Dr. Death pulled out a little box from his pocket and opened a compartment reveling a tiny pipe. He connect the pipe to his gas-mask like mask and then turned a nob on the box. The Dr. waited a moment or two, then put the box back in his pocket. He turned to 'project X'
"Well... what do you mean by help? I help many different people in many different ways."
The Dr. glanced at the so called, 'cyborg' and frowned,
"Since when did cyborgs have this much emotion?... Intresting..."
Two men aproached Dr Death from the corner of the room,
"Sir, they're here."
The Dr. turned to face the door and smilied upon seeing a group of angry people bearing angry expresions so angrily.
Dr. Death quickly gave the two men each a little box and started to stroll to the opposite end of the room,
"Give it to them. As an early christmas treat of some sort."
The two men did as the Doctor asked. Confused and angry faces appeared upon the mob,
"What the?... Oh Fra-"
There was yelling, screahing, and cracking sounds from all corners of the room, while Dr. Death enjoyed his tea and view of one of his greatest inventions yet.
"Relax my friend. Enjoy the blood of our enemies. Yes, our enemies.... *chuckles* "
The Doctor had seated himself to the nearby chair when a man came charging towards him. He plunged towards the Doctor with arms stretched out and blood abundant. Dr. Death had not seen the man, they fell to the floor with a thud,
"OOF!"
The man was screaming and punching the Doctor furiously. The Doctor managed to wrap his hands around the man's neck, but he could not hold him off by himself for much longer.
The man looked confused and started backing up away from the Doctor,
"What the?"
Dr. Death pulled out a needle from his pocket and somehow managed to inject it into the man from three feet away.
The man Disintegrated, and when the others saw this, the ones that were still alive ran out the door.
Dr. Death looked at the mess and shrugged. Then he strolled back to 'Project X' and shook his head at him,
"You act as if completely human. Very interesting characteristic..."
*THUNK!*
The door flies open, a treadbare combat boot it's impetus.
*Whoosh!*
Wind whips through the now opened door, flaring the Clan Gordon tartan kilt on the 6'3" blond mohawked Scottsman standing in the door, sawed-off double barrel shotgun over his shoulder.
*clunk, clunk. clunk, clunk*
Two forms step up behind the imposing figure standing roughly akimbo in the door. The steely glint of firearms, hanging loosely in thier hands, dances in the swirling dust blowing in the door.
"Oy! Name's Finnegan, Tim bloody Finnegan. Someone said there was a party?"
He strides in, motioning at his men to follow.
"An close the bleedin' door, Murph."
He slams a stack of C-bills bigger than his fist on the bar, leans over and grabs the tender by the shirt.
"An ye jus' keep it blinkin' flowin', or I'll toss ye a 3,6,9. We clear lad?"
Still holding the barista off his feet, he looks at the other occupants of the room without turning his head, and says, grinning evilly...
"Tha's three doctors, six nurses, and nine months to pry my boot outta yer arse. If ye wondered..."
Releasing the bartender, he slides his shotgun into the baldric on his back.
"Three pints fer me n' me lads. An' wheskey fer the two slackjaws there. They look like they could use it. Tense blighters, eh?"
Finn grins, crossing his arms.
"So... I hear you're lookin' fer hardarses....I may know a few...."
![[Image: 4ZLnMzL.png]](http://i.imgur.com/4ZLnMzL.png)