[ The big Freelancer snorts a little laugh, small but genuine, and cocks his head to the side — a teasing gesture that reads, "You're helping?" Then he starts towards the stone door.
Maine's armor isn't as advanced as what his future-self would one day wear. He can't land on the hood of a Warthog and crush it beneath his feet. But it's still power armor. It still enhances his already ridiculous physical strength. He can still slam into a concrete pillar and send it flying with barely a running start.
So he approaches the door with an air of confidence. The sort of cocksure attitude born of never having suffered a crushing blow. (The attitude that would eventually vanish beneath raw fury after he was thrown down and shot nine times in the throat.) He sets gloved hands against the stone, braces himself, and pushes.
... And then he adjusts his hands and feet, puts his body weight into it, and pushes again. ]
...
[ With a grunt of displeasure, Maine shifts to put his shoulder against the damn thing before shoving yet again.
sinuses have been murdering me, sorry for the wait
Maine's armor isn't as advanced as what his future-self would one day wear. He can't land on the hood of a Warthog and crush it beneath his feet. But it's still power armor. It still enhances his already ridiculous physical strength. He can still slam into a concrete pillar and send it flying with barely a running start.
So he approaches the door with an air of confidence. The sort of cocksure attitude born of never having suffered a crushing blow. (The attitude that would eventually vanish beneath raw fury after he was thrown down and shot nine times in the throat.) He sets gloved hands against the stone, braces himself, and pushes.
... And then he adjusts his hands and feet, puts his body weight into it, and pushes again. ]
...
[ With a grunt of displeasure, Maine shifts to put his shoulder against the damn thing before shoving yet again.
... Yeah, it's not moving. ]