A-dee-dee-dooo, standin' in one place. A-dum-dum-deeeee. God, this is so boring. Hey, I wonder if they ever caught that mass murderer who earlier today was indiscriminately slaughtering security guards like myself, and also all those soldiers and mercenaries. Last I remember, he was in the next town over after a reign of terror that had been bringing him in this direction. Oh well, no time to think about that now. I have to turn around, walk twelve paces, peer around for bad guys, and then repeat. Just like I do every day, for hours on end. And here I go, turning around...now.
Hmm, I wonder what those footsteps behind me were. No matter. I'm sure Tony will investigate. Good ol' trusty Tony. We never say anything to each other than, "Huh? What was that?!" whenever we hear a pebble hit a nearby wall, but I feel as though he is my brother, such is our bond. I guess that's what happens when you patrol the same 20-foot stretch of grass and rusted metal grate together for hours every single day.
And now my pacing in this direction has come to an end and I will turn around and walk back to my original spot. Walkin', walkin', walkin'. One foot in front of the other. Almost there, and–oh no! Tony! What have they done to you, old friend?! Throat cut, stripped of your gun, ammunition and wallet. This is no way for a noble soldier in the service of pacing back and forth to shuffle this mortal coil. No way at all.
"Show yourself!" I yell to the wind, waggling my gun around and walking in circles around Tony's body. I will find his murderer! He will be avenged!
...OK, well a good 45 seconds have passed since the last time I heard anything. Maybe Tony just had a heart attack? Better to return to my patrol. I can always ask questions later. I don't get paid the big bucks to think about such matters. I am paid to walk back and forth on this here patch of grass and metal.
Now I am back on patrol. Mustn't pay too much attention to Tony's corpse. What if he turns into a ghost and haunts me? That's really not my scene. No, better to carry on pacing back and forth. That's what Tony would have wanted. Probably. I guess I don't really know anything about him other than how he liked to yell, "What was that?!" and sometimes, "Show yourself!" whenever we heard a noise. Classic Tony.
Heh, yep, guess things are settling back down to normal here at Chez Grass And Metal now that Tony's been dead for upwards of two minutes. Hey, I wonder if his death had anything to do with that mass murderer who was coming our way until very recently. No, that's too much of a coincidence. Tony wouldn't–
Hey! I very clearly just saw someone's head poking out of that tall grass over there! That briefly alarms me!
"Who's there?!" I yell. Hmmm. Nothing. If someone were there, they would surely answer my question by saying, "It is I, an ally," or something to that effect. No, that must have just been an optical illusion. Foxfire, perhaps, or a will-o'-the-wisp. Or maybe Tony's vengeful ghost. Whatever it was, best not to agitate it further. I shall now return to my pacing. Back and forth, here we go. Ten thousand times more, with feeling, to coin a phrase. Ha! If only Tony were around to hear that one!
Hey! Who's that squatting behind that husk of a broken-down car? Is that–nay, it can't be! The mass murderer?
Heyyy, mister, why are you pointing that gun at me? I will now raise my gun in response, and–no. You shot me. Well, time to die. I only hope that my corpse will not be looted for ammunition, cash, and body armor. See you on the other side, Tony. Ack!