G.i.joe 2 Page

Yo Joe.

But Roadblock was faster. One round. Center mass. The President’s face shimmered, flickered, and revealed the rotting, yellow-eyed skull of the master of disguise.

“One shot,” Roadblock said, racking a shell into his modified AA-12. “No backup. No extraction. We go in quiet, we hit hard, and we make them remember why you don’t kick a snake and walk away.” The assault was not a battle. It was a surgical nightmare. g.i.joe 2

“Retaliation,” Roadblock said, “is just the beginning.”

The Himalayan wind howled, but it couldn’t drown out the sound of helicopters. Not the friendly thrum of a Joe transport—but the whup-whup of Cobra’s modified Fangs. Yo Joe

“They took everything,” Flint muttered, cleaning a sidearm that had no serial number.

Roadblock and Lady Jaye breached the cliffside armory while Flint caused a diversion using a hijacked Cobra HISS tank. Inside, the halls were a cathedral of chrome and cruelty. Storm Shadow, freed from his blood debt to Zartan, moved in the shadows—but not as an enemy. A flick of his wrist, and a Cobra Vipers fell with a silent shuriken in his throat. Center mass

“No,” Roadblock said, his deep voice like gravel rolling downhill. “They took our names. Not our skills.”