Finally, Kabal gets to see something shatter. The corner of the table crumbles into metal and ice on impact. Now he can properly imagine what would happen to him if he catches the next blast.
"I'd call you Boba Fett, but you talk too much." Len is enjoying the turn of these frozen tables. He advances on Kabal with a vicious grin, gun at the ready, unsure if he wants to kill him, scare him, or impress him. Every option sounds good right now. Satisfying, in a way he hasn't been satisfied for too long.
It's been a minute since he's thrown down with someone as crazy as he is. Len's been missing chaos. Missing fighting, stealing, and breaking rules just because he can, and for no other reason than the fact he enjoys it.
If this wasn't the only kitchen in the facility, he would turn it into an igloo just to watch the other man shiver his ass off and try to run away on ice.
"Make that Budget Fett. Couldn't afford the rest of the armor, huh?" He cocks his head to the side, grinning as he shoots another microwave just beside Kabal (sorry Cho).
"I almost feel sorry for you. Stand still, and with the push of a button I can make you cooler than you've ever been." There's your cold pun, Kabal. Len doesn't bust those out for just anyone anymore. Ever since Captain Cold and Heatwave's very public, very messy break-up, he hasn't felt truly inspired to ham it up.
...Where was he again? Right. Terrorizing someone with his gun. Not exactly the time to reminisce.
The kitchen cart catches him by surprise. His reaction is gut instinct. He shoots the cart, enveloping it in ice. Which only makes it faster, and heavier, as it rolls towards him. Len moves to jump out of the way, slips on the floor like a deer on ice (et tu, tuna surprise?), and takes a full-contact hit from the cart, sending him flying halfway across the room.
Len hits the floor hard, the wind knocked out of him, his already busted up ribs, courtesy of the other asshole in a helmet with scars, spasm.
Now Len's mad.
He climbs to his feet, shaking with anger, panting heavily, murder in his eyes, and-- passes out cold.
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"I'd call you Boba Fett, but you talk too much." Len is enjoying the turn of these frozen tables. He advances on Kabal with a vicious grin, gun at the ready, unsure if he wants to kill him, scare him, or impress him. Every option sounds good right now. Satisfying, in a way he hasn't been satisfied for too long.
It's been a minute since he's thrown down with someone as crazy as he is. Len's been missing chaos. Missing fighting, stealing, and breaking rules just because he can, and for no other reason than the fact he enjoys it.
If this wasn't the only kitchen in the facility, he would turn it into an igloo just to watch the other man shiver his ass off and try to run away on ice.
"Make that Budget Fett. Couldn't afford the rest of the armor, huh?" He cocks his head to the side, grinning as he shoots another microwave just beside Kabal (sorry Cho).
"I almost feel sorry for you. Stand still, and with the push of a button I can make you cooler than you've ever been." There's your cold pun, Kabal. Len doesn't bust those out for just anyone anymore. Ever since Captain Cold and Heatwave's very public, very messy break-up, he hasn't felt truly inspired to ham it up.
...Where was he again? Right. Terrorizing someone with his gun. Not exactly the time to reminisce.
The kitchen cart catches him by surprise. His reaction is gut instinct. He shoots the cart, enveloping it in ice. Which only makes it faster, and heavier, as it rolls towards him. Len moves to jump out of the way, slips on the floor like a deer on ice (et tu, tuna surprise?), and takes a full-contact hit from the cart, sending him flying halfway across the room.
Len hits the floor hard, the wind knocked out of him, his already busted up ribs, courtesy of the other asshole in a helmet with scars, spasm.
Now Len's mad.
He climbs to his feet, shaking with anger, panting heavily, murder in his eyes, and-- passes out cold.