"Son-of-a--shit!" There was a pause as he managed to duck Locus and slip out of the way of one of Felix's slashes almost simultaneously. "Doesitsoundlikeheisalone?!"

This little excursion - currently billed as "Worst Vacation Ever" in his head - was chalking up a list of Things To Do afterwards: beer with York was one, and high five to Wash (because who really said "thank you" anymore) was the other. Gone were the days of swish swish stab, a stubborn method of battle that would not have served him much of anything here. That training that Tucker wanted no part of for so long was probably one of the only thing saving his life at the moment, and while he couldn't exactly admit it lest the honorary Blue Team member get a big fucking ego, he sure as shit was getting him a beer, too.

You know, if he survived.

Tucker couldn't look behind him as Locus' reactions suddenly weren't directed at him. Shit. "Watch your ass, York, because I think I'm losing one here."

But that did free up his back, at least, even if it did leave Felix, a greater of two evils in the Sim Trooper's opinion. Tucker narrowed his eyes, trying to move backwards, trying to get some space between the two of them and hoping like hell he could lure him in the opposite direction as Locus. He needed to keep zombie off monster, and what kind of fucking sentence was that even really?

"Come on, asshole. I bet I can find a grenade lying around here somewhere. We can have a repeat of the Temple for old time's sake."

Come on, asshole. Let's do this shit.