All in the Name of Business... --- Warsman vs Darkchild

A security room, 12:21 a.m.

"Where's the damn video footage?!" a frantic woman asked, shaking a smaller coworker by the shoulders.

"The cameras didn't pick up sh!t! This guy just broke in, took the pods, and left!" the man replied between gasps for air

"Goddammit, the boss is going to be pissed!"

"Pissed about what?"

The woman turned around violently, her face laden with panic. Blocking the doorway was an imposing man of six feet and eight inches, raw power fixated in his brow, and red armor plastered along his threatening body. His eyebrows fluctuated from interested to interrogative. His secretary was hiding something. The man pulled his arms up to his chest and folded them across the other as the woman began to stutter at a loss for words.

"---and we hoped you wouldn't find out until we found out what happened from the tapes."

The "boss," named Warsman, placed his hands on his hips and laughed a deep laugh, inciting those around him to do the same. He sighed and walked over to the smaller man, perhaps fresh from college, and ruffled his hair with a large, vice-like hand. The laughter became a sudden gasp for air, then the crunch of a melon-sized walnut under pincers of steel. The woman was startled and stared at Warsman with horror. He merely looked at her.

"There is no need to continue here. Get someone to clean this mess up."

Wading through the fresh gore, he turned and exited the room. His secretary took a trembling hand and contacted the disposal crew shortly before vomiting.

---

He was in the warehouse. The smell of sweat and anticipation were too strong. The basement underneath the business was used as a storage facility for many things: priceless treasures, weapons, bones of famous people, and Warsman's favorite killing machines. Perhaps the creature was too intrigued by the methods of death to leave. Perhaps he was too cautious of what was close at hand.

"Emerge, child of darkness. I know you did what was done all in the name of business, but those weapons you stole cost money. A lot of money."

Scanning the crates, boxes, and material things, he would start bursting them like firecrackers with minute spasms of heat if there was no immediate answer.