For Love. For Honor. For Diabeetus.

>You walked towards the abandoned hangrr, where you were told to meet them.

>They had your precious.

>You swing the door open and are greeted with the sight of 21 armed guards, and your Precious.

>One of the men decides to speak up.

>"You got the money, fucker?"

"Nope"

>The man gets visibly angered at your response.

>"Our boss told us to light you up like a christmas tree if you didn't have the money, asshole!"

>He raises a M1911 at you.

>You hide behind the door as bullets whistle past you, and through the sheet metal of the hanger.

>You fish your phone out of your pocket and press speed dial 1.

"Bring 'er in!"

>You wait not even 3 minutes before you hear the screeching of tires heading in your direction.

>There she is.

>Mounted on the back of a flatbed, an M61 Vulcan, ready to cut some grass.

>Nobody fucks with your Precious.

"Let it rip!"

>You listen as the massive metallic bringer of death hums to life, and spits hellfire out into the hanger.

"YOU FUCKERS PICKED THE WRONG HOSTAGE!"

>After the sounds of flesh being rended by a steady stream of 20 mm slaughter, the barrel of the gun starts to get uncomfortably hot, and the driver shuts it down.

>You peek around the corner.

>Lifeless, limbless, all the good scenes of victory.

>You stroll on through the blood covered concrete floor, over to your Precious.

>You pick it up, and it's just soooo beautiful.

>Returning to the truck, you get in and tell your driver it's time to go.

>Reaching into the glove compartment, you take out a fork.

>You take a bite of your Precious.

"Goddamn, do i love cheesecake."