Tales of an Intergalactic Spy

When some thug points a gun at you, you really don’t have a whole lot of choices. Fortunately, reflexes don’t require you to make a choice.
The Genovian lifted his left arm from his holster and heft it up with one arm, extending his arm fully at me as he pulled the trigger.
Just a bit quicker, I hopped over the table, hoping it to be sturdy enough to deflect a DeathRae 4000. Barely clearing the glass top, I heard the sizzle of a released charge, a charge deadly enough to bring down a Harlexian Elephant. Following the burning path with my eyes through the titanium alloy wall, I realized I needed a new plan. Unfortunately, this plan would have to do without a gun; good tip for you: always check your catridge before you need it.
“Surrender, fool!” he yelled out. “You have no chance against this!” tapping his nail against the casing of his DeathRae. Good model, shame to be wasted on such a low-life.
“Alright, you got me. I’ve taken quite a few gambles in my life, but this one doesn’t quite have the same odds as the others,” I responded, raising my hands and popping up to face him. I was right; the odds were much better this time.
I walked slowly towards him, hands still up, though it did nothing to ease him.
“Stay back,” he said, shuffling back, “if you know what’s good for you.” See how easy it is to gain the upper hand?
In a flash, I had him disarmed and back against the wall, a nifty trick from Phar. He recovered quickly enough, raising his fists, ready for a fight. I’ll admit, I’m no brawler, but I can handle myself. He faked left, right, left, right, and over and over, though it didn’t matter. I knew which was coming.
I threw my right hand up for the early block, then allowing my knee to teach him a cheaper alternative to a vasectomy. The fight wasn’t quite fair, I’ll admit, but I don’t fight fair. Besides, he should have aimed his gun with both hands.

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