A little random violence
By Gumnut
10 Apr 2006

Michael swung the chains around and around and around, flinging them at the three men attempting to take him on. Two went down with a yelp, the other just snarled at him.

Okay, you want it that way, we'll play it that way.

The man charged, weight overcoming speed, but only allowing Michael to trip him and flip him on his ass. He landed with a crash in a pile of old broken pallets.


He spun, but not in time, Lugnut and Twobyfour, now apparently on their feet, grabbing his arms and attempting to pin him. Michael struggled, a boot coming down hard on one man's instep and an elbow landed in the other's teeth, blood decorating his new shirt.

"Damn, now my girlfriend is gonna be pissed." Feet grabbing purchase, he spun, wrenching himself from their grip, knee connecting on the return with a freshly minted set of reproductive organs and the accompanying agonised groan. Lugnut dropped like a stone.

Twobyfour took a moment to nurse his teeth and then came back for more. "A little slow on the uptake are we?" Michael had enough distance by this time. A beat and a long leg armed with one of his favourite boots met with the man's jaw; a satisfying crunch and gurgle and Twobyfour dropped to the floor.

"Okay, are we finished here yet?" Wood clattered behind him. "Hmm, apparently not." He turned just in time to catch Flyboy on his second charge and send him airborne once again. This time a brick wall stopped his flight, rather abruptly, rather sickeningly and apparently permanently.

And finally the warehouse was quiet. Michael took a moment for a breather, his hands falling to his knees, his head dropping. "Any more opposition, buddy?"

The black sheen of the Trans Am reflected the lighting not far away, a dark, gaping, ragged hole of night some distance behind it where they had made their abrupt entrance. Kitt's voice echoed worry. "I'm sorry, Michael, I'm still getting a great deal of interference. There may be, but I can't be sure."

Michael sighed, straightening. He walked over to the car, his fingers brushing the paintwork of the hood. "Not to worry, pal. We'll just do this the old fashioned way."

"I don't like it, Michael."

"Neither do I, but that's the way it is and the way we'll play it."

"You should rest a moment." Michael could almost feel the scanners combing his medical condition.

"No, buddy, no time. We're in, we move now." He walked past his partner and headed for the stairs, various bruises complaining along the way.

"Good luck, Michael."

He would need it.