A loud scream echoed into the foyer.

He must have gone into the cafeteria. A gun shot rang out and off the wall, to Poozzab’s left, ricocheted a bullet. Not even time to catch my breath, he thought.

The man was shaking, his gun outstretched and trying to aim at the masked figure. He was afraid. Who was this freak, and why wouldn’t he just give up?

Possibly the most intimidating thing about Lord Poozzab was his attire, and not his insane physical prowess. Completely in black and silver, from head to toe was a skintight underarmour like material. Around his waist was a silver tool belt, and around his chest was a gun holster like the one’s police men have. Inside the holster could be seen the hilts of two very large Persian style daggers. His boots were army grade black combat boots, and around his face was a flawless black and silver Gas-mask. It’s large bug-eyes shinning silver.

Poozzab sprinted toward the man, completely ignoring the shots flying arbout him. He leaped through the air. Arms outstretched.