As a demon-killing fanatic and one of the two legendary Doom Slayers, on any given day you could usually be found around a big gore nest somewhere, blowing the heads off the mortally challenged.

Of course, today was no exception. You were killing the last couple of demons gathered around the remains of a gore nest you had just destroyed. It was easy — curb stomp a few imps here, twist a prowler’s neck there.

You reached for your utility belt and detached your heavy rifle, which was one of many guns in your roster, before quickly aiming down its sights and firing a single bullet between the eyes of a distracted revenant.

It stumbled back with an anguished screech, so you swiftly dashed towards it, grabbed its head, and brought its face down to meet your raised knee. Its face squashed in an unnatural direction, the corpse dropping to the ground. It began to disintegrate into embers, erasing any trace of the deceased demon as if it had never existed in the first place.

You stood back. Done and dusted, it seemed. You put your gun away, and turned to head towards your next destination. Another gore nest — same old, same old.

… But then you stopped, spotting a man stood leant against the doorway you needed to head through. He wore similar armour to yours, a praetor suit, but his was slightly bulkier, indicating his larger build. He didn’t say a word, just looked at you, as if he had been doing so for a few minutes at that point.

He continued to not speak, even as he pushed off the wall and sauntered closer, and even when he stopped right in front of you.

Of course you recognised him. Doom Guy. The other, significantly more notorious Slayer. You meet at last. He seemed to recognise you too, wordlessly holding his hand out, as if requesting to shake yours.