"Yeah. Yeah, I'd say so." The delinquent agreed, managing a quick laugh as he surveyed the carnage. Three wrecked DRUs in front of him, and more further away. Six just shut down. The rest of them all shut down, too, but they were further than him. These were the six left of the ones trying to kill him. He glared at them, almost like he expected them to suddenly come back to life, but was (secretly) relieved that they stayed inert. Whatever Kimiko had done up at the truck had shut them all down. Daisuke counted, as best he could, about fifty more of the machines from hell. They'd never have managed to beat them all. 

He had a hell of a story to tell now, though. If it weren't for the fact no one'd believe him. 

The adrenaline crashed harder than the truck, though, and he leaned heavily on his staff as the extent of how much he hurt hit home. Stab marks on his back, the fact that he couldn't see 'em didn't make 'em hurt any less. His shirt was ruined. Pizza buzzsaw had torn most of it, and blood was staining the rest. Which, speaking of, he really needed to figure out how to stop. His face felt like a mess, too, and he was pretty thankful he couldn't see it. The Miyamoto son wasn't a vain guy, far from it, but he'd seen his face after a good punch often enough. And this certainly [i]felt[/i] worse.

[i]How the hell am I gonna explain this one to Sachiko?[/i]

"Anyone know if there's a world-record-sized bottle of aspirin around here? Maybe some stitches?"