rule number... whatever-the-fuck... they told him about manning the new monstrosity: never leave the chimera unattended. especially with personals.
the first sign of malice is the silence; the second? the missing baton.
hojo had advised against removing the muzzle, and now-- chrrk. a sickening grind, polished metal denting, giving under the brunt force of unbreakable ivories honed to bestial points; carving, digging, gnawing like the prized weapon is a simple chew-toy.
the rod heaves, spewing sparks that would deter any sane animal. but not her. no, she breathes it in, her skin soaking in the currents and expelling it a ripple-breath of electromagnetic sigh. learning, it seems, memorizing the power.
well. all in the name of science, right?
// @ilbound ( this was so funny to me, i am not sorry )
Paycheck wasn't producing any more gil yet big daddy ShinRa had the neve to produce monster after monster as if the world needed another freak show to scorch the earth. What was it that they said about lessons? People didn't make them . . people didn't learn them— something that definitely showed that Reno didn't learn any lessons of his own. He hardly played nice with the freaks in the SOLDIER program. Was he supposed to?! Whatever freak they shoved in his face now, he definitely was not going to play nice. That, of course, couldn't be the lesson. What did his attitude towards his own company and co-workers count towards the big picture? So, what could Reno learn from all of this? He needed his partner's wise words hitting his ear.
That spectacular baldy always knew the right thing to say, and had the man been around right now, he would certainly be using more than words to get a point across. Fists and those broad shoulders were needed to get between what was essentially a rabid cat and a rabid dog; Reno would take grave offense to being regarded as either. Rabid or no, animals acted on instinct. Reno was acting on pure dislike and self preservation, of course. What did they inject into these jenova-damned freaks?! Skill was skill. There was no debating it. Reno was about to show the sadist Hojo and his latest pet project what skill was all about. Skill and pizzazz and— stay fucking focused!
The Turk was basically foaming at the mouth; a sick and twisted mirror image of the sparks emanating from little miss freak. His electro magrod wasn't the grail of all weapons like Sephiroth's stick was, yet it was irksome and borderline vile how someone could so easily deflect . . rather absorb the shock of the blow and the electrical charge. Granted, Reno had not set his magrod to full voltage for fear ( of punishment ) he'd kill Hojo's newest pet, yet the voltage had been enough to knock out a person of Rude's height and weight. Shit. Fuck. He wasn't going to admit it, even to himself, that he should have listened to that shriveled sadist. Here's an idea, if something needed to be muzzled and leashed, it shouldn't fucking exist!
( ❛ Too late to say down girl? ❜ )
The jest fell flat on lips which were stretched in a snarl. His arm jerked forward to grain control of his weapon and swing it backwards. A fleeting sense of control and power. He wanted to bash her head with it, but . . he refrained. Was he growing? Was he waiting for backup? What Reno was doing was reaching over to throw the muzzle at her damned face before jumping forward to land a kick straight at her sternum.