"Shit, this is bad." He met the next shambling undead head-on, his power armor delivering a crushing blow. His right hand clutched a powered knife, its blade dulled from the relentless chopping of undead flesh.
"We're all gonna die here," a comrade's voice crackled through the comms, his own power armor echoing the grim reality in the other sector.
"Yeah," Joel replied, his voice strained as he hacked away at the undead with his dulled knife, "Remember the training? When there's no way out..."
"Overload the fuel cell," his friend finished, a tremor of fear in his voice. "Don't let the armor fall into enemy hands. But..." he hesitated, "that means getting cooked from the inside out. Hot enough to melt titanium."
"According to the manual," Joel said, his voice flat as he continued dispatching undead, "our brains shut down first. We won't feel a thing."