As soon as Victor lost consciousness, a foreign sensation overtook his entire being, like he was being torn apart atom by atom, he was unable to scream, to vocalize how much pain he was in. Then his atoms repaired themselves, and Victor's eyes opened, from shock and pain and terror. He saw the young woman from moments earlier as she teleported away.
"I'm in over my head," Victor managed in his mind, "I'm in over my head," he tried to move, to raise a finger at the very least, but everything hurt, there wasn't any way for him to express the pain, he could only watch on, immobile.
His eyes looked for some way to solve his situation, but then he heard movement and managed a cough in the ashy, destroyed environment. The movement was sounding like it was coming closer, and through the fires, a figure appeared, and for the first time in a long time, Victor was in fear for his life as the figure formed into Deadshot, a gun in the man's hand.
Victor's eyes grew in fear, but also anticipation as he registered a rise in everything about him, and he was able to move once more, If only a little bit here and there.
"G'night birdie," he heard Deadshot say in a mocking tone, and time slowed down once again, as Deadshot's finger landed upon the trigger, Victor reached out and grabbed the gun and pushed the marksman's hand up.
Time resumed and the sound of the gunshot rang in Victor's enhanced ears, "You missed!" Victor declared, and delivered a kick to Deadshot's recently broken rib, then he delivered a spinning kick to the rear of one of the man's knees, bringing him down a notch.
As Deadshot was getting ready to make a move with one of his wrist guns, Victor pulled out his last Vulture blade, and slammed it with as much force as he possibly could into the red recticle that protected a human eyeball in hopes of breaching it.
"Vultures only devour the desperate," Vic growled, his hearing picking up approaching authorities, "but maybe some other day," he scoffed and limped away from the wounded assasin, barely able to manage the two flights of stairs, looking at the body he tossed over the side and wiped sweat from his face and coughed as he avoided another small fire and finally reached his motorcycle, listening to the police sirens, The howls of the fire department, but he was lIstening to the worst of all those sounds as he started the bike back up.
As he drove through the hole he had entered, and down several stories, he was listening to everyone's reactions to his actions, his face a mess of sweat, pain, and resignation.
Some random vigilante had killed a man...
"I'm in over my head," Victor managed in his mind, "I'm in over my head," he tried to move, to raise a finger at the very least, but everything hurt, there wasn't any way for him to express the pain, he could only watch on, immobile.
His eyes looked for some way to solve his situation, but then he heard movement and managed a cough in the ashy, destroyed environment. The movement was sounding like it was coming closer, and through the fires, a figure appeared, and for the first time in a long time, Victor was in fear for his life as the figure formed into Deadshot, a gun in the man's hand.
Victor's eyes grew in fear, but also anticipation as he registered a rise in everything about him, and he was able to move once more, If only a little bit here and there.
"G'night birdie," he heard Deadshot say in a mocking tone, and time slowed down once again, as Deadshot's finger landed upon the trigger, Victor reached out and grabbed the gun and pushed the marksman's hand up.
Time resumed and the sound of the gunshot rang in Victor's enhanced ears, "You missed!" Victor declared, and delivered a kick to Deadshot's recently broken rib, then he delivered a spinning kick to the rear of one of the man's knees, bringing him down a notch.
As Deadshot was getting ready to make a move with one of his wrist guns, Victor pulled out his last Vulture blade, and slammed it with as much force as he possibly could into the red recticle that protected a human eyeball in hopes of breaching it.
"Vultures only devour the desperate," Vic growled, his hearing picking up approaching authorities, "but maybe some other day," he scoffed and limped away from the wounded assasin, barely able to manage the two flights of stairs, looking at the body he tossed over the side and wiped sweat from his face and coughed as he avoided another small fire and finally reached his motorcycle, listening to the police sirens, The howls of the fire department, but he was lIstening to the worst of all those sounds as he started the bike back up.
As he drove through the hole he had entered, and down several stories, he was listening to everyone's reactions to his actions, his face a mess of sweat, pain, and resignation.
Some random vigilante had killed a man...