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The doors opened and into the arena stepped Angelo White, a boy looking no older than his teens, and looking almost pale as he paced slowly and steadily towards the center. His eyes darted around the interior of the arena, glancing at each and every face in the stands, and he sighed heavily when he realized just how many there were.

So, his hands in the pockets of the tattered tan overcoat this young boy wore over his casual clothing, Angelo waited silently and nervously for this whole ordeal to get underway.

'...I hate this...'

The flashbang went off, but luckily enough, or perhaps because the boy had managed in that short span of time to notice the device, identify it, and look away, Angelo was not staring directly into the flash when it went off. However, with his ears now ringing, the boy removed his hands from his pockets to cup them over his ears in an instinctive responce to try and quell the constant noise that was not coming from outside.

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"I'm sorry, I- I don't understand..." the boy replied to the gibbrish in a wavering tone that was almost inaudible. For a moment he watched the opponent bounce up and down, though not necessarilly because it was an odd sight, but because he was studying the weapons on the bouncing man and taking the time to recall the specifics on each of them.

Kalashnikov AK-47, 7.62 caliber round, 30 round magazine, 600 rounds per minute rate of fire.
Ammunition cartridges for the AK-47.
Ammunition cartridges for an unspecified pistol type.
Implied presence of an unspecified type of pistol.
Explosive device of unfamiliar design.

The boy took another moment, then removed his hands from his ears, holding them at his sides, the ringing was beginning to subside, but at least it was enough so that he couldn't hear the people in the stands shouting, cheering, and heckling. He took a step forwards, towards the opponent, with his eyes fixed upon one single point on the opponent's body, and he sighed deeply.

"I'm sorry about all this..."

(( Your character entertains me so. ))


"Pardon?" the boy replied, not recognizing what exactly the CS f** was trying to convey with his vocalized numeric script. "If you could use english I'd be much obliged... sweatdrop "


Angelo simply stood near the center of the arena, watching Peppers bound in circles around the outskirts of the area, bunnyhopping and crouching, apparently trying to make himself the fastest, smallest target that he could so that any ligitimate players would have a hard time hitting him with their own guns... however, Angelo did not have a gun, nor did he really believe in weapons or violence in general. As long as Peppers continued to harmlessly bunnyhop around the area, Angelo would continue to watch and try to think of how to put an end to the fight.


The first grenade bounced upon the ground at Angelo's feet, and Angelo deftly kicked it aside without incident. When the flashbang ignited, he could not see the flash, but the bang still left that same ringing in his ears that he last one had. Unfortunately for the hacker, there was a lapse in judgement on the CS f**'s part: throwing the flashbang before the other four grenades would mean one of two things; either there was a delay between the flashbang and the other four grenades being thrown, or Peppers was staring directly at the boy and the flashbang while he threw four more grenades.

Regardless, the other four grenades would never actually reach the boy. With a dash that matched the speed that the CS f** had given himself, Angelo rushed past the four grenades while they were still airborne, under the arc so that they landed a good distance behind him and when they did ignite, Peppers would find himself bouncing along beside the boy, who was running around the outskirts of the arena right beside Peppers.

"...could we... possibly be civil about this, sir?" the boy asked, appologetically.

Angelo would not have noticed the change in a holstered weapon from a distance of 150 feet, at least not when he was watching other things, but when it was pulled out he was able to recognize that a shotgun does not equal an assault rifle.


It takes a far from intelligent person to stand, unarmed, in front of a man weilding a shotgun if he can possibly avoid doing so. Regardless, however, Angelo had rushed in beside the hacker and attempted diplomacy on the matter; diplomacy which had apparently failed.

Though, as anyone familiar with the device can attest to, firearms have one truly fatal error in design: something must be directly in front of them to be hit by them. With Peppers holding a loaded firearm, the most basic course of action that should come to mind would be: get out of the way. It was this that the boy was obligated to do when Peppers attempted to fire- not by dodging to the side or trying to outrun the bullets or anything like that, but simply by ducking quickly to the side, as he was traveling right beside the CS f**.


The most significant difficulty that Peppers would soon realize about this matchup was that, while Peppers could move quickly, he was used to firing at 'helpless' targets that moved much slower than he did, which meant that when two things moving at a high speed shifted directions, there would be next to no time to adjust the aim of his weapon. In this case, however, it was not another hacker that he was up against, but simply a boy who could naturally move at that high rate of speed... which also meant that this boy could react to stimuli on a whole different level than Peppers would be able to.

Angelo had been watching Pepper's itchy little trigger finger, and the moment it moved the boy had turned outside and crossed over behind Pepper.

"Please, if you would-" the boy stammered, coming to a dead stop as Peppers dropped from his bunnyhop and, with one fluent motion, grabbed the back of Pepper's collar with his left hand and swung the CS f** backwards to the ground. With his right hand the boy grabbed the stock of the shotgun and proceeded to wrench it sideways, intending to tear it from Pepper's grip or break the man's fingers in the attempt.

"...I'm sorry if that hurt, it's just that I- what I mean is that- I would like to avoid any of this if we could... please..."

Angelo, reacting to this change of tactic, would abandon his attempt at grasping the opponent, himself, and quickly redirect his already raised hand to grab the barrel/stock of the shotgun while the boy took a quick step behind himself with his right foot. Altogether, the motion would turn his body so that his back was close to facing Peppers, but he would not only have grabbed the shotgun, but pushed the barrel away from him in the process of the turn.

When the weapon fired, the barrel quickly heated up with the burning gasses, and it was painful to continue holding on; however, Angelo would endure it and proceed to attempt and rip the weapon away from the opponent.

Peppers should have been able to maintain his grip, and Angelo was able to maintain his own, so that left only one logical result of this all...

...except that didn't happen. The boy did not budge an inch, even if Peppers were to throw all of his weight into swinging that shotgun around. Instead, the boy brought the barrel of the shotgun up and around, then stepped in with his right and smashed the side of his right forearm down upon the back of the weapon. Either this would tear the weapon from Peppers' grip finally, or it would break the barrel off of the weapon.

"Sir, please... could we possibly- I mean, it would prevent so much trouble if we could only... a truce, maybe? I don't want to hurt you... please..."

The barrel of a gun is commonly molded of one solid piece of steel, running from the stock, and including the chamber, all the way to the muzzle of the barrel. If the end of the barrel were unmoving, held in place by something, and the stock were held in an equally unyeilding manner, the result of a heavy force coming down upon the back of the barrel near the chamber would not cleanly snap off a portion of the barrel in any way; rather, either the barrel would horribly distort, warping and bending and then perhaps breaking after being distorted, or the barrel would detatch from the stock of the weapon, breaking the (much more fragile than the barrel itself) fastenings which hold together all of the moving parts in the action of the weapon and breaking off the barrel, chamber, and ejection port. The weapon would become unusable because at that point it would more or less be a stock with a trigger and a hole that cartridges pop out of.


No, it wasn't. It was entirely possible that this pixelated menace had a convenient polygon break halfway down the barrel of his weapon that just happened to snap in some sort of catastrophic system crash, seeing as such a thing was not intended to happen in Counterstrike.

's really the narrator's call on this one.


Scenario the 1st.

While Angelo was staring, stunned, for a moment at the piece of metal that had just cleanly come off of the opponent's theoretically solid barrel in his hand, Peppers would have had just enough time to swing the gun around a few inches and pull the trigger.

Bam!

The newly sawed-off shotgun blew a hole straight through- ...his shirt. The entire midsection of the shirt was blown apart like a wet kleenex, and the area of Angelo's midsection that was hit would be:

• In the event that the round was buckshot: Bits of buckshot had sunken into the skin and caused dozens of minor lacerations; the area began bleeding profusely for a brief moment, but after a few seconds there would be no more blood coming from the wounds.
• In the event that the round was pellets, there would be no immediate noticable change in the area, though a few seconds later red welts would appear all over where the pellets had struck, soon after turning black and blue as bruises tended to.

Wasting almost no time, the boy would reply to this direct attack in a much more direct manner than he had in the entire fight up until this point: he would grab a firm hold upon Peppers' right shoulder and drag the man back again, while immediately afterwards using the piece of the barrel in his hand to club Peppers in the back of the head as if it were a sap; the intent clearly to knock him out.


Scenario the 2nd.

Crack!

The wood/polymer base of the stock would splinter as the barrel tore straight off of the weapon and was tossed up, over the hundred foot wall surrounding them, and into the stands.

The boy would stand with a firm composure for the first time, not really twitching or stressing as he had been; his breathing was erratic, it was clear that he was still a little panicked, but he was in control now.

"I'll ask you again, one more time, to just walk away before you get hurt."