by Hydrargentium

He reached way back for the next one, winding up a like spring before hitting Weasel so hard the supervillain was knocked back into the side of the nearby dumpster. Goldstar tossed aside the clump of fur that he still clutched in his fist as he stomped over to grab Weasel around his furry throat and haul him up off the ground.

Goldstar’s hand was already up, poised for the mother of all bitch-slaps, when he realized Weasel was finally out cold. Switching his grip to grab Weasel by the scruff with his left hand, Goldstar quickly removed the handcuffs from his utility belt, and slapped them tight around Weasel’s fuzzy wrists.

Only a few seconds later, Weasel started to come around, moaning and rolling his head from side to side. Already, his nose had stopped bleeding, and the patch of longer fur ripped from his chest had almost completely grown back in. Soon after that, the moaning turned to panting, as Weasel opened his eyes, licked his blood-caked lips, and looked around.

“Just settle down,” Goldstar commanded, anticipating renewed violence.

In response, Weasel spat a gob of blood at the big star on his captor’s chest, and swung his legs up to rake his sharp toe claws at Goldstar’s thigh. His attempt ended with a gurgle, after Goldstar jammed two knuckles into his throat.

“I said, settle down.”