Is Luck What Makes You S.P.E.C.I.A.L
He honestly couldn't believe the situation he had found himself in. This crazy ass human had just casually strode into the building tearing through all the resistance just as effectively as himself. It had been strange to hear over the intercom that a secondary threat had made it's way through their doors.
At first he had believed it was a second courser assigned to retrieve the same synth, while uncommon, the mistake wasn't unheard of.
But sure enough, it wasn't another courser. But instead a human claiming he 'needed what was in his head'. The fight that has ensued was simultaneously the longest and shortest fight of his life. Filled with lasers, gunshots, knives, and grenades a-plenty.
Eventually he wound up in the position he was currently residing. Laying with his back on the ground and his gun just out of reach.
And that's when he heard it. The deafening sound of a gun's hammer being pulled into place, and its bull-barrel being pointed towards his head. The blue suited man standing there stone faced. Z2-47 threw a glance towards his gun.
"Now I know what your thinking," the man with a cool and collected voice "did he fire six shots or only five... Well in all the excitement it would seem I've lost count myself." The man smirked a disgusting an arrogant smirk "Well this here is a bull-barreled 44 Magnum, the most powerful ballistic hand gun ever made." The man's dropped "So here's what you need to ask yourself. 'Is Luck what makes me S.P.E.C.I.A.L'" there was a pause "Well is it... punk?!"
Z2 lunged for his gun... Only to be shot down like a dog.