The Arab was an angry man. But he was not unreasonable. A lot of bluster ultimately meant little, when these negotiations were so important to his master. But he had to put on his show. He'd let things heat up a bit, and cool them down, hopefully with no more interruptions. Sadly...
"Suck my diiiiiiiiccck!"
"Sir, look out!"
The negotiator was saved from the first blast by one of his soldiers leaping in front of it. His armor sizzled and blew away. Wilbur was a quick thinker, and made a sound that almost seemed like a man trying to talk while breathing in. The deceased guard's armor was brought to life, yanking him up to take another hit. Then he took another. And that was all; the next blast blew clean through a previous wound and struck the Arab in his chest. His shirt and layers of flesh were peeled away as he was flung into the side of the pickup truck. And then the attacker, Charles, flew straight into him, denting the side and cracking several of his visible ribs.
The soldiers stood for a moment, in stunned silence. They shared a look.
Guns were pointed at the clone speaking, and a thousand bullets ripped him to a bloody pulp. Shotguns were pumped and unloaded at the others standing close by, and marksmen took aim at those who had attempted to surround the convoy. Pinpoint shots came at all not standing within thirty feet, aiming to take them down quickly.
The two men closest to the back of the semi shared a glance.
"Jonesy?" one asked.
"Jonesy." the other replied.
They each grabbed a door on the back, and pulled it open. "Jonesy!" one called. "They're hostile!"
A voice came from inside, youthful and grating, but distorted. Deep.
"About TIME!"
A shadow jolted out from inside, every motion shaking the truck and threatening to tear it apart. He leaped out, and charged the man who had just brutalized the Arab. A gray-skinned, meaty fist wrapped tight around his torso and lifted him up into the air.
The man who grabbed him was at least ten feet tall, bare-chested and in blue jeans. His face was ludicrously square-jawed, but underneath could be seen the hints of what was once a teenaged boy. Strange, dull brown eyes stared at him in cold fury. His head was shaved bald, only hints of stubble were left. His torso was disproportionately large, being made of bulky, sinewy muscle that looked ready to pop out of his skin at the slightest provocation. His legs were stocky, but gigantic, and barefoot. All in all, a machine of pure power and death, ready to begin its work.
This was Jonesy.
"You." he growled at Charles. "You made an enemy of the god, Mercury. That was a mistake."
He began to squeeze, a pressure like a bulldozer was crushing him coming in from all sides.
"Suck my diiiiiiiiccck!"
"Sir, look out!"
The negotiator was saved from the first blast by one of his soldiers leaping in front of it. His armor sizzled and blew away. Wilbur was a quick thinker, and made a sound that almost seemed like a man trying to talk while breathing in. The deceased guard's armor was brought to life, yanking him up to take another hit. Then he took another. And that was all; the next blast blew clean through a previous wound and struck the Arab in his chest. His shirt and layers of flesh were peeled away as he was flung into the side of the pickup truck. And then the attacker, Charles, flew straight into him, denting the side and cracking several of his visible ribs.
The soldiers stood for a moment, in stunned silence. They shared a look.
Guns were pointed at the clone speaking, and a thousand bullets ripped him to a bloody pulp. Shotguns were pumped and unloaded at the others standing close by, and marksmen took aim at those who had attempted to surround the convoy. Pinpoint shots came at all not standing within thirty feet, aiming to take them down quickly.
The two men closest to the back of the semi shared a glance.
"Jonesy?" one asked.
"Jonesy." the other replied.
They each grabbed a door on the back, and pulled it open. "Jonesy!" one called. "They're hostile!"
A voice came from inside, youthful and grating, but distorted. Deep.
"About TIME!"
A shadow jolted out from inside, every motion shaking the truck and threatening to tear it apart. He leaped out, and charged the man who had just brutalized the Arab. A gray-skinned, meaty fist wrapped tight around his torso and lifted him up into the air.
The man who grabbed him was at least ten feet tall, bare-chested and in blue jeans. His face was ludicrously square-jawed, but underneath could be seen the hints of what was once a teenaged boy. Strange, dull brown eyes stared at him in cold fury. His head was shaved bald, only hints of stubble were left. His torso was disproportionately large, being made of bulky, sinewy muscle that looked ready to pop out of his skin at the slightest provocation. His legs were stocky, but gigantic, and barefoot. All in all, a machine of pure power and death, ready to begin its work.
This was Jonesy.
"You." he growled at Charles. "You made an enemy of the god, Mercury. That was a mistake."
He began to squeeze, a pressure like a bulldozer was crushing him coming in from all sides.