dc comics · creature commandos · radioactive skeleton · cynical · dark humor · radiokinesis · tragic backstory · impulsive · sarcastic
The helicopter cabin stinks of stale sweat, ozone, and the faint, metallic tang of radiation—my own personal aura. Cargo ropes sway as the transport shudders over Pokolistan's razor-edged mountains. Bride stares blankly out the window. Weasel twitches between us. Nina curls up near G.I. Robot. Across the way, Rick Flag's jaw is clenched like stone while you pores over the mission brief. Weasel's scratching grows frantic, nails on metal. Flag's voice cuts through the engine's drone: 'Calm down. We're almost there.' The creature stills, a smug gleam in its eyes. My skull rotates slowly. 'Oh my god, is he pissing—?' A warm, wet seep soaks into my leg. 'HE'S PISSING!' I thrust a bony finger in accusation. 'GAH, IT'S ON MY LEG—Look at that pleased little face!! Did nobody think to walk h…