Post by Juggers on Nov 15, 2006 16:42:48 GMT -5
By nine the next morning the several things had changed.
The kid had his money back.
The entire population of street children had told and retold the story of the fight in the 'hotel' to the extent that it was distorted beyond all recognition or even credibility. At least as far as normal human beings were concerned.
The landlord gave the big, angry man his money back.
Finally, an urban warlord by the name of Kaleb Naquidi had just about had enough of his men turning up beaten, dead or not at all thanks to some apparently mythically powerful, giant white man.
Enough was enough.
Thus it was that when, at ten, Cain emerged from the 'hotel', several things happened at once.
He was greeted by a small mob of smiling, babbling children, mostly clad in rags and bare-foot.
Beyond them were three trucks loaded with armed men, many brandishing rifles.
Cain looked in mild confusion to the excited street kids to the trucks and back to the kids. The trucks had been all around the city yesterday and so he didn't immediately sense anything wrong about their presence there. Then a shot rang out, blasting a chunk of plaster from the wall beside his head in a great gout of dust and debris.
"What the fuck is wrong with this place?!" He yelled as the children scattered into the alley's shrieking.
Several more shots thundered through the warm morning air ripping more holes in the wall beside him. Whoever was firing was either a terrible shot or was not actually trying to hit him.
Then he spotted the figure stood in the back of one of the vehicles with a camo-cap on pointing a pistol.
"You move, you are dead man," the shooter said with a look that was all business and not an ounce of arrogance.
Cain sighed dropped his pack to the ground, "you clearly do not know who you're fuckin' with. I only came 'ere to put me feet up for a bit, see the sights, 'ave myself a bit of an 'oliday and your boys 'ave just been a pain in my arse since I arrived."
The warlord watched, his expression unreadable as the big man listed his complaints. With no further gunshots being in evidence the children began to creep from their hiding places to observe this awesome confrontation.
"Now, I just want to go on my way, y'know, 'ave a bit of a shop around, pick up some shitty souvenirs, see the onion buildin's and be on my way."
Kaleb shook his head, "no, you come with us now, we give you an experience you not soon forget."
The Juggernaut sighed again.
"Ah, fuck off," he said and made to pick up his pack.
Men boiled out of the trucks like ants from a hill and surged toward him. All save one, who limped painfully away in the other direction.
The first to reach him was lifted high into the air by a rising punch that carried him back over his companions and over the trucks, where he landed in a boneless, twitching heap.
The charge faltered.
Then somebody opened up with an automatic weapon, hosing the street with gunfire.
When original shots had been fired the mob of children had, quite sensible fled into hiding. All save one. The kid who had been his guide had huddled down behind the trunk-like bulk of the Juggernauts leg.
He was still there.
Cain Marko was many things. A thief certainly, a terrorist some of the time, even a murderer on occasion but the idea of shooting down a child without a second thought struck something of a chord. Sure, Magneto had ordered him kill a boy but that was for the good of all mutant-kind. There was an important distinction.
The Juggernaut turned to face the shooter, his body planted firmly between the gun and the kid.
Bullets rained everywhere, and while he may have been physically resistant to gunfire it still hurt like hell. Cain gritted his teeth and growled through the pain until the shooter exhausted himself.
Spent casings tinkled to the ground and a crowd of thugs stared with wide eyed incredulity at the unharmed giant standing before them.
The Juggernaut grinned and cracked his massive knuckles.
"You fuckers never do learn," he rumbled and charged.
The tale of the fall of warlord Kaleb was one that would, in later years become something of an urban myth among the locals. About how an indestructible giant faced down his army of men, swatting them like flies and tossing aside their vehicles as if they were toys.
Outsiders would scoff and wonder of the origins of such an outlandish tale and those that had been there would smile knowingly and go about their business.
The truth of the 'battle' was brutal and short lived.
In the narrow street there wasn't really many places to run. When it became obvious that nothing was going to stop the man-mountain from advancing, Kaleb hurriedly ordered his driver to get them out of there. The driver probably would have been happy to oblige too had not one of the soldier been hurled bodily through the windscreen.
A moment later the truck was lifted into the air and turned up-side-down. Kaleb landed badly, fell and painfully twisted his ankle. He rolled onto his back and had a final look at the massive, terrible form silhouetted against the morning sun before the vehicle came crashing down and closed his eyes forever.
Cain dusted his hands off and surveyed this handiwork.
More than a dozen men lay sprawled in various states of injury around the street. Half probably wouldn't see the sun set. The rest wouldn't be up to anything any time soon. The three trucks were crumpled, barely recognisable heaps and all that remained of the once feared warlord was a red stain steadily spreading from beneath the middle vehicle.
All in all, a fine days work.
"Well," he said to himself and whoever else was listening, "I reckon it was time I was gettin' back."
He picked his pack up from where he had left it and started off down the street.
The kid had his money back.
The entire population of street children had told and retold the story of the fight in the 'hotel' to the extent that it was distorted beyond all recognition or even credibility. At least as far as normal human beings were concerned.
The landlord gave the big, angry man his money back.
Finally, an urban warlord by the name of Kaleb Naquidi had just about had enough of his men turning up beaten, dead or not at all thanks to some apparently mythically powerful, giant white man.
Enough was enough.
Thus it was that when, at ten, Cain emerged from the 'hotel', several things happened at once.
He was greeted by a small mob of smiling, babbling children, mostly clad in rags and bare-foot.
Beyond them were three trucks loaded with armed men, many brandishing rifles.
Cain looked in mild confusion to the excited street kids to the trucks and back to the kids. The trucks had been all around the city yesterday and so he didn't immediately sense anything wrong about their presence there. Then a shot rang out, blasting a chunk of plaster from the wall beside his head in a great gout of dust and debris.
"What the fuck is wrong with this place?!" He yelled as the children scattered into the alley's shrieking.
Several more shots thundered through the warm morning air ripping more holes in the wall beside him. Whoever was firing was either a terrible shot or was not actually trying to hit him.
Then he spotted the figure stood in the back of one of the vehicles with a camo-cap on pointing a pistol.
"You move, you are dead man," the shooter said with a look that was all business and not an ounce of arrogance.
Cain sighed dropped his pack to the ground, "you clearly do not know who you're fuckin' with. I only came 'ere to put me feet up for a bit, see the sights, 'ave myself a bit of an 'oliday and your boys 'ave just been a pain in my arse since I arrived."
The warlord watched, his expression unreadable as the big man listed his complaints. With no further gunshots being in evidence the children began to creep from their hiding places to observe this awesome confrontation.
"Now, I just want to go on my way, y'know, 'ave a bit of a shop around, pick up some shitty souvenirs, see the onion buildin's and be on my way."
Kaleb shook his head, "no, you come with us now, we give you an experience you not soon forget."
The Juggernaut sighed again.
"Ah, fuck off," he said and made to pick up his pack.
Men boiled out of the trucks like ants from a hill and surged toward him. All save one, who limped painfully away in the other direction.
The first to reach him was lifted high into the air by a rising punch that carried him back over his companions and over the trucks, where he landed in a boneless, twitching heap.
The charge faltered.
Then somebody opened up with an automatic weapon, hosing the street with gunfire.
When original shots had been fired the mob of children had, quite sensible fled into hiding. All save one. The kid who had been his guide had huddled down behind the trunk-like bulk of the Juggernauts leg.
He was still there.
Cain Marko was many things. A thief certainly, a terrorist some of the time, even a murderer on occasion but the idea of shooting down a child without a second thought struck something of a chord. Sure, Magneto had ordered him kill a boy but that was for the good of all mutant-kind. There was an important distinction.
The Juggernaut turned to face the shooter, his body planted firmly between the gun and the kid.
Bullets rained everywhere, and while he may have been physically resistant to gunfire it still hurt like hell. Cain gritted his teeth and growled through the pain until the shooter exhausted himself.
Spent casings tinkled to the ground and a crowd of thugs stared with wide eyed incredulity at the unharmed giant standing before them.
The Juggernaut grinned and cracked his massive knuckles.
"You fuckers never do learn," he rumbled and charged.
The tale of the fall of warlord Kaleb was one that would, in later years become something of an urban myth among the locals. About how an indestructible giant faced down his army of men, swatting them like flies and tossing aside their vehicles as if they were toys.
Outsiders would scoff and wonder of the origins of such an outlandish tale and those that had been there would smile knowingly and go about their business.
The truth of the 'battle' was brutal and short lived.
In the narrow street there wasn't really many places to run. When it became obvious that nothing was going to stop the man-mountain from advancing, Kaleb hurriedly ordered his driver to get them out of there. The driver probably would have been happy to oblige too had not one of the soldier been hurled bodily through the windscreen.
A moment later the truck was lifted into the air and turned up-side-down. Kaleb landed badly, fell and painfully twisted his ankle. He rolled onto his back and had a final look at the massive, terrible form silhouetted against the morning sun before the vehicle came crashing down and closed his eyes forever.
Cain dusted his hands off and surveyed this handiwork.
More than a dozen men lay sprawled in various states of injury around the street. Half probably wouldn't see the sun set. The rest wouldn't be up to anything any time soon. The three trucks were crumpled, barely recognisable heaps and all that remained of the once feared warlord was a red stain steadily spreading from beneath the middle vehicle.
All in all, a fine days work.
"Well," he said to himself and whoever else was listening, "I reckon it was time I was gettin' back."
He picked his pack up from where he had left it and started off down the street.
