by Grimm and thedoctor
While Danny Hearn was figuring out the computer, Grimm asked, "Is there any bacon left?"
Tobias Christopher, hungrily scarfing down the last few bits, replied, "Uh uhm."
"Damn. Well, since the Attack of the Killer B-movies seems to be over with, guess I'll go down to the rock quarry and... meditate."
And with that, he turned and walked out the door, heading out to the abandoned rock quarry on the outskirts of town that he had discovered shortly after the team returned from the last adventure.
Sam Dawson asked, "What does he do down there?"
Lance Lorenzo said, "I dunno, but he's there a lot. He goes almost every day."
"Someone should go with him and keep an eye on him. Just to, you know, make sure he doesn't spook the citizens. He's not exactly... um, inconspicuous..."
"Yeah, but who? Hey, wasn't Turkish just standing here a moment ago?"
"Who knows? That guy's weird, too."
Lance looked around. The place was still buried in chopsticks. "Sam, who's gonna clean this mess up?"
They looked at each other and yelled, "M'XY!"
Almost two hours after the fight had finished, Dirk Bell came downstairs showered and all geared up. His hair was once again concealed by his fedora. With a quick movement that was just as much to display his catlike reflexes and dexterity as it was useful, his hands pulled a cigar from his pocket, twirled it around his fingers, and placed it in his mouth. The Zippo lighter soon followed and lit the cigar.
Dirk started to move toward the front door. "Hey!" Sam called out. "Where are you going? There's still a heap of junk that needs to be cleaned out of here."
"You heard the 'Doc' guy," replied the gunslinger as he put on his black gloves. "Whoever released those things most likely did it from this island. I'm going to look for the wise ass. Anyone want to tag along?"
"Where would you start looking?" Danny Hearn asked.
"I don't know. How big can this friggin' island be?" Dirk turned and exited the building.
When Turkish Stringfellow caught up with Grimm, he had already arrived at the rock quarry. Grimm had taken off his jacket and axe and set them down off to the side. He then strolled over to the boulders in the quarry and began punching it repeatedly, alternating right arm and left continually. There seemed to be no pattern to this; he merely continued punching the rock, slowly breaking it down into pieces.
Turkish took a seat on a nearby boulder and made himself comfortable. He sat cross-legged on the very top. He continued to observe. When Grimm had finished pounding the boulder into dust, Turkish spoke up. "Friend Grimm, I thought you said you were coming out here to meditate."
Grimm looked up, just a bit startled by the man's soft voice. "Turkish, you meditate your way..." he said, walking over to another boulder, "...and I'll meditate..."
WHAM!
"My way!"
WHAM!
As Grimm went to work on another boulder, Turkish gestured with his right hand and began speaking under his breath. Shortly, the pieces of the last boulder began collecting themselves and reassembling into their original formation.
Grimm turned around and observed as the boulder reformed itself completely. He glanced up at Turkish with what would have been a look of confusion if he still had a full face. Shortly, he turned back around and went back to pulverizing the boulder with his fists. When he finished, he moved on to another, and Turkish reassembled this one as well. This continued for several hours.
"Jesus! This island's bigger than it looks from above!" Dirk said after scouting the island for an hour. The hot sun and his choice of black, all-encompassing wardrobe made his walk even more unbearable.
He had found the tracks that the goblin puppets had made and was following them back to the source. He didn't take a vehicle for fear of destroying them.
He had passed many homes and received many strange stares from the local populace. The trek allowed him to do a little thinking as he followed his only clue.
Dirk started to second guess his decision to go alone on this mission. His ego had jumped in front of his common sense again. If he did find the lair of the goblins, what then? Surely even a man with his gifts wouldn't be able to take on another army of those things alone. But it was too late. Dirk's pride was as strong as his ego and wouldn't let him return to the apartments to get help. He had struck out on his own, and that was the way it had to be.
As the sun climbed even further up in the sky, the Lone Gunman of the Apocalypse journeyed even further back in his mind, past this morning, and on back to where he had received that nickname.
His buddy Dren -- probably the closest thing to a friend Dirk ever had -- gave him that name after a little fiasco at his last job. Things went wrong and got hairy. While everyone else tried to regroup and come up with a strategy, Dirk got tired of waiting and came out with half the arsenal strapped to him. The invaders were defeated, but the structural damage he caused was more than what they had done in their own invasion. From then on, Dren referred to him as the "Lone Gunman of the Apocalypse." Dirk had learned to calm down a bit. Plus, he paid more attention to his aim (he always felt that the extra destruction was his subconscious letting loose). But the nickname stuck as all nicknames do.
Stooping to cup a handful of water from a pouring facet in a field, Dirk drank a cool mouthful and washed his face. His throat welcomed the cold water as he felt it roll down to his stomach. After a moment, he stood and returned on his vigil to find the source of the goblin menace.