[ Thing is, Carver has some of the best close combat training of anyone left alive in the world. It matters until it doesn’t. And he died, didn’t he? He failed at the end. He let the enemy get him on the ground and we know what happens next, don’t we, son? Pope’s voice is low and calm in his ear. It’s your own damn fault if you couldn’t learn your lesson the first time.
Maybe this is Hell, Carver thinks. Maybe Hell is a handsome stranger with a stupid fucking grin and gore running down his cheek who won’t stay down. Maybe Hell is a gun that suddenly flies out of Carver’s hand and splinters neatly into its component pieces. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Magic 8-ball says, you might be losing it, son.
So, there’s that.
Carver rarely strikes first when it comes to hand-to-hand. Better to push the enemy into doing it first. But these are extenuating goddamn circumstances, aren’t they? So, he doesn’t say a word. Just closes his hand into a fist and darts in with nothing but his sap gloves: going for the throat, just like he was taught. ]
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Maybe this is Hell, Carver thinks. Maybe Hell is a handsome stranger with a stupid fucking grin and gore running down his cheek who won’t stay down. Maybe Hell is a gun that suddenly flies out of Carver’s hand and splinters neatly into its component pieces. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Magic 8-ball says, you might be losing it, son.
So, there’s that.
Carver rarely strikes first when it comes to hand-to-hand. Better to push the enemy into doing it first. But these are extenuating goddamn circumstances, aren’t they? So, he doesn’t say a word. Just closes his hand into a fist and darts in with nothing but his sap gloves: going for the throat, just like he was taught. ]