Daisy instinctively folded downwards. The wall was summarily removed by another tentacle. She looked at the remains of the masonry, and decided to make a run for the only remaining viable cover.
If it hadn’t been for a pretty major distraction, she wouldn’t have made it.
He emerged from the shadows; in his mouth, a cigar, in his hands, a large spear-gun and on his face, an expression that indicated seafood was on the menu.
‘I got three words for you,’ said Elvis, taking the cigar from his mouth. ‘Tartare fuckin’ Sauce!’
He fired the spear which shattered the control pod windscreen and lodged in the bodywork. Panix turned the robot suddenly away and Elvis, still hanging onto the gun, was wrenched upwards and fell into the bar, the only remaining viable cover in the penthouse suite.
Daisy spat a cork out of her mouth.
‘You all right,’ she asked, offering the King the bottle. He took a swig and gave it back.
‘You wanna guess,’ asked the King.
‘Any ciggies around here?’
Elvis gave her a stunned look.
Marcus dived in next to them and a tentacle whipped past and messily removed the top of the bar, showering them with glass and alcohol.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Marcus, picking up the remains of an expensive bottle of Cognac. ‘He’s gone mad.’
‘Ciggies,’ asked Daisy.
Marcus gave her got a look of disbelief in response, but she then got to select from the remaining contents of his cigarette holder.
‘Where the hell is Prime,’ asked Daisy, lighting up with the zippo.
Prime rocketed past, strapped into the jet-pack.
‘Right, you bastard,’ she said, hovering before the pod.
Panix screamed, and tried desperately to free himself from his harness.
She lashed-out with a boot and connected with Panix’s more than adequate jaw.
The machine ground to a halt.
