The four of you approach the gates and the beasts make short work of the guards-- they're fighting masters after all. The grass feels soft against your feet as you jog to the launch point. Once in position, you windup, taking a few steps back before letting your javelin loose into the air. It soars through the thick air and lands at the 15m mark. Glorious.
A police helicopter rises above the stadium and immediately shoots the three mutants before ordering you to the ground. You fall to your stomach with your hands on your head. You are never heard from again, but your mother finds your craigslist ad and blames your death on lust. But none of that matters since you accomplished your goal. Your only regret was that you arrived four days before the track and field events occurred, so no one saw you perform in the empty stadium.
Congratulations. Thanks for playing. Don't do drugs.
And you thought women had one-dimensional script intros that treated them like sex objects. Ewoks have it even worse.
No one seems to like the new Doom box art. But it's still the same old Doom Guy under that space marine helmet. Right?
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