Dennis
You kick the door, leaving your foot as sore as your back, before going into a methed-up biker-monologue about your past adventures, from when Old Bubba told you and Jim Slimm about the bunker, then Big Bixby tried to stop you from getting in and that crazy shootout you were too high to participate in happened and those damn robots chased you and Jim all the way back to the compound. Good times, good times.
Virgo
Boredom and curiosity tell you to approach the old thing, and you oblige them. Clicking the space bar with your finger, you're treated to a five-second, ancient startup sound before the terminal's dark green light bathes the cubicle. Text pops up on the screen soon after.
>Emergency Procedures
>Secondary Armory Control [Administrator Required]
>Log off
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