>>6130481The dirty gangster is blown away in one long-winded punch, sending his frame into the armored truck, leaving a dent and a splatter of blood. Before an inner conflict arose from the deed, you're pushed further to seek perpetrators of violence, throwing another firm uppercut that flips the truck over, finally alerting everyone of your presence, both the surviving escort security officers and the gangbangers, whom you could identify as being from Maelstrom. The cold red eyes and disfigured bodies revealed as much, the bastards were practically stars on TV.
They're spread out on both sides, with Maelstrom forces taking a heavy toll but ultimately reducing the mercenary force to only three men, scrambling behind another crashed vehicle. "Oh, shit! There's our paycheck!", the one in a leather coat points out, a dirtied steel plate replacing his face in its entirety to perhaps hide the ugly features beneath. You could recognize him easily - he's the one who started the fight, and by the looks of it, he wanted the thing that bonded with you. Not a *chance*.
"OZ-04 has escaped. I repeat OZ-04 has escaped confinement!" That's another peculiar bark your ears catch, spoken by one of the mercenaries calling for backup. It is their pleas for help, and the eventual sound of automatic weapons blasting that urges you to start moving and dodging, rushing in the way of the man who dared to agitate you.
The passenger, now clear in its ability to puppeteer your body, forces you to leap to the left, then right - weaving past bullets that appeared slow in your vision, and catching up with the first trooper, who impotently attempts to ward you off with his prosthetic arm. Now he had one arm less, for it took you nothing to bite through the whole thing in one swell swoop, finishing him off with a roundhouse kick to the back!
The two other men manage to get the better of you, mainly thanks to a shotgun that manages to graze your back, leaving you stumbling over. But their little victory doesn't last long. The wounds, just like before, heal momentarily, and from them, tendrils emerge to whip them into shape! One is bitch-slapped for leaving a mark, and the other is pulled by the leg and chunked at your target, immobilizing him under the weight of his colleague, not to mention the damage his implants received from the forceful knockback.
Just like that, the man was out like cold, and their leader could only observe in horror as his impending doom marched forward. He tried escaping, getting his friend's limp body off him, but to no avail - your reach was longer, and you could move faster than his robotic eye. Your arm gripped tightly around his neck, and tentacles hanging from your back all pointed at him. Eager for the opportunity to mince some meat, all that "humanity" left in this soulless machine of a man.
