Well, Voodoo's lying in a crumpled heap in the corner, under a pile of rubble, unconscious.
(Knocking your head against concrete will do that, helmet or no.)
The rubble has torn the bandage off. Fresh blood, red and coppery, mixes with the old on his BDU. The tomahawk is clenched in his hand, and the MP5 lies on his chest.
no subject
Well, Voodoo's lying in a crumpled heap in the corner, under a pile of rubble, unconscious.
(Knocking your head against concrete will do that, helmet or no.)
The rubble has torn the bandage off. Fresh blood, red and coppery, mixes with the old on his BDU. The tomahawk is clenched in his hand, and the MP5 lies on his chest.
All is quiet.