I, the Author: A sense of impending doom - Destructoid

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Hello, I am a walrus with an afro. Pleased to meet you.
I'm a cheapo gamer. I won't buy a game unless I'm absolutely sure that I'll get my money's worth, or it's free. My laptop is terrible for gaming, and I'm hoping to one day own a super-gaming computer that will take over the world unless I'm playing video games on it.

Consoles: PS2, Xbox 360, laptop

Games I Enjoy:
Shadow of the Colossus
Half-Life 2
Jedi Outcast
Metal Gear Solid 1+2+3=6(?)
Rainbow 6 Vegas
World of Gooooo
Final Fantasy 6/3
Kingdom Hearts
Fallout 3
Team Fortress 2
Eternal Silence
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"Shh, did you hear something?"

Smacky the Terrorist was jumpy. He had been smuggled across the border of the United Statesby a bunch of Mexican Coyotes, had helped terrorize Las Vegas, and was now holed up in a lounge somewhere in the Vertigo Spire. News had just arrived that the infamous Anti-Terrorist team Rainbow Six was somewhere in the building. The others had laughed it off, but Smacky was nervous.

He leaned against the door, fumbling for a cigarette to calm himself down. He lit up, closed his eyes, and then heard through the door:

"Go silent."
"You go silent."
"No really, I want to do this stealthily this time."
"Like the guys up here didn't hear all the shooting going on downstairs."
"Terrorists are like goldfish. They won't know we're coming."

Smacky's eyes shot open. He motioned frantically at his fellow terrorists, hoping to gain their attention without making noise. Sadly, everyone else was enraptured by a game of poker. Something poked up against his foot, and Smacky looked down with horror. A fiber optic cable. They were watching him.

"Hey! There's a guy right here," said a voice on the other side of the door.
"Moron. When are they going to learn not to stand next to doors?"
"Breaching charge going up. So much for going silent."
"Shut up."

The fiber optic cable retracted. Smacky bent down to peer under the door. Maybe he could see what they were up to--

"On three, ok? One, two -"

The door exploded inwards, wooden shards impaling Smacky where he stood. He collapsed onto the ground, bleeding profusely, his weakening eyes watching as two operatives darted into the room.

"On three! Three! Not two!"
"Be more specific next time."
"Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

Smacky's eyes glazed over. Everything sounded muffled, as if his ears were full of cotton.

"You took my cover! I was going to go there!"
"Wah wah wah! Find your own cover!"
"One on the left! No, but I have a better shot with my sniper rifle if I'm where you are."
"I was here first. Throwing frag."

The last thing Smacky thought was: How the hell did this beat us?

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