Then

"Well, %*#$ this."

Flipping a toggle on the center console to activate his Atmospheric Stabilizer, Lobo angles his craft vertically. Gripping the throttle, he roars into the heavens, the smoldering city of San Francisco fading into obscurity as he passes through the layers of smoke and smog.

*Damn, that was my favorite jacket. I'm gonna have to pay them back for that, once I beat the living $!% out of the dreg-scraping scum that sold me that junk warship.*

Imagining all the wonderful ways he plans to torture the hapless merchant, Lobo continues rising through the atmosphere. He switches on the radio as he enters the blackness of space, mentally preparing for his jump to FTL. He never had liked the sensation, it felt like getting all worked up for a fight that never happened. He could feel his stomach beginning to turn over in anticipation of the coming journey.

*What's this?*

He glances down to his glowing display, eyeing the readout on the small screen. He reads the data with growing confusion.

*Kryptonian tech, all the way out here, in orbit? This place is just crawling with those freaks.*

He shrugs, leaning to the side to steer his grumbling ship toward the silvery pod, floating among the space trash around Earth. Reaching the stranded craft, Lobo uses his grubby glove to wipe away the frost covering the glasstic cockpit.

A beautiful blonde woman lies within the container, blissfully unaware of her surroundings, locked in the dreamless slumber of hypersleep.

*Hello gorgeous. How did you even age in this pod? You must have taken quite a hit for the cryostasis to have malfunctioned this badly.*

He smiles as a delightfully cruel idea begins forming. Humming along to the para-metal blasting from his ship's speakers, he hooks his magnetic tow bar to the pod. The locking mechanism secured, he faces forward in his saddle, all thoughts of his precious leather jacket gone from his mind.

Now

He examines his newest toy with growing satisfaction. The nth metal hook and chain may have cost him an arm and a leg, but at least the limbs he paid with weren't his. The rare metal looped around his right wrist before disappearing into a hidden receptacle in his mechanical forearm. With a thought, he could release the lock on the spool of chain, allowing him to fling the wicked hook with deadly accuracy and power.

*The best part is, it's retractable.*

Heaving the curved blade at a target dummy, Lobo grins as the point sinks deep into the ballisti-goo. The dummy begins spurting streams of blue fluid, signifying an already fatal injury. The chain grows taut, Lobo concentrating on reeling the blade back in. The dummy flies through the air, Lobo's massive fist closing around it's throat. His fingers sink into the squishy surface as he tightens his grip.

*What did that Earth game character used to say?*

"COME OVER HERE!"

*No, that sounded stupid. Probably better to just kill them and be done with it, don't need a snappy one-liner for everything.*

"What in the hell are you doing, Lobo? You're supposed to be checking the guns!"

Kara appears at the door of the training room, fixing Lobo with a withering glare. She leans against the entryway, glowering at the sweaty brute. Lobo winks at the scowling woman, flexing his considerable muscles. The shirtless man's torso glistens with perspiration from his exertion.

"What do you think I'm doing, babe? Gotta make sure THESE GUNS are in perfect shape. We got a job to do."

"Another job, already?"

She pouts, her lower lip beginning to quiver. Lobo averts his eyes, looking instead at the symbol emblazoned across her chest. The form-fitting material leaves nothing to the imagination as Lobo tunes out her voice, letting his mind wander.

"...we never even went on that vacation, and don't you DARE mention Zaguma Beach. You know that was just a convenient cover for a job, and so do I."

She notices his lack of attention and stops with a huff, crossing her arms angrily across her bosom. He looks up, scratching idly at his scraggly beard as his eyes struggle to focus. He stifles a yawn.

"What were you griping about? I wasn't listening."

Growling, Kara lunges at Lobo, landing a solid punch to his midsection. Moving quickly, his hand closes around her wrist, and he spins her about, wrapping her bare midriff in his powerful arms. She tugs at the muscular hands that hold her as the burly man whispers in her ear, the low rumblings of his voice sending a shiver down her spine.

"Don't you worry, darlin'.Your main man Lobo has got everything under control."

With a playful shove, he sends her sprawling to the thin mat of the training room floor. She rises to her feet as he continues.

"Besides, this ain't no regular job, babycakes, this one's personal."

"Ooh, I live for some good gossip, spill it."

Pulling a slightly smashed cigar from his pants pocket, Lobo grins. A flame appears at the tip of a grimy finger, and he touches the fire to the tip of the rolled leaves clenched between his teeth. He takes a moment to puff on the smoking cylinder before he speaks again.

"Just a little grudge match between me and some backwater nobodies. You wanna tag along? We could make a date out of it."

She flashes a playful smile as she replies.

"You wish. Are these the same backwater nobodies who ruined your leather jacket?"

He frowns at the woman, her cheerful tone masking the dig at his self-esteem. She knew that was his favorite jacket, he had told her the story dozens of times.

"You ask too many questions, you know that?"

"So I've heard, from some dreg-sucker who doesn't know when to shut up."

"F%*^ you, Kara."

Rolling her eyes, the lithe Kryptonian turns and exits the spacious room. Her short skirt scarcely extending past her hips, Lobo is teased with visions of her backside as she prances away, leaving him to vent his frustration on the remaining training dummies.