No, not Daniels. Not some shitty pirate. Not one of his fucking lackeys, but one of the motherfuckering ghosts coming back to haunt him.
...
Shit, he had been hanging around Wash too much. That was melodramatic even for him.
He waited for the explosion, heard it, felt it roar up the floor through his legs, and he stayed where he was. Did Tucker think it killed him? No. Of course not, and if it had been, how disappointing. He'd have to talk to Kimball about their standards when buying fake mercenaries in the future.
He knew he shouldn't say anything; the air of What If was his best defense, but fuck that. He never listened to rules, to that sort of crap to start with, and he wasn't about to now. That old anger was still there, still gripping him, still holding on, and--
"So, remember awhile ago when I talked about teabagging your useless corpse?" he called out, maintaining cover. "I came to collect. Totally not sorry about not calling first."
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...
Shit, he had been hanging around Wash too much. That was melodramatic even for him.
He waited for the explosion, heard it, felt it roar up the floor through his legs, and he stayed where he was. Did Tucker think it killed him? No. Of course not, and if it had been, how disappointing. He'd have to talk to Kimball about their standards when buying fake mercenaries in the future.
He knew he shouldn't say anything; the air of What If was his best defense, but fuck that. He never listened to rules, to that sort of crap to start with, and he wasn't about to now. That old anger was still there, still gripping him, still holding on, and--
"So, remember awhile ago when I talked about teabagging your useless corpse?" he called out, maintaining cover. "I came to collect. Totally not sorry about not calling first."