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Yeah, sheesh, go fucking figure. Between the three of them, they had scanned the room with something resembling thoroughness. Turned out there wasn’t anyone hiding under, behind, next to, on top of, or anywhere in the vague vicinity of, the tables. Nobody trying to be all Sam Splinter, tying themselves to the bottom of a table. Roy was almost – and this was a super fucking huge almost, alright? – disappointed. For all their caution and derring-do and Super Fucking Badassery, they could have at least found some loner who’d forgotten that The Safety was a thing.

Wait, no, the guy’s name was Cell Sam, from the game series Splinter Fisher. That was it.

Wait no hang on fuck

Roy clicked his teeth, ran his hand through his hair and under his bandana (fucking gross, by the way, had he really been sweating this much already?), and looked at the ‘’’weapons’’’ of his two buddies. Alright, maybe it was a really fucking good thing there hadn’t been anybody in here. A can of weird looking soda, probably some gross flavour like ‘Beetroot and Tapioca”? A can of what looked like fucking dry ice? Man. He guessed his teeny little lipstick gun really was their best line of defence. The liquid nitrogen could probably do some damage if someone answered ‘yes’ to the question ‘Hey buddy, do you mind awfully if we stick this against your arm for about half an hour and wait for part of it to freeze.’ And as for the soda…

At least the can was kinda heavy? That’d almost be as good as a bullet if you threw it, right?

Johnny seemed to have other plans with the soda, though. Roy frowned at his question. Normally he would be all over scoring a free drink, especially cause his throat was fuckin’ parched right now, and water only tasted good if you’d been actually working out or shit like that. But he had… doubts about this one. “Moxie,” really? What kinda dumbass name was that?

“You sure you wanna crack that open, bro?” Roy asked, stepping forwards to take a better look at the soda. “I mean, those terrorist fuckheads gave it to you. Could be poisoned for all we know. Could be, like… a can of… carbonated arsenic. Or something.”

Roy pulled an unattractive face, then dug into his pocket and pulled out the lipstick gun.

“If it is, then that’s our best shot at a weapon, ‘cause all they gave me was this thing. Tube of fucking lipstick. 'Ruby Blitz' colour, apparently. Like, come the fuck on, nobody wants to see me wearing this! Least, I fucking hope not.”

Yeah, yeah, sue him, he was awful and terrible and all that. Lying to two people he considered friends, and out here, allies. But there were a lot of good reasons for him to keep this close to his chest. You had to be careful as tits around guns. You respect them, they’ll respect you back, and will be much less likely to blow up in your face. You get complacent around a gun, you start making mistakes, and as soon as you start making mistakes, just one of those could send you to kingdom freakin’ come. Remaining as cautious as possible out here? Yeah, that seemed like the surefire way to surviving. Besides, maybe it would be best to keep a trump card up their sleeve. The element of surprise and all that shit, and what would be more surprising than Roy’s weapon? Less lipbalm, more embalm… ing fluid.

Y’know, cause it was actually a gun, and if people got shot by it they’d… they’d die, and embalming fluid was what you…

Alright, fuck off, you try coming up with a better lipstick-gun related pun on the fly.

“So, uh, all that in mind,” Roy said, tucking the definitely very safe and harmless lipstick back into his pocket. “You wanna mosey around in there?”

Roy pointed his thumb at the kitchen area of the mess hall.

“We might not have any decent weapons, but who needs ‘em when we’ve got these gu-THIS gun?”

Roy flexed his good arm and raised his left eyebrow. Aw, yeah. That was cool.
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