The Handsome Killer

January 21, 2016:

While in Chicago, Hulk, Ravager and Lunair go up against a Handsome Killer while waiting for Rant.

Chicago, IL


NPCs: Handsome Killer



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

'Whasaap! Ay yo.. I'm on the potion like a kid that's takin' chemistry'

The crowd gathers around the two young men who rap against each other, hats all turned to the back, fingerless gloves which hold cellular phones that keep the light shining even though three wooden barrels line the curb; their interior rusted and burned out due to the flames rising high into the night skies and the popular wood fueling the heat to the immediate area.

To add to the urban scene, a few dudes stand across the street, feet placed upon the brick walls, white Nikes, fresh to death, cigarettes snatched from their mouths as a joke was told and dudes laugh with doubled over stomachs and hand slaps and gang-shakes.

Depilated buildings, the last two, remained upon the block, the high rise in the backdrop which hosts a pair of shimmering lights way at the top, where a slightly large dinner party is held for its citizens.

"Now, as we understand it, Ms. Kenway, your father has donated highly to our cause and your cause. With the demolition of Cabrini-Green and a donation to the new schools, we are somewhat forced to look at your proposal fiercely. We know that you have a steady and strong ties in Gotham and are building a solid network in New York.. why focus on Chicago?"

Melody twists her lips slightly as she turns to look out the window, a slight shrug upon her shoulders as she flashes a smile that speaks of confidence that she's only learned from one. "Why not?"

Around the way, the skating rink was filled with life and children, music from the local Starbucks it sits outside of plays old tunes that cement the moment. It was an event for young adults, some of the whos who was in attendance. The street people and some of the grunge crowd that never seems to die, most twirling like spinning tops and the boys who normally dance on four wheels took to the ice and made it bar none. It was a joyous occasion, really. Everyone seemed to have fun.

If it wasn't for the loud crack within the air.

A body crumples to the ground as a man stands, hands soon shifting behind his back as he casually walks away. His black suit ironed to perfection, petticoat decorated in high fashion with a bowtie that sinched his adams apple true. His coat hung open, black slick hair tapers the nape of his neck as his chocolate colored eyes match his skin well.

Perhaps peculiar, it doesn't seem as if he was bothered by the fact that he just snapped someones neck out in the open crowd. He doesn't seem bothered by anything at all. But the way the body crumpled to the ground seemingly made him smile a genuine smile as if it were the most kind-hearted thing he has seen.

"Ms. Kenway? Are you listening?"

Melody turns her gaze towards the man as she gives a slight nod of her head. "Yes. Yes. I'm listening. I think I need another drink."

Bruce Banner was waiting for Melody down by the rink, letting her do her business crapola. He was still debating what he was going to do with his future, going through something of a crisis of purpose at the moment. Melody was his best friend…okay, probably only friend…and his sounding board. She would at least tell it to him straight, even if he didn't end up agreeing with her. He did well with someone to argue with, especially if, like Melody, that person could argue with him without making him angry. A rare feat.

At the sudden crack, he glances up from where he'd been nursing a coffee, setting it down on a table next to the benhc and looking towards the source of the sound. When he sees the murderous man and the smile, Bruce frowns, "Oh, god dammit, this is going to be a mess…"

"Why are we here, Boss?"

Leonard Snart — standing near the skating rink, drinking a beer — glances over his shoulder at a fellow Rogue and lets out a snort. For the moment, the leader of the Rogues turns back toward the rink and downs another mouthful of his drink. He'll likely only get another sip of it before the bottle freezes over.

"Because I feel like it," he tells his comrade with a tired air, and waves the man away. "Today is payday; go… do something."

The other man blinks, looking down at his own beverage and back at Snart. "I'm already doin' something, Boss."

"Something else," Snart reiterates and finishes what he can of his beer. The noise from the murder not far away draws his attention a second later, and Snart moves around the rink for a better view.

"Figures," he mutters.

That's me in the corner. That's me in the spotlight…

Or out on the ice.

Rose found when she returned to the Authority's little place and her own home away from home it had been fucked up. Surprises don't come often anymore. Nope, not shocked. So, find members and figure out what the hell is going on. Tracking one down at least proved amusing enough. It took her away from New York and gave her a reason to borrow the Mercedes Scott had offered, as her only vehicle was the Tomahawk and this was a long cold ride from one frozen Hell to another.

But boredom and the pile of cigarettes outside of the Mercedes show how long she had been waiting before she went and rented a pair of ice skates and hit the rink.

A few wobbles here and there, and thankfully the girl has an ass for padding as she likely bruised it in the second fall, but it took about 20 minutes and she found her ice-legs and is zipping around the rink, the split tails of waist-cinched trench coat slapping in the wind of the momentum picked up around her. An ear bud is shoved into one ear, a cigarette dangles from lips, and a beanie is shoved down over the top of plaited and twisted strads of platinum hair.

See the murder? Yep. But after passing down Independence Boulevard she got a feel for Chicago's rules. Whistle while you fuck off.

That's me… Losing my religion.

+MEET: Lunair has arrived via +meet.

"Ay. Ay. Bill? Ay.. GET UP MAN!"

Bill's homie immediately kneeled upon the ground to turn the guy over, his neck twisted like a twizzler, head hanging limply like a dummy who seemingly was dropped there, unreal. "What the fuck?!" The guy shouts out, falling back upon his bottom as he scrambles away from the deadbody right into the legs of the well dressed and impossibly handsome man…

Five years ago, Jack Johnson was a patient at the Freoderts Mental Facility in Milwaukee. One of the subjects sumbitted to testing under close military quarters. They fitted him with a few neurological implants to test his responses to violence. Fitted him with a band that would allow him super human strength. Trained him to be a soldier. Shocked him when he didn't follow orders, dosed him when he didn't seem compliant. Little did they know, they awoken a demon in the form of latent mutant abilities that saw their blood running through the halls..

.. and from there, he wandered. Tried to make sense of things. Always cold and alone and rambling with a madmans gaze across the empty streets at night. The withdrawls sucked, being hungry and without sucked more.. being without a mind.. even worse.

His voice fell silent. There was nothing left. Save for that band upon his wrist that beeped quietly, that beeping that only he could hear.

He reaches down to grasp the fallen man by the shoulders, tugging him up to his feet as if he just helped someone in need…


The body crumples to the ground..

..A woman screams..

A man falls upon the ice surprised by that scream..


"Your drink, Ms. Kenway.."

"Oh thank you." Her gaze was out upon the streets, as she views the men below, gathered in their circles around the fire. It seemed almost enchanting, and from her spot she spies a lone person stepping to one of the barrels, his hand over the fire..

Bruce Banner puts a hand on the table and turns his head away, trying not to focus on what's happening. You can't help, you'll only make things worse. Don't think about it, don't let it get to you. People die every day, this doesn't have anything to do with you. This isn't your problem, you weren't even supposed to be here. Just turn away, walk away.

The screams. The screaming bothers hiim, that woman crying out. He remembers the way his mother would scream at night, when he'd hide under his bed and the only thing breaking the sound of her screams was the sound of his father's belt lashing against her skin…

Nonono not going to think about that, nope.

Bruce hunches, turned away from the ice, his hand white-knuckled on the edge of the picnic table as the wood starts to crack around his hand where he squeezes with increasing strength…

Lunair blinks. She is trying to figure out what's happening. There's a deep, uneasy fear. Lab experiment, just like her. She's just like the monster. Why is she not more unnerved? But Lunair is a late arrival. Her mouth opens, closes. She was exploring, likely late night shopping. Unease. Fear. And now she tries to look for cover, for something to help. "Hey! Leave him alone!" Pause. "Oh dear god, why am I doing this."

Cold looks across the rink at the well-dressed murderer and lets out a breath. There does not appear to be any sort of angle here — not that he can see — just senseless death. Heat. This will bring heat down upon the event, and all the people here, including Cold.

"It's things like this that really damage my calm," he murmurs to himself, and discards the now-frozen beer to the side. His lips drawn into a thin line, Snart channels his icy abilities down through his feet and across the rink toward the man in the suit. Underneath the murderer's feet, he generates myriad thin spikes — but not at the man, at the ice. Weakening it.

Snart looks at his fellow Rogue and waves him off — only to recognise Lunair, half way through the gesture. He blinks, ignoring the Rogue, then frowns in Lunair's direction.

Music changed tempo to something with a bit more bass then Lacuna Coil could provide…

Her own skating picked up with it, feet found beneath her despite being balanced on blades over a man-made bed of ice. She was only here to await Rant's exit and question her as well as hit up The Alley. It came up on her phone as a place that would suit her interests. Only a few miles away…

Just out of reach…

Unlinke the man's neck that cricked and rotted like a chickens before it is strung up on the line and made into delicious nuggets. Instead he joined another number in the Chicago streets tonight, not a box with dip.


The man in front of her falls with the sight brought to epiphany with the scream, making Rose have to jump him and land with blunt force that has her wavering and skidding to the side to try and stop in time to kick up a small mist of shaved rink.

"Stupid…" Rose murmurs as she slides to the exit and wobbles off the rink in the awkward land waddle to drop onto a bench and start unlacing while that smoke spirals around her face, framing that milky white eye before it dissipates into the cold assault of Lake air.

One skate in hand she flips it with a small toss, holding the high top by its tongue and flapping it to test the balance before she stands and pivots…. The momentum adds to the boosted strength behind the lob that sends the ice skate blade over leather towards the assaulter/murderer, aiming to hit him with the metal side of newly learned hobby, the ear bud falling from her ear to dangle from lapel of her leather coat.

…Why be a King, when you can be a God?

It spirals into chaos. People running and grabbing their loved ones, some show the true test of their ilk as they leave their loved ones standing, every man for themselves. Some people begin to fall upon the ice, while the expert skaters slice over fingers which sever them from their digits, another kicking a fallen women upon the head which leaves a deep groove and blood from her mouth. Another falls and is trampled by sharp blades that beat the bones into dust and paint the white ice a shade of red, like lipstick stains on silk that continually spread with the line sharp through it.

The well dressed man continues to walk on the ice, unphased, a genuine smile upon his face as he catches another, the twist of his wrist as his fingers clasps against the jaw that sends another neck to snap, the body falling to the ground like so.

Bodies were dropping left and right, and it seems as if he wasn't the only murderer afoot.

Panic. It kills right when you don't expect it to.

The spikes from the ice have gone noticed for now, for the man slowly continues that stride yet lifts just a touch off of the ground, walking on air was a testament to the power that the band upon his wrist gives him, yet .. while there was screaming.. there was a hero reaching out which makes his eyes turn in her direction.

A woman was suddenly snatched mid run with a swipe of his strong hand, her hair pulled and tugged at the roots, swung backwards and into a reverse 360 and soon tossed towards Lunair like a pitcher on fire.

His hand strikes out to catch the thrown skate, slicing into the middle of his palm, but there wasn't a flinch in his gaze, instead.. it was lobbed back towards Rose as his other hand lifts straight towards the running few.. who seemingly stop; running in place.

"What the fuck?!"
"I can't move!"

Bruce Banner is trying to block it all out. He's trying to think of calculus, of theorems, of anything. Anything but the screaming, the pain, the death. The cacophany of panic rises in the world around him as he sinks down to his knees, pressing his chin hard against his chest. Not here, not now, no, no, no…

Then he feels it inside, something breaking, some dam in the well of his soul. But on the other side isn't water or release - it's rage. Hot, boiling rage. Volcanic. His skin goes hot as it starts to stretch over his muscles, bones popping, sinews straining. Anyone looking will see a hunched over man straining as if in agony, then hear another CRACK, as his spine arches, tearing out the back of his shirt to reveal flesh turning sickly and green as it starts to inflate.

"Nooo noooooooooo NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" he cries, throwing his head back as man becomes beast, as intellect becomes hate, as scientist becomes monster. As Bruce Banner dies away and leaves behind only the Hulk.

The beast stands, slowly, shaking off the remnants of its clothing. Over eight feet tall and wide as a Buick, the bulbous head of the creature turns on shoulders slabbed in jade granite. He huffs once, and narrows his eyes as he seeks the source of his wrath…

Snart grunts at himself.

"So much for a quiet solution," he murmurs under his breath, seeing that his 'spike trap' failed to do much to the 'gentleman murderer' on the rink. The man's generally calm demeanour shifts then, when he spots the woman sent flying at Lunair… only to turn and gape at the emergence of the Hulk.

"We're all dead," he whispers, but not before summoning a wall of ice between Lunair and the thrown woman.

That poor woman. Lunair does her best to look like she used a smart watch to pull up Iron Man colored armor and catch the poor woman, as gently as possible. The sound of Rose is reassuring. Is that Cold, too? She remembers owing him cookies, but it's a distant, panicked memory. For now, she sets the poor woman down - if she's still alive and moves to - wait, there's a Hulk. Oh shit. And then a wall of ice. Lunair flies up over the ice to catch the woman and set her down. "Please run, ma'am!"

And she spots her second friend with one eye. "MISS R! LOOK OUT!" There's 1) A hulk and 2) That dude. A pause, she lands beside Cold. "Thank you. And I appreciate it. I gotta grab people. I'll be back, but if you follow me after this, I can bake you cookies. Just -" Well, Lunair is going to further infringe copyright, but the power armor'd woman is going to mirror Iron Man and start scooping up civilians and setting them down to run as best as she can.

Then it all goes further south(side). That mismatched gaze watches as the people begin to perform like a degenrated stampede where they do not even care for their own. It was a caucophanous chorus that has her moving fast. Fast enough her boots are left at the bench next to the one skate she ran out of in her burst towards the ice and the man walking on air over it.

The skate lobbed at her has her lowering, dropping to leather clad knees with a momentum that still has her sliding forward as if to collide with the opponent. Coming to a stop in that bent kneel upon the ice both hands come up and from the draw at the small of her back two Glocks are in hands and aimed upward towards him, firing instantly and simultaneously with the pained omission from the Hulk.

Only after does she hear warnings and while one eye, the real blue she was born with, remains focused ahead, the other milky white comes to a faint glow of blue, searching in a sickly rotation within socket.

"L! Clear a path, who is the ice man with you?" For now Rose stays right in the way and path between Chicago Devil and Green Giant. But the relief is there that someone here is known and confident she has her back.

* OOC Time: Tue Jan 19 19:15:36 2016 *

The solution was quick. The crew that Cold ran with knew that when there's trouble like the Hulk bursting out of his meat-suit, you hit the ground running and you don't come back. Contingency plans, of course. You can't carry shit out when you're a mash of mush all over the ice block and wouldn't be able to wear a stylish coat. Or shoes. You have to wear stylish shoes when your executing a contingency plan. With Cold and his goons out of the picture, it leaves Lunair standing out in the open, the well manicured hand of the Handsome Killer remains outright as the row of people that tried to run and couldn't hold ground or move muscle to save their lives.

And all the while he smiled. No matter that the Hulk was there, there were screams and ..


The two shots lobbed into his chest causes that arm to drop and fall lax, his body trembling from the two shots to the chest, one hand reaching up to touch upon the holes placed there, a thick of brown hair that hangs loosely within his gaze is soon tossed back with a heavy sniff and a lift of his chin.

His cool brown gaze settles upon Rose as the people were released, cars that line the now bloody ringside begin to shake and rumble, his own show produced with both hands (albeit one arm hangs lower) than the other, to lob cars into her, Lunair, and Hulk's direction instead.

Payback. With Steel.


"HOLY SHIT WHAT IS THAT?" A man screams from the high window as everyone begins to shuffle towards it, the scene of the cars lifting high into the air and being tossed down has others gasping.. one man reaching for his cell phone to dial the police as the other calmly begins to instruct others to back away from the window to get to the service exits.

"Ms. Kenway. You have to come with us. It wouldn't do us well to have you injured, your father wouldn't be most pleased."

"If I cared about what pleases my father or not I'd still be in school and probably a virgin. You get. Get now." She gives him a blaise' wave as she turns towards the window to watch the show.

(Yarp. Melody ain't going down there, she ain't stupid.)

Hulk hadn't entirely centered on the Handsome Killer, still looking around to find the precise source of his rage. Hence, he isn't looking directly towards him when the car is flung in his direction. The grill hits Hulk in the shoulder and the back of his neck, several tons of steel and chrome and luxury, a lethal shot to any man on the street. The car itself is totalled in the impact, crumpling in on itself. Glass rains in every direction.

Hulk grunts and shakes his head, flinging the shards from his scalp. He barely moved. But it does get his attention. He huffs, the cool winter air making thick, vaporous plumes from his nose. He's like a bull seeing red as he picks up the shattered remnants of the car with one hand and begins walking forward.

"Hulk play catch!" he shouts, flinging the vehicle back at his attacker.

Lunair is doing her best to help grab civilians and clear a path for Rose. She will have to bring Cold his treats later. She manages to avoid most of a car, though she yelps as a rear view mirror clips her side. "Ow! Rude!" Handsome or not, RUDE! She has to - help. Slow civvies get scooped and moved, otherwise, Iron Lunair (NOT COPYRIGHT) will return fire and throw a freaking kitchen sink at the Handsome Dude.

Ravager is not one to sit still, not when this well dressed man in Armani and has obiously not missed a parafin appointment is flinging objects at her. Not just any objects. Cars.

Not just any car. Scott's Mercedes….

The look that follows it through the air can almost be seen as a Looney Toons Wile E. Coyote reaction. But instead of brandishing an "I'm fucking squished" sign Ravager is heading for the flying vehicle.

A swift motion of sliding and leaping as the Mercedes impacts the ground and rolls, glass shattering outward in a glistening spray as windows smash out and metal crinkles beneath the pressure. The vehicle rolls and in one flip Ravager is swept up in it, beneath it and when it lands on all four wheels and rocks there is nothing left of the platinum haired woman but a single lone boot laying on the rink.

Lunairs retort, Hulks yell and battle cry… Backed suddenly by the revving of an engine and headlights coming on as the (Thank German manufacturers) Mercese starts up and is tearing towards Mr Armani, slamming on the brakes at the last minute to try and smash the crumpled ass end of the car into him and drag him into the undercarriage.

Through the area a windshield once was… Ravager flicks him off.

Ravager LOG NOTE: Mercedes is BMW **

People of the building begin to filter and fan out quietly, most taking back exits and others out the front doors as they wisely clear the streets. Citizens of Chicago were like that. They were good to the point of calling the police and minding their own at the same time. Fine lines walked, and they hover in between the good citizen and not so good citizen. At least they somewhat cared, right?

Melody on the other hand steps away from the window, following the crowd at the ass end; taking the stairs upright to burst through the door that leads to the rooftop, taking those quickened steps to the edge of the roof to watch and..

Her hand lifts to smack hard against her face.



The Handsome man retains a smile upon his face even though his wounds ooze with blood, the metal ring that lines his wrist beeps with exasperation as it tries to work his body into speeding up the healing. He lifts himself into the air with a rise of hands, settling into the float as he watches the carnage..

..A man is clipped right at the top half, body sheared in half..

A woman loses a finger from the way she was clipped..

Two men grab each other in a huddle and dive into the blood of ice, sliding across the way to safety..

..Nevermind the many that Lunair saved in her flights to get the people out of the way.

It was like a party! To him, it was the most serene thing he's ever seen, and he marvels at it to the point where he opens his mouth to speak until..


The car knocks right into him, sending him twirling within the air like a spinning top..

The kitchen sink racks his middle, doubling him in half as he's sent flying further back into the air.. and to the ground upon his ass..

..And the car smacks him right in the upper chest, cracking ribs and bones, bending senew and tearing ligaments as the car itself creates a funny little tip, top and rumble upon as it passes over. A generous fuck you indeed…

Hulk just keeps on marching towards the man. He's used to opponents getting up from impacts like that…well, okay, m ost of them stay down but Hulk's stubborn and angry and certainly not above kicking someone while they're down. The beast cocks his head and glimpses Lunair from a distance, narrowing his eyes as he remembers the woman. Mostly. She was friends with Sparkle Girl. And Banner. Stupid Banner.

Thinking about his alter ego irritates Hulk further and he stomps, sending a miniature earthquake through the world around him as he clenches his hands into fists.

Lunair is indeed, a friend! She likes Banner, Sparkle Butt, Rose and all of them. Except the guy who just got nailed by the flying car. Lunair blinks a little. Well, okay then. And then she notes she did nail the guy with the kitchen sink. Ahem. "Wow."

That was pretty impressive. Lunair though, has to tend to the wounded. "Ehm. I don't think we should stay around with the cops. Anyone need a ride away?" She asks, staunching the bleeding of one woman's hand.

The radio in the car is blaring Five Finger Death Punch to make the situation that much more eloquent. The door to the car is tried, the pounding of kicking coming from within until Rose reaches out and slides out through the widow with her swords held in her grip now, the coat off and an elaborate harness lining her arms like a jointed mechanization of arm replacements. Just above elbows and along triceps is where the pistols holster, the swords snap into the rigging to spin back and line along forearms, following the line of the ulna. At the base of her spine is the holster with two more pistols pointed down towards leather clas ass, two large Magnum Throwing Knives pint hilts out horizontally just behind the holstered additional pistols.

Over half her face she wears a mask, perhaps an ode to Phantom of the Opera during the season where it plays in Chicago, or at least the onlookers can see it that way as it frames the glowing milky white eye and pushes back platinum strands.

Reaching back in Ravager grabs a large duffel bag, her coat and lights another cigarette, all the while her gaze is set upon the raging Green Giant they all know and love with a sense of love for life, not want to cuddle.

"Is it dead?" Ravager asks about the man at Hulks feet after pulling the cig from lips and exhaling in a plume. "I have a grenade or two…" She states as she heads towards the Hulk slowly, unzipping her duffel all the while positioning herelf to also bring Lunair into sights. Just then a tire pops off the frame of the BMW and rolls across the ice, headlights dying and radio going off as the Beamer lets out a mechanical deaths rattle.

"Hmph." And Rose (for some reason) is smiling.

Cig flick, ash fall.

"Yeah umm, my ride just breathed it's last." Rose looks from one to the next and perks a brow. "I was stalking Rant, fancy seeing you guys here."

A hand lifts to tap against her ear as she tries to bring 'the crew' into the now.

"Hello? Hello? Is this thing on?"

"Someone tell Hulk. CHEESEBURGER. Maybe that'll calm him down. And.. I'm two blocks over. Anyone feel like giving me a ride? My car was over there.."

Yeah, the man was dead. The only thing that was seen from him was a tattered Armani jacket that went with the suit that he wore, the flap of skin that -was- his scalp that hangs out of the radiator of the broken car. An arm twitches, but nothing comes of it, just a gruesome, heaping pile of mess that laid underneath what used to be someones Mother's car.

Sirens begin to blaze and ring around the area..

Those who ran decidedly came back to try to search for their loved ones.

A woman clutches herself, one blade off of her ice skate as the other tries to catch the ground as she stumbles, bleeding from the head and crying. "John? John?!"

"Where's my baby?"
"At home, dumb ass."

A man remains upon the ground, his leg broken in two places, shaking quietly, trying his best to put together the pieces of his bone.. obviously in shock.

And forget Starbucks. While the building wasn't damaged all of the lights were out, the doors were locked, and they stopped playing music AGES ago. Perhaps the only thing left of them was the fact that the B sign hung up side down.

STAR*UCKS. Someone buy an F?

"Yeah, my car is here," Lunair points to an expensive looking car. "Let's - just go," Lunair lands, dismisses her armor and will pause. "I CAN HAS CHEESEBURGER." There, that should help. "I can make us dinner and something, but it is best we G-T-F-O before the cops get here."

Lunair opens her doors and starts the car remotely. She is paranoid. No chance of car bombs. She is a bit in awe of Rose, beaming as the two come over. "He's dead, yeah. C'mon. You guys can sort who gets shotgun. This is just awful." The smile has faded.

Hulk stands over the corpse of the man, grunting. It wasn't particularly satisfying. He squished too fast. The monster lifts one foot and, indeed, squishes the man, stomping down again to make the mess splatter around, apparently unperturbed by the horror of the situation.

He glances up as he hears himself being spoken of, eyes narrowing as he takes in the well-armed women respectively.

He isn't exactly likely to get in a car, however. Hulk just stares for a momenet and snorts, "Cheeseburger," he mutters, sniffing the air and looking around. Some McDonald's is about to get a very unusual drive through customer.

"I'm famished. Rant. We need to talk." That was all Ravager came here for was a time away from New York and a talk with a fellow Authority memeber about things and then this happens…

Go figure.

Now Rose willget her talk and have 'splainin' to do. Well…No she isn't going to explain this, they'll likely find out, but Scott and Jean will at least have the keys back! A flick of them around her finger and she stuffs them in her pants pocket, picks up Mr Armani's red ascot as a bow to gift the keys back with and also stuffs that in place. Pause.

Following Lunair she looks back at Hulk and lifts her chin in a respectable upnod, or to avoid looking down at his foot. "Wipe your paws off before you get in…or on…Luna, how are we going to fit him?"

No need to -call- shotgun as Hulk wont fit in it!

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