« Reply #38 on: May 03, 2008, 11:55:14 pm »
Scene finished....threat to nipples eliminated...for now...
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We got out of the Impala and strode down the sidewalk. No dramatic music played, much to Bytor's disappointment. We were trying to be subtle anyway, sticking to the same side of the street as the apartment building, with Bytor's trench coat buttoned over his yellow suit.
There was a sudden, sharp report, unmistakably a gunshot, and the sound of glass raining down on concrete. A flurry of little bangs followed, flashes from our guy's window, adjoining rooftops.
I bolted, boots pounding sidewalk. Bytor wasn't quite keeping up. He was saying something into his cell phone.
“He made the snipers!” Bytor hollered. More gunshots. Rapid fire from the apartment, heavy, single ones from the cop’s position. There was motion on the fire escape. Beavis emerged from a window. He was covered in a layer of stone. It didn’t inhibit him much, rock moved as naturally as muscle as he bounded up towards the roof.
We were at the building. I couldn’t do the building-hopping leap my old teacher was known for, but I can catch some air. I jumped, landing on the fire escape, a windowsill, a ledge, as I bounded my way up the side of the building.
“I really hate you right now, Bob!” Bytor hollered. He was climbing onto the fire escape as fast as he could.
One last jump took me onto the roof; I landed in a crouch. Beavis was running, hopping from one apartment building to another. Bullets knocked chunks of stone from his bizarre armor. He returned fire, his AK-47 spitting bullets wildly. He didn’t seem to see me yet and I took off after him.
His gun stopped for a moment. He didn’t stop running, but he slowed down enough to pull a fresh clip from the duffel thrown over this shoulder, reload. I hopped to the next, rooftop, the next. He brought the gun to his shoulder, still aiming across the street. He didn’t fire. Bullets weren’t pelting him anymore. He suddenly realized why, swung the assault rifle my direction.
I grabbed the gun, pushing it to the side and slamming my shoulder hard against Rock-boy. He gave maybe an inch and the gun tore through it’s magazine, yammering and bucking, bullets tearing little holes in the concrete roof. I slammed an elbow into Beavis’ face, where the stone was thinner. I did it again. And again. The gun stopped firing. I ripped it away from him, sent the weapon flying. Mistake. It gave him the split-second he needed to punch me.
I felt myself land, blinked away stars. I was about six feet from Beavis, but he was running straight toward me. I sprang to my feet, sidestepped, and brought my shoulder up under his arm. I flipped him; I’d wanted to hang on, but he was heavy and running full tilt. We separated. Concrete splintered when he landed. He started to get up anyway.
I was on him in a heartbeat, a flurry of punches smacking pressure points, splintering stone. I wasn’t giving him all I had. I didn’t know how thick his rocky outer shell was. Thick enough; he staggered back, but he fended off one punch, then another, clipped my jaw with another dizzying punch. I hopped away from him, wondering why the world seemed to be tilting back and forth. He backed away, screaming at me. I pursued him for a step or two, then my eyes got a bit wider when he ripped one of those spinning vent things out of an AC duct.
Beavis charged, swinging the giant piece of metal. I ducked, a whoosh of air as Rock-Boy’s makeshift bludgeon skimmed by. I dove forward, taking Beavis legs out from under him. There was a loud ruckus as he lost his grip on his weapon, and a loud grunt from him as he landed on his face. We were tangled up. I took the opportunity, grabbed one of his ankles, twisted. I put most of me on his other leg, to keep him down.
He tried to kick me. He was ridiculously strong and every attempt bounced me around, but I held on. He tried to reach back, hit me, but he was on his belly. I could snap his ankle anytime I wanted; rock wouldn’t help him there. Fight should’ve been over.
“You’re not getting away.” I snarled. “Give it up.”
He replied with a stream of obscenities and I realized we were moving. He pulled us across the roof, leaving handprints in the concrete roof. I twisted more. Didn’t want to break his ankle.
Beavis found the edge of the roof, the raised half-wall around it. He started to pull himself up, get back on his feet, and never mind the two-hundred-fifty pound man wrapped around his legs. He could hit me if he got up. I twisted his leg, heard a loud snap. He howled in pain; I let go and rolled away from him. He came after me, limping badly. I was halfway to my feet when he raised both hands above his head, brought ‘em crashing down. The blow cratered the rooftop, and I felt wind as I scooted out of the way.
I had a shot. I didn’t want to hurt him, but if I let him keep going, he’d eventually hit me. I could brush off, shrug off, or just plain avoid a lot. I knew better than to assume I’d be able too. His stony shell was tough, though. I’d have to give him all I could.
That’d kill most people. But if I didn’t stop him, he’d die anyway. Police would find something that’d get to him. I took a step away from him as he lurched to his feet and slammed a high side kick into his face.
Rock splintered, and Beavis flew, landing on his back with a tremendous crash.
I stood there a moment, expecting him, despite my previous worries, to get right back up. He didn’t. I walked over to him, leaned down. Rock boy had a strong pulse, and he was groaning occasionally.
I nodded, and sat myself down on the ledge. I didn’t bother to flex cuff him. Wouldn’t hold him anyway.
My heart was slowing down, breathing returning to normal. Without the constant motion, I was suddenly aware of the pain. My jaw ached bad, and when I moved it a little, it seemed heavier than usual. There were all sorts of lesser pains.
There was a bit of yellow in the corner of my eye. I looked up, swollen jaw an all. Bytor had his hands on his hips.
“Just like you to hog all the fun.” He said. I chuckled; it hurt.
