(no subject)
"I'm getting tired of shooting your dealers. What do I have to do to work my way up the food chain, Marcus? Do I have to turn your head into a canoe?"
The barrels of the guns at Floyd's wrists whir, cartridges of armor-peircing bullets snapping into place.
"What, you don't think I will, is that it? Has word gotten around that I've gotten soft, that I'm not killing people anymore?"
Floyd spins, eyepeice lighting, and he targets the rusted out hulk of an old schoolbus, blowing a crater in it's side with the snap of a wrist.
"That won't heal, Marcus. Not if I do it to you. Armor-peircing, teflon coated, with a high-explosive tip. You know what it'll turn you into? Ragu. Now, unless you want to be hosed off the tarmac when the security guy comes back in the morning, you'll give me something I can use, damn you."
The barrels of the guns at Floyd's wrists whir, cartridges of armor-peircing bullets snapping into place.
"What, you don't think I will, is that it? Has word gotten around that I've gotten soft, that I'm not killing people anymore?"
Floyd spins, eyepeice lighting, and he targets the rusted out hulk of an old schoolbus, blowing a crater in it's side with the snap of a wrist.
"That won't heal, Marcus. Not if I do it to you. Armor-peircing, teflon coated, with a high-explosive tip. You know what it'll turn you into? Ragu. Now, unless you want to be hosed off the tarmac when the security guy comes back in the morning, you'll give me something I can use, damn you."