01 - I'm gonna kill a motherfucker with a fax machine
This didn't turn out as planned. Well, none of it did, but this had been a particularly maddening turn of events that resulted in a rather nasty burn on his shoulder from a zapper and the delicious feeling of adrenaline as he ran like hell.
He was fine, really, until he started hopping the fences. Fences with barbed wire kind of sucked, and after leaving having a rather unfriendly tussle with it (and deciding that the winner was the fence, and it's trophy was the lovely neon blue suitcoat that already had a few scuffs on it) he landed with a hollow thud and a high-pitched whine.
"Lesson learned," He muttered to himself. Getting a motorbike wasn't that hard after that--not when you could shoot the drac using it and pick it up from the ditch--but Agent Cherri Cola had learned three things after trying to get back into Battery City:
1. Running very fast was a very good thing
and
2. Sneezing behind enemy lines gets you a ray gun to the head and an awful talking to.
The point was that Cherri needed to lay low for a while. Lay low was rather hard in the man's book, since he was both tall and loud, but just because he was crazy didn't mean he lacked common sense. That being said, there was no way he was going to hole up alone. Oh, no. He had just the place.
Arriving at the diner and finding no one there was a surprise, but only a brief one--because the moment the door opened Cherri was smacking invisible gum with his mouth, a hand on his hip.
"Siddown," his best Long Island accent, an old diner receipt book in his hand. "Ya want some cawfee, sweetheart?"
He was fine, really, until he started hopping the fences. Fences with barbed wire kind of sucked, and after leaving having a rather unfriendly tussle with it (and deciding that the winner was the fence, and it's trophy was the lovely neon blue suitcoat that already had a few scuffs on it) he landed with a hollow thud and a high-pitched whine.
"Lesson learned," He muttered to himself. Getting a motorbike wasn't that hard after that--not when you could shoot the drac using it and pick it up from the ditch--but Agent Cherri Cola had learned three things after trying to get back into Battery City:
1. Running very fast was a very good thing
and
2. Sneezing behind enemy lines gets you a ray gun to the head and an awful talking to.
The point was that Cherri needed to lay low for a while. Lay low was rather hard in the man's book, since he was both tall and loud, but just because he was crazy didn't mean he lacked common sense. That being said, there was no way he was going to hole up alone. Oh, no. He had just the place.
Arriving at the diner and finding no one there was a surprise, but only a brief one--because the moment the door opened Cherri was smacking invisible gum with his mouth, a hand on his hip.
"Siddown," his best Long Island accent, an old diner receipt book in his hand. "Ya want some cawfee, sweetheart?"