"I'm gonna fucking shoot him."
"You're not fucking shooting ANYONE, now shut up and get out of the window!"
Will Wheeler grumbled, but pulled himself out of the open window and laid the massive PSG-1 sniper rifle across his lap. "Why the hell are we even HERE if we aren't shooting anyone?"
Without looking up from the book he was reading on the bed, Dr. Phillip Akens responded, "Because the Hoffmann Institute is not in the business of killing its agents or alerting alien powers of its existence." He mentally added, "You goddamned idiot."
Donna Truit closed the drapes, then opened a small gap in them from which she looked out with a pair of high-tech binoculars. "So Phil," she asked, "What'cha got for us?"
"Not much. These accounts are conflicting, and if there's any threads of truth between them I can't find them. Some people say that dipping them in water shorts out their circuitry, some accounts have them as rising from large bodies of water unharmed. This guy says the Sandman he saw could move fast enough to dodge bullets, others describe killing them as easily as a normal human. I wouldn't be surprised if some of these people are Sandmen giving false accounts -- but whether they're makig themselves out to be weak or strong I don't know."
Dr. Nadine Neary spoke up from her chair, where she was currently reading the newspaper -- New York Times, not a local. The Sandmen had taken over the news outlets first, and besides, she couldn't read the comics in Japanese. "If I could get a viable tissue sample, I might be able to tell you something. Unfortunately, I can't do anything if the corpse has turned to sand."
"Yeah, I think that's why they do it," said Donna. "Wait a second... Okay, I've got a car!"
"So what?" asked Wheeler curtly. Since the near-complete Sandman takeover, cars had become less common, but by no means rare.
"So, there's 4 people in it and I'm only getting RF from 2 of them. And UNlike shooting random people, rescuing people before they get implanted is something we are here to do."
Wheeler nearly jumped from his seat, whirling his rifle into the window again, when Donna placed her hand on the barrel to prevent him from aiming.
"Jesus, what now?"
"Aim for the tires, retard."
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(Posted Sat, 06 Sep 2003 03:55)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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