Other Note: I do not have a spellcheck on my computer, so any spelling errors I apollogise for now. And to those of you who have told me of them, I now sheepishly go hide in a corner.
The oil wells were burning. White hot flames licked at the sky, grasping at what little oxygen could get through the thick black smoke. On top of a fallen tower sat a man calmly surveying the destruction that he himself had caused. Namor sighed - with his rage gone, he was suddenly very tired. The reality of the situation finally sat apon his shoulders, and rational thought began to come into his mind once again.
Not that he had time to savour this accomplishment.
To someone whose body can withstand the crushing depths of the ocean, bullets do little more than sting. However, many of them firing in unison can be quite painful. More suprised than injured, Namor glanced over at the source of the barrage. Policemen. At least twenty of them in SWAT gear holding their huge bulletproof shields out in front of them like a Roman legion. Poking out inbetween the shields were rifles, semi-automatics, and many small handguns. The normal nightsticks and tasers would do little against their foe, after all. The rage quickly returned to the Atlantian, and he ripped apart a peice of the tower, tossing it down apon the line of police with a savage yell. Several fell back, while the rest opened fire anew. The bullets only angered him more, and he flew down on them, shoving two back into their own police cars with the force of his blow. They hit and did not move.
"Ah, so the yellow cowards in your nation's capital do not see themselves fit to confront me of their own accord?" He shattered a shield with his fist, "They send not soldiers, but peacekeepers! Men hardly fit to do battle with a Prince of the Blood!" Another policeman was sent into a burning telephone pole, snapping the already weakened wood in two. The top half fell onto a building, setting it aflame. By now the fire from the burning oil had spread, and the choking black smoke had begun to settle down low. In his rage, Namor did not notice when he flew in and out of the smoke clouds to avoid gunfire, nor just how much smoke he was inhaling. He spun around in midair, intending to come back around for the remaining officers, but very suddenly he was dizzy. He faltered, tried to stay aloft, then hit the dirt with a heavy thud.
The prince stood, shaking his head to clear it, breathing heavily to clear his lungs of the horrid smoke. Still suprised at the incident, he did not see the policeman reaching back into his smashed partol car, grab the ever present shotgun from the backseat, and aim it point blank range at his chest. He only felt the amazing force of the weapon, only saw the sparks fly past his eyes, before collapsing to the ground. Weakened by fire, smoke, and rage, he could do little as the policemen gathered around him.
"What should we do with him?" One asked. He sounded older, and his voice gurgled like he was trying to keep down blood.
"Kill the bastard. He'd come after our families next. Bad enough he got the oil," the other man growled deep in his throat in a dog-like way, "big biz won't want this town anymore, oil or not. And how many of our families will starve now? Damn fucking bastard." He punctuated the last insult by kicking dirt in Namor's face.
Namor did not bother to listen to the rest of them as they talked. He snorted through his gills, tried to clear the dust off himself, tried to stand, only to be hit hard by the butt end of of a rifile. He roared and, spinning around and upward with amazing speed, grabbed the rifile out of the man's hand, crushing it as easily as if it were paper. His caught himself a second before he would have backhanded the officer - they would suffer from this. They would suffer from what he had done, just as his people suffered from the misdeeds of a few in Washington. Ashamed, angry, and confused, he flew off.
"This Prince Namor does not seem to think anything through, eh, Bonnie?" Aeyson turned to his petite blonde secretary. She did not look at him, keeping her attention on filing papers. He went on, "Not that it would help him a whit, but this only solidifies my point. The idiot acctually attacked an oil well on American ground! And from the news reports, he nearly got his head handed to him." His hand shot out and grabbed the secretary by the wrist, "Don't you agree, my dear?"
"Yessir, Mister Aeyson..."
"Don't look so sad. Your mother didn't." The woman pulled free of his grasp and gave him a cold look. She ran from the room and slammed the door. "Women." He pressed the intercom on his desk, "Merri, get my suit ready. The press statement on the Sub-Mariner's latest attack will happen in an hour, and I cannot dissapoint."
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press," he smiled like a cheshire cat, "I come to you a humble man. I did nothing to stop the Sub-Mariner, but I could have done little. I am only one man." He let its underlying meaning set in before continuing, "Let it be known that I will do everything in my power to help those who have been harmed. And that I will ask that Washington, no, demand that they take action against this hostile nation and its insane ruler! With the people's help, we will all triumph!"
The applause was louder than ever before.
'How many must die before they realize?' Namor looked out over the sparkling expanse of New York City, 'They are dooming themselves just as much as they are my own nation. Laws passed to attack Atlantis will no sooner be turned on them once we are gone...' He stopped and held his head in his hands. This, all of this, was too much. Atlantis had not seen peace in so long, and though she had suffered barbarian attacks and hostile takeovers, she had never been in such a direct threat as now. He could not bear to think that the golden halls would be distroyed once more, more of his people slaughtered - for what? He tried very hard to think past his desire to take out his anger on the city below. It was not an easy task. Too many times had the surfacemen brought harm to his nation, any only now did he stop and ask himself why. Coming up with no answer that satisfied him, he flew off into the night.
The oil wells were burning. White hot flames licked at the sky, grasping at what little oxygen could get through the thick black smoke. On top of a fallen tower sat a man calmly surveying the destruction that he himself had caused. Namor sighed - with his rage gone, he was suddenly very tired. The reality of the situation finally sat apon his shoulders, and rational thought began to come into his mind once again.
Not that he had time to savour this accomplishment.
To someone whose body can withstand the crushing depths of the ocean, bullets do little more than sting. However, many of them firing in unison can be quite painful. More suprised than injured, Namor glanced over at the source of the barrage. Policemen. At least twenty of them in SWAT gear holding their huge bulletproof shields out in front of them like a Roman legion. Poking out inbetween the shields were rifles, semi-automatics, and many small handguns. The normal nightsticks and tasers would do little against their foe, after all. The rage quickly returned to the Atlantian, and he ripped apart a peice of the tower, tossing it down apon the line of police with a savage yell. Several fell back, while the rest opened fire anew. The bullets only angered him more, and he flew down on them, shoving two back into their own police cars with the force of his blow. They hit and did not move.
"Ah, so the yellow cowards in your nation's capital do not see themselves fit to confront me of their own accord?" He shattered a shield with his fist, "They send not soldiers, but peacekeepers! Men hardly fit to do battle with a Prince of the Blood!" Another policeman was sent into a burning telephone pole, snapping the already weakened wood in two. The top half fell onto a building, setting it aflame. By now the fire from the burning oil had spread, and the choking black smoke had begun to settle down low. In his rage, Namor did not notice when he flew in and out of the smoke clouds to avoid gunfire, nor just how much smoke he was inhaling. He spun around in midair, intending to come back around for the remaining officers, but very suddenly he was dizzy. He faltered, tried to stay aloft, then hit the dirt with a heavy thud.
The prince stood, shaking his head to clear it, breathing heavily to clear his lungs of the horrid smoke. Still suprised at the incident, he did not see the policeman reaching back into his smashed partol car, grab the ever present shotgun from the backseat, and aim it point blank range at his chest. He only felt the amazing force of the weapon, only saw the sparks fly past his eyes, before collapsing to the ground. Weakened by fire, smoke, and rage, he could do little as the policemen gathered around him.
"What should we do with him?" One asked. He sounded older, and his voice gurgled like he was trying to keep down blood.
"Kill the bastard. He'd come after our families next. Bad enough he got the oil," the other man growled deep in his throat in a dog-like way, "big biz won't want this town anymore, oil or not. And how many of our families will starve now? Damn fucking bastard." He punctuated the last insult by kicking dirt in Namor's face.
Namor did not bother to listen to the rest of them as they talked. He snorted through his gills, tried to clear the dust off himself, tried to stand, only to be hit hard by the butt end of of a rifile. He roared and, spinning around and upward with amazing speed, grabbed the rifile out of the man's hand, crushing it as easily as if it were paper. His caught himself a second before he would have backhanded the officer - they would suffer from this. They would suffer from what he had done, just as his people suffered from the misdeeds of a few in Washington. Ashamed, angry, and confused, he flew off.
"This Prince Namor does not seem to think anything through, eh, Bonnie?" Aeyson turned to his petite blonde secretary. She did not look at him, keeping her attention on filing papers. He went on, "Not that it would help him a whit, but this only solidifies my point. The idiot acctually attacked an oil well on American ground! And from the news reports, he nearly got his head handed to him." His hand shot out and grabbed the secretary by the wrist, "Don't you agree, my dear?"
"Yessir, Mister Aeyson..."
"Don't look so sad. Your mother didn't." The woman pulled free of his grasp and gave him a cold look. She ran from the room and slammed the door. "Women." He pressed the intercom on his desk, "Merri, get my suit ready. The press statement on the Sub-Mariner's latest attack will happen in an hour, and I cannot dissapoint."
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press," he smiled like a cheshire cat, "I come to you a humble man. I did nothing to stop the Sub-Mariner, but I could have done little. I am only one man." He let its underlying meaning set in before continuing, "Let it be known that I will do everything in my power to help those who have been harmed. And that I will ask that Washington, no, demand that they take action against this hostile nation and its insane ruler! With the people's help, we will all triumph!"
The applause was louder than ever before.
'How many must die before they realize?' Namor looked out over the sparkling expanse of New York City, 'They are dooming themselves just as much as they are my own nation. Laws passed to attack Atlantis will no sooner be turned on them once we are gone...' He stopped and held his head in his hands. This, all of this, was too much. Atlantis had not seen peace in so long, and though she had suffered barbarian attacks and hostile takeovers, she had never been in such a direct threat as now. He could not bear to think that the golden halls would be distroyed once more, more of his people slaughtered - for what? He tried very hard to think past his desire to take out his anger on the city below. It was not an easy task. Too many times had the surfacemen brought harm to his nation, any only now did he stop and ask himself why. Coming up with no answer that satisfied him, he flew off into the night.