>>6309237>AIM FOR THE NADSYou see your Gardevoir laying there on the floor with his head caved in, the gas masked man kicking at his body, and suddenly everything you think is gone in a surge of sheer murderous hatred.
You take off into a sprint, leap over the fallen Pokémon, and ram your shoulder into the gas masked banker like a Mack truck! He stumbles back from the momentum of the blow and you press the advantage by getting in close, preventing from swinging that bat around. You aggressively grip his arms with one hand and start throwing straight jabs right into the center of his stupid face and it feels GOOD. The banker lets go of the bat — a fatal mistake! — and starts clawing at your face and eyes with his gloved hands. An inhuman, animal screech erupts from your throat, more out of anger than pain, as he draws blood. Still, you continue beating the shit out of him.
The debtor breaks free just as you throw a mean right hook, leaving you stumbling, and he tries to throw himself to the side, but you turn quickly, raise your leg, and kick the rat fucking bastard right in the balls before he can fully escape. The guy lets out a choked scream of pain as he convulses on the floor and you kick and stomp on him again and again in the groin for good measure.
Somehow, without you even knowing when you snatched it up, the bat is already in your hands. Your grip turns white around the handle. You literally see nothing but red as blood drips down your face. You stand over him and for a split moment, you see the frantic lights of his eyes shining behind the lenses of his mask.
You grit your teeth and down comes the bat, with crushing force!
One—
<span class="mu-i">TWHACK</span>
— two —
<span class="mu-i">THWACK</span>
— three!
<span class="mu-s">CRUNCH</span>
Before you can try for a fourth, a pair of very big claws slips under your armpits and are placed behind your neck, forcing your head downwards in a full nelson hold. You are forcibly dragged backwards by the larger, man-sized Pokémon and choke as your struggle against its grip.
"JESUS CHRIST, DAN!" The muffled, helium-pitched voice of your gas masked employer comes running up from behind. Mr. Foster, with a now bent pipe in his hand, looks at the crumpled mask and broken body of his wayward colleague and bends down to check for a pulse. A tense moment passes. Then, Mr. Foster lets out a low breath and stands up slowly. "Christ, Dan, this bloke owes me money, not his life."
>Dan defeated Mr. Costner!>Hrkk glrkk... fnnnghkhgn...>You don't get anything for winning... 