[i]The door to the bar opened, and none other than the Courier entered, clad in his full power armor and gear, the massive machine gun on his shoulder aimed skywards, the eyes of his helmet glowing a fiery orangish yellow. Entering the bar, most people moved out of his way, eyes fixated on him in both awe and terror. Wilson was no laughing matter, and certainly had no problems killing people for less than not letting him through. Approaching the bar, however, a man sitting on one of the stools was exactly where Wilson was headed. Grabbing the man by the throat, Wilson threw him backwards and into someone's table before sitting down on the stool himself, waiting for the bartender to approach. [/i]