Dr. Hazmat climbed the small mound of earth and wreckage that, at one time, was a compact car. He enjoyed his job... they all called him the cleanup crew. His only complaint was that most of his work done alone, as there were very few boosts with his qualifications. He took a short breath from the small air filter and hopped from his perch, intent on finding his first mess to clean.
"Wonder how many are left this time," Hazmat thought to himself. He did that alot, not just when the voices spoke. He entered a small hardened structure much like an oversized bunker and pulled his sidearm of choice: the 20mm Glint of Cold Steel pistol favored by Allied Mayhem Inc. soldiers. Hazmat chuckled at the notion. Hunting AMI grunts with their favorite weapon. Pushing the thoughts aside, the soldier stepped over several contorted bodies and took in his surroundings.
The large room was littered with brass casings and bits of shrapnel. Several bodies lay scattered across the floor, not contorted like the last bunch Hazmat came across. He nudged one blackened corpse over and looked it over briefly.
"Non-boost... .50 caliber sidearm... not much body armor... cause of death... incineration." Hazmat always mumbled to himself while working. He liked how professional he sounded when listing things like that. Exhaling sharply from the odor of burned flesh, Hazmat continued to the other side of the room. He noticed a panel in the floor, and moved to open it, then reconsidered. If there was anything left alive around here besides himself, it would be down there, and very very hostile. Dr. Hazmat grumbled to himself and dug a small canister from his side pocket.
"Always hated doing this.."
With a swift motion, Hazmat twisted the handle on the panel, lifted hard, and rolled aside. There was a brief pause before he heard a muffled weapon report from inside the small shaft. Hazmat continued rolling and stopped underneath a small table, quickly knocking it onto its side. The force of the grenade fired from the shaft knocked the table back into the lone soldier and pushed him back several feet.
Hazmat wasted no time. In moments he was up from his covered position, canister in hand. A deft throw left the canister bouncing down the shaft with cries of alarm following soon after. Hazmat smiled at the pop-hiss sound as his small bundle of death did its job. It wasnt as fun as some of the other stuff he used to have, but budget cuts and the like had reduced him to using cyanide, and at times chlorine gas. The Doc pulled his combat goggles into position, pulled his secondary sidearm, the .50 caliber, and dropped into the shaft.
He hit the ground and rolled, almost expecting accurate gunfire. Several shots were taken at him, but they were hopelessly wide.
"Well... the ricochet almost got me," Hazmat remarked almost in a disappointed tone. "No worries... I'll have my purple heart someday."
Hazmat walked warily to the coughing, writhing forms. One hulking form was still on his knees, sidearm in hand. He tried to raise it to fire at Hazmat, but the arm wouldn't respond.
"You big boosts are all the same," Doc said, "you can dish it out, but a little bit of poison and you spit your guts out like everyone else." Hazmat ended his conversation with three 20mm bullets to the giant's chest. He added two .50 caliber shots to the head for good measure.
"Never can be too careful with those ones..."
Hazmat surveyed what was left of the scene. Three more boosted soldiers, one of which was still attempting to breathe, and four non-boosts, all dead. With a short burst from his 20mm, Hazmat finished the boost off and climbed back up the shaft.
"Dr. Hazmat here," the soldier spoke into his communicator, "area secure, bring some mops."