"Wait, really, that was your plan?" the Question asked incredulously as the handful of dust bounced harmlessly off his mask. The one-way lenses prevented so much as a single particle from making through the artificial skin into his actual eyes. In fact, he was so flabbergasted by the ill-conceived attack that he didn't even return any of Bloodsport's punches, instead deftly parrying them all aside with expert redirections with the hands and forearms. "Tell me, which eyes were you aiming for exactly?" he said with a gesture to his blank face as his other hand intercepted yet another jab.
The swinging haymaker caught Vic off guard, though, and crashed against his jaw. He briefly saw stars, stumbled back. Dammit. He had gotten cocky, overconfident, more focused on snarking than winning. And this C-lister had gotten through to land a hit. He had to be completely sincere about even this small fight. Lives were at stake. And loss of sincerity was loss of power.
He added his own inertia to the backwards fall, turning it into a flip that put him back on his feet and out of the range of Bloodsport's swinging fists. What Bloodsport lacked in fighting technique he made up for in power. No doubt about it, he was bigger and stronger than Vic.
But he wasn't nearly as proficient. Meaning something flashy was in order. Especially with the more powerful villains beginning to make their way out of containment. In fact, the words "EVERYBODY DIES, STARTING WITH YOU FUCKING CAPES!" seemed especially galvanizing. Some of those fucking capes were his allies.
"Let's close your tab, DuBois," The Question said as he rushed Bloodsport. But instead of kicking or punching the man, The Question leaped nimbly into the air, locked his legs around the bigger man's neck, and threw him to the ground.
With Bloodsport trapped and the pressure from Vic's legs sure to choke the man unconscious in short order, The Question hurled a handful of smoke pellets at Shrapnel from his prone position. Hopefully if the metal monstrosity's vision was obscured it'd give Arsenal or Speedy or Red Arrow or whatever he was called now (The Question was much more familiar with the green one) time to get that strange-looking woman to safety.
The swinging haymaker caught Vic off guard, though, and crashed against his jaw. He briefly saw stars, stumbled back. Dammit. He had gotten cocky, overconfident, more focused on snarking than winning. And this C-lister had gotten through to land a hit. He had to be completely sincere about even this small fight. Lives were at stake. And loss of sincerity was loss of power.
He added his own inertia to the backwards fall, turning it into a flip that put him back on his feet and out of the range of Bloodsport's swinging fists. What Bloodsport lacked in fighting technique he made up for in power. No doubt about it, he was bigger and stronger than Vic.
But he wasn't nearly as proficient. Meaning something flashy was in order. Especially with the more powerful villains beginning to make their way out of containment. In fact, the words "EVERYBODY DIES, STARTING WITH YOU FUCKING CAPES!" seemed especially galvanizing. Some of those fucking capes were his allies.
"Let's close your tab, DuBois," The Question said as he rushed Bloodsport. But instead of kicking or punching the man, The Question leaped nimbly into the air, locked his legs around the bigger man's neck, and threw him to the ground.
With Bloodsport trapped and the pressure from Vic's legs sure to choke the man unconscious in short order, The Question hurled a handful of smoke pellets at Shrapnel from his prone position. Hopefully if the metal monstrosity's vision was obscured it'd give Arsenal or Speedy or Red Arrow or whatever he was called now (The Question was much more familiar with the green one) time to get that strange-looking woman to safety.