39
"Solomon Rex is clear of the gate." Eli said, keeping his stone eyes on the panel. "Reports show little or no damage. We're beginning our approach to the target."
"Good." He nodded. "Have the turrets manned ASAP. I want the artillery locked and loaded immediately!"
"Sir…?" Dave said.
"This is a siege weapon, isn't it?" he asked back. "It's here to siege, and I want to lay siege on something. But not yet, since I want to give Mr. -Putz- a hell of a surprise when the big dance number ensues! Though I'm not about to be caught with my pants down when the need for some serious firepower arises!"
"Not that you have much to look at, Sir." Dave mused smugly.
"WHAT?" he growled.
"Nothing." The olive man shrugged. "I didn't say anything. You must have been hearing things."
"Just as I thought." He shot a dagger at the man, through his thick skull and into his brain, giving the blade a sharp twist to the cerebellum. "Let's keep it that way!"
"As you wish, Major Drazen." Dave lifted up his hands, sniggering a bit to himself. Eli blew out a ragged snort, as though a chuckle - a -laugh- got caught in his palate.
"Damn straight!" he nodded… till his lids parted wide as realization smacked him one in the face. "Hey - wait a minute!"
"Major." Eli said. "Bogey at 12 o'clock."
How fortunate, a smile pulled at his lips when he gazed out the broad window. That bitch, the bane of his existence sat before the king predictably, hidden away by the roof of the hummer… the same hummer he saw parked precariously over the huge vat of oil! How dare she; it was bad enough she trashed six of them already, her seventh on its way to the big parking lot in the sky at any time she chose! She'll pay for it dearly, she would. He'd make it so as he ripped the collateral out of her ass!
A boy gazed up at him, at the king with wide-open eyes, dark eyes that drank in the sheer grandiose that was Solomon Rex, practically choking on it. His big mouth wide open; the messy mat of dirty blonde capping his head waved at him shyly like a child.
That hair, that big mouth, those eyes… he'd seen them before, slick with water, brimming with it, the sheer terror glistening off of them as he - for a single moment - held the boy's life, his destiny in the palm of his hand. He'd managed to cram it between his palm and the Ingram while the other had him by the collar. The boy was all his, free to do with him as 'Dad' would have seen fit - till that bitch shot her two cents through him like a grapple hook to the neck!
"Of course…!" he frowned.
"Sir…?" Eli said.
"Bogey is hostile." He smirked. "Neutralize with extreme prejudice!"
"Sir!" Eli called back.
A dial twisted at the stick man's hand, spinning 180 degrees before a thin digit depressed a button on the panel.
"Solomon Rex is going hot." Eli spoke collectedly into the gooseneck. "All crew members report to your stations!"
"Turret one:" a nameless, faceless man crackled back, "going hot!"
"Turret two:" another one replied through the snow, "going hot!"
"Turret three:" crackling out, came another, "going hot!"
"Turret four:" came the final, "going hot!"
"Copy that." Eli replied. "Arm main cannons!"
"Cannons 1 through 3 are armed and ready." Replied a different member.
"Copy!" Eli nodded. "Tango at 12 o'clock low. Terminate with extreme prejudice!"
"Rodger!" replied the man from turret one.
Eli spun the jog-wheel again, turning it a quarter of turn this time around before that button found itself stuck in the panel again.
"All units move out!" the stick man practically swallowed the microphone. "Do you copy? This is a direct order from Major Drazen! Move out at once!"
"Copy that." Crackled out the strong, deep voice of the men's CO. "All units are on their way."
Little Kimmie would finally be put in her proper place, to nature, left to waste away in all its indifference in a shallow grave. The boy right behind her, digging that grave for the both of them with the eagle pecking coldly at the back of his head before it coughed up a slug. Kimberly and that boy, embracing each other limply, comforting each other silently, lain down together for the last time before the dirty maw swallowed them whole. Yes, it'll make for a touching display!
This was too good! He relished in it as he fingered a button of his own, on the armrest of his chair.
"KIMBERLY!" he called out to them. "IT'S NOT OVER YET!"
XXX
"Oh… crap!" Rufus squeaked. Kim couldn't have said it better herself!
"The weapon's launched!" Ron exclaimed, scrambling to his feet while poking his head out through the hole in the roof. "We failed!"
"Not good!" she said aptly—!
The weapon picked up where the Devil left off, its two turrets lighting up brilliantly in the night. The flames were so bright, so large that they practically consumed the turrets in thick layers of burning gas. Dirt leapt up in surprise, in thin fountains that shot out of the ground swiftly, intermittently, sweeping past the vehicle in thin wisps of brown.
"I know it's not good!" Ron agreed. "NOW WILL YOU PUNCH IT PLEASE?"
"Going!"
Her boot found its way down, taking the accelerator with it, pining it to the firewall. Streamers of earth shot their way out from under the tires in the rearview, the back of the car sank a couple inches before the tires found traction again, hauling them away. The weapon shrank when she stole a glance, before its own fire overwhelmed the turrets again.
"Please tell me that thing's slow!" Ron whined.
"Fine!" she said. "That thing's slow! Doesn't mean I'm right!"
"Whatever you say, Kim!" he called.
"Just leave him to the IDF!" she yelled back. "They'll take care of it!"
"WHAT?"
"You heard me!" she furrowed her brow.
"Leave them to that monster?" Ron shouted. "HAVE YOU LOST IT?"
"Who dares, wins!" she quipped.
"The HELL?"
"I don't like it myself, Stoppable." She clenched the wheel firmly. "But there's nothing else we can do!"
"Not that, Kim!" Ron called back. "Look!"
XXX
The king had fun with the toy cars at his feet, stomping on them, crushing them like little tin cans. The little toy people scattered like ants, running, screaming from the twisted wreckage below. The king couldn't crush them all, Uzi noted. Solomon Rex possessed the agility of a pregnant cow with the flexibility of a Honolulu Kyle doll. No, the king would have to let them go for now, though Drazen was sure that Rex's servants could pick them off one by one like ducks in a shooting gallery.
One toy car evaded its demise, kicking up dirty streamers right at him as it made like a bat out of hell, speeding away quickly. Damn that bitch could burn gasoline, yet her tank could only hold so much, relieving itself even as he gazed - straight into the hot engine block. Faint wisps of exhaust dissolved completely by the upturned dirt.
"Run!" he laughed. "Enjoy it all you can! You wont be getting away this time! Full speed, gentleman!"
"Yes sir!" Eli replied, fingers tapping atop the array of buttons just before he pushed that lever all the way out—!
The seat chewed on a little more of his tanks, his back even as the desert smeared past his view. Eli's fingers flexed, clenching the panel as he struggled to keep himself square with the panel. Dave enjoyed the ride a little too much, letting the chair carry him past his own chair. A bang rang out behind him; "OOMPH!" coughed out of the man's chest as his back met the wall.
"DAVE!" he shouted, watching as the king caught up with that elusive, toying car. Solomon was practically nipping at its rear differential. Still that bitch showed no interest! The blond put on more of a show. Entertaining it was, watching him cower behind the machine gun mount as the king's gunners easily trained theirs upon him.
"Quit fucking around!" he snarled.
XXX
"Quit fooling around!"
Kim snarled, the words bitter in her mouth it seemed. She didn't bother to look back, planting her eyes so firmly on the road they would have sprouted up come spring! Her fingers strangling the wheel, her knuckles drained of color, and her arms so tensed that Ron could cut them easily with a butter knife.
"You have a M60, for crying out loud!" she yelled. "Use it!"
"Didn't do the scouts much good!" Wind sliced through his messy hair, flailing, flapping in the cold breeze like a threadbare flag. "They were road kill in an instant!"
Their hummers were trashed, a thin mangled box that became a tomb. Those poor men, soldiers just doing their job till that devil behind the bulletproof glass crushed them, stomped them beyond the earth and into Hell where the Major's minions eagerly welcomed them, arms open in an embrace of an iron maiden. The minions even followed that devil out of Hell, into the world in a large convoy that picked off the rest of those men like shooting buffalo on a train, leaving them to feed on a thick, suffocating cloud of dust.
"Tragic, yes!" Kim called back. "But even more will be taking a dirt nap if we don't stop him now! Ron, man that machine gun! Dust them off my ass!"
"But!" he batted his eyes hysterically. "Those assholes are shooting!"
"Well," she gripped the wheel tighter, "SHOOT BACK!"
"Shit!" he threw up his hands. "Easy for you to say!"
He shot out of the roof—
— "Oh DAMN!"
The wind slammed into his back, slipping up his spine, cutting through his hair so hard that his gut pushed against the brim of the manhole. It bit him, driving its slick, ragged icicles into the meat of his back with the power of a rabid dog. The pistol grip of the LMG was slick in his glove, his shoes squelched piercingly as he pushed them squarely apart. The cold, the pain, he pushed them out of his mind as his free hand capped the spine of the stock, pressing the bottom of his cheekbone against the knuckles.
Through the sight system, he eyed that little devil sitting proudly, pompously in the chair as though he thought himself to be on David's throne. Drazen would be sitting on a throne alright, stretching himself around the brim of a porcelain bowl when Satan needed to unload…. Ron mused when his finger took up the trigger slack.
"Eat this…!" he said softly, yanking that trigger back.
RAT-TATAT-TAT—! -
The barrel jerked itself around the target, the stock pounded into his shoulder, a noxious, burning fog blew into his face as thick white dots clouded the pane, slapping on like the chain was loaded with paintballs. Coating the glass with a sparkling, crackling lacquer, he took his finger off the trigger.
Drazen wasn't content with keeping to himself. He had to share his frustrations with everyone over the megaphones.
"DAMN!"
"He's not dead, but he's flying blind, KP!" Ron grinned childishly. Rufus jerked around giddily in his pocket, nearly circling the waist of his pants by his ankles.
"Good job!" she called back.
The gunners frowned at his action, letting their heavy machine guns do all the talking for them, letting them lambaste him in a raging fury of lead. Wind seemed to rip at his hair the opposite way when rather large objects passed him by, and rather hotly he may add! He returned the favor, spraying the turrets with those sparkling, crackling paintballs. This time around, they seemed to have eaten away decent sized holes in the turrets' glass - the crimson splotched glass. The gunners simply shot at him no more.
They just sat there, slouching while patches of red blossomed on their bodies.
"Front turrets disabled." He said.
"Keep it up!" she called.
XXX
"Turrets one and two, not responding." Dave said with a few fingers to his earpiece.
"Sir!" Eli yelled. "That machine gun completely destroyed our field of view!"
Amazing really, how the good second lieutenant clenched the obvious so firmly.
"Yes." Dave sighed. "I think he can see that."
"So they think they got us beat?" he chuckled smugly, pushing himself carefully to his feet. His only hand reached up, for the roof - and his ears caught the sound of something jangling up above. Somehow he caused his fingers to close. The roof clanged softly, something whirred from above, and down came that goofy helmet that he was certain someone stole from his 'copter. "Think again!"
"Major?" Eli somehow had the muscle to turn that wooden face over his bony shoulder, dark knots gazing at him scrupulously.
"Yes." He grinned back, thumb rubbing over the rough plastic gingerly. "I think it's time to give this little gizmo a try!"
XXX
"The F—!"
Ron ducked back through the manhole when those dead turrets rose again, staring at him blankly - hotly as fire shot out of those dead, rifled eyes. Earth found itself airborne once more right beyond the windows, chunks spinning, twirling on their way out of the thick, dirty geysers erupting mere inches away outside! One gushed up so close that he felt the car shift beneath while Kim overcorrected.
"Damn!" she hissed. "I told you to hold them off!"
"I don't know what happened!" he shouted back. "The guns shot at me on by themselves! It's a frigging ghost turret I tell you! GHOST TURRETS!"
"Highly doubt they're possessed, Ron!" Kim jerked her arms suddenly to the right. The floor met his side harshly, practically knocking the wind right out of him. "Whoa…! Damn rocks!"
"Whoa - yeah!" he snapped. "A ghost turret, I'm telling you!"
"We're a little short of an exorcist, Ronald!" she snapped back.
"And I'm a little short of a ROCKET LAUNCHER!" he yelled.
"So FLIPPING DEAL WITH IT!"
"No way we can!" he shook his head furiously. "I can't! I won't!"
"You can deal with it, Ron!" more than half of her emerald eyes vanished, hidden away by her furrowed brow. "You can and you will deal with it! We can because we have no other choice! Do you see any other way out of this?"
"No!" he shook his head again. "And it's not for a lack of trying!"
"Just as I thought." she said. "Now get up there and push them back!"
"Fine!" he pushed himself back up, knuckles parked squarely on his hips. "I will! Just as soon they stop shooting!"
A growl came from the driver's seat. "Grow up now - RON…!"
Of course…!
"Growing—!" he sighed. He didn't need to be told twice. The simplest thought came down upon him, burdening him like an anvil as he shot through the manhole again. Haunting him, it did, and he had a strong feeling it would trouble him a long time from now, should ever that time even come.
Why'd I have to open my big trap…? -
XXX
Ariel couldn't believe her eyes. It was real; the intelligence was correct! The reputed weapon, the culmination of all the pirating the VSA had done, stared right back at her in the face - a bright stare! The fluorescents above reflected off the still photograph with mirror sheen, painting her view a piercing white while she gazed upon it on the table.
With the big event hours away, it was going to be one hell of a day!
"Lord, help us all…!" she sighed, grinding her palm into the profile of her face, feeling the fingers rear up, the knuckles recoiling as she massaged her eyes. "Please!"
"Ms. Hershel!" Tuvia called over the rattling of the knob, the piercing squeal of the door while he hurried inside. "Ms. Hershel!"
"Yes!" she moaned, letting gravity yank her hand off her face. "I'm right here! What is it?"
"Have you heard the chatter?" Tuvia asked excitedly. "The VSA! They're moving out - the whole damn lot of them! And if you hadn't surmised yet—!"
"If you mean that they launched their weapon," she finished, "the reputed siege weapon capable of launching its payload from anywhere, at any time, on any kind of terrain - then yeah, I kind of did. I've read the report and seen the satellite imagery a few minutes ago. Bin-Mok called it right."
"But when did you…?"
"I'd say around the time you were having that falafel." She said. "I wanted to show you myself, but it looked like you had your hands full, and then some."
Tuvia's cheeks went flush with color, the red tone deepening richly.
"Oh…." He batted his dark eyes.
"Forget it." She sighed. "We have more important things at hand besides your messy eating habits."
"Right." He nodded quickly.
"What's the word on Gladius?" she asked. "Are we in?"
"S&T cracked their way into its main control circuits." Tuvia said. "At last report, it was said that the weapon was armed with one remaining nuclear payload. Others had been removed, as per the Security Council's resolution around the whole mess. Glad we got to it before their final space walk took place, or we'd be up a creek by now!"
"Heard that!" she nodded.
"Don't get excited just yet." The man replied.
"Can't wait to hear this!"
"S&T may have gotten inside, but given the situation they practically smashed their way through the firewalls!"
Her feet swept under her as she leant closer in her chair.
"Traces?" she exclaimed.
"Yeah, there were." He nodded. "Any other time, they'd be way too good for that."
"-Dreck! -" She cursed. "They want Drazen so bad they'll invade, and they act so -surprised- when we take the first step!"
"Exactly!" Tuvia continued hurriedly. "The Pentagon's throwing a fit, and their top brass is worried that we'll use it against the West Bank - or even the ceremony! Thankfully, S&T had the brains to lock out all other ports into the system, but it won't keep them out forever - even with our most advanced parallel-processing supercomputers! When they finally break through the cipher, they'll issue Gladius a final command."
"You mean they'll actually try to destroy it?" she pressed her back against the chair.
"Correct." He said. "Currently, the cannon's just over the eastern Black Sea bearing south-southwest. It'll be over our airspace in several hours. If they flip the kill switch over us, it'll crash somewhere around the Red Sea given its speed and probable rate of decay. Thankfully the system executes one command at a time, and the occurring lockout cannot be bypassed, so the schematics say. If we issue the order now, we wouldn't have to worry about any processing hassles Stateside."
"But if something should arise, there's no way to stop it." She thought aloud. "Hmm…."
"Which brings me to another problem." Tuvia said.
"There's more?" she asked.
"There's always more!" Tuvia shrugged. "Are you familiar of something called the 'Compton Effect'?"
"When the ghetto starts a riot against police?" a smirk pulled feebly at her lips.
Tuvia shook his head predictably, the joke going over his wavy hair like a lead balloon covered in fat people.
"Not -that- Compton, Ms. Hershel!" He sighed.
"I know what it is, thank you." She nodded. "Complete disruption of electronic equipment via EMMA pulse."
"Textbook answer." He said. "A high altitude detonation of a nuclear device can cause an electromagnetic pulse of up to 50-billion megawatts, reaching tens-of-thousands of volts per meter. Most electronic equipment will be toast in an instant! If you do issue the command, Ms. Hershel, and Drazen somehow makes it to Jerusalem, you'll practically annihilate our defense. We'll be sitting ducks!"
"Goody…!" her lips were bitter as she pulled them into a smirk. "This is just what I need."
"Yeah…." He said.
The soles of her shoes pressed firmly against the floor as she pushed herself out of the chair, her arms crossing loosely while she gazed upon that man. Those dark eyes, so boggled, so bewildered, darted around quickly for the best possible answer. No other was around, so they trained on her. Hell, she wasn't sure what to do anymore, yet somehow she knew, like it were flashing in before her eyes in a flashing neon sign—!
Tuvia's quivering gaze froze, the whites encroaching upon those two brown dots while his lids parted wide, all from two little words that came out of her mouth. There was no turning back now; time was not something she could control. Whatever happens would happen for a reason and couldn't happen any other way.
"Do it." She said.
"Is that your final answer, Ms. Hershel?" Tuvia asked.
"Hold on a minute!" She mockingly exclaimed. "Regis asked that last night!"
A sigh.
"Can I get a 50-50?" she asked.
"Very well." Those dark eyes closed. "You're the agent-in-charge, after all."
"That's right." She rolled her head. "We're out of options, and practically out of time. If we're going down, then we're going down with a bang, not a whimper! Go big or go home."
"I just hope you know what you're doing, Ms. Hershel." Tuvia lifted his hands peaceably.
"Hell," another sigh, "I'm not even sure the Lord knows what I'm doing. But maybe…."
"What?" The man inquired.
"That weapon is huge." She put a finger to her chin, rubbing it thoughtfully. "Ground-based…. By the time it left the GHQ, how fast do you think it was going?"
"Who knows for certain?" Tuvia double-spoke. "At first it looked like it was going about 60, but it seems to be slowing down. The rate of acceleration is decreasing steadily. Right now, from the latest imagery, it appears to be going 45."
"Yes, it would take a lot of diesel to drive that thing." She thought aloud. "Diesel that they haven't got."
"Ms. Hershel," Tuvia asked, "what exactly are you thinking?"
"There's only one way to Jerusalem big enough for that tanker, isn't there?"
"The Megiddo Valley?" Tuvia blinked. "Where are you going with this?"
"Tuvia," she said, "is it possible that Gladius could meet the weapon in that valley?"
"Yes, it's possible." He nodded. "But you're cutting it pretty close by doing that, don't you think?"
"The weapon can be neutralized." She replied. "If we can concentrate the defense forces at the far end of the valley, it'll force Drazen and his cronies into a bottleneck!"
"Did you see the number rolling behind that monster?" Tuvia shot back. "He's running with two corps - a damn army!"
"It may not be the best answer." She shook her head. "But it's our best chance. Who knows? Maybe Team Possible can pull another rabbit out of their bag of tricks."
"One that doesn't compromise the COA, of course!"
"Well yeah!" she said. The man flashed her his backside, legs carrying him to the door. "Hopping to it already, Tuvia?"
"Time's not on our side, Ms. Hershel." He said gravely. "None of which we can waste. With our shaky connection to Gladius, it'll probably take an hour at least to issue the command."
"Okay then." She nodded. "Carry on."
The door opened with a twist of his wrist, the stocky man veering out of its way while he slipped himself past. But before the door closed, he pushed that dark, wavy cap of his through again, a grunt squeezing out of him when the door's edge caught him in the temple. She laughed for the first time today.
"A doorstop, you're not." She chuckled.
"Thanks." He grunted. "But I forgot to ask you something."
"Yeah." The comfy cushion of her chair pressed against her bum again.
"When this whole thing is over." He said. "If we're still alive by the end of today, can I buy you a beer?"
Her eyes rolled habitually. A ladies man, he sure as heck wasn't. "I said carry on, sailor!"
Tuvia grumbled inwardly, guiding the door back into the frame. Hopeless Casanova; she snickered again.
XXX
Robin was wiping down the bar counter, swabbing the counter clean of beer, the broken glasses that it was served in, and the stubborn red smears that simply wouldn't go away. A couple little spots on the wood managed to smear across the bar-top's length with a shaky hand, dark fingers troubled, quivering into the rag their owner tried to wipe it away. The tiring work came to nothing as a few drops fell from Robin's eyes, splashing onto the crimson, almost… merging with it.
Yet that bothered Tara not as she watched the girl from the barstool, dragging the rag around the countertop. Robin seemed to focus on one place, one insignificant place that shined cleanly for over a half hour.
She doesn't care anymore. - She thought. - The world might as well have ended. -
Yune smartly kept himself at a distance, tending to the mess he left at the far side of the barroom.
She already had finished her chore of tending to the others' wounds, and thankfully they and that giant were still out of it, mumbling incoherently like a pack of drunks on a long night out. There was nothing left for her to do, except play Little-Miss-Bouncer when the time came along. Thanks Yune, for that! Not!
"What is wrong, friend?" Robin said absently, never leaving that shiny spot on the bar-top.
Friend…. After the past couple of hours, and she still called her friend. She was speechless.
"Nothing's wrong, Robin." She replied softly. "With me, anyway."
"Huh?" the dark girl finally managed to pull herself away, eyes sparkling with every blink.
"Robin," she said, "you've been cleaning that spot for a half hour now. Your fingers are seriously pruned. If you keep that up, there'll be nothing left!"
"Do not worry about me, Tara." Robin shook her head. "It is these stupid smears! Not matter how hard I try, no matter which product I use, it simply will not come off."
"I have a feeling that it might have gone deeper than the surface." She pondered aloud. "On the outside, everything may look fine, squeaky clean. But it might be still there, peeking at you through the surface. Still you try to clean it, or slap a fresh coat of stain on it, but every now and then you can see it stare right back at you - mocking you even.
"And when you can't get it out, you kick yourself for spilling it in the first place."
Robin's brow became a cross between a furrow and a kink. Suspicion dried her eyes, beaming it across the bar-top directly.
"What is it that you are trying to say?" Robin said guardedly.
"I won't patronize you, Robin." She said. "I have no clue how you are feeling, and I bet you can't even put it in words, even if you try. It's like the whole world's left you behind, am I right? Am I even getting close? Feel free to stop me if I'm wrong."
"No." Robin shook her head. "You are pretty much correct."
"Is that how you feel?" she brushed her fingers through her hair.
"Pretty much so." The dark girl nodded swiftly, violently. "I just want to jump into my car, and drive straight off a cliff!"
"Yeah…." She sighed sympathetically. "I'd do the same thing if Yune…."
"Please!" Robin winced. "Do not even say it!"
"It's good that you're opening up." She smiled warmly. "You were starting to worry me, that you'll do something - I don't know - off the cuff."
"Off the what?" the girl blinked.
"Nothing." She dismissed. "Never mind."
"I have really got to 'brush up' on this device called 'slang'." Robin noted.
"Robin?" she inquired. "-Were- you going to do something crazy?"
"Oh - I do not know, Tara." The girl drew in a deep breath. "I feel like a mess. Part of me wants to let it go - while the other half of me want to squeeze Yune's head like a grape! A nice, plump grape that will ooze thickly between my fingers!"
There was a clatter from the other side of the barroom. Yune draped over a fallen chair when she took a look.
"But does it ever make me feel so guilty." Robin said.
Tara let her own fingers run up her leg, underneath the hem of her skirt, dragging it up till her fingers touched metal. Hard steel, it was, flanked by two pieces of thick, spongy plastic. It slipped easily enough out of the holster, and that ratcheting clatter caught Robin's attention. Those dark circles shrank in a growing bed of white when she brought it up and onto the bar-top.
Robin was boggled. "What is that?"
"Why this?" she gave it a 180-spin. "This shares the same name as the city whose walls came tumbling down."
"Why have you brought that here?" the girl demanded. "You said that you were not armed!"
"I lied." She shrugged. "If I told you, I'd be the one wrapped in a white sheet tonight."
"But—!"
"I want to see for myself how you're -really- feeling." She said. "And I think I've implemented a perfect gauge, if I do say so myself. So what's it going to be, Robin?"
"I have already told you—!"
"Nope!" she put up her hand. "Actions speak louder than words. I don't want you to tell me, Robin."
"Then what do you want—?"
Robin got her answer when she reached over, taking her by the hand, and putting the very 'gauge' into her hand, wrapping those dark digits around the foamy grip.
"I want you to -show- me, Robin." She said. "Show me how you really feel."
The dark fingers clenched the grip, so tightly that the tool itself trembled in her grasp. The brow furrowed gravely, those dark eyes darkened in its shade. Robin accepted her challenge, and Robin was going to prove it. The girl brought up the tool level with her shoulder—
—Yune gulped quite audibly—
—And what happened next came as no surprise.