It begins.
Killing Floor opens up, the team scatters. The first few rounds are easy, as everyone tries to out-do each other for money, with the commando and medic locked in an eternal pissing match for the most kills. Berzerker, a 10 year old lvl 0 who was gifted the game out of pity when he tried to buy it with his collection of poke'mon cards, runs off into the darkness waving his shovel, and is not seen again until wave 4. Support tries to follow commando and medic but struggles to get enough kills and silently curses the lot of 'em.
The waves pass, until 5 comes around. Things are heating up, and more out of coincidence than any element of strategy, the team finds themselves in the same room.
Everyone is at half health, keeping themselves alive with tiny pin-pricks of fairy-urine while the medic runs around heroically trying to do the least useful thing he could possibly do. The Berzerker takes offense at this new competition.
A familiar roar is heard, and in the midst of gore and corpses the fleshpound arrives.
The team collectively decides that the red lights and noises mean that the large fleshy-poundy creature means them no harm, and instead wishes to dispense ice-cream. Attentions are promptly turned to everything in the room that isn't important.
The commando and medic, still vying for top-spot in the leaderboard, accidentally spray the flesh-pound in their exuberance to out-do each other.
The double-quarter pounder, smothered with cheese and children's nightmares, enrages, locks onto the entirely oblivious commando and begins his attack. Commando, sensing something amiss, trys to pepper the enemy with bullets while back-peddling desperately. The commando is furious that the pounder is blocking his view from the spiders that are totally worthless.
Medic is laughing his *** off, enraptured that he no longer has to compete for kills, and runs in the opposite direction, mopping up trash. The dainty pop's of his SMG rings in his ears merrily as the tortured screams of the dying commando fill his computer speakers. Medic now has the high-score, and all the money. His erection has never been harder.
Berzerker continues bopping things on the head with his ****ing shovel, and wonders why french toast smells like the number purple.
At this point, Support looks around, and see's the flesh-pounder has taken the center of the room, as the entire team has "No-wai, ****-dat-guy'd" right the **** out of harms way, and all of the glowing red eyes, are fixated squarely upon his puckered anus.
With roaring AA-12, he springs into battle, and is promptly finger-banged by "scare-me-suzy", his invisible proctologist, and her cabal of 8-legged NOPE monsters. His expensive AA-12 falls to the ground, never to be picked up again. Not that it matters. He only had enough cash for the one, and couldn't fill it with ammo, even if he had lived. Medic is nowhere to be found.
By this time, the attention of the Flesh-Pound and now accompanying scrakes, have turned their attention to the fleeing Medic, who only stops laughing at his ****ty-noob team long enough to re-load his SMG. A full cache of healing darts sits un-contaminated by the rigors of actual use.
Medic rushes to the Berzerker for assistance, but the happy zerk is enjoying spider stomping too much to be bothered, and quicky turns tail and flees, leaving the medic to be promptly devoured by the ensuing chaos.
Medic spends the next 2 mins cussing out his team and promptly leaves the party.
It's a good thing Zerker is armed with his trusty shovel. It will be used to bury him as he gets eaten by ****ing everything.
Killing Floor opens up, the team scatters. The first few rounds are easy, as everyone tries to out-do each other for money, with the commando and medic locked in an eternal pissing match for the most kills. Berzerker, a 10 year old lvl 0 who was gifted the game out of pity when he tried to buy it with his collection of poke'mon cards, runs off into the darkness waving his shovel, and is not seen again until wave 4. Support tries to follow commando and medic but struggles to get enough kills and silently curses the lot of 'em.
The waves pass, until 5 comes around. Things are heating up, and more out of coincidence than any element of strategy, the team finds themselves in the same room.
Everyone is at half health, keeping themselves alive with tiny pin-pricks of fairy-urine while the medic runs around heroically trying to do the least useful thing he could possibly do. The Berzerker takes offense at this new competition.
A familiar roar is heard, and in the midst of gore and corpses the fleshpound arrives.
The team collectively decides that the red lights and noises mean that the large fleshy-poundy creature means them no harm, and instead wishes to dispense ice-cream. Attentions are promptly turned to everything in the room that isn't important.
The commando and medic, still vying for top-spot in the leaderboard, accidentally spray the flesh-pound in their exuberance to out-do each other.
The double-quarter pounder, smothered with cheese and children's nightmares, enrages, locks onto the entirely oblivious commando and begins his attack. Commando, sensing something amiss, trys to pepper the enemy with bullets while back-peddling desperately. The commando is furious that the pounder is blocking his view from the spiders that are totally worthless.
Medic is laughing his *** off, enraptured that he no longer has to compete for kills, and runs in the opposite direction, mopping up trash. The dainty pop's of his SMG rings in his ears merrily as the tortured screams of the dying commando fill his computer speakers. Medic now has the high-score, and all the money. His erection has never been harder.
Berzerker continues bopping things on the head with his ****ing shovel, and wonders why french toast smells like the number purple.
At this point, Support looks around, and see's the flesh-pounder has taken the center of the room, as the entire team has "No-wai, ****-dat-guy'd" right the **** out of harms way, and all of the glowing red eyes, are fixated squarely upon his puckered anus.
With roaring AA-12, he springs into battle, and is promptly finger-banged by "scare-me-suzy", his invisible proctologist, and her cabal of 8-legged NOPE monsters. His expensive AA-12 falls to the ground, never to be picked up again. Not that it matters. He only had enough cash for the one, and couldn't fill it with ammo, even if he had lived. Medic is nowhere to be found.
By this time, the attention of the Flesh-Pound and now accompanying scrakes, have turned their attention to the fleeing Medic, who only stops laughing at his ****ty-noob team long enough to re-load his SMG. A full cache of healing darts sits un-contaminated by the rigors of actual use.
Medic rushes to the Berzerker for assistance, but the happy zerk is enjoying spider stomping too much to be bothered, and quicky turns tail and flees, leaving the medic to be promptly devoured by the ensuing chaos.
Medic spends the next 2 mins cussing out his team and promptly leaves the party.
It's a good thing Zerker is armed with his trusty shovel. It will be used to bury him as he gets eaten by ****ing everything.
