"Get down!"

"What?"

"I SAID..."

Wham...BOOM!!!

"He'z a goner." A cockroach-like reploid (Charoah) had all four of his available limbs over his eyes and mouth. Creak. Next to the insect, was a reploid (Flona), probably based off a tree shaded her eyes with mechanical vines of green highlights. The feminine plant rustled, "That Maverick went through that poor fellow with a Ghitium Riolide Plasma! Sure he's a goner!"

"Yez...he waz a definite fool, trying to take on that Maverick while the entire troop kept hollering at him to duck. Oh well." Charoah shrugged the upper two limbs and used a third one to ease the itch on his wing-armor. "Would you look at that Maverick, itz compozt of all cruzhed junk and no frezhener! If it ain't infected, I muzt get to know 'em."

As the troop devised on another plan, the Maverick lumbered through a playground, flattening the swings, then followed by every children's favourite, the slide.

"Flona, you go in by le Ol'carousel, distract de fat-trash, while de rest of us get his rear," their captain briefed. Twitching his tread-thin moustache, he led several men in hope of bringing the Refuse back to the dumpster. "Touché!" Shushed his dried lips .

Flona waited a while longer to gather her guts and leapt over the carousel to merge with the surrounding real cyborg-plantation. When the Maverick was utterly confused by her disappearance, she dive from her suspension to give the hotchpotch, a brilliant swing of her roots. The kick was effective, but was not long enough for her comrades to reach the rear. So, out of no other choices, she attempted to mesmerize the Maverick by dancing. The Maverick shook off a few loose parts and immediately relocated Flona. The ballet displayed a curtain of elegant moves, moves which put restless children to sleep, especially reploids. Yes, even the reploids. Most of them, who were caught in her heavenly sweeps, were all the Maverick hunters who had stationed themselves behind the enemy. The captain bolted for the dazzled Maverick and cheered, "Now my men...men?"

With the safety of his men in mind, he cancelled that crucial action. The Maverick heard the snapping of branches as the captain landed carelessly and swiped Flona into the glass window of an unfortunate bank. The siren went off.

"Flona! Ai Mama, this ain't well." The French reploid shook from the impact. The second he fell from the tremor, the Maverick released a Githium-reinforced plasma at the line of sitting-ducks. Golden crispy, fried hunters.

The bank's alarm kept whining, followed by a sweet scent of roasted reploids.

Over the fences, a reploid who was claimed to be dead just a moment ago shot his head out of the indentation in a partially full rubbish bin. Flies scattered in all directions, one continued to circle the smudge on the reploid's helmet. 'Oh my, I must have been unconscious for a long time, only the captain is left.'

"Captain, hang on, I think I can ..." He charged the ions on the lens of his buster.

"Erm...what's your name again? Just get out of 'ere and save your own tooshee," The concerned captain chased his last men away from the scene. "Call the commanders; this Compost is too much for B-rank hunters! Tell me mama that I love her."

"I'm X! Don't say such things, captain, it ain't over till I have been taken down! I think I can put a hole through the Maverick!" His buster started to whine as the power reached its limit. In a sphere of electrical impulses and magnetic induction, an average-looking plasma was put to the test. It skimmed the struggling captain on his nose, and probably took a few strands of his moustache along before running into the heap of recyclables.

The sun darkened the growling Maverick as it stood heavier than never, making the poor captain beg for a miracle. After some time of waiting for the Maverick to move, nothing had changed. The two hunters warily withdrew closer to each other for security to finally see the grey glare on the Maverick.

"Magnifico! X, you've just got your first Maverick, sonny!" The captain poured his weight onto X's shoulders with his arm. X cringed and smiled confidently, "I...I guess I did...erm, captain?"

"Yes, sonny?"

"Please don't call me sonny, thank you."

"And a well-mannered one you are! Hor hor." The captain's whiskers wiggled with amusement.