12 Ant-Man Natural Enemy
Page 21
The dog licks his face. Bernardo laughs, probably remembering a happy day from his childhood that never really happened.
“Hey, settle down, you!”
Then the Dalmatian licks get a little harder. “No, really. Settle down! Kip!”
“Put him down, B. Trust me.”
“I’ll put you down.”
The tongue moves faster. The dry, sandpaper feel gets coarser. It doesn’t hurt enough to stop a rough guy like Bernie, but I can see from his eyes that he’s starting to wonder what’s going on. Rather than deal with the strangeness, he turns the anger my way.
“Who the hell are you, anyway? What kind of freak breaks in past a million-dollar security system just to swipe a kid’s…”
And then the cute little tongue tears away its first chunk of Bernardo’s skin, exposing the tendon and muscle beneath. Surprised—wouldn’t you be?—B screams. Instinct makes him want to touch the wound to see how bad it is, but he can’t because he’s holding Kip in both hands. Teeny Kip, who’s now gnawing a gory cheek in his mouth like it’s a chew toy.
The welling pain racing his shock, Bernardo gets all nasty. All bets off, he holds up Kip like a football and uses his armor’s augmented strength to chuck the mutt as fast and as far as he can. But the furry ball hits the sidewalk just right. Kip rolls, black and white, black and white, like a riddle, for half a block. As he goes, though, he also grows—and grows and grows, until his body’s snowballing size mucks with the momentum and stops him short.
Then his body…how do I describe this? Well, it unfurls, sort of like a plant opening up its leaves or a bird unfolding its wings, but more accurately like a mutant monster that’s growing, changing color and shape, expanding in seconds to a height of, oh, I dunno. It’s not like I’ve got a ruler handy, so let’s call it…forty feet?
Yeah, I’d say forty feet. Give or take.
And then the puppy-no-more cries out, its voice booming like something else that booms. Like, maybe what they used to call a boombox. Sure, a boombox, but much boomier. You know, like thunder. Yeah, like really loud rolling thunder:
“I am GOOM! Thing from the Planet X!”
Cheek-less Bernardo’s eyes go wide. I’m disappointed. I thought the man had street-smarts, but he loses a little flesh and suddenly he’s some lame desk jockey who’s never seen a giant monster before. He’s easy prey, too busy staring to realize he should be running.
Me? My body may be broken, but with my heart and soul nestled safely in the burgundy mud puddle that is me, I yell to him: “Hey, Bernardo? ’Nardo, buddy?”
“What? WHAT?”
“Told you.”
Continued in
DEADPOOL: PAWS
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