“Sir you can’t just barge in there without authorization sir I can’t let you sir sir sir!”
What did Truth care? He was on a mission. Even thinking that made his eyes go steely and cold and his jaw clench. A mission. “Ma’am,” he said. “You don’t mess with a mission.”
The receptionist was wearing a dark green jumpsuit for some reason with a number 13 inside of a G made out of a gear. “Shit,” she said, and dived back through the door. An alarm started to go off.
“It’s not that easy, you fools. Nothing can stop me now. Nothing! Bring your guns and your toy bombs, for I am ready for you!” Truth spread his arms wide. Behind him twelve bolts on twelve guns drew back like a typewriter reaching the end of a line. “Ding,” said Truth.
“Sir, step away from the generators, this is your last warning.”
“God, for your own sake, listen to them,” bawled the receptionist from under a flak helmet.
“Now you listen to me,” said Truth to the generators. “And you listen good. I’ve got some things I’d like to say to you.”
ZAP! said the generators.