The Dramatic Adventures of Jimbo Akimbo
Exploit 1: Gestation
It began on an ordinary Saturday night. In the year 30XX, in the Delta Oblongata galaxy, on the five star luxury space resort, the “Neon Villa”, it all started. The story of a legend among legends, and the origin of the greatest hero humanity would ever produce.
“Breaking news! We bring this story to you live from Planet Origion's VIP resort, Neon Villa. As of approximately 9:01 PM OST (Origion Standard Time), the galaxy-famous resort has been taken over in what officials are labeling a terrorist attack. No major military forces are claiming responsibility yet, but we're here at the scene to ensure the full story is covered. This is Janice January, signing o-”
BangThe low quality television which was showing a live news broadcast was promptly cut off by the loud roar and subsequent impact from an explosive anti-tank pistol – standard issue for police in the year 30XX, but in this case it was in the hands of somebody much more nefarious.
The man stood at a hulking seven feet tall and had crimson red skin. His hair in jet black dreadlocks and his eyes with a burning white vengeance, he holstered his pistol with the word “Akimbo” etched roughly alongside the right side of the gun.
He spun around in the velvet red office chair barely supporting his weight, a cigar hanging loosely from his mouth and revealing his yellow and chipped teeth, and shifted his gaze upon three men. Humans. Nothing particularly remarkable to note about them, especially as they were all dressed in similar black vests and cargo pants.
“That's the third fuckin' time, boys. We got Janice January – THE Janice January – reportin' our heist here, and for what? Billions are watching her live coverage right now, and here we are! We should be the center of attention, but oh, what's this? Some flunky failed to remember to contact the authorities in any way with any sort of claim to this whole goddamn thing!”
The three men stood in silence, each looking at the ground with similar telltale signs of shame plastered on their faces. Their eyes began to dart around the room, looking all over the battle-damaged hotel room with various police and civilian corpses scattered about. Finally, the dim-looking one in the middle who was missing his right eye spoke up.
“With all due respect, we uh...”
The red giant straightened himself a little bit and corked a brow at his lackey. “What? What could you possible have done that deserves respect?”
The man continued, gulping.
“Well, I got a hold of nuclear launch codes, see, boss! I got 'em off a real hoity-toity politician or whatnot 'round when we first came in a few hours ago. We could blaze up the whole son-'o-bitch if we wanted to!”
He reached into his pocket, but the giant stood up from his chair and began to walk towards them, covering the majority of his body with a tattered brown cloak.
“Listen here, mate. We don't need no fuckin' nuclear launch codes. We're supposed to be thieves! Robbers! Occasional murderers, but not supervillains!”
Pausing his rant a moment, the giant went silent upon hearing footsteps move around outside.
With grace and agility befitting a ballerina, the giant drew his Akimbo once more and pointed it at the door just in time for it to open. What he saw on the other side was a man similarly dressed to the other three, wearing a gas mask. He raised his arms in protest immediately.
“Whoa, whoa! Calm down, Blud! It's just me, Mick. I came back after taking care of that thing you asked me to do.”
The red giant, his name now revealed to be Blud, lowered his pistol and gestured the masked Mick to come in. They all sat around in a circle of office chairs like eager boy scouts at a midnight campfire. Mick's duty was to reveal the name of their organization, which Blud had come up with earlier.
“The Blud Berserkers!”, the cigar-loving giant exclaimed boisterously, letting out a hearty chuckle and leaning over as he exhaled smoke.
“Isn't that just, kinda, your exact name with an 's' at the end, boss? I just, I dunno if that's all that inclusive or fair or anythin'...” the thug missing his right eye spoke up. He was launched across the room and into a sofa moments later. A stray bottle of water spilled onto his pants, giving the impression of somebody unable to control certain bodily functions.
“Shuddup, Jimbo! This ain't the time for your input. Your job is being our fake-out hostage when things go bad. So play the part and piss yourself, boy!”
The gang laughed and took turns passing around a bottle of Horsepider Wine. Their joyous banter was cut short, however, as a sudden breeze passed through them, sending shivers all among the thugs.
A glance at the balcony revealed that the sliding glass door was wide open, implying somebody had managed to open it without them noticing.
“What?! We're on the 57th floor! Who could have done that without us noticing?”
Blud crouched low and drew his trusty Akimbo once more. His eyes scanned the room as he simultaneously gave visual commands to his allies by pointing his gun at key areas of the room. They acknowledged and took point at various sofas around the area.
It was at that point another cold breeze crept up Blud's neck. Shivers ran down his spine as he turned behind him to see nothing.
“You can't hurt what you can't see, touch or smell...”
The emotionless, lifeless words blew by his ear like sudden wind in a graveyard. When he turned around again, he saw the lifeless and bleeding bodies of two of his thugs, who he had forgotten the names of, as well as the bleeding yet still alive body of Jimbo on the floor. Blud's gaze then turned to Mick, where he was pinned to the floor by what was now coming into vision as a man.
He had an electrically-charged knife in his left hand, and an anti-tank pistol in his right hand. Coming into full view, he had cyan blue cybernetic armor and a black cape which stretched to the waist. There was no visible face, but Blud didn't need to see a face to know that this man was a cold-blooded killer at his very core.
Mick tried to hold as still as possible, knowing Blud would soon take a shot.
“Gotcha, you little shit.”The Akimbo roared as another shell pounced from the chamber towards its target. It perfectly pierced straight through the helmet of the ghostly blue assassin, killing him instantly.
Or so it seemed. A moment later, the target he shot broke apart into blue blocks of data and code. He could then feel a stinging sensation in the left side of his stomach. Looking down, there was the assassin again, his knife plunged into Blud's thick hide.
“I decided to target the left. It seems I was right in that judgment. You don't have a left arm, do you, Blud Berserker?”
In a heated rage, the giant tried to pistol whip the cyan man, but he retracted his knife and performed a perfectly executed dodge roll just in time.
“Nice try. However, it seems as if I'm just too fa-”
At that moment, the assassin, not realizing where he stepped, immediately became the focal point of an explosion. As smoke began to fill the room, shrapnel bits flying all over, Mick stood up and gave a confused Blud the thumbs-up. It appeared that Mick had thrown a mine behind the assassin while he was busy focused stabbing Blud. The confusion arose when Blud realized that Mick didn't really deal in explosives – lack of confidence, he used to say.
However, now was not the time to speculate. When the smoke cleared, the face of the assassin was revealed. Not as destroyed as anyone would have hoped, the man's features were chiseled and manly. He had a short blonde crew cut, blue eyes, and shining white teeth. The polar opposite of most criminals, he had the appearance of a saint to the general public.
“I suppose the cat's out of the bag now. My name is Simon Savior! I've been trained all my life, groomed by my family, to rid Delta Oblongata of fiends like you!”
Simon pointed ahead. Past Blud, and towards the lackey known as Mick. Confused, he scratched the top of his helmet. “Me? What did I do?”
At that moment, law enforcement wearing jetpacks flew in through the balcony. More, heavily armored troops came in through the front door to the room behind Simon. Surrounded on all fronts, Blud began to lower his weapon, ready to surrender. Mick also began to raise his arms in resignation.
“It's over. You've lost. I'll make the front headline thanks to your incompetence.”
Laughter could be heard from beneath Mick's mask. He lowered his arms and pointed at Simon.
“You've figured me out. Very well, then. I'll see an end to your foolhardy antics... thirty seconds ago!”
And then, all of a sudden, there were no soldiers. The smoke from the mine was just clearing. Everything is as it was exactly thirty seconds in the past. This time, however, Mick drew an anti-tank pistol just as the smoke around Simon's body began to clear. The moment his disgustingly chiseled features came into view, he pulled the trigger. Whistling through the air in a graceful display, the guttural screams of agonizing pain that came immediately after acted as a contradiction that the shooter could appreciate. The left side of Simon's face was completely gone, now nothing but gore on the ground. He collapsed, his false charisma returning to the murderous intent he showed off earlier as he shouted curses and screamed bloody murder at Mick.
Blud turned, stunned at the quick reactions of Mick. His blood turned to ice, however, when he saw the gun Mick drew. Etched into the side of the pistol was the name, “Jimbo”.
He then saw that very gun pointed at him as the room once more filled with police from all sides.
They filled from the balcony on jetpacks, and more from the front door. Mick took off his helmet, and while Blud was familiar with the face, he knew it wasn't the Mick that was part of the Blud Berserkers.
“Jimbo...?”
Bang
