why didn't you finish me off?!?! i told you --
-- to -- fucking -- finish -- me -- off!
is inside. blade unfastens the hood, slipping it off. immediately, whistler sits up, lunging at blade!
daylight. son of a bitch.
like a fucking heifer took a dump in my mouth.
you came back for me.
took you long enough.
you put a bullet in my brain. wouldn't expect anything else.
i'll say one thing for doing time as a suckhead. seems to have knocked that cancer of mine back into remission.
where the hell's my lathe?
tell me something, skid --
whatever -- what'd you do to the charger?
gave it a more aggressive exhaust profile ramping.
and you'll burn the damn thing out before your next fucking oil change.
where'd you dig up this shit-bird anyway?
my problem, shitbird, is that i tried to blow my fucking head off and wound up sucking blood clots for the last year and a half! now you're standing there choking your chicken like we're all walking around some fucking candy-ass vampire sitcom!
our operation?! our operation?! i built this operation, you fucking turd stain.
they're fried. whoever's out there is using magnesium flares. seems like they've got your security system stopped out pretty well.
look, kid, they obviously found your base of operations. if it was a trap, why flip their dicks by announcing themselves?
either that or feeding the worms.
just how long has this little social club of yours been together?
sounds like a plan.
these guys are shitting bricks cause they're no longer on the top of the food chain. they're going to fuck us the first chance they get.
well if it isn't snow white and the seven suckheads.
hefting a heavy ordnance case on the table. blade and company sit on one side, the bloodpack on the other.
glaser safety rounds in .38, .45, and 9mm caliber. foil capsules at the tip filled with silver nitrate grains. they pack a major kinetic energy dump. and since you suckheads don't like sunlight, we've modified the entry lights with uv filters --
this puppy here? hyper-velocity railgun. spits up silver-tipped iron core needles at six thousand butt humping feet per second. like this --
getting your attention, paco.
i don't see any traffic, no vampire glyphs --
let's put this clusterfuck in gear.
like i give a shit.
i don't like it.
walking on sunshine, toke-boy.
if this is the best you turd-stains have to offer, i'm not impressed.
ran into a little reaper trouble myself.
you need to ratchet those 'nads of yours down a few notches, paco.
ain't no thing but a chicken wing, buttercup.
i'll show you.
i found him like this. i think he was trying to crawl back into that culvert.
you ask me, you and miss muffet are getting a mite too cozy for my taste.
i am worrying. seems to me, you're starting to get confused as to which side of the line you're standing on.
what the hell is that supposed to mean?
i'm compromised?! me?! i'm not the one playing stink-finger with vampirella out there!
we'll see.
the hell are you fiddling with there?
you're wasting your time, already been tried.
nope. back then we did not.
going on twenty years now.
blade doesn't talk about anything much. what about you, though?
pretty.
what about you? you're not coming?
eau de suckhead. tasty.
yeah, but you fangs can see in the dark. what am i supposed to do?
shit!
what the fuck you doing?
forget him, he's chunk-style.
guess that perfume of yours did the trick after all?
perfect. we got the whole fucking partridge family here.
unless anybody has any bright ideas, i'd say we're about half a battery away from a reaper gang-bang.
well maybe i do.
your security's for shit, kid.
just out connecting a few dots.
bangin' some vampire chick. kind of a faux pas in our line of work, wouldn't you say? hope you double bagged it, at least.
why don't you ask your girlfriend?
i did some checking on that carter stevens character. that familiar of theirs who claimed he was with the nih? turns out he used to work for them, but he doesn't anymore.
some biotech outfit called caliban industries. they've been lying to us since day one. this nomak fucker didn't evolve. he was designed.
you expect us to believe that? who you going to trust, blade? me or her?
and we're supposed to clean up your mess. fucking perfect.
you little shit. when did they get to you?
not nearly enough, fritz.
been dead before. didn't much cotton to it. tell you what, chicken shit. you do your worst. we'll settle up after.
come on, blade. talk to me!
go!!!