Memora's Collection Archives

The museum of Memora...

...is in terrible condition. Whatever nice decorations she had set up, the whole building was now a pile of ashes thanks to the mortar fire given out by the tremendous, tank-like figure in the distance. The thing sat like a brown, metallic Sphinx, with both arms on the ground and a tank for a lower body. Two unmanned turrets sat on either shoulder, but the main attraction was the mortar on his back, firing out constant barrages of overhead, air-to-ground explosives. A grinning, metallic skull server as its head, laughing with every mortar shot. How long must that thing have been sitting there, firing and laughing?

One could easily worry that SharpMan's employer had been blown off the net before he could arrive, but she remained alive and her exhibits untouched. The exhibits were fine because they were sealed behind shatterproof cases. She was fine because she standing with her back pressed against one such case. Her hired hand would be beamed down directly beside her; considering who she was waiting on, that proximity might be as dangerous a getting hit by a mortar.

The client herself was a tall woman, with an almost lanky figure; her brown, short and messy hair made it look like shed probably worn a hat at some point but lost it. Her clothing consisted of a gray uniform top with fancy tails and parachute pants, as well as brown gloves and tall black boots. She had a combat rifle strapped around her back and her pale, gray eyes were smiling, indicating that she really didn't give a damn about a mortar attack.

And just when it couldn't get any worse, a gray laser beam was fired down, nearly hitting Memora...or, maybe it was just SharpMan beaming in. Considering he emerged from the light, that actually made much more sense. He took a quick look around to get a feel for the situation, such as it was. He also took a quick peek at his employer, but regrettably, she didn't seem like his type...wait, she? Huh, didn't see that one coming. He didn't say anything, instead looking over at his temporary boss, and waited for orders.

"Good to see you, SharpMan. I'm glad you answered my request and I would recommend you stay still for a while as I explain things a bit," Memora shouted, having to talk loudly to be heard over the mortar fire, even though they were at close distance. "I've got my collection all locked down and the rest underground, so I'm in no danger, nor are my collectables, memorabilia, or displays. I expect you to help grow my collection, which will help cover the finances needed to rebuild my facilities and also simply tickle me," she explained. "Not saying tickling me is part of the mission. Rather, it will be a side effect."

She took a quick peek out at their enemy between barrages, then crossed her arms. "That thing out there is TerrorMan; as I understand he is the "leader" of their forces, although he looks more like a fortress than a commander. It seems that his mobility and visibility are both somewhat low; as such, my recommended course of action would be to sneak around them. I have seen three other combatants, all women, moving around in there, but I do not know their capabilities. They also have an armored vehicle. I'd like you to consider them dangerous, but at the same time, use all of your finesse to take their armor, weaponry, and various other paraphernalia without injuring them. My reasoning? The equipment of living navis perceived as threats is far more valuable than the equipment of the deceased, forgotten, or abandoned. That is all it is," she finished with a big smile. "I'd like to stay here in case of any emergencies with my displays, which is why you'll come in so handy for me!"

Kneeling down, she brought out a dark gray backpack from beneath the display's curtain. She unstrapped its single pocket, revealing that it expanded out to be rather wide. "This is actually a portal, you understand? While the width is set, covering the diameter of this bag, the bottom is endless. Items inserted here go directly to my repository... you can even use it as an escape if you get into trouble, although I'll have to dock your pay for the bag. In the end, if your results are satisfactory, I'll provide you with a Yo-Yo2. I'm also willing to pay you for your efforts, provided they're impressive enough! I'll pay you according to the pertinence, condition, and risk of acquiring of whatever you bring back; if you have to cut something, which I suspect you might, consider cutting it cleanly and down its length, so that it's easy to reconstruct to its original form."

"That's all of the briefing, detail, and motivation I can provide you with at this time. I would suggest that you wait for one of the breaks in their mortar fire... which should come in about 1.5 minutes. If you have any last question, I'll be happy to answer it," Memora finished, still crouching with the bag.

"Sounds simple enough." SharpMan nonchalantly accepted the bag, somehow managing to sling it onto his shoulder without ripping it apart. He himself was pretty indifferent thus far...no chances to rip things apart, and no girls he could properly ogle thus far. Of course, he was a professional, and the reward was pretty nice, so his work wouldn't be half-hearted, at the very least. And who knew? Maybe those 'other combatants' were smokin' hot, and wanted nothing more than a little Whazzapian spice in their lives. He'd been having good luck with that on the mission front lately, so maybe his luck could continue...

Now, to wait for that break in shelling, since not getting blasted to pieces was much better than getting blasted to pieces. His body tensed slightly, as he prepared himself to make a run for it. If he was doing this, he was doing it right.

"I see a look in your eye that seems a little bit like disappointment. You're a fighter, aren't you? You wanted violence, a tussle, or... dare I say.. to cut things up? I was like you too once, and I'm sympathetic to your needs! There will be some items that will be entirely impossible to acquire without several cuts, I recognize. Please, cut as freely as you like so long as you don't kill anybody. Just remember that you'll be paid more if you can get me back the items in as few pieces as possible," the curator reassured SharpMan. "I would really like one of those darling mortar cannons, to be honest. But I guess that's a little too big to fit in the sack... Oh look!"

As she exclaimed, the mortar fire stopped per her prediction. "Good! Now hurry, make haste, and have speed if you wish to flank them!" she exclaimed, watching SharpMan as he made a dash for it. He cleared the explosion area just in time to avoid another mortar salvo.

There wasn't much cover to take on hrs path from the museum to the encampment, but the dust and debris rising up helped a little bit ti conceal his position. Thankfully, as he got closer, TerrorMan didn't seem to be reacting to him, nor did he spot anyone standing guard. From here, he appeared to have a few options. To one side, he saw a large pile of shells and other ammo, all of it so large that it was undoubtedly being loaded into TerrorMan somehow. The next option was TerrorMan himself; he had a ladder reaching up the spine of his back to some sort of hatch. The final option was the two armored vehicles. One was a tank with a turret on top. It was closed up (maybe even locked) except for the turret hatch, which might serve as an entry point. The other tank looked more like an ATV and had no particular weapons, but was decorated with banners showing TerrorMan's skull (or maybe just some random skull) over a black background. Its side door was open, although all he could glean was that it was spacious and well-lit inside.

Some sort of music was drifting out of the ATV... it sounded like a vaguely familiar group of female rockers screaming their lungs out. He hadn't been able to hear it over the mortar fire until he reached this distance.

"Don't worry. You'll get your stuff...that I can assure you!" Admittedly, SharpMan did find it a bit comforting that he'd definitely get to use his skills in the name of actual fighting. And speaking of actual fighting, the sounds of it were suddenly gone. "There's my cue...get ready to add a new wing to your collection!" With that, he was off to the races, managing to get inside the mortar fire's range before it continued. Sure, he could've probably avoided it anyway, but again, he was working for someone else, and that meant no screw ups, especially when it involved making unnecessary, half-bored spectacles of himself.

All right, let's see what his options were...he could swipe some of that ammo...he could head inside TerrorMan...wait, go inside a Navi? What kind of Navi could do that? He was starting to doubt if that really was a Navi...let's see, what else...ugh, that music was distracting. Though, now that he thought about it..."Hey, Hector...doesn't that music sound a little familiar?"

"...Hmm. Now that you mention it, it does. You'd think I'd remember where I heard that kind of terrible, though..."

"I thought so. Either way, it's outta place here...I'm checking it out in a minute." But first, he needed to start earning some pay. He set the backpack on the ground, and started grabbing some of the shells to place in it. It wasn't exactly easy; for all of his skill with blades, he was a bit lacking in sheer strength. He also had to be careful, seeing as how one wrong move, and BOOM. And he did not want BOOM. He did make sure to grab as many types of ammo as he could, since that Memora chick would probably appreciate a bit of diversity in her collection. Sure, he wasn't much for guns, but as a fellow appreciator of weapons, he did have a certain extra incentive to make sure this of all jobs was done as well as possible.

As it turned out, the entire pile was pretty much one brand of shell: generic explosive mortar shell. And as it turned out, the casings were thick and sturdy enough that it didn't seem like there was any danger of setting one off by accident; it probably would require some kind of mechanized hammer hitting the back to launch it and make it go boom. Unfortunately, as it also turned out, they were absurdly heavy. The best one could do was slowly roll them from the top of the pile into the bag and watch one's feet... It was pretty impossible to imagine actually lifting one of the things. Thankfully, though, they did roll a bit, and he managed to get some into the bag...

((+4 Mortar Shells... Worth of 600z!))

Before he could consider getting a move on any more, he began to hear somebody moving inside driver's cab of the the ATV. Furthermore, a big claw had extended from one of TerrorMan's giant shoulders, almost like a crane-game prize grabber, and started to move either towards him or towards the pile of shells. Safe money was on the shells, but even if the claw wasn't going to go for him, there was a good chance somebody had already seen or would see him while controlling it, be that TerrorMan or someone operating him from the inside. SharpMan's only avenues of escape would be to hide out behind the shell pile, try the ladder, or run for the ATV... no particularly appealing option presented itself.

TOTAL PILE: 600z

...Whew, these things were heavy...

...Huff, really heavy...

...Puff, he could hardly even roll them, even with all his strength...

...That was another thing he liked about blades. Even the heaviest sword was lighter than artillery....hmm? Well, unless his ears were deceiving him (and they weren't), there was someone in that vehicle over there. He should probably go check that out...

...Especially since he could hear the sounds of heavy machinery coming from TerrorMan. Without even bothering to look, SharpMan grabbed the bottomless bag, then extended his bottom blades, and lightly placed them into the ground. He then did his best skier imitation, using his own weapons like ski poles to give him a boost, and let him run faster from the get-go. Now he just had to get to the ATV, while running as fast as he could without being noisy enough to draw attention, or catch anyone's eye at all. Then, he'd take a peek inside, and find out what was going on in there.

...Yeesh. If he didn't have so much practice at this sort of thing, he'd be in serious trouble already.

As SharpMan entered the cabin, in a hurry to escape from whatever the hell TerrorMan was doing,he collided into a woman as she exited the back door of the cabin, headed into the body of the ATV. The fact that she wasn't instantly turned into a gory reimagining of a diced salad by his armor was fortunate, given the no-killing rule. He had her pinned down, it seemed.

The girl was dressed in black, leather shorts with a green flak jacket and hood, although the outfit was sleeveless. The flak jacket held the group's emblem, the same skull he'd seen outside. She wore black combat boots and gloves as well. Her face looked just a little dopey, with half-awake brown eyes and dark brown hair so shaggy that it nearly covered them. Her skin tone was Whazzapian, much like his own, and the curves of her waist and thighs made it seem perhaps a fortunate turn of events to have collided with her.

She'd been caught off guard and stared stupidly back up at him; one arm was on his own wrist, but the other looked like it may be locked behind her in the corner.

"Load, are you there? I really need a towel..." came amother girl's voice from further in, barely registering over the sound of the music the driver was playing. It was even louder inside than it had been outside.

SharpMan found that the inside of the ATV was decorated in a way unlike anything he would have suspected. A big rug and banner both displayed the same yellow peace symbol over psychedelic colors. There were even lava lamps and low lights, like somebody had gone all out to give the military buggy a hippie makeover. Moreover, a peace sign and a grinning skull occupying the same building? The conflict of sensibilities was almost as disturbing as the muddiness of the branding!

The girl beneath SharpMan was completely still save for her low breathing. She was either waiting for him to make his move, was surrendering to avoid harm, or... perhaps was just too stunned at his entrance, be having skeed into their ATV, to know how to act.

All right, didn't look like anyone was in there...time to sneak in and-

Bam!

And so did SharpMan run into someone during an act of stealth. If it wasn't for her rather pleasing curves, he might've done some silencing out of sheer annoyance. Instead, he looked her over a bit, then the inside of the ATV. Oddly, it actually did serve to make more sense of the situation...though, if he was right, he was going up against two things he despised: hippies and idiots. ...Well, one thing, since hippies were just a certain type of idiot.

Still, if you had someone pinned down, you could do three things: 1-perform an impromptu interrogation, 2-make sure they don't rat out your location and/or existence, or 3-if an attractive female, take the opportunity to do a little clothes shredding. Well, four things, since there was also 4-do thing 3, then one of the other two things. But, he was in a benevolent mood at the moment, so he'd pass on that...for now.

[size0]"Tell you what, chica...tell me, and quietly, what's going on here, and I'll make sure you still have a uniform afterward. Comprende?"[/size] ...Comprende? Did he really just end a remark with that? Ugh. Could he have done anything more stereotypical of a Whazzapian? Now he was starting to want to shred things again...

The girl nodded slowly, still just staring into SharpMan's eyes. She'd barely moved since he ran into her. "We're attacking Memora's archive to destroy her weapons," she answered simply, failing to explain why they needed to do this with a giant mortar cannon or what their motivations for terrorism were. Or why the inside of the ATV looked like it belonged in a certain ancient cartoon about mystery-solving teenagers.

"Load! Please turn the music down!" the voice came out again. "I hate to bother you, but I really need a towel!"

Load didn't answer, still keeping her blank frown.

"Oh, geez! Fine, I'll come get my own!" the voice continued. SharpMan might be in for a nice peep show, but he might also be in for being sandwiched between two terrorist operatives simultaneously, and keeping two pinned would be a lot harder than keeping one pinned. He would either need to think up a good way to control the situation or otherwise relocate himself and his captive to stay hidden.

A chick that needed a towel...he liked where this was going. And yet, SharpMan couldn't entirely enjoy it, just because his mind blew a fuse from HOW UTTERLY UNHELPFUL that response was. At any rate, he was probably safe for now, simply because he was willing to guess that his captive and (hopefully smokin' hot) towel needing Navi knew each other, and were, at the very least, not willing to let each other die just to get help.

[size0]"...All right then, exactly WHY are you destroying it?"[/size] And if she started spouting off hippie nonsense, he was going to start cutting things. Not bodies, mind you, since these ones were better off without a scratch, but anything else in the ATV was fair game, up to and including the shredding of clothes.

"I'm destroying them because Prez said to," Load answered, again failing to add any information such as "Prez's motivations.

The bathroom door opened and the navi who'd been requesting a towel stepped out quickly. She was dressed in two light brown towels, both nearly too small to wrap her body, since she hadn't been able to locate real towels. On each towel, the skull logo was again displayed. Her body made her look young, but very shapely, so much so that her bosom jiggled beneath the towel as she came to a stop, staring at SharpMan. Her hair was long and blond, wet and matted down so that it nearly covered her eyes. Her face was cute with vibrantly green eyes,which now held a look of shock.

She reached one hand back into the bathroom and withdrew a brown military officer's cap with a gleaming black visor and silver skull emblem on the front. She placed it onto her head and her hair promptly shortened and changed to a blood-red shade. Her eyes changed to red and she set her face into a grin, making her look entirely different than the startled, barely legal hottie who'd stumbled out. "You've got some balls, attacking the personal armored vehicle of the notorious Terror Girls' own President! To what do I owe the displeasure of meeting you?" she asked, crossing her arms confidently despite having no ostensible weapons and almost no clothing.

Immediately upping the ante, Load grabbed her one free hand around his wrist and lifted him up entirely, holding only his wrist. As seemed to be an increasingly common theme around the net, she looked normal enough but had some sort of inhuman strength. "Hold still," she instructed, slowly getting up along with him. "He's been asking why we're attacking Memora, Prez."

"Hahaha! So she's hiring men of her own now? What an admirable warmonger, following out handbook so cleanly: sending her soldiers into hapless situations so she can secure her own escape! Well done, my adversary," the President chuckled.

If he wasn't reasonably sure he was about get a very welcome sight, SharpMan would've facepalmed right then and there. In all his years, this was probably the least helpful anyone had ever been while being threatened. And another thi-why hello there, hot chick in the towels. Before he could make any remarks, however, she grabbed some sort of hat, and doing a 180 in personality. Great, he was dealing with crazy hot chicks. An somehow he wasn't surprised one bit.

"You call this hapless? Ha! This is a walk in the park for me!" A park with a few land mines in it, but yeah, he'd been in worse situations. "By the way, before you pat yourself on the back about your little 'notorious' group, you might wanna make sure I actually know what that is. Because I don't bother learning about little wannabe groups!"

With that, the bladed Navi looked down at the Navi holding him, not giving any expression about it beyond mild discomfort and annoyance. "Feel free to let me go any time, chica. If I wanted, I could impale you with a thought right now!" Yep, just let one of his arm blades detach, and...bam. Hot chick shish kebob. But, he preferred it when hot chicks did a different kind of bob, so he was satisfied with just hanging around and awaiting answers. Speaking of which, there was one other thing that was bothering him..."Oh, one more thing. What's with the hippie get-up? Kinda weak for something called the Terror Girls!"

"What a brazen lackey! You wouldn't dare attack one of my girls while we have you surrounded and in our territory. Your chances of success in executing such a course of action are laughably miniscule," the leader laughed, closing her eyes and reclining against the wall. She swapped one wet, smooth leg over the other and continued. "No, that's not even an option for you."

The second question may have caught her more off guard, because she tilted her cap down before she spoke, either to veil her eyes or for out of habit. "These decorations? Load likes the music of the period, who am I to deny her tastes?" she asked, shrugging casually. It sure didn't sound like "Good Vibrations" that the ATV was pumping out earlier...

"How about we strike a deal? You don't want to be executed by us, but all of the ways we have to get rid of you are so... messy! If you agree to hand over every nasty blade on your character, I will order Load to release you. You can then disarm and leave our vehicle, to return to Memora or whatever you care to do," she offered. As she did so, she walked closer, summoning a compact machine pistol into her hand. She stopped just short of touching him ans grinned up at him, the top of her head a few inches away from his jawline thanks to the elevation Load was granting him.

Load had one of his arms locked, but there was no significant evidence to prove he couldn't escape using his blades (or simply jack out). He also still had the use of his lower body and head/neck, as needed.

"...Heh heh heh..." SharpMan snickered at the scantily clad chick's threats, fully realizing just how ridiculous they sounded. After all, they were Navis, not humans. One headshot would sting something fierce...but nothing more. No brains, no blood, no nothing. Just pain.

"Well, if you put it that way..." The bladed Navi, with no further warning, extended all of his arm blades. The left blades wouldn't hit Load's hand too badly, though they would cut her a bit, and hopefully surprise her into dropping him. As for the right...well, he had a pair of vision obstructing towels attached to a hot chick's body in front of him. But, assuming they were no different from any other towels, one clean cut, and what was behind them would be exposed for all to see...

SharpMan's tactics met with varying degrees of success: one arm blade shootout into Load's hand, but made a thick, metallic scraping noise like an unlubricated engine as it sunk in. It also didn't manage to get all the way out. What it was digging in to wasn't like flesh at all: it was metal. Whether it wad just her arms or her whole body was hard to tell, but it was now certain that she at least had robotic arms, made to look human. That would explain her lifting strength as well.

The other venture was more profitable: the girl dodged backward a moment too late and both towels came off, fluttering through the air before separating into two pieces each and coming to rest upon the rug. Her hair grew back out as she immediately whipped off her hat and used it to cover her lower body; her hair fell back down in a damp flop, providing the bare minimum of coverage needed for decency's sake. She looked upset, but shivered and continued pointing the gun (now shaking) at SharpMan. "Load, are you alright?" she asked

"I'm fine. I have assessed the situation," she responded, then squeezed down painfully on SharpMan's arm. A sharp crack rang out; thankfully it was just the blade snapping and not something else. His other arm was still good and bladed: before he could use it, however, she threw him into the cushion sitting by the low coffee table on the other side of the room (kind of considerate for a terrorist android). "Cruz is on her way."

For a brief moment, SharpMan probably could have tilted his head a little to the left and gotten a nicer look at Prez's exposed buttocks. She turned quickly to relieve him of the opportunity, then also crossed her pistol across her chest while still keeping the cap in place between her legs. "Our third member is on her way over, so it's pointless if you keep resisting," the girl instructed him, not seeming especially threatening. She was surrounded by peace rings, virtually naked, and had her gun pointed in the wrong direction, not to mention that her big, green eyes were just plain cute to begin with. "R-Really, we hate violence... so if you just leave your weapons, we'll leave and call it even, okay?"

They'd given him some distance and he was no longer restrained. All he had in arm's distance was a lava lamp, a fluffy cushion... and, of course, all of his own weapons he cared to arm himself with. The door out was nearby, but a low wall and a few steps down separated him and the opening. He could also make a run for the cab or the bathroom, assuming that neither Load nor Prez counted extraordinary speed as one of their talents.

The metal scraping, in a rare moment, managed to genuinely surprise SharpMan. This chick had some seriously tough arms, to weather his blades so easily. No wonder she didn't even flinch at his threats. That was going to make things a little harder...

And speaking things that were hard, his merciless slaughtering of innocent towels were a success, giving the bladed Navi a momentary, less than innocent view of the hot chick Navi. Unfortunately, he found himself distracted by a snapping noise, though based on the lack of immediate pain, it was probably just a blade. No big de-

Well, being tossed across the room wasn't what he had in mind. And the area just wasn't quite big enough for him to pull off any acrobatics and let him save face. On the plus side, he got a nice (but short) look at the blond girl's fully exposed rear. There was definitely a military joke in there somewhere, but he was too focused on making sure that image was forever bookmarked in his log data to think of it. And with that, he flipped himself back into a standing position, and let his broken blade drop to the floor. It seemed odd at first, but another razor sharp piece of metal took its place instantly, which he momentarily inspected before picking up the original. Broken, but still plenty sharp. Perfect. "Ha! If you hate violence so much, then why don't you give me all YOUR weapons? That way Memora has her collection, I get paid, and you don't have to fight! Everyone wins!" ...Mostly. He didn't get to slice anything up, and that was rough, but if it meant an easy way out, why not? Besides, what else was he going to do? Run away? Cut up a perfectly good naked chick? Give up his blades when he literally couldn't? Nope, not happening.

"Memora's collection can't be allowed to exist!" Prez complained, looking as though she felt very adamant about what she was saying. "She stockpiles all of those tools of war, encouraging further idolization of weapons and warfare... It's the sort of thing that's turned the net into the violent place it is today!" she explained, nearly gesturing with her gun-hand before realizing she couldn't afford to move it. "It's unfortunate that we have to use weapons of our own to do it, but our mission as Terror Girls is to rid the net of all weapons."

"... I don't think we should have told him all of that..." Load muttered.

"Wha-?! You're right! I blew our cover!" the leader gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "Well, now you know our secret, but it's of no consequence. Our mission is still the same! While our overworld operatives continue to target chips outside, we on the net focus on destroying tangible ordinance here on the net. TerrorMan is a necessary evil to that end. Cruz!"

At the navi's words, another navi entered in through the ATV's door; the way her arms were opened up into airplane jets and then promptly closed as she shouldered through made it clear that she was probably the same sort of machine navi as Load. Like Load, she wore a sleeveless flack jacket, although hers was blue instead of green. Besides this, she wore a white, sleeveless navisuit and long blue boots and gloves, along with black shades so large they almost looked like a visor. Her orange, spiked hair, however, made it clear that she wasn't wearing a helmet. It looked like she might be chewing gum or something; she was at once more expressive than Load and yet just as disinterested looking. Her hips had that same enticing curve, although her muscle tone was a little less. It'd be nice to put them each down one flak jacket and finish the comparison...

"Yeah?" she answered simply, now quite clearly chewing gum as she spoke. "Why're you naked?"

"N-nevermind that for now! I'd like you and Load to remove the intruder," Prez responded, holding the cap down tighter. "Please see if you can do so without injuring him. Oh, you should know, before you go! Our shells won't injure anyone they hit: navis, SPs, or viruses. We're only trying to destroy Memora's museum, not the warmonger herself."

"Gotcha. Though, look'it those blades... I don't think he's got any complaints with hurtin' us," Cruz smacked, then moved in along with Load. "Hold still and I'll take you for a ride..." Cruz was now blocking the way to the exit as well as the control room, while Load stood in between him and the Prez. At this point, his only options were some sort of confrontation, escape to the back of the ATV, or escape into the bag.

And, much to his chagrin, SharpMan learned that the Terror Girls were...anti-terror, or something. What a waste of a perfectly good word. He flipped himself back on his feet in the meantime, deciding that he looked more menacing when he wasn't flopped over a pillow. He actually had quite a few things to say to all of them, and it would definitely be better if he looked as fearsome as possible, considering what a lot of those things were.

"First off, you know what'd happen if you took out every weapon in the Net? Well, I can tell you. You'd destroy the cyberworld AND the real world, because viruses would take over every single thing and wreck stuff up! And besides, do you know what this is?" In a rare move, the Navi punched straight forward, keeping his arm raised to show off the fist. "...A weapon. Yes, to truly fulfill your goal, every single Navi would have to lose their arms and legs. And what about Navis that are little more than living weapons, or are otherwise hazards simply by existing? Would you kill them in the name of peace? A mountain of corpses makes for bad foundation!...Or something. There's a saying along those lines, I believe. And by the way, your shells may not kill...but what about the debris that it creates? Crumbling ceilings don't magically avoid those other things, you know!"

"And another thing!" SharpMan glared over at the new Navi for a moment, who, while not bad looking, was probably the least attractive of the group, at least by his reckoning. That remark she made didn't help a bit, either. "Allow me to get this straight. Simply by looking at me, you've decided that I'm going to bring harm to you ladies. But, let me point something out...I didn't choose to look like this. Am I complaining about it? Of course not, what reasonable male Navi wouldn't want to be be? But that's not my point...to reach your goal, you will likely be forced to kill many Navis. Some of them are very well completely innocent, even if they don't look like it. Can you REALLY look me in the eye and say you're fine with shedding all that innocent blood? And don't even try to say it can't happen...after all, one of your associates accused me of wanting to cut you all down, when all I've done is defensive measures!" Well, in a weird way, it was true. Stumbling onto that one chick was accidental, and he didn't do anything afterward, and his earlier blade extension was just to get out of her grasp. And the towels...well, it did basically remove a potential threat. The aftermath was just a bonus.

With all that said, he looked around, looking for a potential avenue of escape if needed. Hippies never did respond well to reason, after all.