Adrian wasn't sure if it was the extremely loud guitar riff or the shotgun blowing a hole in his door that woke him up. The Sergeant sat bolt upright, sidearm in hand as the desk that had apparently been barricading the door teetered somewhat, and collapsed onto the floor.
"What the FU-" The marine yelled before a second blast cut him off, blowing a second hole through the door, this time taking the doorknob with it. This prompted a dazed and confused Adrian to roll off the bed (or at least what was left of it; it looked like it had been burned badly) and onto a small pile of glass bottles. They did not react well to the sudden introduction of force, and Adrian's bare back was introduced rather painfully to a number of glass shards.
"Cocksucker!" He slowly began to sit up as whoever had disturbed his slumber kicked the door into the room and barreled in, shotgun raised, screaming a battlecry. Or obscenities. It was very hard to be sure with the expensive, and now rather damaged, 12-piece sound system that had been purchased recently and dumped into the corner of the room and set to maximum volume. Regardless, he barreled straight into the desk that he had knocked over, and more or less flipped over it, breaking the desk at the site of its shotgun wound, and throwing him to the ground. The shotgun went off again, doing nothing for Adrian's hangover, and blowing a hole in the ceiling.
As the intruder untangled himself from a broken desk, the medic pulled his bleeding back off the broken bottles. The guy with the shotgun got up first, groaning a bit. He then spotted Adrian before shouldering his shotgun and yelling. Adrian, not eager to be the target of such a weapon, dove... into the broken glass again. The wall next to him exploded into chunks of wood thanks to the 12 gauge shell. Decane yelled again, now more in exasperation at his inability to dodge the accursed pile of point objects than pain, and gave the ruined mattress a good shove towards his assailant. The bed hit the man just above the knees.
A lucky situation for him, as the space formerly occupied by his torso was quickly occupied by a .45 round, while the rest of the magazine was blind-fired around the room. The barrage ended up blowing out the only remaining window, and judging by the instantaneous stop in music, the sound system as well.
This time, both men were able to get to their feet at the same time before noticing one another again. "Fuckmeat Sandwich!" yelled Adrian. "Holy Cockshit!" yelled the man, identified by a nametag as "Dwayne Kaviarr", and as the consierge of some hotel or another. Both snapped their weapon to aim at the other. For a brief second, they hesitated. Would this really be the end? They pulled their triggers.
They pulled their triggers again. Another dry "click". No more ammo. Both men looked at their weapons. Then at each other. "Fuck!" they yelled in unison. Dwayne raised his shotgun above his head and attempted to leap forward towards the marine sergeant, intent on bludgeoning him into submission. Adrian belted his gun as hard as he could at Dwayne's forehead. The be-suited consierge went down onto the filthy mattress, screaming bloody murder.
Adrian grinned and made for a jump over his felled opponent, and failed, namely due to the hand that shot out and wrapped itself around his ankle. The medic hit the filthy carpeting of the room, hard. He groaned and pushed himself up. Until he heard a scream behind him (this time he was sure it was just a battlecry), and felt Dwayne slam into his back. "Oh fuck!" he yelled as he fell forward onto a table. The piece of furniture snapped on impact, spilling Adrian to floor amidst dozens of splinters and pieces of sharp wood. He spotted a table leg amidst the wreckage and grabbed it, turning to face Dwayne just in time to see the man bumrushing him again.
A bumrush that failed miserably when the table leg impacted the hotel worker's legs. He was airborne instantly, right through the open bathroom door. A massive crack sounded when his head connected with, and shattered, the porcelain toiled bowl. Water spilled over Dwayne as he hit the ground and stayed there, groaning and grabbing his head.
Adrian pushed himself to his feet, wavering slightly thanks to the various traumas that had been afflicted upon him in the past several minutes. He looked wildly across the room before spotting his uniform shirt. He grabbed the garment, pulling it over his head, and wincing when it touched the numerous cuts on his back. He pulled the wallet from his back pocket, extracting a large roll of bills. He wasn't a thief, after all. At least not at the moment. Noticing Dwayne was beginning to actually try to sit up, Adrian grabbed a plastic ash tray from the table and wrapped it in the cash. "Hey, cocksucker!" he called as he threw the package through the bathroom door. "Motherfucker!" came the response as it hit the concierge in the elbow. Adrian didn't wait up to see what he would say next, and was already over the broken desk and out the door towards freedom.
----
Moments later, after quickly extracting himself from Kavviar Suites, Adrian limped through the hangar doors towards the Dust Devil. The disheveled, beret-less Sergeant with a bloody pullover didn't seem to be the least conspicuous beast in the area. None the less, Adrian got up the ramp into the Red Hill, and made his way to the passenger section.
"Decane reporting fo- Oh. She's asleep." Adrian said as he limped through the door, blinking at the congregation of several marines around their CO. "She's asleep." He repeated, laughing in disbelief. "You're FUCKING kidding me! She's still asleep! AUUGH!" the medic yelled in stressed anger before more or less falling into a seat. He promptly almost threw himself out of it when it hit the glass wounds, but stayed seated none the less before resting his head in his hands and attempting to fall back asleep himself.
