I kinda' get this impression that I'm going soft or somethin'. There was a time starting out, where the concept of a long lasting partnership wouldn't have dared cross my mind.
Especially with an Earther. Let alone three. But these guy's managed to make me drop my guard. Made me.. I don't know? Care for 'em?
Oh, if you ever say anythin' about this, I'll climb through your fraggin' screen, and pull your spleen out through your fraggin' pooper.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand. I was set up to meet some science type at the Diner of an old friend. Al. Apparently, this geek had money to burn, and was willing to spend it in order to have a package delivered.
Not my usual type of assignment.
Usually folks pay me to drop bodies, not pick 'em up. Emily tells me I outta branch out more.
Don't very much like skirts telling me how to live my life. 'Specially when they ain't even old enough to drink.
Luna and Rave didn't give a damn. They both just said that they needed off the ship or they would spend all the time there trying to frag me.
Yeah. Good luck with that.
Al's diner is one of the best places in the galaxy to get a burger and a beer. And one of the worst places to conduct business.
You see... My clone, has built up quite the catalogue of pissed off, butt-hurt, scum suckers just itching to get revenge for some pass indiscretion.
"You got a whole heap of balls bringing your lily white ass to this side of the stars Lobo. Especially after what you did to Shrewbaka."
This guy who just happens to have it out for me is a pizza delevry guy called Hanz Sobo. Heard he does some illegal smugglin' of Earth goods to people that need it or want it.
Apparently, during some job he had been on, guy had the misfortune of crossing paths with my nutty clone. And his partner, and I do mean "partner" ahem, a walkin' sharper, got turned into a throw rug.
Whatever.. It ain't my fraggin fault. I was serving a sentence in Hell.
"Listen, Sobo, this ain't my fight. Not that I mind killin' you 'cuz I don't. But, I'm trying my best to be nice. So leave on both feet with all your fluids on the inside. Or get turned into a new ingredient for Al's special sauce."
He looks at me with confusion. On one hand, the Lobo who fragged his boyfriend and business associate ain't the one in front of him. On the other, I'm still a Lobo.
Faulty logic and alcohol eventually proves to be stronger than common sense.
"Time to die a$$hole!" He screams while reaching for a sidearm on a holster on his right hip.
I roll my eyes, snake out an arm of my own, take a hold of his weaponized hand, and tug.
Bones snap. Muscle tears. And eventually there is a one-armed pizza delevry boy spurting up blood on the floor.
"Anybody else 'wanna be fraggin' stupid!?!?"
The diner becomes so silent you could here lent drop.
Well. Except for the screams of agony that is.
"Mr Lobo?" The voice comes in from behind in a calm and collected baritone. I turn to it, and see a three eyed, six armed, blue thing behind me. Only reason I know its my guy is due to the lab coat.
"You must be my client." I state smugly. Guy arrived at the right time. Knows not to screw with me.
"Yes. Yes I am. My name is Doctor Marlon Monroe. I've been told your the best there is at what you do."
"Nah, that's another guy."
"Well, then perhaps this may be out of your depths."
I spit on the floor and respond with, "I'll be the judge of that doc."
"Ahem, very well. Tell me Mr. Lobo. What do you know about Gorillas?"