Killstreak glanced down at his golden revolvers. Such beauty. His warped reflection bounced off their barrels. Above him, the giant woman was carrying out some sort of formal introduction. He identified her weapon, and moved his own into his inventory, watching the guns phasing out of existence as if they never really existed to begin with. In their place, in his left hand, he withdrew a bottle of whisky. It´s dusty brownish bottle, with a rugged half-scratched label, gave it a feeling of exquisite quality and old age, although Killstreak knew that it was less than two weeks old, having plucked it from a whisky tree himself. 

Whether it was his own intentions, or the giant, that classified their conversation as a battle, was something of a mystery. His speed hack had activated itself, which was very unfortunate. The giant who had probably been talking at a reasonably slow pace to begin with, was now drawing out every word.. forty times as slow as the actual rate. 

She was about half-way into her name when he interrupted. Making sure to speak slowly enough for her to hear it. "Too long. Did not listen." 

He strolled (60mph) forward in-between the giant´s legs, perhaps blind-spotting her, depending on her boob size, and took a swing at her right ankle with his bottle of whisky. The swing itself carried immense speed, easily topping 600mph, though it was kind of half-assed. Being a glass bottle, it wouldn´t serve any other purpose than to announce Killstreak´s hostile intentions, shatter across her heavily armored ankle, and splatter itself and it´s content across her leg. All in all, a terrible waste of perfectly good whisky, but he was sure there was more where it came from. It was whisky season, after all. 

..Right?