Big Apple, 3PM

[Jim Raynor]

The gang all stared at Ditto, but each with their own expression. Machoke Man glared, teeth bared, which only hardened as Ditto changed form. Fatty stared with wide eyes, sweat patches beneath his armpits. Tattoo Parlour tensed even further, dipping into his boots and whipping out a pair of daggers, a big purple vein bulging on his bald head. Metal Face dropped into a fighting style, his countenance changing, but Ditto couldn't see it through the sheet of studs and rings stuck into his skin, only hearing the steel clinging against each other. Broomhead visibly sweated, a wave of droplets slipping down his face. The crazy guy, wearing the widest grin Ditto had ever seen, kept his gaze jumping from object to object; even Ditto's sudden change seemingly went unnoticed.

"What ... what the fuck?!" Broomhead shouted. "What is he?"

"What did you bring back here, you dickhead?!" Tattoo Parlour yelled. "What kind of freak transforms into ... whatever the fuck that is?!"

"It's a Prime," Metal Face said. "Tor brought back a fucking Prime!"

A Prime? What's a Prime, exactly? Ditto would find out soon enough, he supposed.

"W-well what now?" Fatty stammered, rubbing his thick moustache with the back of his hand.

Machoke Man cracked his ape like knuckles. "He's a Prime, he's not Emperor Fucking Palpatine. It's six on one. We beat the shit out of him and get him to start making omnilium for us. Imagine having omnilium on tap! Now we can do it."

Tattoo Parlour's face lit up for a brief moment. "We're gonna be rich!"

Ditto laughed through Machoke's snout, a deep and booming sound. "Now now boys, don't count your chickens before they're hatched. You still have to - how did your magnanimous leader so eloquently put it - beat the shit out of me. And you are obviously, desperately underestimating me."

His words faltered Fatty, but the rest looked ready to rumble. No wonder; Machoke Man's point about an endless well of omnilium must have been too good to resist. If Ditto had ever waved the prospect of receiving a million dollars in a Team Rocket grunt's face, they'd probably jump at the opportunity, no matter the difficulty of the task.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Machoke Man yelled. "Get him!"

Tattoo Parlour and Basket Case leapt on command like a couple of trained dogs. The others followed suit, although without the frenzied scream that accompanied the first two, with Fatty trailing behind, and Machoke Man watching with folded arms.

Basket Case shrieked and gnashed his teeth as he lashed out at Ditto. He was deceptively fast, his knuckles grazing Ditto's face. Matching his opponent, the shapeshifting Pokemon quickly read his speed, though his punches had no rhyme or reason to them. Sometimes Basket Case punched directly upwards and even behind him. Ditto wanted to play with him a bit, but the flash of steel from the left changed his mind. Basket Case chattered like a high pitched monkey and threw his most accurate punch of the fight, but Ditto caught it and delivered a powerful knee to the jaw. The knives grew closer, and Ditto slammed the back of his knuckles across Basket Case's face, sending him sprawling over the dirty warehouse floor and into the mattresses a distance away.

"Got you!"

A searing pain flared in Ditto's left forearm as Tattoo Parlour, immensely pleased with himself, stuck a dagger in and twisted. Ditto didn't even think; his fist grasped Tattoo Parlour's extended arm, the knife still buried in his blue flesh, and rammed his thick skull into the thug's. The wiry criminal stumbled backwards, blood gushing from his nose, leaving the dagger where it stood. Ditto heard the clang of the other dagger on the concrete floor as his next opponent came rushing in.

Metal Face and Broomhead saw the failures of their comrades and were apparently not ready to fall to the same fates. They attacked from both sides, rage and hunger shining in their eyes. Ditto grabbed the embedded dagger, yanked it out and grimaced at the new flare of heat in his forearm as he trailed an arc of blood in the air. He thrust at Metal Face with the dagger, who nimbly dodged to the side. Broomhead was within striking range as Ditto rocketed his arm backwards, his elbow catching the mohawked thug in the stomach.

Metal Face wasn't done. A fist was already careening towards Ditto's snout as he redirected his attention back to him. On instinct, Ditto whipped his dagger wielding arm about and dug it into Metal Face's clenched fist, finding the softer skin near his wrist. The pierced criminal swore and pulled his arm back, blood streaming down the length of the blade and handle. Ditto turned back to Broomhead, who he had either hit harder than he thought or was weaker than appearances let on, as he was still doubled over. Since he had already provided the opportunity, Ditto crouched down and uppercutted the thug, sending a spray of spittle skyward. He thudded on the concrete.

Spinning about, Ditto found Metal Face with his fingers on the dagger handle slick with blood. He yanked it free with one strong motion and yelled again as the wound flowed freely. His voice cut out abruptly as Ditto drove a final punch into the criminal's jaw, knocking him motionless to the ground.

"Ew," Ditto said, wiping his hands together. "You got some of your blood on me."

He spotted Fatty. Teeth chattering, eyes twitching, he flourished the dropped dagger of Tattoo Parlour in small, lazy circles. Ditto considered Fatty wouldn't even be making a show of aggression if Machoke Man's furious gaze wasn't burning holes in his back. Best make it quick.

Ditto charged towards Fatty. Any semblance of confidence fled the moustache man's face instantly. He thrust out the dagger but did little else. Ditto plunged his fist into Fatty's face, flooring the sad thug to the ground. Pitiful. He would have to get this man up to speed once the fight was over. It was unseemly for someone in Ditto's gang to be spineless, especially in a do-or-die moment.

A click and bang went off in the warehouse. Something incredibly fast whizzed by Ditto's face. He spun and saw Machoke Man at the crates against the wall, a pistol in each hand.

"Impressive, freak," he said. "Let's see you dodge a bullet."

Ditto dived as another couple of bullets boomed inside the warehouse. Charging out of a roll, he sprinted for a nearby stack of crates as the concrete two feet to his left exploded in a puff. Heart thumping in his chest, he jumped and stretched like a baseball player sliding for the home base. More bullets sliced through the air as he scuttled behind the crates, tinging against the far wall.

"Those crates won't keep you safe for long," Machoke Man yelled out over the pistols exploding.

Ditto leaned hard against the crates, more bullets crashing into them with each moment. He peeked around the edge of the bottom crate; the other thugs he had brutalised were still on the ground, moaning, unable to provide much of a challenge. Still, a man with a gun held the advantage over a Ditto that couldn't transform into any form that had a projectile attack. And eventually, Machoke Man would run out of bullets, and ...

Ditto's eyes widened. And get the rocket launcher!

He needed a plan. Ditto pounded his skull with the heel of his palm. Think Ditto, think! You need to cross a large distance in the time it takes Machoke Man to discard his pistols and get the bazooka. You can't fly, and you can't shoot anything. What can you do? Think!

Ditto ventured a quick glance at his opponent as a bullet slammed into the crate, sending shards of wood airborne.

Dammit! If only I had a gun, or a bow and arrow, hell even a ninja star would-

"Ding," Ditto said, grinning.

He held fast, the crates disintegrating moment by moment as the gang leader unloaded all of the clips into them. Ditto just hoped the crates survived long enough for his foe to require more ammo.

Ditto waited patiently, listening ...

Bang! Bang! Bang! Click! Click!

Ditto peered out. Machoke Man looked at his pistols, confused.

Now!

Ditto's Machoke form disappeared beneath a blanket of light. His body reformed, shrinking down. He heard the discarded pistols hitting the ground, the Skullbang leader's boots as he walked over to their stockpile, where the rocket launcher lay in waiting.

The transformation complete, Ditto hopped atop the crates and launched himself at top speed, points spinning wildly. He hated this part. There was never a good way to deal with the dizziness, but at least he knew his aim to be true.

As he cut through the air, he heard Machoke Man. "What the fuck is-"

Staryu slammed into the gang leader's head at full speed. The impact sent Ditto reeling and off course, tumbling across the concrete and crashing into something hard.

He had no idea if his attack was successful. Transforming back into Giovanni, he grabbed the edge of a table and helped himself up. Nausea lay waste to his senses. He attempted a furtive step but his balance went topsy-turvy. Steadying himself on the table, his finger bumped something. A gun.

Blinking away the disorientation, Ditto realised he gripped one of the crates where the weapon stockpile rested. He shot a glance at Machoke Man. He was flat on his back.

Snatching up a fully loaded pistol, Ditto strolled over to the gang leader, clasped him by the collar of his jacket and hauled him to his feet, thrusting the barrel into the back of his head. A new pain flared in his shoulder. Ditto glanced at the bloody point. A bullet.

"Now," Ditto said coldly, "I think this is what's referred to as a hostile takeover. But I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement, don't you?"