General Crisis Fairfax strides generally before the crack team of soldiers he has hand-picked to go into Daisingdale to retrieve Dr. Gnarlhawk Sinclair. Despite their crackedness, the men shuffle nervously in their oversized yellow hazmat suits. Crisis realizes he needs to make a morale-rousing speech…
Crisis: “When I look at you all I can’t help but think of me, and my first unit, back in The War. We didn’t have those suits, or the technical backup that exists in modern warfare, but in many ways we weren’t so different… Well, we were all drafted. It seems crazy to me that you people volunteer for this kind of thing, but who I am to judge? You’re a different generation. You’ve all grown up seeing people blown apart and dismembered on your Playstations and what have you, so I guess you’re not scared by that… What’s you’re name soldier?”
Soldier: “Mmph mmph mmph mmph.”
Crisis stares at the reflective soldier’s visor for a moment, seeing nothing but his own face.
Crisis: “You remind me of an old friend, son. Shooter McDee we called him – If he was here now he could tell you men a thing a two! Heh, heh….. Poor old Shooter. The real lesson to be learned from Shooter is when to duck. Pretty much, most of the time.”
The men look at each other, and then slowly duck into crouched stances. Crisis nods solemnly.