There he was, looking down the sights of his trusty Manhunter, getting ready to drop the trash-talking ork whose capture would net him a healthy certified stick from Renraku, when the ork dared—dared!— him to take the shot. Smartlink was running clean and had a perfect bead on the guy’s forehead, and he was loaded with subsonic rounds, though he had yet to screw on the silencer. The itch to pop the mouthy ork in the forehead was nigh irresistible. In fact, he only managed to resist it for about ten seconds, until the ork said something about his mother and a troll and how dandy-eaters may be vegetarians but they love the trollmeat. It would only drop the stick value by ten percent, so he figured “what the heck.” Mom’s honor is worth it.
When he squeezed the trigger, he felt this amazing rush of satisfaction. The rush was quickly crushed in a wave of utter astonishment as the ork did the impossible. Twice. First, the big meaty beast of a metahuman, with his upturned piggy nose and protruding brow, moved like a flashing serpent and … wait for it … snagged the fucking bullet out of the air. Caught it between his index finger and thumb like he was snatching a lightning bug from the air.