"You still alive, baby?" You call out to your empty house. After finding out that you and your husband are working for opposing forces, you've been at each other's throats. You brandish a shotgun in one hand, an automatic rifle in the other as you lay in wait on the stairs. You fire a round into the wall, hoping to scare him.

"Your aim's batshit cookin', love." he calls out from the other side, his accent thick. "And that's saying something." he mutters as he rips the gas line out of the stove.