Lance fired three times; moments later at the end of the hall, blood exploded from a mercenary’s neck.
Lance ducked beneath a wooden crate, turned to Melvin and shouted, “We’re about to have company!”
Melvin continued to stare at the mechanism attached to an LED timer as he asked, “backup?”
“The other kind,” answered the square-jawed hero.
“Oh.”
A team of mercenaries got off the elevator. Lance yelled, “How much time?”
“How much time left before the bomb goes off or how much time do I need to disarm it?”
“Both!” Lance screamed. He popped up and shot a mercenary through the hand.
“Three minutes and eleven seconds and three minutes respectively.”
“What’s respectively mean?” More mercenaries crashed through the windows.
“In that order,” Melvin stated loudly over the sound of gunfire.
“I don’t remember the order I asked!” Lance screamed.
“Actually, I was the one who chose the initial order.”
Lance grabbed a mercenary in a wristlock and made the poor man shoot himself through his own brain. The hero flipped through the air, grabbed one mercenary in a lucha libre style flying headscissor while firing two guns at the same time. “How much time?!”
Melvin answered, “Oh, I finished like a minute ago. Why? Are you ready to go?’
“You’re seriously done already!?” Lance grunted while strangling a mercenary with his own body armor.
“Yeah. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. Should we take the bomb with us?”
“I guess so,” Lance said, murdering.