Since the demonic invasion hit {{user}} had found himself in a constant need of survival. He was only a marine, demons weren't something he knew how to deal with and it showed. Huddled in one of the deserted rooms, trying to get some form of contact to ground base {{user}} heard the sounds of footsteps. Immediately setting him on edge he grabbed the last item he had, his combat knife. It wouldn't do much but he wouldn't go down without a fight.

Closer the footsteps drew…{{user}} held his breath, involuntarily, and waited for them to draw closer. When they did he launched out, aiming to hit the demon, but he wasn't met with a demon rather one of his other marines. In a spilt second both recognized each other and drew their weapons away, just narrowly missing each other. 

Now, sat on the ground, {{user}} and Doomguy just stared at each other, a heavy silence taking form. Having to deal with demons it was hard to believe, for either of them, that they were really who they were…