Warning: Mild Gore

Massive pink feet bounded forward, playfully holding up the weight of the Velocirapids' tallest representative. In one hand he held a radio while the other pulled a piping hot hotdog from his mouth. His on-the-go snack was scolded by the angry grumbles of his current companion. A strange little creature from deep below the ocean surface. He came up earlier today to grab a snack from the beachside water park and had gotten wrapped up in this mess.

They were dashing through the inner-city streets. An order delivered hours ago. A job that lasted far too long. The target: a rival company. As officers of the Starr Corporation, they had to be prepared to go on missions at the drop of a dime. Hence they must always keep a form of communication on them at all times.

They turned a corner just in time to catch the tail end of the culprit. A strange panda running on its hind legs with a massive bamboo cannon strapped on its back. The suspect turned around with a nervous grimace and increased their speed. In response, Otis picked up the pace ten-fold. The unholstered hose equipped to the back of his helmet sprayed paint along the walls as they ran. Doug noticed how Otis's little companion, Cil, flew ahead to keep track of their target.

Following close behind, Doug thought about how they were having such a peaceful day. He didn't have to report to the corp for the rest of the week and he planned on spending it enjoying the sights and sounds of Velocirapids. He remembered how Buzz was busy yelling at some kids for horseplaying in the pools. The fellow Brawlers like Colt and Bull and their cannonball contest. Even Lou had showed up to sell some snow cones (Most likely an order from Mr. P). Now he was running headfirst after some Starr Corp copycat's agent. Trying to retrieve a document that he did not the purpose of. Unaware of the danger that he and Otis were about to encounter.

They ran across the roads, nearly causing several accidents and barreling through random pedestrians. If they were in Starr City, Max and Co. would have handled this little pest. Instead, he was grabbing Otis' hose to pull him into another alleyway. He had a plan to cut this guy off and finish this race once and for all. There was still time to relax at his cart and just sell some dogs.

His idea worked perfectly and they managed to jump ahead. Doug barrelled forward and tackled their target. Finally, he had this panda in his hands. He grabbed his head and raked back the golden circlet around his cranium. Otis quickly jumped in to grab the payload he'd stolen from them. With Doug's massive pink scales, he sat down on the suspect's back and began questioning him. Meanwhile, Otis walked over to the front of the alley and dispersed the rapidly forming crowd.

The panda wasn't squealing so Doug radioed in their successful mission. He informed them of the successful hostage and was quickly told to bring this black and white bandit into custody for further questioning.

Otis was having more trouble calming down the masses than he had expected. One child in particular wouldn't stop screaming something. His cries seemed to spur on the rest as they all yelled past him. Almost like they were voicing warnings. Cil started panicking as well which finally moved Otis' attention. His waterboarded screams managed to reach Doug. Though it was mere moments too late.

The dinosaur's visor turned to look behind him. But nothing was visible from a first glance. Then a minuscule movement below caught his eyes. A bright red garment with scents of green. His arms looked much smaller than his own. The difference between a dinosaur and a tick. Then something connected with him. A force pushing not against his stomach, but through it. The sound of a shotgun rocked his eardrums just before the connection. And then his body felt weightless.

Otis couldn't move fast enough. His shock locked his knees and eyes in place. Doug's massive body came soaring to him like an RC drone. Otis' helmet ate the brunt of the blow. His small frame stood no chance of halting the forward advance of Doug's limp corpse. The two were sent flying across the street. They didn't touch the ground as they blasted through a window in an opposing building's front. They only halted when their one-hundred-foot flight crossed the path of a cement wall. And even then they cracked its rock-solid face as if a miner had just blasted rocks with their pickaxe.

Doug's jolly pink face smacked against the wooden flooring. The half-eaten dog spilled to the floor. Otis plopped down on top of him. Ever so thankful for the deep-sea diving helmet he wore everywhere. Cil came flying in with a panicked air in its voice. The bright blue starfish was gliding in the air and signaling for Otis to get up.

The sound of breaking glass was followed by nervous cries as a crowd started watching from the outside. Otis shook away the bubbles, his singular eye was astounded by the body before him. A bright red costume with green lining the limbs and crevices of his muscles and fat. For the most part, his lower body was a standard jumpsuit with deep greens that bordered on black. Put it was the arms that alarmed Otis.

His forearms were massive, nearly swollen. It almost looked diseased. But his fist was just as large. He almost looked like a character from a cartoon. One that Otis had heard of in passing. An old sailor with the strength of a thousand, no, a million men.

Then came the head. His face was swallowed up in what had to be a mask. It showed his lips and chin which he'd painted black as coal. And the eyes. The eyes were massive. They took up eighty percent of the mask's surface area. And they were white as snow. A stark contrast from the lips just below them. Otis looked closely and noticed a white line going across the middle of each. Was that supposed to be its pupils? It almost looked like the eyes of a goat.

Their attacker came a bit closer. He reached into his pockets. A difficult task with the sausages he called fingers. He managed to slide out a tiny card and flick it their way. It read a simple message.

Commander Peacock. Buster Core Officer.

Buster Core. Another affiliate of Starr? No. A copycat? Most likely. There were always copycats trying to cash in on Starr Corp's success. Judging by how he suddenly arrived, he must have been following them the whole time. Waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Otis turned back. His gurgles signaled concern for his companion's safety. He rolled the scaly server over to his back. An action he almost immediately regretted as Doug started to choke violently. His struggling breaths were quickly alleviated when Otis managed to lift him up to a seat position. Doug responded with a slab of blood rising up from his throat. He coughed up his lungs and a cup of ooze. Otis touched his chest and winced along with the Dino. His ribs were broken, and his lungs punctured. He needed immediate medical attention.

*BOOM* *BOOM*

Two frightening explosions sounded off behind him. Otis turned around with his hose pointed ahead. He expected to see massive craters or the town ripped to shreds. But it was just Peacock. His fist fully extended and all the glass in the building's showfloor cracked. It was at this moment that Otis made a crushing realization.

The colorful carapace. The massive hands and soulless white eyes. Punches that broke the sound barrier. And his name, Peacock. A bird with colorful feathers and a knack for dazzling the eyes. But another creature has the word peacock on its name. A monster that Otis has seen hundreds of times on the ocean's floor. A tiny terror that does something no other living creature can. Its tiny arms move with such power, such force, that it can ignite the water itself. No shell or underwater armor can resist its might. And now it had doubled, no tripled, no worse. So much worse. It was now ten times its original size.

The Peacock Mantis Shrimp.

Otis thought about how he'd seen the creature bust open hermit crab shells and devour the critters inside. Fish twice its size would wander too close to its layer and quickly fall victim to its unholy clubs. Their skin is removed from existence and organs are baked from the heat. It was the ocean's deadliest assassin. So, what monster brought it on land?

Peacock cracked his knuckles. It was as if he was just showing off his power. Almost deterring Otis from attempting anything reckless. Or maybe his marine counterpart held more in common than strength alone. Was that a statement? A showing of power? An order not to challenge his dominance?

Whatever it was, he took his leave soon after. Turning his back to his victims and stepping up to the window sill. His presence alone made the few remaining spectators run away. The roads were silent. Drivers were too terrified to approach the altercation.

As Peacock leaned forward a triplet of goop slammed into his back. He fell forward with his body dangling like a wet cloth. The pooling hues of purple and blue only doubled his rage. He turned into the steely gaze of a determined fool. The short scuba diver was roughly the same size as him. They were both miniature monsters in their own right. In a way, he felt a bit of pity for Otis. So he planned on sparing him rather than killing them both. This way the calling card would reach Starr Corps hands directly. And the message would be much clearer. Besides, if he made a mess Buster Core would be cross. But if this cyclops wants to die so badly then Peacock would be more than willing to oblige.

He jumped back into the underdeveloped shop. The two wasted not a moment. Otis rushed forward with a volley of painted power. Peacock responded in turn by dodging and surging forth. The two met in a matter of moments in the middle of the room. Peacock's fist was already cocked back. A supernova shot ready to be administered forcefully. The bystanders froze in anticipation.

In that brief moment, Otis had a million thoughts at once. Firstly the ridiculous power behind those fists. If he was even grazed by this beast he could be put out of the fight. But he thought about the best boxers in the world. They had arms unlike him but what he needed wasn't punching power. It was the art of the dodge. Weaving back and forth in a way that forces your opponent to punch where you are, not where you're going. Following not your opponent's fist but their form. Reading the minute changes in body language. Where had their weight shifted? How was it being dispersed? All these little hints were quintessential for fighting this freak. He might punch ten times faster than the eye could blink. But no creature can avoid choreographing their attack. So he'll combine the two. He'll not only dodge like a professional, but he'll also predict the attack.

With power like that, why aim anywhere else but the center of mass? Otis flicked his hose ahead. At the same time, he left the left the floor with a short hop. Just as he predicted, Peacock's mind was made up before the punch was even thrown. He sent a shockwave out, narrowly missing Otis' pudgy body. The explosive crack of air nearly burst his eardrum. Yet still he persevered.

Next came the lock. He wrapped the hose with a masterful twirl of his neck. It latched onto Peacock's arm like an anaconda. He had gained his grounding. He pulled his head forward and rocked against Peacock's powerful stance. Then while still in mid-air he kicked backward. Without a floor to ground himself, he used the commander's impressive power as a counterbalance. The sole of his foot crashed into Peacock's colorful cheek.

The response was a massive cheer from the crowd. The world slowed to a halt as they began to jump for joy. The underdog hero had outsmarted a monstrous opponent. Even Otis felt elated knowing his plan had not only succeeded but transpired exactly as suspected. That is until Peacock responded.

He pulled on Otis' hose. His fist wrapped up the cord like a ball of twine. Otis had not thought about the aftermath of this attack and the commander took full advantage. Peacock began to twirl Otis around in the air like a lasso. The force at which he spun was bound to turn his little mind into a soupy mess. Then he suddenly stopped without warning, throwing the hose forward with Otis in turn. And to conclude his counter attack he yanked Otis back like a bullwhip.

Inside of the helmet, Otis had been turned to mush. He lost all control over his speech and any thoughts were halted by the urge to spew his lunch. Then came the worst part. When a whip is cracked there is a moment of stagnation. A brief instance where the end of the cord stands completely still. A state so short, that the human eyes can't perceive nor register its existence. Peacock, however, did not have this disability. So when the moment arrived, when Otis's body stayed completely still for half of a nanosecond, Peacock launched a punch aimed directly between the Brawler's eyes.

What happened next would serve to live in the nightmares of all in attendance for the rest of their lives. The only reason it wouldn't persist in Otis' own dreams, is because he no longer would have any. Otis' yellow submarine helmet was the first to crack. The glass shattered under Peacock's fist. The fracture rushed outward from the epicenter and met the red metal lining before the rest of Peacock's hand could touch it.

Next went the helmet. It didn't shatter like the glass before it. Instead, it bent under the weight. Fracturing into jagged edges and stabbing at Otis' soft squishy head. A feeling that Otis didn't have time to cherish. Because the end was soon to follow.

He didn't feel the pain. Nor the aftermath. He didn't feel anything. But there were a special few in the audience that would retail the scene as such.

It was like the air itself was visible on the fists of that red and green maniac. The first thing they saw was a blue nose colliding against the pale chitin on Peacock's knuckle. It was turned into an accordion under pressure and was pressed flat against Otis' skull. If that wasn't bad enough you, could see it if you looked closely. The bones on his face protruded outward as Peacock shattered the front of his skull. Brain matter peaked outward for a moment before there was nothing left to attack. Just a mangling of flesh and bones on the inside of a yellow cage. And at the epicenter, a bright blue eye with pupils bloodshot and punctured.

The aftermath was a work of modern art. A horrifyingly beautiful demonstration of a cannonball versus the human skull. A splattering of blue and pink against the night's dusty canvas. The splash zone spread out on the westward wall as pieces of Otis' head painted the floors. Shrapnel in the form of bones peppered the skin of those standing by. The yellowish-white teeth of the fish man scattered themselves along the goop. Silence followed the explosion of Otis' face. It was nearly a year before Otis' body finally fell to the floor. Finally snapping the people out of their stupor and sparking a riot.

Bodies fled in all directions. Screams of terror could be heard for miles. Men and women called for help or begged their gods to wake them up. It couldn't be true. It couldn't have happened. Otis couldn't be dead.

Peacock didn't have such doubt. He felt it with his own hands. A kill blow that was as certain as the sun rising in the morning. He relaxed his tensed muscles and took a deep breath. He shook off the blood and guts from his fists. Wiped away a bit of water that came flying from Otis' pod. Then stepped away from the scene. He was sure there would be backlash when he returned to base.

He once again stopped at the last moment. His foot rested on the window just before he could exit. Behind him was a presence. An aura of vengeance. Once again, someone wanted to step to the king.

The yellow bubble vest had been deflated from the attack before. His visor busted open. And the pink of his scales had a faint hint of dried red. Yet somehow Doug was standing. And he had in his hand a hotdog. Still unfinished. Yet somehow, piping hot.

Peacock turned back with a bit of disappointment. Now he was sure. He'd get reprimanded severely for what he's about to do. He stepped back into the arena. His fists were still on fire from the previous exchange. That just meant they were all warmed up for what came next.

Peacock didn't have any words for the dinosaur. And the dino had nothing to say to him. At least nothing auditory. There was something louder than words. A voice that screamed twenty times louder than their lungs to dream. It was their bodies that talked. And they affected the world around them to communicate. There was a way that the air had shifted around their frames. The sound had changed despite them standing completely still. And there was the way Doug was holding that hotdog. It wasn't comfortable, or natural. It was like he was pointing it somewhere. In the direction of the mess.

Peacock checked out the scene. It was still just as messy as before. Brains and bones scattered around. A massive blue eye visible in the corner. But something was missing. Something crucial.

The body.

Peacock was met with an impressive weight on his back. Something heavy enough to push him down without crushing his ribs. A body seated firmly on his spine refusing to move. Next came a restricting stretch. Suction cups latching onto his limbs and holding them still. His head saw that little starfish clamping him down. His arms were locked on the floor in front of him. Then came that anaconda vise. A tendril wrapped around his throat and retched him backward. His flesh closed in on his trachea. Locking away the oxygen he so desperately needed.

As his neck was yanked back he saw his assailant. And now he understood what ghosts look like. A yellow dome, with a cracked glass visor, and less water than it had before. With gasping gurgles, Otis pulled back with enough strength to sever his head. And then he pulled some more.

Peacock's mind faded with the foam spewing from his lips. His final thoughts were those of confusion. He'd killed Otis. Turned his head into a fine red paste. Yet somehow not only had it been repaired, but reconnected.

How? How can that be possible?

He'd heard the reports. Starr Corporation's technology is rivaled by none. Superhuman strength, speed, endurance. And more importantly, healing. It was the whole reason they were given this mission. To steal the secrets of their cellular regeneration technology. But this makes no sense. They were told they could heal fatal wounds in an instant. Recover from near-death encounters. But to revive the dead.

In his final moments, he looked forward. He was staring into the eyes of the pink dinosaur ahead. Did he have something to do with this? It couldn't have been Otis. There were no reports of a healing factor for the aquatic brawler. But he'd been told that those hotdogs have strange properties. But revival, that's the realm of God. And to play God is to beckon his wrath.

His struggle finally subsided and his pupils vanished. When Otis was sure he had stopped fighting he slowly released his grip. The body slumped into the bed of shattered glass. Otis' chest heaved in and out. There were still some cracks in his helmet and doubt in his heart.

Was it over? Were they finally done?

He looked up to his impromptu partner. Doug managed to lift a hand up. His bright white smile was accentuated by the thumbs-up he sent out.

Otis smiled inside his domed headdress. And as the adrenaline subsided, so did his consciousness. He fell back into a deep sleep as the fight had finally concluded.