of Bob by the Chairman! Suck it, bitch!
"Heh, good thing I had more health," he said to himself.
And then something hit him in the head.
Counter-Terrorists
Oh well, poor Bob. He was going to kill something up there after being killed by Mao like that. At least he took out Mao. Jmar shrugged and jogged up the hall.
This could be better. Quik was currently spattered with the blood of both Bizzly and Asterisk. In the case of Bizzly, there was some brain matter mixed in, too. Icky stuff. It would take a lot of scrubbing to get out. Yech.
It had to be Church sniping. They had to ban the scout from that guy.
He plucked a smoke grenade from his belt and flung it into the wall. It bounced, and he heard the device go off. He peeked out fro the apartment hallway and saw that there was a thick haze of smoke blocking the house from his view. Well, if his view was blocking, that meant Church's was, too. Good times. He, Ace and Pootie charged for the house door.
Lost crept up middle, Famas at the ready. If he could be quiet...
/Thump-thump-thump-thump/.
What the fuck?
He whirled around. Oh, fucking dandy. It was Cannibal. And he was hopping all around the place, making all sorts of noise.
"Sssssh" he hissed. "Keep it down!"
"Fuck you, cocklicker," Cannibal said loudly. "You can't tell me to do shit. Or what, you gonna cry to the admin, you little shit-scrub? Huh? Huh? The way that that faggot Caboose runs the server, I'd think you'd blow him to ban me? Huh? Huh?"
He whirled around and stared at Cannibal.
"Listen, this is a game. Don't be such a dick about it."
Or what, faggot? Gonna tell that loser Caboose to do something to me? Huh? What's that make you, fucker?"
Something wasn't right. He could've sworn he'd seen movement over Cannibal's shoulder. It looked like... nah, nothing.
Meh, whatever. They were standing out in middle, in, well, the middle of the open. If a T went on the overhang they'd be seen.
And shot.
"Okay, whatever. Let's go."
Terrorists
Shafter listened attentively, behind Cannibal's back, as the asshole spewed off his continuous stream of bullshit.
"Bitch, you don't have to tell me to go anywhere. Faggot, I could kill the entire Terrorist team all by my fucking self, and you're a fucking nub. Go chew on a dick, faggot, and maybe then I'll-"
Okay, enough.
Shafter tapped Cannibal on the shoulder.
"What the fuck now?" Cannibal spat in annoyance and turned around.
Shafter gave a wide, toothy grin. The CT's eyes widened in horror.
"Hello, my name is MasterShafter."
And the Shafter jammed the knife up Cannibal's jaw and into his brain.
As he let Cannibal's lifeless body topple, he looked at Lost.
"Uh, why'd you turn him around? You could've stuck him in the back and gotten me too, if you were fast."
"Eh, I wanted to see his face when I stuck the knife in."
"Oh, okay. Thanks, by the way," Lost said. Then he watched the CT raise his Famas up and fire it straight at his face.
Rah hustled through CT spawn. He'd managed to move-literally unopposed-through side, and now he was going to get behind the counter-terrorists and give them a good beating. But he'd better move fast.
Church didn't like this one fricking bit. He could hear three CTs galumphing around house. He's jumped out the back window and was on top of the boxes, listening.
Yep, it was hopeless. Might as go out with a bang.
He slung his scout and drew his Deagle.
"/AH LA LA LA LA JIHAAAAAD/!" he cried and dove back into the house from the back window.
Dead Zone
"Okay, Cannibal, normally I'm a pretty mellow guy, but you're getting on my nerves," Caboose said tiredly.
"Well, fuck you and your server, bitch. 'Ooh, I named myself after an RvB character, I'm sooo original.' You're as gay as the rest of this faggoty server."
"And the levels of faggotry have reached alarming levels," Mao said to himself.
Caboose took a deep breath and turned away. Church has recently joined them, following a depressed looking Pootie.
"I swear I had that gun pointed at your face, Church," Pootie said glumly. "Man, even the admins hack."
Church laughed.
There was a delicious smell in the air. Somehow Pheer had whipped up a batch of chicken fingers, a dozen and a half. Solza said he liked them, but he'd prefer a nice sammich.
Hmm, time for a brief admin council. All of them-he, Pheermee, Mao, Nox, Street, and Church were here. He motioned for them to come to him.
"What's up, Boose?" Street asked.
"What do we do about Cannibal."
Nothing. Well, they had some time to think about it. Maybe he could test out-"
"Um, I've got an idea," he heard Pheermee say.
Terrorists
Shit!
Churchill dropped off the Alive Roster. Great, now he was all alone versus three CTs. Just fucking great.
Rah ran up the middle stairs and crouched under the back house of window. He could hear CTs inside.
Hmm... they had him outnumbered. They probably had him outgunned. He couldn't just run in there, or he'd just get shot for nothing.
Time for fear tactics.
"Hey bitches!" he called into the house. "I've got you surrounded!"
He heard the CTs laugh.
"This ain't funny! I'm armed! And dangerous!"
More laughter. This wasn't working. Maybe a different approach.
"I'm black!"
"We live in America, big deal," one of the CTs yelled back.
Fine then, bitches.
"Then be fucking scared, then! I'm fucking black, and I /have a fucking gun/!"
There was a gasp.
"Run awaaaaaay!" one of the CTs screamed, and leaped out the back window.
Rah shot him.
"Save meeeeee!" another CT yelled, and jumped out the back window. Rah shot him, too.
Okay, one more to go...
Counter-Terrorists
Lostboii shook his head in puzzlement as he saw the terrorist staring expectantly at the back window of house. He looked like he was expecting something.
He shrugged, and shot the Terrorist.
Counter-Terrorists win!
By
Gregory P. Wong
ROUND ONE
Terrorists
The moment the countdown clock wound down to zero, Mao bolted from his spawn point-laden down with an AK, a Glock, and a full load of grenades-and headed down the long hallway to his favorite little crevice near the entrance. He ducked in and unslung his rifle. Okay, time to chill for a couple of seconds. If they pushed, he could pop out and give 'em a face full of lead. If they went around-like through middle-he could rush out and get them in their asses.
Or knife them. He'/d/ get the first knife, not Mr. Master "I Will Wait In A Dark Corner For Five Minutes Until Some Poor Dumb Enemy Blunders Past Me, Whereupon I Shall Dig My Knife Into His Back" Shafter.
Hee hee hee.
Shafter had similar sentiments, though he didn't know-and wouldn't have cared anyway-that Mao was obsessed with knifing first. He rushed down the stairs, through middle, and took up station in a little crevice that was dug out directly opposite the T side of middle.
Church, scout in hand, settled into his usual spot, at the opposite end of the "alley" from the Terrorist side of apartments. He had good cover, and his precision would tear some heads off today, yes siree...
Caboose, Rah, Tiger, Freeway, Dan, and Street raced through apartments. A strong push would work, wouldn't it? Street, in the lead with his shotgun, lead the charge. He entered the second room and-
"Oh, fuuuuuck," he whispered, and pulled the trigger.
Counter-Terrorists
Billy almost fucking jumped out of his skin when a T with a very large looking gun popped into the room. Almost panicking, he dropped into a crouch and began to squeeze shots up into the Terrorist's belly.
Shitshitshitshitshit...
The shotgun boomed, and he felt his arm take a fucking nasty hit, but, well, he had won this one.
You had to pump a fucking shotgun, dumbass. You only had to pull the trigger of a Deagle.
He rammed three rapid shots into the T's chest.
Yessss! All hail Billy, the Conquer-
Terrorist
Caboose cursed and unloaded his Galil into the somewhat triumphant face of the CT. Damn, Street was down, off in Dead Zone.
Oh well, tough shit. Respawn was for later.
Caboose paused to reload, and Nox, Tiger, and Freeway barreled past him.
"Nice shot," Dan said admiringly, gesturing to the face of Billy.
Well, at least it looked like a face. It looked like a pretty good facsimile of what came out of a cow's anus if said cow was afflicted with bloody, explosive diarrhea.
"Yeah, thanks," he answered Dan. Let's get-"
And then there was a stuttering of silenced M4s, and the lifeless bodies of the three who had rushed ahead flew back into the room.
"Ah, fuck," sighed Dan.
Jive, Rhino and Solza, raced down Long Hall. Jive felt very safe with Solza there. Solza was his god.
Solza didn't care what the fuck Jive thought he was, as long as he didn't block him. If he got blocked by Jive, he'd tell Caboose to enable friendly fire, and then he'd do bad things to Jive. Very bad things.
Rhino went left upon exiting the hall, and took a peek. Holy shit! The market was crawling with CTs! Rhino fired a quick burst from his AK-47 and tried to back away, but a large CT with a Famas came into view. He tried to maneuver, but there was no room in the little hall. He heard the Famas bark three times, and his head blew off.
Coincidentally, he squashed the chicken when he fell.
Solza's eyes narrowed when he heard the triple-shot of a Famas, and he slowly eased himself toward the right-side market entrance. A CT! He swiftly brought up his rifle and drilled a shot into the throat of a SEAL that had been rushing. More CTs popped into view and he backed up behind the wall.
Or tried to. Fucking Jive was blocking him!
"Fucking move!" he roared at the other Terrorist, and shoved hard. Jive looked up at him stupidly and didn't budge.
He felt bullets tear into his thigh, and he snarled and returned fire. CTs dove out of the way.
"Goddammit, move!" he yelled again, and this time Jive did.
Solza dived behind the wall, and checked his injuries. Oh, good lord, he was down to 43 HP! Dammit, if Jive had moved, he wouldn't have taken half the damage he'd taken.
He whirled around to glare a Jive. "Damn, block some more, why don't you. Maybe next time I'll die after-"
/ClinkÂ/-/clink/-/clink/!
Solza turned around and stared as two HE grenades landed a foot away from his boots.
This was gonna hurt, wasn't it?
Counter-Terrorists
Pheermee eased out from behind the exquisitely woven Persian rugs he'd been hiding behind when he'd nailed the first T that had popped into market.
He dug out a flashbang-as always, it was reskinned to look like an authentic Furby©, and flung it down the far-side entrance of market. He switched his gun to automatic fire and charged when he heard the Furby© go off.
Pheermee popped into long hall and exchanged fire with a terrorist up in the windows of the house. He managed to take out the bastard. Yeah! Two for the Pherbee!
And then a T popped out from the stairwell at the base of hall and blew his chest open with an AK.
Having disposed of three terrorists who'd thought rushing apartments was a good idea, Quik, Smoke, and Bizzly eased into the first room.
Smoke took the lead, with Bizzly right behind him and Quik taking rear guard. He moved into the next-
/Shit/! There were still Ts in apartments! Quik saw Smoke unload on one of the Ts, a Phoenix toting a Galil, but the other terrorist opened up his stomach with an AK-47.
The terrorist fled the room as he and Bizz gave chase.
White letters appeared on the wall.
Lol that hurt.
Pootie heard shooting inside apartments. Smoke must have haxored up a lot of bitches. Or something like that. He, Ast, and Ace, exited market and clambered up the boxes into apartments.
Ooookay, there was a lot of blood splattered everywhere and-hello. Smoke was dead on the ground. Well... there was Smoke's gun. Maybe he'd inherit some 1337 h4x or something. Yeah, that would work.
He charged off. Time to sharpen dem skills.
Dead Zone
"Okay, I can deal with it," Solza was saying very calmly. "I mean, any nub with a quarter of a brain would know that blocking is a goddamned annoying thing to do. Well, yeah, I can cope. Yeah, cope."
Solza sounded like he would cope, but in a very violent way.
The Dead Zone, the floating place above the map that all dead players went to when they, well, died. Duh. Glowing text nametags showed above everyone's head.
Pheermee was busy polishing off a muffin, most likely one with sour cream topping. The SAS finished it, looked around a bit guilty, and dug around his backpack. He pulled out a something that looked a bit flat and feathery.
Rhinolight saw it and remembered right when he died. Wait a second...
"Is that the chicken I squashed?" he asked incredulously.
"Yep," answered the large CT. "Can't pass up the idea of some good chicken fingers. Well, once I make them, that is. Shouldn't be too hard."
Caboose swung his head around and stared. "You're going to make chicken fingers? How?"
"I've got my ways. Now, where'd I put those filet knives and pans...?"
There was a pop and SuperDan appeared.
"Fuck, there were more of them. Oh well, I took out Smoke, at least."
Smoke just shrugged.
Counter-Terrorists
Now where was little Mao-Mao?
Bob shifted his grip on the shotgun and made his way through market. Jive had done a number on him before he'd blown his head off with a load of double-ought buck.
He heard firing. Okay, to hell with being quiet.
Bob charged up long hall.
And then he ran into something. He tripped, and his shotgun flew out of his hands. What the fuck?
He looked behind him.
Oh, it was Mao. He drew out his knife. Time for a Mao den ornament!
But, fuck, he only had 32 health...
Terrorists
Church yelped as bullets spattered into the corner of the building he was using for cover. He'd drilled one of the CTs in the face with the Steyr, but there was a whole load more of them. He backed away, scout up, and ran backwards back to house.
It was so cool that running with a scout was faster than running with a knife.
Church took two more potshots and then dove into the house.
Mao backed away from Bob's lunge and slashed with his knife. Rule number one of knife fights: you cut your opponent up and bleed them out, not get your knife stuck in their belly fat.
On second thought, fuck it. This wasn't real life.
He lunged back. Bob was a fraction quicker on the recovery and dug the knife into his stomach.
Ouchie.
He lashed out, and buried the knife in Bob's chest. The CT crumpled.
He quickly tapped a message into the admin wrist computer. White letters appeared in the sky.
Jumiliation of Bob by the Chairman! Suck it, bitch!
"Heh, good thing I had more health," he said to himself.
And then something hit him in the head.
Counter-Terrorists
Oh well, poor Bob. He was going to kill something up there after being killed by Mao like that. At least he took out Mao. Jmar shrugged and jogged up the hall.
This could be better. Quik was currently spattered with the blood of both Bizzly and Asterisk. In the case of Bizzly, there was some brain matter mixed in, too. Icky stuff. It would take a lot of scrubbing to get out. Yech.
It had to be Church sniping. They had to ban the scout from that guy.
He plucked a smoke grenade from his belt and flung it into the wall. It bounced, and he heard the device go off. He peeked out fro the apartment hallway and saw that there was a thick haze of smoke blocking the house from his view. Well, if his view was blocking, that meant Church's was, too. Good times. He, Ace and Pootie charged for the house door.
Lost crept up middle, Famas at the ready. If he could be quiet...
/Thump-thump-thump-thump/.
What the fuck?
He whirled around. Oh, fucking dandy. It was Cannibal. And he was hopping all around the place, making all sorts of noise.
"Sssssh" he hissed. "Keep it down!"
"Fuck you, cocklicker," Cannibal said loudly. "You can't tell me to do shit. Or what, you gonna cry to the admin, you little shit-scrub? Huh? Huh? The way that that faggot Caboose runs the server, I'd think you'd blow him to ban me? Huh? Huh?"
He whirled around and stared at Cannibal.
"Listen, this is a game. Don't be such a dick about it."
Or what, faggot? Gonna tell that loser Caboose to do something to me? Huh? What's that make you, fucker?"
Something wasn't right. He could've sworn he'd seen movement over Cannibal's shoulder. It looked like... nah, nothing.
Meh, whatever. They were standing out in middle, in, well, the middle of the open. If a T went on the overhang they'd be seen.
And shot.
"Okay, whatever. Let's go."
Terrorists
Shafter listened attentively, behind Cannibal's back, as the asshole spewed off his continuous stream of bullshit.
"Bitch, you don't have to tell me to go anywhere. Faggot, I could kill the entire Terrorist team all by my fucking self, and you're a fucking nub. Go chew on a dick, faggot, and maybe then I'll-"
Okay, enough.
Shafter tapped Cannibal on the shoulder.
"What the fuck now?" Cannibal spat in annoyance and turned around.
Shafter gave a wide, toothy grin. The CT's eyes widened in horror.
"Hello, my name is MasterShafter."
And the Shafter jammed the knife up Cannibal's jaw and into his brain.
As he let Cannibal's lifeless body topple, he looked at Lost.
"Uh, why'd you turn him around? You could've stuck him in the back and gotten me too, if you were fast."
"Eh, I wanted to see his face when I stuck the knife in."
"Oh, okay. Thanks, by the way," Lost said. Then he watched the CT raise his Famas up and fire it straight at his face.
Rah hustled through CT spawn. He'd managed to move-literally unopposed-through side, and now he was going to get behind the counter-terrorists and give them a good beating. But he'd better move fast.
Church didn't like this one fricking bit. He could hear three CTs galumphing around house. He's jumped out the back window and was on top of the boxes, listening.
Yep, it was hopeless. Might as go out with a bang.
He slung his scout and drew his Deagle.
"/AH LA LA LA LA JIHAAAAAD/!" he cried and dove back into the house from the back window.
Dead Zone
"Okay, Cannibal, normally I'm a pretty mellow guy, but you're getting on my nerves," Caboose said tiredly.
"Well, fuck you and your server, bitch. 'Ooh, I named myself after an RvB character, I'm sooo original.' You're as gay as the rest of this faggoty server."
"And the levels of faggotry have reached alarming levels," Mao said to himself.
Caboose took a deep breath and turned away. Church has recently joined them, following a depressed looking Pootie.
"I swear I had that gun pointed at your face, Church," Pootie said glumly. "Man, even the admins hack."
Church laughed.
There was a delicious smell in the air. Somehow Pheer had whipped up a batch of chicken fingers, a dozen and a half. Solza said he liked them, but he'd prefer a nice sammich.
Hmm, time for a brief admin council. All of them-he, Pheermee, Mao, Nox, Street, and Church were here. He motioned for them to come to him.
"What's up, Boose?" Street asked.
"What do we do about Cannibal."
Nothing. Well, they had some time to think about it. Maybe he could test out-"
"Um, I've got an idea," he heard Pheermee say.
Terrorists
Shit!
Churchill dropped off the Alive Roster. Great, now he was all alone versus three CTs. Just fucking great.
Rah ran up the middle stairs and crouched under the back house of window. He could hear CTs inside.
Hmm... they had him outnumbered. They probably had him outgunned. He couldn't just run in there, or he'd just get shot for nothing.
Time for fear tactics.
"Hey bitches!" he called into the house. "I've got you surrounded!"
He heard the CTs laugh.
"This ain't funny! I'm armed! And dangerous!"
More laughter. This wasn't working. Maybe a different approach.
"I'm black!"
"We live in America, big deal," one of the CTs yelled back.
Fine then, bitches.
"Then be fucking scared, then! I'm fucking black, and I /have a fucking gun/!"
There was a gasp.
"Run awaaaaaay!" one of the CTs screamed, and leaped out the back window.
Rah shot him.
"Save meeeeee!" another CT yelled, and jumped out the back window. Rah shot him, too.
Okay, one more to go...
Counter-Terrorists
Lostboii shook his head in puzzlement as he saw the terrorist staring expectantly at the back window of house. He looked like he was expecting something.
He shrugged, and shot the Terrorist.
Counter-Terrorists win!
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