“HANDS IN THE AIR! NOW!”
Considering that the cop was only six feet away from him, Sparkleboy thought he was yelling awfully loud.
“Whoah, whoah, whoah! Hey buddy, look, alright? I’m raising, I’m raising.”
Sparkleboy turned slowly, arms raised the bare minimum he thought he could get away with, palms barely above his head.
“Hey, that’s quite the weapon you’ve got there.”
Sparkleboy pointed with his chin, indicating the business-like mess of add-ons fitted to the barrel of the officer’s MP5.
“Hands a little higher, whitey.”
The rifle remained steady, aimed at Sparkleboy’s chest. He cocked his head slightly, studying it.
Underslung was the standard gas canister launcher, used for riot control, and also handy for evening the odds against lower-powered perps. On top squatted a portly laser sight — likely beefed up for actual burn, Sparkleboy figured. Twin tubes on the distal side looked like they might squirt or spray something, maybe adhesive, or containment foam. The thick black rod on the other side could be… well, could be anything, really.
It didn’t really matter, to Sparkleboy.
“What, these hands?”
He had his own handful of surprises.