A/N: In the BLoST episode "Large Target", Warp tries out a new attachment for his arm. I was cool with it until he took it off.

Me: (…) OHMYGOD his arm is COMPLETELY GONE! …

I mean, I always assumed that Zurg had Warp's real arm chopped off to make way for his mechanical arm, but there were all kinds of stupid theories floating around about "building over the existing nerves" and "peeling off flesh" and shit like that. Let me correct you.

NO.

His real arm is COMPLETELY GONE. They FUCKING CHOPPPED IT OFF.
A little dark for a kid's show, no? For a few seconds, Warp stands there with only a foot of black metal or something that attaches to the guns and things.

They FUCKING CHOPPED IT OFF. Freaked me the HELL OUT.

Okay, I'm done. Cut, check the gate, moving on.

Darkmatter's skull was pounding. His bones ached. What he really wanted to do was lie by his pool all day until his hangover wore off, but as it was he was landing his ship in the middle of Trade World. The twin suns were already creeping below the horizon, and Darkmatter still had to locate and murder his current target. Her code name was Howl. She was twenty-three years old.

Darkmatter secured his ship with every lock he had and left a couple of hornets hanging around. Zurg had stated very clearly that he would not replace Darkmatter's ship if it was stolen, and Tradeworld was literally crawling with criminals.

The atmosphere was even more oppressive than usual as Darkmatter switched on his jet pack headed for the bar where he usually picked up information. The very air seemed to cling to his skin. He slipped down a narrow alley between a dilapidated apartment building and an old machine shop, nearly sideswiping a hooker as he went. The walls on either side of him seemed to expand and contract, but Darkmatter couldn't tell if they were actually moving or if he wasn't as sober as he thought he was.

He finally reached his destination: a shady-as-hell joint with a half-lit sign blinking above the doorway. He landed, lit another cigarette, and slid inside. If Howl was as infamous as Zurg made her out to be, at least one person inside would have dirt on her.

The interior of the joint wasn't much better than the exterior; a pack of bounty hunters were huddled up in the corner, a few skanky strippers were dancing on the bar, and some shitty techno beat was blasting through blown-out speakers. The walls were the color of rust. Darkmatter let his eyes linger on the strippers for a moment before he exchanged his metal hand for a blaster. He took a last drag from his cigarette, crushed it out on the floor, and fired three shots into the ceiling. The music stopped.

"I'm looking for Howl," he said smoothly, pulling another blaster from his holster. "Can anybody help me out?"

It required a lot of yelling, shooting, and punching, but fifteen minutes later, Darkmatter left the bar with a bruise on his jaw and the information he needed. Walk down the right back alley in Trade World, and you can find anything.

He cut across the north end of the city and counted apartment building numbers until he arrived at number 6647. The suns had set, and the sky was rapidly darkening. Darkmatter landed on the roof of the complex, just above the apartment where his target supposedly lived. He made a mental note to take off his informant's leg if Howl didn't show up by morning. Suddenly, a spectacular bolt of lighting arched across the clouds, followed by the loudest fucking thunder Darkmatter had ever heard. He looked at his mechanical arm.

"Great," he muttered. "I'm a fucking living lighting rod." The sky was black now, and Darkmatter noted that he could barely see ten feet in front of him. Another lightning bolt grounded itself much too close for Darkmatter's comfort. The lights in the city below flickered, and Darkmatter realized that not only was the lightning dry, but the city would most likely experience a massive power outage within the next ten minutes. This was not good.

"Shit." Darkmatter leaned against the roof edge and tried to come up with a plan. His blood hummed through his veins. He used his flamethrower to momentarily light the surrounding area, but he saw nothing. A prick of sweat crept down the side of his face, and his jaw kept reminding him that it had been hit a while ago, and when the hell was he going to do something about it?

The next bolt of lighting illuminated the entire rooftop, and the subsequent thunder was so deafening that Darkmatter did not hear the footsteps swiftly approaching him. He did, however, notice when a small, armored body flew through the air and landed hard on his chest.

Darkmatter did his best to fight the creature on top of him, but in mere seconds he was pinned to the roof with a blaster pressed to his throat.

"Strange place to be during a thunderstorm," the creature said, digging the blaster in a little. Her voice was deep and cold. "What can I do for you?"

"You could get that gun outta my throat," Darkmatter growled.

"Oh, I'm afraid I can't do that just yet," the creature purred. Her face was inches from his own, but Darkmatter could not make out her features. "'Cos word on the street is you've been looking for me." Darkmatter blinked.

"Howl?" he asked.

"That's me."

Oh fuck.

A/N: Sin City references. Yeah.