Rolled 19, 6 = 25 (2d20)
>>6087701And after cracking his shoulders, Bed Dragon crossed his hands behind his spine and methodically cracked every disc he could. The D-staffers watched half-impressed, half-annoyed at the possibility of BD breaking his spine and forcing them to rebuild him again. One even gestured to the stapler and a wheelchair in the corner, but was met with a shrug from his compatriot and a spirited slap across the face from Bed Dragon leaving the room to try his new equipment and raid the fridge.
Equipped with close to a ton of Q-Colas and armed in a combat exoskeleton of unknown origin found in the attic, covered by a jacket that would fit a cyberpunked giant, merc kicked the airlock open for the good luck and used it as a skateboard, performing a sick heavy-metal kickflip and sending the sheet of metal flying into the nearby group of gas-masked resistance fighters. Bed Dragon didn't need no lame mask, his (new) helmet attached to the exo's life support was more than enough. It was time to bring down the fucking tower.
The merc could hear droids behind him grumble as they fished the airlock out of gore and dragged it back to re-seal the building.
>Rolling for sickness of the flip>Fending off normies and women as BD zooms (exo go fast) through the streets towards the tower that killed him (or another one) 