Part one .
Ginger
1.Fireproof Ginger
Hidden purposely in the sun dappled
shadows of the concrete urban undergrowth of Steck-Kai-Sung city, crouched a coral
orange stickman. He clutched a turret gun in his hand and an alizarin snake
leather cap fitted over his circular ginger orange head. The cap was caged in
goldenrod which was a precious stick metal that could be compared to titanium
crossed with pure gold. He was wearing a white army dog tag around his neck
that bore a traditionally created mafia
crest, it was a myrtle green stickman with a rare breed of snake called an
alizarin meandering around him in embrace an of partnership.
The stickman held up his gun to the
classic sniper handgun targeting position as a purple violet stickwoman with an
emerald python tattoo walked by. He fired his pistol but amazingly the silent stickwoman
dodged the anthrax doused bull ammunition in a sharp blur. She summoned in a
flash of white light a crude, but reliable samurai sword and held it at the
ready.
“A mage, damn, they’re difficult,” cursed
the ginger stickman.
“Let me show you how difficult we can be,”
taunted the Mage
He
leapt agilely from the twilit shades and landed a flaming roundhouse kick in
the mages stomach, bringing her to her knees. He shot the sword neatly out of her
hand, then used his silver handled mini-turret to finish her off.
The violet stickwoman had been carrying a
leather backpack; it was sealed with an ancient redglass gold lock. He clapped
his hands together and at the tip of his fingerless stumpy bulky stick hand was
a sun drenched yellow fire ball. He pointed his fire enthralled hand at the
lock and let loose a vulgar beam of pale flare. The heat of the mutant flame
melted the lock on contact, and scorched the leather. The nature of a
stickman’s eyes is always consistent; they were always sharp with boldly
coloured exaggerated pupils and snowy ivory whites. Tynnon Gingerstaff’s, the
orange mobster had cruel but elegant dark cornflower blue eyes that cut like
icicles into slush. He had a dark half grin scar that stretched from his brow
to his skin, if you looked closely you could see smouldering sparks and
drizzles of lava sparkling along the soot black wound.
Stickmen did not have mouths but yet they could still speak with the
same tones and volumes as humans, they weren’t the type of stickmen you could
draw easily on a piece of paper but they had broad coloured limbs and a torso of
the same breadth. Only female stickmen possess hair it is the same shade as the
rest of their bodies, in old age male stickmen acquire beards but bear no hair
on there heads. All Though a stick figures main feature is their eyes, constantly
changing with their moods, powers and age.
His eyes glowed carmine red outline with a
fiery dark salmon orange when he realised that the coveted Stickpages was gone.
This was outrageous, thought Tynnon as he released a bellow of khaki yellow
flame incinerating what was left of the mages magenta corpse. The Stickpages was a ancient tome full of the
instructions for the most powerful stick powers in all categories, like
elemental like Tynnon, mage, godly, melee or the dreaded stiletto arts a lethal
combination of the four.
Tynnon dipped his hand into a pocket in
his bare leg and produced a candy bar slim mobile. He punched in the numbers
with impressive precision keeping in mind that he had no fingers or digits
whatsoever.
“Ginger to Rosemary. The stupid book is gone,
we got played like suckers, it was a red herring.” Said Tynnon as he reported
over the phone, “now could you get a ride over here, you know I hate going to
the Undearths.”
Jennet
Rosemary replied jocularly. “You pretty much grew up there I don’t know why you
hate it so much. Anyway I'm sending over a turret glider as we speak, and
please tell me that this mission you weren’t wearing that mafia tag. You know
they’ll screw you over if they catch you still wearing it.”
Carefully, Tynnon closed the line and shut
the phone. He looked up into the azure sky, with its wispy latte white cirrus
clouds that peppered the stretch of blue. He remembered when he had been the
great warlord mob boss Orange Pyres one of three heads of the Alizarin Ninjas.
The Alizarin Ninjas were an infamous assembly of ninja gangsters, all of the
Alizarin agents wore the Alizarin tag and maroon head sash made of the leather
of an alizarin snake. The alizarin had been ruled by Tynnon and two twins Alizra
and Tervine. Though one fateful day Tervine and Alizra had suggested that they
experiment on apprentices using a unstable but powerful chemical called
sticranite to give the apprentices super powers. This was unacceptable because
of the fact that there was a seventy five percent chance the apprentices would
die.
Tynnon had challenged the twins to a
Kai-san-lee: a duel using only a sticranium staff, no powers permitted what so
ever. Sticranium was a stale black form of sticranite that slowly evaporates. Kai-san-lee
can only be performed one on one so Tynnon duelled with Tervine. They both took
their onyx black sticks and prepared for battle. They followed the traditions
of the duel and tied black sashes around their wrists, ankles and heads. Traditionally
they attached black incense trailers to their sticks so they would be engulfed
in wispy black smoke as they fought.
They both fought tenaciously in the flame
bordered fighting ring. They ducked and weaved and dealt and parried blows and
till half the breadth of there staffs had evaporated. Finally Tynnon previously
known as Orange dealt a kick breaking Tervine’s stick, he pushed him back to
the edge of the ring and dealt him into the roaring flame. Tervine was dead,
Alizra wanted revenge and Orange had to disappear. Three names and three
phrases that told his life story, Tervine dead, Alizra revenge, Orange gone.
He reluctantly tore himself away from the
realm of his memoirs, he was no longer the infamous Orange Pyres but the
notorious assassin and thief Ginger. Ginger pocketed his mini-turret as the
turret glider came to halt in front of him. In the stick-world guns and
ammunition work differently. The gun type known as a turret looks like a
translucent sphere, it has a sticranium orb in the middle of it and the outside
is decorated in red aiming aids and diagrams. There was a huge turret fixed to
the top of the turret glider hence the name. The glider looked kind of like a
silver Alfa Romeo 8C Spider, it was called a glider because it was as silent as
a wraith. Turrets fired depleted sticranium at sonic speed in extremely thin
lines that evaporate three seconds after impact.
Ginger clambered into the front passengers
seat, in the back was Blyste X₂ he was only twelve years old but he was an A
class criminal. Blyste was a chocolaty burnt russet and had been created in the
Stix Laboratory in their endless quest to create the perfect stick soldier and
agent. Blyste had amazing natural abilities, he could fire a girder thick laser
beam without trying and could spit acidic flames. But Ginger even though he was
naturally born had been tampered with by Stix Laboratory, he had been a level
three fire apprentice when they had abducted by them. They had cut a slit in
his face and pumped nanobots that induced fire into his skin, this gave him the
power to create any fire he wanted. He could create acidic fire, white hot
fire, invisible fire, lava and he could even control fire. The operation had
gave him a fine black scar that stretched the length from his eye to his chin,
it sizzled it burned it hurt, so incurable so painful.
2. Stix and co.™
The Undearths: A random mesh of concrete,
iron and debris of gang warfare and barbed wire fences, the lowest area in the
three locations of the Steck-Kai-Sung society and most of Stigma. Stigma was a
British island near England, small but legendary, said to be the birthplace of
stickman kind after the dinosaurs and the centre capital of the world. Though
every abominable undergrowth of twisted thorns has to have at least one rose,
even if the rose was black and besmirched. The Stix and company laboratory of
military genetics, it was the black rose of the Undearths. Stix and co. are
renowned for their perseverance in the
endless quest to create the perfect stick warrior. Arch-Professor Stix Rivertube the founder of the Stix Laboratory,
sat pondering his new idea.
His new idea was based on the three
chemicals of Stigma. Stigma was the birthplace of the all the discoverers of
the three most powerful three gun fuels in history, all together the three
fuels were called the San Stegreye, the discoverers were Ine Berg, Styn Ryne
and Sir Trent McGlosster. Sticranium the black chemical used in turrets. Bledrisinite
a red chemical used in normal shaped guns that are black outlined in a fine
solid red glow, these were commonly known as bleeders. Litricity the white
chemical used in the blue coloured tanks and bazookas, commonly known as
sky-highs .
All these chemicals had special
properties, bledrisinites ability to pierce nearly anything, sticraniums force
and precision and Litricities speed and level of damage. If he could create
stick soldiers with the powers of the San Stegreye he would have a three man
super army. He got up from his desk and started for the door of his huge study,
he swung open the door and strode into the central lab and started barking
orders.
“Ready the bio-tanks, reload the scans
from The Stickpages. I need one of each of the San Stegreye fitted into the
chemical assembly of each bio-tanks. I need this all done pronto.” He bellow
hoarsely.
Arch-Professor Stix was a bearded moccasin
white stickman in his seventies, but he was far from defenceless. Stix always
carried a sky-high handgun which was very rare, on him at all times. He took
out the gun and shot the nearest slacker dead, the carmine blood splashed on to
his science goggles and droplets peppered his grey beard.
When the necessary preparations had been
made he walked past each of the
bio-tanks, pulling the commencement leavers as he went along. The big
glass tubes known as bio-tanks bubbled and frothed, the green liquid inside was
no longer clear but fogged in bubbles and liquidated mist. After about a hour
of monitoring the embryo-sticks growth the life forms were finally ready.
The mist cleared revealing in the three
tanks three different stickmen. One was ghost white with electric blue eyes, the other was blood
carmine with thistle grey eyes. The last was onyx black stickwoman with girlish magenta eyes and long shiny black
hair.
“Shadette, Lite and Blud. Say hello to the
rest of the lab.” Stix opened his arms in greeting as suddenly the bio-tanks
started to crack.
The
San Stegreye warriors burst free from their birth-pods. Lite the white one
leapt around the room at sonic speed, he demolished the lab with his super
strength and earth shaking punches. Blud the red one shot red lasers around the
room, they pierced the titanrod like the essence of paper. Shadette with
ultimate precision performed none fail karate moves occasionally creating a
staff out of sticranium and more often firing off sticranium beams.
Stix clapped his hands together the super
sticks halted immediately. “This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship”,
he looked at Shadette lovingly, “just beautiful.”
Shadette caught him staring and turned a cold
cheek in clear rejection, “Please I thinkz I’z cen do mech better thanz a
stinkzy oold mern.” She responded in a self-righteous Russian brogue.
Stix slapped himself. What were you
thinking, he contemplated, my mentor always told me never to fall in love with
your own creation. You had to remember that you made every inch of them, they
were disgusting biological heaps of slime.
“These soldiers were good but he needed
someone equal to try them out on.” Pondered Stix loudly. “How about my old
experiment F₂ and X₂. They were good subjects, were good subjects.”
Stix scampered back over to his study were
he sat down at his Bannapple Nacintosh. Then he traced the two renegade
experiments using the implanted tracking device. They were in the Elysian area, in the
Rodleyton Hotel. They are certainly doing well for themselves thought the professor.
3. X₂ + F₂ = Kick ass - 1₄
Blyste was like a son to Ginger, from the
moment Blyste had made his tenacious escape from the cruel lab Ginger had
adopted him as a son. Ginger had made it in his life that crime does pay because he owned three big
properties. He owned a big dojo in Asphodel which was a quite well off
suburbia, and he owned a presidential suite in the Rodleyton Hotel which was in
Elysian area a fancy modern area of society for the more successful people. The
last property he owned was underground lair in the Undearths were he kept all
his weapons and trinkets.
The three bio experiments moved stealthily
through the dappled shadows of the Elysian. Shadette clapped her hands together
turning the twilight to pitch. The patches of sunset returned to the shadows,
it was no were near dusk or night when Shadette was at her strongest. They
approached the doors of the hotel, Lite stretched out his hand and touched the
doorman. The tassel capped shamrock green stickman was enthralled in ivory
lightning and sunk to the cobblestone ground.
The Elysian district was both exceedingly
modern and also primitively old fashioned. The whole place was a mingle of
modern glass and stainless steel and cobblestones and old Victorian and
Italianate architecture. The three mutants made their way up the stairs to the
presidential suite and swung open the door. Shadette flashed white and screamed
in anguish as Ginger fired a bold Litric
rifle at her leg.
Lite zoomed forward and touched the gun,
the blue gun turned white like a ivory silhouette and silently exploded. Ginger
got thrown to the other side of the room. Blyste covered him, while he
recovered by producing a wall of jade acid fire.
“ eyz em out of yer league little buoy.”
Hissed Shadette icily as she extinguished the fire with a blast of sticranium.
She
pointed her hand at Blyste and playfully knocked him back with a test
blast, then she advanced more purposely.
Finally Blud spoke in a mobster Italian
accent, “unleash hell!” he said as he thrust his hands in the air releasing a
fanfare of burgundy blaze.
Ginger kerbed the inferno with his powers, it
was hard and his scar sizzled and leaked lava and hissed with fire. Lite, still
mute as ever taking quick jabs at Blyste the boy helpless and exhausted.
Lite blasted Blyste to the side as all
three mutants advanced on Ginger. Ginger winked at Blyste, Blyste wiped a tear
from his eye as he turned to run. Ginger stood up his eyes silver, crackling
with blue lightning, his scar was white and godly. The scar was bursting with
pallid fire, hotter than anything. He spoke his last words, simple, climactic
and timeless.
“ Right then.” He muttered but loud enough
for everyone to hear.
He
dropped to the carpet and pounded the ground, there was a flash of
multicoloured fire.
The building toppled to the ground like
timber. There was nothing left of Ginger, the building shook violently as it
toppled to its demise. The trio of murderers clasped Lite’s hand and they all
vanished in a sharpened blur.
Part Two. Matt Blu
4.Seagrave
Three weeks later.
The notorious bounty hunter Matt Blu strolled down the
varnished cobbles of Seagrave Road in the Elysian District. This particular
part of the Elysian District was the Mobster District, a luxurious haven for
wealthy criminals. Matt had spent the last six or so years out on the sea near the south coast of
Le Frere De Stigma. He had been a bounty
hunter who used his samurai skills to defeat infamous pirates.
He got to the sturdy mahogany door of a
huge white bricked building. There was a dark lavender doorman at the door, a
large bleeder rifle at the ready.
The stickman was broad figured and strong,
he spoke gruffly “State your business.” Matt showed a identity card, “I am here to
apply for a job interview as high level personal security.”
The
brawny stick man nodded simply at the “complicated” words, “Lord Blud will see you now.”
Matt
entered, the room was white and bare with one pyramid style stairs with Blud
sitting coolly at the top ,surrounded by his army of myrtle green stickmen.
“Hey I'm here to apply for a job.” Yelled Matt. “Okay” said Blud cruelly “lets
see what you got then shall we.”
At those words the myrtle stickman guards
leapt into action, some were armed with cheap lasers some came packing heavy duty
bleeder handguns. A fuchsia pink assassin who was laden with silver cuffs and
jewels leapt agilely down, her hands were glowing with persimmon plasma.
She stood stock still their ready to
follow orders like a elegant nymph of combat. An ochre gold stickman with limbs
as thick as an oaks trunk jumped of the fifteenth step, and landed on the
ground with a seismic thud. His name was Titan; he was an experiment of Blud’s
who had inherited Stix’s greed for genetic power. Titan punched Matt sending a
spurt of blood; he dodged the next punch lodging Titans fist in the wall. The
experiments next blow sent Matt hurtling across the room like a meteorite, a
jet stream of blood showering behind.
Matt struggled to his feet and reached
into an invisible pocket and produced a Swiss army knife still folded. He
pressed a silver button, and instead of a petite knife an elegant smile of a
cutlass unfolded from the compact tool. Matt ran at Titan, the scimitar cutlass
in stance. They both jumped in the air and collided, Matt stabbed savagely but
with practised poise.
The fight was finished, blood was leaking
on the white Portuguese marble. It was supposed to be finished, but Titan
slowly got up laughing heartily, blood slowing from a gush to a trickle.
“Regeneration, Why me God why.” He yelled,
as bitter as dark Mayan chocolate, but sarcastic and sour as Cyprus lemons.
At
that moment Blud’s best nitro-car driver and deliverer stepped into the room,
his name was Hugo Boss Nunes. Hugo was sterling silver with a wheel tattoo on
his semi-muscular arm, he had an expensive bleeder handgun in his hand and was
pointing it at Titans head.
There was a burgundy red flash and Titan
fell dead his blood seeping to heavy to heal. Matt ran over to Hugo and knocked
him to the ground as a laser rifles translucent beam fired over head.
“You saved me, why?” muttered Matt
gratefully.
“You
have no idea how powerful this guy is. You could be the world’s only hope. But
you have to escape,” whispered Hugo.
Matt pondered briefly, “No…. it ends now, it
has to,” before Hugo could say anything he was on his feet and charging at
Blud.
Blud confronted him, stood his ground and
held out his hand. Matt thrust back by a telekinetic thrust. He was knocked to
the pallid marble and slid calmly to a halt, sadly at the feet of Lika Pinknyxe
the beautiful temptress who put the sin in assassin. She was the same deadly assasin
who had been standing on the steps when he came in; she flexed her partially
concealed muscles and ignited the persimmon orange plasma on the supposed palm
of her manicured hand. Matt rolled left casually as she dropped a plasma bolt
down at his head, she threw kicks at him, at a raindrop quick pace as he agilely
dodged her kicks and jumped to his feet.
“Your not half bad, if I weren’t about to
waste you we could go out some time.” Lika looked at him thoughtfully.
“If
you want me so bad……lets dance,” said Matt as he threw a vicious kick at her
powdered face.
She
dodged the kick and threw one of her own, soon they were locked in immortal combat as one was not hitting
the other at all!
Matt got out his sword and slashed her
shoulder; Lika blasted him back to Blud with a plasma bolt as she shrieked in
anguish. Blud and Matt fought, cutlass to spear and javelin to sabre. Blud grew
weary and casually sidestepped Matt so that she toppled to the floor. Blud
struck down heavily and pierced Matt’s hand, Matt yelled in pain but he could
hear all noise fading his hand went into a state of pure agony and his vision
was hazed cerise as the blood glazed ad varnished his eyes. The adrenaline
diluted his bloodstream, the numbness and the slowness lulled him to a deaden
sleep, was he dead or was he dying?
5. Handblade
Matt woke up from his deep sleep, he felt
cold, he was strapped to a metal table. A machine was hanging above him, it had
sharp points, lasers, blades and welders, what was Blud going to do to him! He
couldn’t feel his left hand, he glanced across at it. His hand was made of Stahllicht*
a single slit on the top for some reason, maybe a better question would be what
had Blud done to him?
Blud’s self-salient voice drawled
arrogantly out of a minute speaker box on the wall, “Like your new ‘toy’, its
made from pure *Stahllicht the lightest strongest metal in the world developed
by Germany.”
Blud laughed a little and continued, “clench
your arm muscles see what happens, you were probably wandering what the slit
was for.”
Matt tried to resist, but curiosity dominated
him he clenched his biceps and triceps and gasped as a ugly jagged randomised
blade protruded from the slit.
The top of the blade curved like a
cutlass, the blade jagged in some places and notched and saw-edged in others.
It was like a beautiful piece of modern art, random but elegant.
A
baked gold stickman with a Celtic tattooed arm stepped into the room, “My
names Mondeo DeCrumpette, now I am going
to run a few physical status tests on you. Don’t
try anything funny or not’in, this-”, he pulled as lender long Poisanna
rifle from his pocket ,“- is a limited addition Polish Poisanna, as you know to
be the best type of poison bulleted rifle,” Mondeo caressed the rifle and
tucked it back into his pocket.
Matt hadn’t been listening much, he was to
busy breaking his bonds using his almost retracted blade to rip his thick
leather hindrances. He ripped the bond and quickly slashed another, he took out
his cutlass and ripped the rest of his bounds and jumped off the steel surface
an ran for the door. As he approached the supposedly breakable wooden door, two
sheets of steel slid over the door making it almost unbreakable by mortal sword
at least.
He concentrated all his energy onto his
cutlass, it glowed azure as he easily tore through the armoured door. Mondeo
was now firing round after round of poison bullets, Matt sprinted into the
chrome hallway. Lights and alarms were being set of all around him and Matt
could feel Blud’s ominous presence looming ever nearer, like a eagles shadow
over a nightingale.
“Matthew Ignatius Blu.” Blud’s voice
washed over the halls like the tide of a swell, “you have impressed me so far,
but you know I was just playing, UNTIL NOW!”
In a sharpened blur Blud was standing but
a metre away from Matt, “Your not half as good as Ginger”, Blud forced Matt
back a little telekinetically. “ Just a wannabe samurai, no real power.”
Blud forced him back a little more. “and now
your going to die the same way he did, but without a fight.” Blud unleashed a
carmine torrent of fire at him, it filled the chrome hallway with heat,
“No.”
Matt glowed azure again and relinquished
the glow into the air, it froze the fire. Matt picked up a shard of glass and
slashed Blud before running away.
“Ahh.” Blud screamed in humiliation and
unleashed a volcanic eruption.
The
fire filled every inch of the building just as it reached the exit, Matt jumped
through the door and ducked as the flame fired over head. He was out, finally, but had Hugo made it to. His
question was answered when Hugo screeched round the corner on a drift slide, in
a Aston Martin
Vanquish S. The sleek
black Vanquish was sporting a gold hood ornament, a taxi with a machine gun
attached to the top and nostrils on the hood, the wheels were gold spinners and
the outline of the car was gilded. The windows of the Vanquish were coal black,
and if you looked closely at one of the head light you would notice the glint
of a gold machine gun and if you looked in the other a ready to launch shark
painted torpedo.
Hugo pulled up quickly and let Matt in as
the building roared in the inferno,
“Thanks man for saving me once again.”,
said Matt as Hugo slammed down on the accelerator and the engine roared into
life.
“Don’t mention it, but we really do need to
get away from that thing.” Yelled Hugo as from the flames of the
building rose a dragon made of fire, with Blud mounted on the crown of its head
with a firey whip in his hand that curled and meandered like a anaconda.
Hugo sped to the end of Seagrave road and
didn’t bother to brake but drifted round the corner with a rubbery screech. The
dragon was following after them, the whip destroyed all in its path scarring
the cobbles and the steel tiles. Matt looked back upon the dreadful carnage and
the army of myrtle green stickmen marching down Seagrave road. If only he could
have a army to better his, Matt pondered
his army dark marine blue each wearing a black beret and carrying a bladed
sniper.
He looked back at Hugo from the back seat “Its
time to form an army.” Said Matt in a final manner “It’s the only way.”
part
three. Halapinio
6.
Pepperoni Assassin
Imagine and fantasize, the sumptuous scene of the
beautiful bustling streets of New Italy glowed like Gingers scar along the sun
kissed south coast of Stigma. In the urban Tuscany of the pizzeria district was
the most extravagant most costly pizzeria in New Italy, it was called Perarri
Lambardo. It was one of the oldest Pizza experts in Italy and New Italy. Inside
it just on the edge of all its splendour, wealth and plush was the delivery
boys. The delivery boys wore black berets made of onyx leather each with a
different gold insignia on it. They all rode
Italian Vyrus motorbikes ( 985 C4 4V) and carried there pizzas in steel
boxes and served it in a silver dish cover. Among the many delivery boys the
best was Halapinio Jalapeno, he was short green stickman with a gold pepper insignia
on his beret and a spicy red napoleon cravat wrapped around his “neck”. He had
a gold Rolex, and ample sovers
(Stigma money) in his pocket and a fierce white fennec fox perched on his
shoulder.
“Cruesti ,what is the next order to deliver.” Yelled Halapinio
to a chef in the kitchen.
“A jalapeno and
fifty cheese blend to some guy on the other side of town.” Shouted Cruesti over
the roar of the burning stove.
“Are you
kiddin’ I’m not going to make that in
are fifteen minute time limit. Get bent.”
Speicci the
boss took of his hat and walked over to him, “I'm sorry Hal but you’ve gotta
go, your suspended.”
Hal looked at
him angrily, and thought “if this chump knew half of what I am capable of….”
Speicci looked
at him in a fake air of sympathy, the “ it’s what’s best for you and me” look. They silently allowed each
other a painfully gripping handshake.
Hal stormed
off, his rent was to high already without being suspended, but he still had his
monthly assassinations. Though, now he would have to make his paid
assassinations weekly.
That night Hal got a phone call from a anonymous
client, his voice was that of a powerful Italian mobster. But his voice was
born not bred unlike his usual clients, if that makes any sense. He had been
told to go to the restaurant Red Lagoon at sunsets first hour to meet him,
these Red Lagoon everyone new was owned by mobsters. The mob boss went under
the name of Blud, no last name, no anything.
Hal sped to the Red lagoon on his Vyrus, he was
wearing a black motorbike helmet and had a gun holster over his shoulder. Hal
caressed the dagger in his belt, and drifted to a halt in front of the fancy
restaurant. He walked in, fully clad in his motorbike helmet to hide his
identity and wielding his magnum and stiletto for protection. The joint was as
empty as deep space except from one red stickman like a powerful Mars in the silent vacuum.
“I have been expecting you,” the red stickman said
bluntly.
“Blud,” muttered
Hal.
“How can you
know my name?” growled Blud menacingly.
“How can I do
this?” Roared Hal as he turned into a green lion and pounced towards Blud.
“Treachery,” yelled Blud.
Blud held up
his hand and stopped the green lion in mid air and threw it to the side with a
flick of his hand.
Hal muzzle was bruised and bleeding and he spat blood
when he roared. The client that he come
to meet was actually a victim, another client wanted him dead.
However, for Hal this was more than business…….
He transfigured into a giant green cobra and
easily insured death upon a few myrtle
stickmen, as he dodged there shots with his lithe sinewy body. He took a lunge at Blud but it was as if
some kind of force stopped him from biting him with his venomous fangs.
He turned back into a human and pressed a button in
his leg-pocket. Suddenly the roof smashed and a group of soldiers dropped in on
ropes. Matt Blu, Hugo and three new soldiers dropped in and held their guns at
the ready.
“Secure the area,” shouted Matt.
His soldiers fired off a few shots, and expertly
rolled to the floor as the myrtle soldiers retaliated.
“Hal drop back and follow: Blud getting away,” ordered
Matt.
They hurriedly ran after Blud, Matt took a heavy gun from of his back and fired
it. It shot huge razor disks which demolished his helicopter. Hugo used his gun
to get him in the corner, then Hal turned into a tiger and fought Blud.
His paw was just above Blud’s face when he was shot by
a laser. He roared in anguish and was easily pushed aside by Blud who
disappeared into the night.
“Nice try,” said Matt
“Pretty good for a first try,” on of the soldiers
called Alan Jacks.
“Ye lets head back to base,” said Hugo.
“The helicopter got destroyed though”
“Then I guess we’re spending the night in New Italy,”
breathed Matt, “We trek back, and leave before midday tomorrow.”
They wearily walked back to New Italy and rented out a
little villa. The villa was in the in the most southern parts of New Italy, De
Sauna. Hal could feel how it got its name, the sweltering heat was killer like
fire. They arrived at the villa, it was made out of stone and mortar. It was
old and crumbling Matt bet it could be dispatched by a single SMG shot.
