Plumley charges at her
full speed. Before he can get into attack range, Marcia blows a kiss with her
right hand. Floating out of her palm is a froth of pink and purple mist. The
poisonous vapors grow and expand as they travels towards Plumley, clouding his
vision, squeezing his lungs, and burning eyes. The man falls to his knees,
coughing and wheezing, blood leaking from his nose.
Marcia shakes her
head, disappointed. Her left hand never left her hip.
MARCIA
Aw, sorry. Was that too much?
FALCON
Thank you, Marcia. Please take your seat.
Marcia walks off the platform. On her way back to the
bleachers, she glances at Israel Jahoa, who can't take his eyes of her. In addition to her beauty, he can't help feeling like he's seen her someplace before.
On the platform, the gas has dissipated. But Plumley is
still on the ground, writhing in pain, gasping for air.
PLUMLEY
Help! Help...I can’t breathe! I can’t bre...
From behind the glass
in the command room, Lau clicks his microphone on, his harsh, uncaring voice
echoing throughout the arena.
LAU
Relax, Plumley. The suit will compensate momentarily.
The circular lights on Plumley’s suit begin to flicker rapidly. A
few moments after and his bloodshot eyes slowly return to normal. Plumley
composes himself, wipes the blood from his nose, and gets back on his feet.
FALCON
Alrighty. On to the next. Olson, you’re up.
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