Scene:
The Security Chief’s personal locker, you’ve made it.

For the last 72 hours, you’ve been shitting your pants. You nearly froze to death clinging to the outer hull. The chief medic tried to incinerate your ass, by accident of course. You’ve been shish-kabobbed, slimed, squashed and beaten. But this—

Engaging the trigger, the auto-harpoon gun whirrs to life. The barbed harpoons flash and glisten, razor sharp and slick with machine oil.

Wrap a few of these suckers with some det cord and those GDMFSRB are going to be in for some serious pain.

“No more running.”

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    • 135 bpm
    • Key: Em
    • © Creative Commons: Attribution, Noncommercial
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