Bobby may not have been able to hear anything but Damon certainly could; after this I'm REALLY considering asking Scott we go back to restricting sublevel access he thought to himself as he pulled on his old, hated armor. The bulky blue plating barely measured up to what the Imperium would've considered scout armor and it probably wouldn't have protected him but right now it was the only protection he had from a chainsword-wielding psycho apart from his snub pistol and his lancer.
Guess Ragnar doesn't wanna compare chainsaw weapons he thought bitterly as he heard Frostfang's teeth begin to chew through the door of his workshop; the squealing scrapes and growling engine were accompanied by a waterfall of sparks that landed on the cement floor.
The Seran had already sent messages to all the other X-Men to, in his words, "get the fuck down here because our new guest has finally snapped and now he's about to chainsaw me apart so what the fuck are you waiting for?" He then turned the PA on... I could probably take this guy out with enough bullets but apart from the fact I really don't want to have to clean up the mess, I don't wanna take a risk like that right now.. "Hey Ragnar," Damon began over the PA system; there was no trace of fear in his corrosively disainful rasp. "If you're trying to complain about the food this is the wrong place. What the fuck is wrong with you?!? You still remember you're in a different fucking universe, right? Or are you going into flashback-PTSD-land? Seriously, you've probably got me beat on the 'shitty homeworld' thing, you don't need to out-shell-shocked-vet me too. Put down the fucking chainsword."
In spite of Damon's inimitable incivility, he was not one to underestimate the potential threat being posed by the man. Fuck, he was unhinged when he got here, threated to kill me and now he's trying to go through with it... He was glad that the loaded bullets were hollow-point rounds. The sensation of the trigger against his finger was almost soothing right then.