Mister One’s eyes went wide. With the barrel of a gun leveled at his face, he panicked. He jerked the machine gun up toward Hito Yon while stepping backward to give himself enough room to fully extend his arm. So Hitomi stepped forward into the space he provided.
She snagged Mister One’s wrist and pushed his arm to the side, deflecting it so that his gun was out of line with anyone else. Then, continuing forward, she turned. She lashed out with one hand and caught Mister One’s elbow. While she shoved his wrist away with her first hand, she yanked toward herself with the other.
Mister One’s elbow dislocated. He screamed and dropped his gun — then Hitomi finished stepping through and delivered a sidekick to his nuts.
The scream vanished into a whimper.
“Dude!” JD exclaimed. “That was awesome.”
Hitomi turned, all set to tackle Mister Eight before he could start shooting — but he was already unconscious, trapped in a headlock by JD. Hitomi took a half step back in surprise.
JD quirked an eyebrow at her in response. “What?” He asked. “I said this guy was going down first.” He grinned and let Mister Eight fall to the ground. Then he turned to Al. “Sorry,” he said, “but I’m going to have to postpone victory smoothies.” The rest of the gunmen were only just beginning to react to their leader’s cry of pain. “Don’t worry, though,” JD concluded. “As soon as I take out the rest of these guys I’m totally going to set up that date.”
A ‘date’ I thought I should inform Al, was not just a point in time like she was probably thinking from the primary English definition: it was also a colloquialism for a terran pre-mating courtship ritual. It could take many forms, but knowing JD it probably would involve smoothies: if he won another fight around her, there was no way he was going to miss out on a second opportunity to ask her out and victory smoothies were something of a tradition of his.
Al, frozen in horror at her reunion with JD, finally reacted as I reminded her of what JD had thought about in regards to a date with her back when they’d first met on the bridge of her space ship. She narrowed her eyes and Misters Two, Four, Six and Seven were telekinetically flattened.
“No,” she said. “I got four, you got one. I win. No victory smoothies for you. No date. Just… No.”
JD pouted. He started to form some kind of a protest. But it was lost, because just then every door to the theatre auditorium burst open and men with assault rifles and kevlar body armor flooded in.