Adam braced himself against the ground. "Dear mister Canine. You p!ssed off some important people, didn't you." He kept his stance low, swaying from side to side, his eyes analysing every move, every breath that his prey took. "Some old friends of yours saw fit to hire me." He grinned. "This contract is the most exciting and inspiring job I have been given in years, Canine." His eyes ran over Canine's frame, and his tongue ran over his lips, "So, how do you want this to get done? Count to three?" He asked, grinning. He thought he saw an opening; a tiny, minute opening in Canine's defense, and he went for it, feinting left, then leaping at his prey, reminiscent of some large cat. Should he make contact, Canine would have to deal with three hundred pounds of muscle hitting him and nearly fifty miles per hour. Bottom line: it would hurt. A lot.