How dare you think that you killed me on the upper level of Power House.
Your feeble attempt to throw both of your frag grenades in the room after emptying the clip of your MA5 Assault Rifle insults me.
Now maybe, if most of those bullets actually hit me instead of spraying them around the room, you might have stood a chance, but no, you spilled your rounds like so much teenage seed during puberty.
Now the 2nd grenade definitely would have been the end of me, but your childish aim sent it right to where the first one landed.
My shields were totally down. Down and my health meter had only two bar left. I smelt your fear as you were chucking away, running backwards to reload.
I knew I needed only to get to the doorway facing the bridge to end this.
The same way I knew that you would come charging in with the grace of an intoxicated manatee.
The hardest part was deciding in which way to dispatch you.
Should I wait and stick you with the alien Plasma Grenade and you came charging in. Blessing you the extra seconds of knowing your fate and letting you run around reveling in helplessness.
Or is a blast from my M90 Assault Shotgun followed by a humiliating melee attack more fitting.
THATS RIGHT! I had shotgun!
Your attacks were akin to using rocks compared to my suppeior fire power, and to finish you with a slap from my hand is all to befitting your bitchiness.
These deaths are all to good for a such a poor adversary.
Skills that should not be wasted on an IMBECILE!
The only fitting death for you is an Assisinaton.
A beautifully quite symphony to juxtapose your cacophonous comedy of errors.
So I wait.
I wait to hold down the melee button so that we both can enjoy your end.
You will be surprised, no doubt, at first when your controls do not respond to your repeated random button mashing, but that shock will be nothing compared to the sickening reality that will set in when you witness a context-sensitive, third-person assassination animation.