I'm second onto the T-Wing, just after Rose. A real pair of good little child soldier's, us. Not sure how I feel about Ravager, something about her puts me off. Maybe it's that eye. She's only got one, and yet I still get the stinking suspicions that she knows too much, see's too much, more than she lets on. Maybe she get's that from her daddy, Deathstroke. I hear he's a big shot assassin. Given the League a run for their money a time or two. A real stone cold killer. Pfft, like I care. My daddy's better.
I grab my HK416 assault rifle, stored at the back of the jet on Rose's recommendation, figuring that I'm going to need the fire power before the day is over. I take it to my seat and start cleaning and inspecting. No point going into a fight with a gun that can't shoot, now is there? I take a minute to fix the grenade launcher under the HK's barrel. After all, we can't all punch like Superboy. Or Sentinel, or whatever he's going by. Guy's sitting across from me, fuming at nothing in particular. That boy needs to get himself laid, get rid of some of that pent up energy. Even on a team of untrained liabilities like the Teen Titans he stands out as an untrained liability. I make a note to myself to keep well clear of him on the battlefield, cause somebody that uncontrolled is going to get someone less deserving killed. Getting killed isn't on my to do list.
My thoughts are interrupted by Evander, deciding to sit next to me. I thought the message was clear, cool kids sit at the back, the nerds fuck off to the front. Guess they don't teach you to read body language on Paradise Isle. He's wearing clothes now, though no less dreamy for it. Christ, did I just say dreamy? What is happening to me!?
I sigh heavily as he parks himself, hoping he gets the message that I don't want to talk. Hey, I can admire the way a guy looks, doesn't mean I have to engage him in conversation while doing it. I start looking out the window before he gets any funny ideas. Even then, I can't help but notice how his muscles lock and his skin goes white when the T-Wing hits turbulence. Someones scared of flying? Interesting. I'll remember that for later. Knowing Adonis' weaknesses might make working with him a shade more bearable, help me remember that under all the golden skin, chiseled abs and perfect bone structure, he's got his flaws too.
"So, you 'hang out' on the balcony every morning?" Eurgh. What a horn dog. Shame someone that handsome has so little game. Think he would be smoother than that, being raised on an island of women.
"You were more attractive when you were the strong, silent type, you know that?" I snark in reply.
Fortunately we've arrived at our destination, putting an end to our witty repartee. Turns out Lobo's not alone, as he's tearing up Chinatown with the help of some weird little green dude in a metal suit. Or maybe they're fighting each other, I can't tell. All I can say is their making a better job of smashing Chinatown than Godzilla ever did. . .If Godzilla ever came to Chinatown. . . Or was real.
Ravager started shouting orders, and I just thank my lucky stars that I'm not in Superboy's team. Especially when he starts screaming orders of his own. Yeah, that's smart, listen to the guy with the rage issues. How could that possibly go wrong?
Wonderboy makes himself useful, using his shield to block the mecha-aliens incoming shots. I pop out from behind him to return fire, though without much hope of doing any major damage. Alien death-suits rarely fall to simple automatic fire, as unfair as that is to someone like me. You gotta get creative.
Creative like Magi, creating chains outta noodles and tying them around our extraterrestrial visitor. Well, well, looks like one member of our team can think beyond such simple concepts as 'GURR, SMASH!' Colour me impressed.
Then again, SMASH does have a time and a place.
"What you waiting for lover boy," I whisper in Evan's ear, gesturing at the stricken alien "You're not going to get a better chance to impress me."
That said, I begin strafing round the room, laying the heat onto the target. Round after round I fire, doubting I'm even making a scratch. Time to change tactics. I load in a frag grenade, and send it out with all my love. It explodes with an ear shattering boom, especially in such a confined space. Lucky I'm wearing ear dampners, but something tells me Bat-boy's not going to be thanking me. Oh well, one team mates loss of hearing should be worth the loss of one insane alien.
Or it would have been, if when the smoke cleared the insane alien wasn't still standing. A little scorched and dinged maybe, but still standing. His mad little eyes fix on me, and you can just tell that what comes next isn't going to be good.
"FRAG KA SKAGVEYT KEEZY FEM!" Crap.
He stops screaming for a second, and it looks like he hits a few buttons inside his suit. Theirs a series of whirring and clicking, and next thing I know I'm staring down the barrel of a shoulder mounted cannon that's folded out of his suit. I glance wearily at my rifle, realizing I'm hopelessly outgunned here. Crap again.
Light begins to shine out the barrel of the cannon, and you don't need to be a genius to know what comes next. I turn and start running, diving behind the restaurants counter. Just in time too, because next thing I know chuckles in the death suit starts firing.
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