"Holy shit, he did it! The madman! He actually did it! We're number fucking one!" Grog yelled and shook raised his fist in approval, nearly ecstatic... "You blew up the fuckiIING--" ...But was cut short as the Inca-Mayan behemoth flung him over his back, causing his stomach to wrench violently and send a bit of vomit up to his mouth, though he secured him right after with a pair of ancient-looking chains. Before the dazed Grog had any time to process what happened, a pair of [b]fucking[/b] AA12 automatic shotguns flew upwards.

 Time ran slower as these beauties ascended, and Grog's eyes widened in unhinged glee. Snatching one with each hand by the grip, the boozer slightly raised them and pointed them towards the sky. Instead of usual bellowing, Grog hissed:

 [color=ed1c24]"Shit. Now we're cookin'."[/color]

 As his mighty mansteed moved through the hole and engaged in the pinnacle of 80's-tier tough talk, Grog couldn't help but feel delighted at the chaos inside. It was a long, long time since he saw a prison riot up close, and despite a couple of oddly alarming stomps and crashes, that couldn't have possibly been made by the rioters, it made the young man feel like home. Amidst the ruckus, he saw a peculiar armless demon with a couple of shiny glow-hands floating through the air, but not before creating a miniature fucking sonic boom. Whatever the case, the impact pushed Grog against his safety bindings, releasing a shock of searing pain all the way up his spine, and severely pissing him off. He extended his right arm and fired a couple of shots that proved useless, as they bounced harmlessly from the demon's magical arms. Raising his guns upwards again in a safe position, Grog looked down towards the warrior.

 "Alright. Take us where we need to go, my trigger finger's itchin'."