Post by General Gold on Nov 26, 2011 4:04:58 GMT -5
[Open for members of the Red Ribbon who want to try and interfere.]
”Combat training beginning. Team One versus Team Texas. Hand to hand combat. Round beginning in 9…” A mechanical female voice rang out over a stark bluish training arena made exclusively of concrete slabs. Above the main arena, one-sided glass reflected the four people below. Within, a few guards wearing gold variants of the Red Ribbon Army logo watched expectantly, one of whom had managed to snag up a bucket of popcorn at some point. More were on their way. The rumor of the impromptu match had echoed through the base, alerting the off-duty soldiers that something interesting was about to happen.
What they got was a separation of three and one, a clearly uneven distribution. The three were clad in black riot gear, full padded and bullet-resistant gear meant for heavy assault. They were Team Texas, known for being one of the highest rated teams in General Gold’s forces. In simplest terms, they were badasses, and “team One” was about to get curb-stomped. Each of them was dead silent as they went into a game of rock, paper, scissors to see who’d get to beat up the idiot. Not that anyone was able to easily tell them apart, but “Toast” won the throw, leaving “Pete” and “Roadhouse” to wait their turns. It was clear that of the three, Toast was the one with a sense of humor.
On the other side of the arena, stood team One. One being the operative word as there was only one man. He stood tall, with both hands loosely kept in his pockets. Clad in all white to clash with his opposition, he was in a racing jumpsuit with a matching helmet. The British among them could jokingly refer to him as “the Stig” for his appearance and dead silence. While Toast had gotten lined up and squared away into a proper fighting stance, shoulders square, both hands raised, legs and hips three quarters to his opponent, One was doing nothing to attempt to stop the incoming attack.
”…3…”
“…2…”
“…1…”
”Combat training beginning. Team One versus Team Texas. Hand to hand combat. Round beginning in 9…” A mechanical female voice rang out over a stark bluish training arena made exclusively of concrete slabs. Above the main arena, one-sided glass reflected the four people below. Within, a few guards wearing gold variants of the Red Ribbon Army logo watched expectantly, one of whom had managed to snag up a bucket of popcorn at some point. More were on their way. The rumor of the impromptu match had echoed through the base, alerting the off-duty soldiers that something interesting was about to happen.
What they got was a separation of three and one, a clearly uneven distribution. The three were clad in black riot gear, full padded and bullet-resistant gear meant for heavy assault. They were Team Texas, known for being one of the highest rated teams in General Gold’s forces. In simplest terms, they were badasses, and “team One” was about to get curb-stomped. Each of them was dead silent as they went into a game of rock, paper, scissors to see who’d get to beat up the idiot. Not that anyone was able to easily tell them apart, but “Toast” won the throw, leaving “Pete” and “Roadhouse” to wait their turns. It was clear that of the three, Toast was the one with a sense of humor.
On the other side of the arena, stood team One. One being the operative word as there was only one man. He stood tall, with both hands loosely kept in his pockets. Clad in all white to clash with his opposition, he was in a racing jumpsuit with a matching helmet. The British among them could jokingly refer to him as “the Stig” for his appearance and dead silence. While Toast had gotten lined up and squared away into a proper fighting stance, shoulders square, both hands raised, legs and hips three quarters to his opponent, One was doing nothing to attempt to stop the incoming attack.
”…3…”
“…2…”
“…1…”
