Description: The Jerkass Alan R.B. finishes off his assault of an entire casino by stacking all of the money in it in the center of the building and then lighting it on fire. The second product of Division 8 to step up is Sgt. Thomas Miracle, and after a hard fight, Alan edges out. But Division 8 has three stars...
It has been about ten minutes since it went out over the MCPD radio: "Officer down. Kolodzik's down!" From the outside, they can't be sure if he's alive or dead, and nobody seems willing to guess why.
He's alive, of course - just knocked out and tossed into the lap of one of the innocent bystanders huddling near one wall of the casino, unharmed by Alan. Specifically, the most voluptuous one there, because hey, Alan's got nothing against the kid.
Otherwise, the casino is a wreck. Most of it has been damaged during Alan's rampage, every single mob thug in the place beaten to insensibility. The piece de resistance is the overboss of the racket, Biff "Blackjack" Grislemann, collapsed amidst the ruins of the high-stakes hold'em table, once placed on a podium in the center of the casino floor - now shoved roughly off to lie in flinders beside it.
Alan has gone around and gathered all the paper money off every thug there, as well as any especially expensive clothes they had on, wallets, other luxury items. They all have something in common, but it's not a readily apparent one. All of these things, he's gathered onto the podium. Adding in the money that was in the laundering process and otherwise stashed thorought the casino, the pile dwarfs Alan himself, who stares up at it, hands in pockets, a nearly-done cigarette smoking in his mouth.
"Sergeant Miracle!!" A chorus of voices both young and old resound across the plethora of tightly-knit MCPD squadcars arranged in a rough semicircle around the Casino's primary entrance. The man they reference is walking between two of those cars, his manner relaxed, his expression undoubtedly grim.
"Shut up, and get back to work." He doesn't bother making eye-contact; already, some of the more seasoned members of the perimeter are making their guesses. Presumably, Kolodzik's gotten the Sergeant *that* angry in fucking up; few understand that there's significantly more at play, here.
Miracle might be the slightest bit worried, beneath that gruff facade. It doesn't matter now; he's out of their sight, entering the Casino itself.
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*KI-RACK*, exclaims an abruptly kicked door. Miracle enters the Casino with the same aplomb he'd posessed passing his troops; none. From beneath orange range glasses, the Sergeant regards Alan with no small amount of derision. Nostrils flare, and fingers clench, seemingly impulsively. He puts that agitation to use in unlimbering one of the shotguns at his back; the smaller, riot-gun model. It's got a single bullet in it - Miracle knows this. He planned for it.
Before he says a damn word, he's taking aim, pulling the trigger. An explosion rings out through the Casino proper; chips fly into slot machines and prone forms, disturbed by the *force* the gun exerts. Unseen, a slug streaks through the air towards Alan's back.
Miracle isn't stopping. He's loading that gun while he speaks, walking towards Alan with that same, slow resolve.
"So you're the sack of shit that took my rookie down? I'd bust your chops, put you through the negotiation, but I think we're a little past that now." Miracle's words are punctuated by the threatening *CLACK* of a shotgun chamber closing.
"I hate fudging paperwork."
COMBATSYS: Miracle successfully hits Alan with Buck Slug.
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Alan [E] 1/-------/=======|=====--\-------\0 Miracle
Miracle stomp kicks through the sliding glass door because that's the kind of guy he is. Alan had the thought that, shit, this isn't something you get every day. He had a whole Thing planned out, some dramatics, some lookin' flashy.
He can tell from the moment Miracle kicks in the door that this guy isn't the kind that'll wait around for it, so he pulls the cigarette from his mouth, and tosses it into the pile. See, everything he stacked up? It was flammable.
The casino is bathed in red as the gigantic stack of valuables goes up in a tremendous bonfire. At the same time, Alan blurs from sight. Miracle hears a faint rumble of thunder suddenly stop, and Alan comes back into view abruptly, open shirt flapping out as he kind of... bodychecks the bullet. He slides backwards, holding onto his ribs, wincing.
The boxer pulls his hand away once he stops, and flips the crumpled slug in the air like a coin. A bruise spreads on Alan's side. Not as big as Miracle may have liked. "Haha, guns? Really, man?" The electricity always on Alan's skin intensifies on his right arm, as he pulls his fist back. "And I thought the /last/ guy was out of his league."
Alan swings a right cross, almost lazily, with the special bonus that he blurs right past Miracle as he does so, aiming the crack at his jaw. "Nobody could arrest me back when I was a /bitch/, what makes you cops think you'll start now?"
COMBATSYS: Miracle interrupts Storm Front from Alan with Chin Up.
- Power hit! -
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Alan [E] 1/----===/=======|=====--\-------\0 Miracle
It's a damned thing to see. So much *money* in that flaming pile; it's all Miracle can do to squint at the sudden blaze, to throw up a hand and do whatever he might to protect his face from the sudden kiss of dry heat. A lesser man might've been distracted by the display; it's not *done*, burning the valuables like that. It's not what criminals DO.
With all the business going around, Miracle doesn't notice the thunder - he's more worried about the speed his opponent's showing. An imperceptible rise of the eyebrows is what belies it; a squaring of the shoulders, perhaps, a distinct heightening of his guard. When Alan rematerializes and just... takes the hit - Miracle sets his jaw.
"Damn, son. You've got somethin' special, there." The Sergeant is summarily *prepared* when Alan streaks forward again; that fist is pulled back, the dagger-like words lance into Miracle's subconscious. Even so, he's quick to offer Alan a response - the Sergeant steps back, releases his gun. Simultaneous to Alan's fist-cocking, he's caught his shotgun in a reverse grip, fingers clenched 'round it's barrel.
"Well, where I'm from, we're plain. If it ain't broke..." Miracle leans *into* that punch. Alan will find his hand impacting riot armor, undoubtedly with a force that would break knuckles and shoulder were the officer not protected. He'll also find himself with his opponent worrisomely inside of his guard. Brutally, Miracle lifts his arm, to send the butt of that shotgun across the thug's chin with a resounding *CRACK*.
Miracle steps back. "Don't fix it. Sorry 'bout your jaw, but you won't be needin' it when I'm done with you. Why burn the cash, puke? What's the gain?"
This time, Alan's still a blur as Miracle lands his hit, all black shirt and electric yellow haze. Now, he's kicked a few cop asses before, but he's not used to armor his iron rings don't just blow right through. Plus, that right hand has the chain wrapped around it, adding even more weight. Alan's lip curls in the instant before Miracle just lays him out. Underestimation is a terrible thing.
But, again, Alan isn't a common thug. The blow almost sends him sprawling, but he goes into a roll, boots smack against the ground, and he bounces up into the air. Reaching up, he grips his jaw firmly, and cracks it back into place.
ON THE INTERNET
In a lonely Youtube account sits a single playlist: a compilation of every time Alan's had his jaw aimed at and dislocated in a filmed fight. There are five fifteen-minute videos. Getting silence from Alan is often all anyone wants.
NOT ONLINE
Alan lands, straightens, and gives Miracle a new look, relaxing his body and letting his chi build up. "Alright, alright, you got a little bitta bitta going on, rawhide." He cracks his neck as he brings his arms up, shadowboxing. "Anyway, you're out of the loop if you think I care about gain." He hooks a thumb at himself. "Alan R. B.. Come on, you /gotta/ have some files. Didn't larn yer lettrin's down thar? Look, the point is, that pile up there, lighting this place up?"
Suddenly, Alan swings his right hand up and out, the chain extending dramatically. "That's a symbol, rawhide!" Alan pauses for a moment to champ his jaw, alleviating the lingering pain from having it /popped out of both joints./ "It's about all that shit up there's good for!" He hammers his arm down, the chain slamming into the casino's rug, bouncing off, and whipping chaotically at Miracle. "Money is kindling!"
COMBATSYS: Alan successfully hits Miracle with Hunting Chain.
- Power hit! -
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Alan [E] 1/---====/=======|=======\-------\0 Miracle
Miles away, a manilla envelope rests on Miracle's desk, unopened, with CONFIDENTIAL stamped on it in big, incriminating red letters. Within lies a complete dossier of Alan "R.B."'s activities, likes, and tendencies with regards to major crime scenes. It is beneath an open gun case carrying two full 9mm magazines and the entire boxed DVD set of Gunsmoke.
Back in the now, Miracle does not flinch at the way Alan cracks his jaw back into place. When you've seen a man vanish from the visible spectrum, you come to expect certain things. Nonetheless, the buildup of chi goes entirely unnoticed; for all his appearance, Miracle simply watches Alan, impassive. While the criminal goes on about his self-introduction, the Sergeant takes the time to passively eye Kolodzik's unconscious form. Alan's placement of his rookie brings a smirk to the older man's features.
'That's a symb-'
"A good way to go, slackoff. Might be the closest the kid's ever gotten to a good pair--HNK!" Miracle looks up to Alan *just* in time to receive a ridiculously long chain to the chest. It shatters the front panel of his combat armor, sends the Sergeant lurching backwards; his ass impacts a slot machine, while the long hunting shotgun on his back shatters the thing's front panel. Ultimately, Miracle hits the ground on his stomach, pounds and pounds of coins fountaining onto his back from above.
His glasses are ajar, but he's not bothering to fix them. Resolutely, the man pulls his knees to his chest, pushes off of the ground; in the impact he'd lost his primary shotgun; but he's quick to pull a secondary from his left hip. The police officer regards Alan coolly; while he does so, he's simply pumping magazine after magazine into that weapon.
"So what? Terrorism? Lofty, for a puke."
COMBATSYS: Miracle gathers his will.
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Alan [E] 1/---====/=======|=======\===----\1 Miracle
Alan pulls his hand up, whipping the chain in a high arc, and makes a twisting motion, pulling down. The chain retracts until it's once again wrapped around his hand, only a little bit dangling from his palm. He definitely doesn't have it up his sleeve - the cuffs are opened and flared pretty wide. The boxer sneers at Miracle. "Terrorism ain't the word for it. Terrorism's all about scaring the shit out of people, psychological warfare, that shit." He starts advancing on Miracle, swinging the chain in a slow circle. It extends and retracts randomly. "This is idealism. Papa's got a brand new bag, man!"
"A world without money."
Suddenly, Alan abandons his forward motion, springing back, electricity spiralling down his hands into small orbs in each palm. He flicks his hands forward and snaps his fingers. A perfect double helix of electricity springs out, crossing the space between the two of them in an instant.
COMBATSYS: Alan successfully hits Miracle with Lightning Strikes Twice EX.
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Alan [E] 1/-======/=======|=======\=======\1 Miracle
'A world without money'.
"So you're crazy."
It speaks to Miracle's penchant for not necessarily allowing people to finish talking that he's even able to get the words out before he's *SMACKED* by those globes of force. Either one impacts the man's sides and sets him to minute convulsions, small indicators of his relative helplessness to the attack.
It drives him to a knee - if any MCPD were around, they'd be astonished. None are, and Miracle's reputation for being a hardass remains supreme. Even so - he's notably surprised, and it's all the man can do to utilize his position in preparing for his next attack. Given his relative lack of experience, Miracle's attack comes in a far-delayed form...
Namely, he's sitting there, breathing heavy, and catching his breath. Protected eyes regard Alan, coolly. "What's the point to a world without money?? You know like I do that money's just a way to measure power. People are gonna come up with something else, son - they've gotta."
COMBATSYS: Miracle focuses on his next action.
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Alan [E] 1/-======/=======|=======\=======\1 Miracle
Alan turns a slow somersault and lands, electricity still spiralling up his hands. His hand dips into his pants pocket, and pulls out a small tube of black metal. Twisting the top to the side, he slides out a black cigarette with gold filtering, puts it in his mouth, and lights it by touching the end. He takes a deep drag, and his entire body goes slack as the boxer barely tenses enough muscles to stay on his feet.
Chi explodes around him in a brilliant corona, his own yellow light warring with the red from the roaring money fire, throwing the whole scene into hellish relief. The combined lights glint off Alan's sunglasses, completely obscuring his eyes. His smile becomes fierce, predatory.
"Exactly. That's just fuckin' it! What we have now is broken, totally fucking broken! Fucked up people can just lord it over everyone else just because they got money! The best and fuckin' brightest this world has? Choked down! Stomped on! Because maybe, hey, they /don't/ have money. Yeah, you're right, someone'll just come up with something else."
Alan spreads his arms wide, palms up. A ring of electricity forms a circuit between them, jagged and erratic. "And from there, I gotta have hope that whatever replaces it, whatever the new blood of the world is..." He closes his hands and twists. The circuit shatters, and is replaced by a perfect ring. "Maybe it's gonna be something better."
COMBATSYS: Alan gathers his will.
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Alan [E] 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|=======\=======\1 Miracle
Miracle... watches. He's notably impressed by the whole affair, if one could ever call Miracle "impressed" - an eyebrow is perked, and for a moment, the older man seems to have let his guard drop. With the manifestation of that ring of electricity, however, that guard -returns-... and it is redoubled. Widened eyes quickly narrow, and Alan's words ring through the air, echo over the roar of that burning money.
"And what if it's something worse?? D'you listen to yourself, puke? Think about the words coming out of your God-damned mouth before you speak 'em?? This is too philosophical for you. You're blowin' horseshit outta your own lips." Miracle's obviously not cowed by Alan's display - he rushes the man. First a shoulder is dipped in Alan's direction, and then the feet are moving. The impact, if there is one, would be a rough thing - shoulder into sternum, elbow into gut, and perhaps expectedly, shotgun muzzle into neck.
"WE DON'T GOT TIME FOR THIS AMATEUR SHI-" Miracle's words are lost amidst the register of a well cared-for shotgun; Alan's words, presumably, are lost to the gaggle of lead pellets nestling themselves in his throat.
COMBATSYS: Alan interrupts Adam's Apple from Miracle with Voltaic Barrage EX.
- Power hit! -
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Alan [E] 1/---====/=======|=======\==-----\1 Miracle
Alan stands there when Miracle rushes him. However, his arms go slack, electricity spiralling into them, slowly swinging back. "Then we just--" He gets shouldered, "--are gonna have to--" the gut punch drives him back a step, and the shotgun comes racing at him.
Alan's hands snap up, tight to his side, and electricity blows off of him in a sphere. "BREAK IT DOWN AGAIN! SHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!" Alan's cry is punctuated by his right hand sweeping up in a straight punch at Miracle's face... but when it lands, there are ten fists, clearly visible, fading into a crackle of electricity at the forearm. His left arm swings up, and it happens again, and now both arms are blurring, fists appearing and disappearing, Alan's feet set, the carpet tearing itself away, debris picked up and sent flying. There are thirty visible fists, fourty, fifty-- each one slamming into Miracle's body. It takes about five seconds before he stops, fades back into a crouch to leave several after-images like freeze-frame photography, and drive one last uppercut home.
KENTODENKI - IKUSEN UDE UTEMI
(Electric Boxing - Thousand Arm Strike)
Alan's chest heaves, his shirt still billowing from the punch as he drives his fist into the ground, discharging excess electricity in a shockwave. "I ain't botherin'... to think it through. This ain't philosophy." He draws himself up, breathing heavily. "It's like smacking a broken TV."
It's very *rare* that Thomas Miracle lets something surprise him these days; walking into your house to find your family slaughtered kind of sucks the surprises out of you. Life loses meaning, and you take what comes without much in the way of reaction. It happens. You live through it.
This really just goes to show you what kind of mastery Alan exhibits. That first punch sets his glasses to *SHATTERING*, while the rest of them result in a series of chaotic depressions against his chest and shoulders, indentations that remain while the others are formed. He does not actually get to *land* insomuch as he falls upon this bouquet of fists, and by the time Alan is launching that last uppercut into his face, Miracle's nose is bleeding, his eyes have widened as much as they have in years - he's sent flying backwards, to explode into a copse of slot machines.
Perhaps ironically, coins erupt into a sparkling explosion that goes to obscure the police officer - this only serves to distract from the silvery flash of a shotgun thrown into the air from within that mess.
Miracle's voice thunders through the room, as though empowered by this strife: "HUP!" He's not - he's really not - a man of many words. Alan may never know that this entire conversation happened by happy occurence of his placing Carmine beneath the bustiest woman in the casino. It doesn't matter - look over there. Miracle's exploding out of that fountain of cash like some sort of madman, crossing the distance between himself and Alan like it wasn't even a thing. His fist's leading the way.
Upon that first hit, Miracle will lay -into- Alan, drilling a fist through his gut enough to lift the thug, while the other hand latches onto that overly suggestive, open-collared shirt for the sake of allowing Miracle to administer a fierce headbutt into his opponent's face. A trio of punches follows this - to hip, to shoulder, to plexus - and then a knee, driven to Alan's groin. While the boxer recoils, Miracle *catches* the gun he'd previously thrown; it's the big one, the pipe attached to a hammer mechanism. It's placed, muzzle-first, against Alan's chest - Miracle regards the thug through unblanketed eyes.
"Fuck off." The shotgun explodes as only shotguns can - presumably, Alan will go flying away like Rita Repulsa or some shit.
While he does this, provided it works, a subtitle will appear beneath the two:
"THOMAS MIRACLE DOESN'T HAVE TIME FOR THAT FANCY SHIT."
COMBATSYS: Alan parries Miracle's Sgt. Miracle's Marvelous Massacre!
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Alan [E] 0/-------/-======|==-----\-------\0 Miracle
Once, long ago, Alan did a handstand on the staff of one Billy Kane.
Another time, he stepped on the head of a crazy claw ninja asshole in the middle of a flipout.
Both of these times, it appeared that Alan was doing the impossible. He realized it. He revelled in it.
As Alan lays his hand almost gently on Miracle's hand, it's a sign of how far he's come that it looks like this is exactly what he's trying to do. He flips forward, riding Miracle's punch by the fingertips, going completely vertical. When Miracle goes for the headbutt, Alan uses the other hand, dropping it on top of his short grey hair, continuing a forward motion. As Miracle's gun comes back down, Alan completes his god damn man-cartwheel, kicking it across the room.
Alan swings his leg out wide as he passes behind Miracle, electricity flashing across his whole body as he goes into a blurring spin, his heel drawing circles in the air as he slams it into the back of Miracle's head, then all the way down his body until he lands in a crouch. He sneers, and runs his left hand through his hair. "You're still up, rawhide?"
COMBATSYS: Alan successfully hits Miracle with Ring of Thunder EX.
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Alan [E] 1/-------/=======|======-\-------\0 Miracle
Who is this guy??!
It's not a question of whether or not Miracle's able to deal with the perp - he's got his doubts, there, but he's never been beaten BEFORE - it's more an issue of the ability Alan shows. Even if Miracle had read the dossier on the man, it's arguable that Alan's far exceeded the MCPD's expectations of him - where profilers had indicated greed, there had been absolutism, where they had indicated impulsivity, there had been deliberate trap-setting, a specific mastery of whatever-the-fuck that fighting energy was.
'Chi', Sho would have corrected Miracle.
It's the last thought that rings through the middle-aged lawbringer's head before Alan's heel drills a dent into it, sending Miracle into a kneel, a downwards spiral that has his consciousness rapidly leaving him. It'd be the first time in ages that Thomas Miracle had been taken down in action - but the MCPD has taken steps to evolve behind such things. A very specific ace had been planted up their sleeve, for this particular encounter.
Miracle hits the ground face-first, another unconscious form limned by the red lights of the ongoing blaze. Perhaps imperceptibly, he presses a button on his walkie-talkie; it's tuned to a very specific frequency. Only one man has a walkie-talkie tuned to that frequency.
A man very close by.
"...It's yours, Sho. He's softened up nice and handily."
Sergeant Thomas Miracle loses consciousness at the ankles of the woman holding Carmine Kolodzik. He is considerably less happy.
COMBATSYS: Miracle takes no action.
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Alan [E] 1/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Miracle can no longer fight.
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Alan [E] 1/-------/=======|
COMBATSYS: Sho has joined the fight here on the top side.
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Sho 0|-------|-------
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Alan [E] 1/-------/=======|
"What have I told you about playing the hero?"
That would be the person that's so cleverly alluded to there by the fallen Sergeant. The voice itself? it comes from above, high above the casino. It doesn't belong to Batman. It doesn't even belong to Robocop. It belongs to the closest thing the MCPD have to Robocop, which is to say, Sho Easten. Even as he speaks, he drops a boot down, slamming a ventilation shaft's grating down. It clatters against one of the massive overhead lights, spiraling off to land and bounce and spin.
With nothing to hold him up anymore, the former Agent falls, only to catch himself with a neat assist from the rockets flying out of his boots. Floating there, yellow battle Oakleys on, he's well aware of the situation. After all, he's been up there sucking in smoke fumes for the better part of the last ten minutes.
"And you're not even conscious enough to hear my berating, are you?" the floating SWAT Officer adds, Asian features twisting slightly, just slightly, in what might pass for an expression of annoyance. Forearms bulge as he takes in the sight of the last man standing. He's already taken in the rather spit-roast like nature of his brethren cops.
"Well, I'll save you the speech," he adds, brown eyes fixing on the straw-colored head of Alan. He doesn't waste any time beyond what he already has, which isn't much. Shifting his legs back, he redirects his thrust, dipping in the air only to blast towards the Boxer.
With proximity comes the promise of pain. With his fellow officers unconscious, he's free to deal with the perp however he sees fit. After what he's witnessed so far, a little 'rough justice' seems perfectly fine to him.
To that end, the pointed fingers of his gloves seek out Alan's throat in a swift drive-by. The type that culminate in the other man being taken off his feet, and rather viciously slammed into the nearest line of slot machines.
And then, the electricity starts, with no promise of it stopping until Sho is no longer staring into those beautiful gray eyes of Alan Bertrand.
COMBATSYS: Sho successfully hits Alan with Sins of Omission.
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Sho 0|-------|---====
[ \ <
Alan [E] 1/--=====/=======|
One man used judo and shot magic bullets. The other man used mostly shotgun and shot pretty real bullets. So, when he hears the ventilation shaft slam open, he turns pretty casually, expecting someone to rappel down with a knife or something. He's already cracking his knuckles, sneering.
Oakleys meet Oakleys, and the boxer's handsome chin drops. "Are you FUCKING me? Rocket boots?" Alan hops back, already trying to drag more electricity out of his hands. "OK, now that's dogshit, what the hell /happened/ to this city?" Alan lifts his hands, gathering electricity into two orbs in his palms, closing his fingers together to snap.
The bolts go completely wide, though, because Alan has never dealt with rocket boots before, and he's seen a lot in Rugal's employ. He gets inside the arc and grab's Alan's neck - Alan himself clamps a hand down on Sho's wrist, but his tremendous chi and prodigal skill do not translate to the brute strength he'd need to get out of this one.
"This shirt is silk!" He squawks out as Sho tears it up on the slot machines, and he has just enough time to throw an untrained, ineffectual knee up at Sho's chest before - in irony - he gets flooded with electricity. He doesn't react like a normal man would, losing control of his muscles and jerking around, but it does have the interesting effect of chasing his /own/ chi out of his body somehow, leaving Sho's free to do its dark work.
"Whatever," he manages to gasp out, chained hand slipping from Sho's wrist. "Free roof... over my head, right?"
It takes all of the best the Division 8 Training Program produced, but Alan R. B. slips out of conciousness.
COMBATSYS: Alan takes no action.
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Sho 0|-------|---====
COMBATSYS: Alan can no longer fight.
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Sho 0|-------|---====
Left holding the bag somewhat literally, Sho performs a slow count to ten before finally letting the body rest into the slot machine he slammed it into. Coins continue to pile out of the broken machinery, and the rest of the aisle begins cashing out as well, no doubt some after-effect of the enraged performance given there.
"Consider yourself lucky you're not a cop killer today, or I'd have held that for a full thirty," the SWAT Officer mutters darkly, lifting his glare to survey the casino itself. This operation went to hell in a hand basket, and it went there fast. It's no wonder he was brought on by the Mayor to help clean Metro City up against such high-powered bad guys.
"This is Easten. Target down. Activate the sprinklers and get an ambulance in here for Miracle and his Puppy," Sho speaks with one finger pressed against his ear, sending off a transmission from an earpiece to the rest of the team.
Mission Complete.
EPILOGUE
"I want some time with this guy later on," Sho adds after the credits, finally releasing that ear piece.
COMBATSYS: Sho has ended the fight here.
Log created on 00:34:16 12/22/2010 by Alan, and last modified on 04:30:31 12/22/2010.