A third man appeared; tall and blond, dressed like a Viking.
“This is Odin; can pierce and electrify with his telescopic whips.”
A man in green costume etched itself from the ink.
“Files say this one is Grappler; a freak of agility.”
The next image melted from a man into the form of a large panther.
“This is Multibeast; able to transform in part or in whole to become any creature of his choosing.”
An armoured man appeared on a rooftop, peering through a rifle scope.
“And then there’s this one. Ex alien military, turned mercenary. They call him Javelin because of his sniper capability.”
The ink collapsed and returned to Pat’s arms.
Mick resumed placing his hands behind his back and pacing.
“As you can see, men, we have our work cut out for us. Not only do we have to work as a team, but we have to work individually. We each will have to fight our opposite number. Jordan, you will fight Politically Correct.”
“Glen, you can take on Odin. Nick, you’ll have to fight it out with Javelin. Pat, you’ve got Multibeast. Ryan, you’ll have to deal with Grappler.”
“And you get Shotgun?” said Ryan.
Mick shuffled nervously
“No,” he said meekly.
“Then what do you do then?” asked Pat.
“I told you; I’m the leader because I have an exceptional mind.”
“I heard bizzare,” said Jordan.
“My files say twisted,” said Glen.
“Alright!” Mick cut in. “I have a strange mind, but God requested me for this situation.”
Ryan dropped his head.
“It’d be better if you had superpowers,” he muttered.
“Well I mean, would it kill you just to eat a bowl of icecream with vinegar and oyster sauce?”
The others winced and shuddered, looking away from Ryan.
“It might actually,” said Mick. “Now… back to business. There are two things you’ll notice about Shotgun’s crew that intimidate people before they wreak havoc. The first is, their names. Each name weakens the resolve of their opposition, so we must each have a name. I suggest we use our nicknames. What’s yours, Pat?”
“Okay, good; and yours?” Mick asked, indicating Ryan.
“The Sonic Songster,” he said proudly.
“Good,” Mick said, struggling to sound optimistic. “What about you, Glen?”
“I don’t really have a nickname, but the secret service community have codenamed me Weird Beard.”
“Then Weird Beard, it is. What about you, Nick.”
“They call me Brick.”
Mick smirked as a couple of the others tittered.
“Jordan, what do they call you?” Mick asked.
His eyes fluttered among the group.
“A leaf neither feels exhilaration nor fear as it is cast to lofty heights on the wind.”
“What do they call you?” Mick asked.
Jordan reddened, saying something unintelligible.
“What?” Mick asked.
“Captain Pedantic!” Jordan bellowed.
The group stared in shock a moment before laughing.
“Yeah, well what’s your nickname,” said Jordan indignantly.
“They call me Mick the Magnificent.”
“No they don’t.”
“Yeah, they do. It’s written on my suitcase.”
“You wrote that.”