Snippet #2367986

Aeron was having a grand ol time. Honestly, how could he not have a good time? Anyone with some tiny shred of humanity would enjoy themselves when flying in a life-sized RC jet. It was like childhood, but so much better. So much better. He was living the dream.

After…eh, about half an hour, he came up behind this army helicopter. US air force, like his baby. Whoever was inside, they freaked out. They didn’t even know it was the god of destruction coming up on their tails, and still they flipped out. A little pathetic, but… hey, humans are humans. Now, Nix was a pretty good guy. At least, he thought so. Instead of up and saying, hey—I’m Nix and I’m riding up on your ass, he just kept quiet and continued on his mission. It wasn’t his problem. They weren’t important. At least, that’s what he assumed.

Well, the damn bastards didn’t know how to mind their own business. He was just chillin, riding in his jet, and then they threaten him. It was comical, really, the little chopper talking smack to his badass—I mean, come on, his plane is called a Fighting Falcon. F-16 Fighting Falcon. The name alone is enough to kill a man! Yet, here they are, prepping their firepower with some shred of bravery. No—not bravery, stupidity. Like they would ever win that battle. Pfft… Idiots. I should just take off and leave them be. The little maggots. No, no—better idea. How fun would it be to see what this baby can do? Hm… tempting, very tempting… Aw, screw it. Don’t take it too personally, boys. It’s just, I need to get even.

He was about to shoot their sorry asses out of the sky, but a quick thought managed to catch his attention, causing him to hesitate. While his hand hovered over the shiny launch button of temptation, a tiny voice of reason came stumbling forward like the drunken fool it was. His “spy” could potentially be on that aircraft, so it would be best not to play target practice on them. Oh, bother. People are always ruining things for you. Well, he can always shoot them down later, after checking, right?

Despite that slight disappointment—you know, having missiles and not using them—he was still in a good mood. It was just so damn hysterical, these people. These poor saps. It was impossible—he couldn’t get over it. Pushing a button on his headset, “Hey, Norm. Get me info on this little chopper I found. The guy said he was…eh… damn these titles, so hard to remember. Okay—Colonel… Quebec…N-zero-uh…nine, one, papa-Quartz? Aw, shit. Switch Quartz and Quebec. Fill in the blanks. You’re a smart lad, figure it out. Is our mystery girl in there?”

After that quick inquiry, which Norm answered in record time, he noticed they were just about ready to fire on him. Well, shit. He’d have to stop them pretty quick—wouldn’t want to get gunpowder on his baby, eh? Shaking his head, almost in disbelief of these people, he engaged the appropriate knobs and switches, bringing the handset up to his lips. Let me tell you—he tried not to laugh his ass off, really he did, but it was a futile struggle. When the button was pushed, all that could be heard over the static was a low, very amused chuckle. “Whoa there, Colonel. Hold your fire, hold your fire,” he teased.

“I’m not hostile, here. I’m not the type to get pissed off and go around looking for fights. I’m the type that only gets even when he’s wronged. So, you fire on me… I’ll fire on you. ‘Tis only fair, after all. And we all know how that will end, hm? You be a good soldier, mate. Though, you probably shouldn’t sell your soul to the slayers. I mean, what about the constitution? I was so happy when they finally passed the thirteenth amendment. Hell, they probably call you slave to your face, eh? And you call yourself a respectful colonel. Of the air force, no less. Pfft. Pisses me off, it does. But, I digress. Your choice. So, where’s this team my secretary’s freaking out about?”

There was a slight pause, then, as though an afterthought: “Oh, right, right. Identification. How rude of me. This is Aeron Nixon, also known as Nix: god of destruction. Alright, look. BLOOD, Slayer, whatever your name is—I didn’t have time to check the report on y’all, I’m a busy guy—I’ll be honest with you. I have about a million better things to be doing with my time right now—particularly, getting lunch. I’m starving over here. I’ve been starving. But, as fate would have it, before I can go stop by a pizza joint somewhere, I have to take care of this situation right here,” he heaved a sigh, a very heavy sigh.

“You see, I’ve got some unidentified rogue spy chick somewhere around here. Not exactly sure if she’s in your chopper, or what. I’m assuming she doesn’t want to be found, after going through all the trouble of forging papers… It’s a long story, and I just found out about it 40 minutes ago. Surely, one of you must’ve sensed her, hm? What, with your awesome ‘champion’ prowess. Anyway, I don’t want that girl in your chopper, or anywhere doing anything in my name. Not until I know who the hell she is—and, even then, can’t say I really care what all of you do with your lives. I’m hoping you’ll be understanding and cordial about this whole matter. I’m suggesting you park your ass down by route 66, I’ll touch down, we exchange a cordial handshake or two, I find and retrieve my mysterious bug, and then we all go about our separate ways. Eh?”