10-22-2017, 03:30 PM
While Matthew was busy considering what outfit he would confront the intruders in, someone else showed up with no fucks what they wore. Stein did not even knock. The man let himself in, palm shield already in hand and a grin hidden behind his bandana. “Honey, I’m hooome!” Mistake…
Somewhere over a dozen men were instantly raising. Many had been sitting on the stairs, while chairs and even a couch had been dragged from other rooms. “Yo, who da fuck is dis?” Scronny little tan skinned dirtbag, right on cue. His mop spewed from underneath a grimy, never-washed beanie. “Whatchu doin’ in up in my crib yo?”
The jeers from all the others fell on deaf ears. Currently Stein was measuring each individual up to see just how difficult this would be. General consensus? Very difficult – he had not planned for so many thugs to be hanging around a crack house. That was a mistake. “Chill, chill, just trying to score a few grams of the good stuff.”
The attitude in the room changed. The crowd turned towards the man that spoke, waiting on his response. Seems these are HIS goons… “Aight, aight… Whatchu into, son? I got a li’l of errything. You lookin for a high? I’m yer guy!” The dealer thumped his chest proudly. That grammar was going to give Stein a migraine. At least the man admitted he was a drug dealer.
They did not seem to pay much attention to the camera attached to his hat. Maybe because it was so obvious, they discredited it as a wire? Or… maybe they were just too damn confident? Stein liked to think it was the latter option. “How much? Mind you, I’m strapped for cash. How about a few knuckle sandwiches and five to ten behind bars?” Rage instantly filled the room, along with far too many yelling voices.
“AYAYAY!” The filthy dealer shouted, shutting up the crowd for the most part. “Stop yell’n at ‘em and go rip his fuck’n head off! Don’t bloody those shoes, they look just my size.” Hoarding shoes? This guy was born for prison.
The first wave was filled with a number of eager brawlers, but Stein could hear the clicking of guns being cocked. He could not help the smirk his bandana hid. Perfect. Men and their guns. Stein turned sideways, his left hand rising to keep that small shield between him and the attackers. Before the brawlers could arrive, that shiver ran up his spine. Three guns fired one after the other.
Pain ripped through his chest, quite like the bullet that caused it. The other two meet the Palm Shields, a hand for each, and ricochet back at the approaching fighters. Two of the five men fell to the ground, holding bullet wounds across various parts of their body and howling in pain. The advancing men stopped and then slowly backed away. They had just witnessed a man deflect bullets that moved faster than they could blink, needless to say it was intimidating. Ignoring a bullet in his chest gave Stein that much more credibility when it came to badassitude – a Stein speciality.
“Keep firing, bastard can’t block ‘em all!” He’s not wrong. Stein spotted the slight movements of fingers and prior to the flying of lead he appropriated the shields. More men had drawn guns. Instead of one volley, it was a continuous stream of lead, a constant number of people to keep focus on to predict their fire.
A few bullets make it past, but few really sink that deep. Some do not even break the skin. On the other hand, those that he managed to predict and deflect find new homes, pummeling the few who dared to rush him a moment before. Some of the shooters stopped, but they were quickly reprimanded by their boss. Obviously, he saw the trickle of blood as a sign of victory. He did not see the way Stein continued advancing, headless of the damage.
“If you do not surrender now, I will be forced to attack.” The hero used his I mean business tone, again trying to scare his opponents into simply giving up the fight.
The wannabe kingpin laughed, “Do yer worst, asshole!” Seems he could not win with a bluff this time.
“This is your fault.” So calm, so in control, Stein was definitely trying to up the fear factor. Cracks were forming in his shield. They would not last forever under this assault, especially with a few of the gunners apparently packing sizeable heat. “Better luck in the afterlife.”
There was just the hint of fear the moment before Stein changed his tactics. The hero was absorbing damage left and right and he was not feeling too great, but it was clear how to win this fight. After chewing through the first wave, the constant spray of bullets was turned on the ringleader. At this range, a number of them go awry, but out of the dozen deflected, almost half hit home before his palm shields shatter like broken glass.
The bullets stop, and all that remains are the groans and choked cries of pain. “And that, children, is why you don’t play with guns – try a physical sport. Exercise and self-defense are both key ingredients to a happy, healthy and safe life. I’ll be back next week with more butt-kicking!” He reaches up to press a button on the camera, to end recording.
“Fuck, are we on youtube?” One of the thugs ask another, and then face Stein to include the actual recorder in the question.
Stein nods, tossing a few finger guns at the still standing pistol slinger. “Right-o! Trying an educational take on the whole heroic business, instead of JUST awesome asskicking of the righteous degree; what do you guys think?”
“I think,” a beer-bellied short man steps forward, stowing his pistol in favor of a knife, “your video has been flagged for removal…”
“Ooh, nice wordplay, did you hurt yourself?” Stein smirked, even as he summoned another pair of shields. “Why don’t you just leave the witty banter to me, alright? Shields do SOOO much better than a knife to cover up insecurities, you know?”
Somewhere over a dozen men were instantly raising. Many had been sitting on the stairs, while chairs and even a couch had been dragged from other rooms. “Yo, who da fuck is dis?” Scronny little tan skinned dirtbag, right on cue. His mop spewed from underneath a grimy, never-washed beanie. “Whatchu doin’ in up in my crib yo?”
The jeers from all the others fell on deaf ears. Currently Stein was measuring each individual up to see just how difficult this would be. General consensus? Very difficult – he had not planned for so many thugs to be hanging around a crack house. That was a mistake. “Chill, chill, just trying to score a few grams of the good stuff.”
The attitude in the room changed. The crowd turned towards the man that spoke, waiting on his response. Seems these are HIS goons… “Aight, aight… Whatchu into, son? I got a li’l of errything. You lookin for a high? I’m yer guy!” The dealer thumped his chest proudly. That grammar was going to give Stein a migraine. At least the man admitted he was a drug dealer.
They did not seem to pay much attention to the camera attached to his hat. Maybe because it was so obvious, they discredited it as a wire? Or… maybe they were just too damn confident? Stein liked to think it was the latter option. “How much? Mind you, I’m strapped for cash. How about a few knuckle sandwiches and five to ten behind bars?” Rage instantly filled the room, along with far too many yelling voices.
“AYAYAY!” The filthy dealer shouted, shutting up the crowd for the most part. “Stop yell’n at ‘em and go rip his fuck’n head off! Don’t bloody those shoes, they look just my size.” Hoarding shoes? This guy was born for prison.
The first wave was filled with a number of eager brawlers, but Stein could hear the clicking of guns being cocked. He could not help the smirk his bandana hid. Perfect. Men and their guns. Stein turned sideways, his left hand rising to keep that small shield between him and the attackers. Before the brawlers could arrive, that shiver ran up his spine. Three guns fired one after the other.
Pain ripped through his chest, quite like the bullet that caused it. The other two meet the Palm Shields, a hand for each, and ricochet back at the approaching fighters. Two of the five men fell to the ground, holding bullet wounds across various parts of their body and howling in pain. The advancing men stopped and then slowly backed away. They had just witnessed a man deflect bullets that moved faster than they could blink, needless to say it was intimidating. Ignoring a bullet in his chest gave Stein that much more credibility when it came to badassitude – a Stein speciality.
“Keep firing, bastard can’t block ‘em all!” He’s not wrong. Stein spotted the slight movements of fingers and prior to the flying of lead he appropriated the shields. More men had drawn guns. Instead of one volley, it was a continuous stream of lead, a constant number of people to keep focus on to predict their fire.
A few bullets make it past, but few really sink that deep. Some do not even break the skin. On the other hand, those that he managed to predict and deflect find new homes, pummeling the few who dared to rush him a moment before. Some of the shooters stopped, but they were quickly reprimanded by their boss. Obviously, he saw the trickle of blood as a sign of victory. He did not see the way Stein continued advancing, headless of the damage.
“If you do not surrender now, I will be forced to attack.” The hero used his I mean business tone, again trying to scare his opponents into simply giving up the fight.
The wannabe kingpin laughed, “Do yer worst, asshole!” Seems he could not win with a bluff this time.
“This is your fault.” So calm, so in control, Stein was definitely trying to up the fear factor. Cracks were forming in his shield. They would not last forever under this assault, especially with a few of the gunners apparently packing sizeable heat. “Better luck in the afterlife.”
There was just the hint of fear the moment before Stein changed his tactics. The hero was absorbing damage left and right and he was not feeling too great, but it was clear how to win this fight. After chewing through the first wave, the constant spray of bullets was turned on the ringleader. At this range, a number of them go awry, but out of the dozen deflected, almost half hit home before his palm shields shatter like broken glass.
The bullets stop, and all that remains are the groans and choked cries of pain. “And that, children, is why you don’t play with guns – try a physical sport. Exercise and self-defense are both key ingredients to a happy, healthy and safe life. I’ll be back next week with more butt-kicking!” He reaches up to press a button on the camera, to end recording.
“Fuck, are we on youtube?” One of the thugs ask another, and then face Stein to include the actual recorder in the question.
Stein nods, tossing a few finger guns at the still standing pistol slinger. “Right-o! Trying an educational take on the whole heroic business, instead of JUST awesome asskicking of the righteous degree; what do you guys think?”
“I think,” a beer-bellied short man steps forward, stowing his pistol in favor of a knife, “your video has been flagged for removal…”
“Ooh, nice wordplay, did you hurt yourself?” Stein smirked, even as he summoned another pair of shields. “Why don’t you just leave the witty banter to me, alright? Shields do SOOO much better than a knife to cover up insecurities, you know?”