86 Voltz: The Dead Girl by Michael Avon Oeming, Bryan J. L. Glass
By Michael Avon Oeming, Bryan J. L. Glass
86 volts. That's all this little powerhouse must spring to lifestyles. 86 volts of natural power to perk her up and wake the useless. who's 86 Volts? the place does she come from? What does she wish? those questions bring about stunning solutions, yet don't inform 86, simply because she is familiar with even under you do. She awakes in an international of goals from a few prior unknown event that left her useless upon a headstone anticipating a bolt of lightning to deliver her again to life.
What will occur whilst little 86 throws down and mixes it up opposed to a witch and her evil fetus? while black technological know-how and white magic conflict in a non secular free-for-all, the one result's natural chaos.
Teaming up once more following their novel QUIXOTE, author BRYAN J.L. GLASS and artist MICHAEL AVON OEMING have concocted one super-charged little fairy story that leaves not anyone status following its no-holds-barred, knock-down, drag-out brawl of the dwelling useless. This 56-page one-shot is chock packed with motion, poetry, darkness and redemption. What extra may perhaps you ask for?
Make definite your batteries are absolutely charged (and your useless are competently buried) prior to studying this factor of utter mayhem and enjoyable.
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Extra info for 86 Voltz: The Dead Girl
Whats your name? Joe Leaphorn. Joe, she said, my name is Judy Simons, and my friends all call me Judy, and I don’t see why we cant be friends. Reach into your purse, Miss Simons, and let me see your drivers license, Leaphorn said. He pushed the handbag toward her. I don’t have it with me, she said. Leaphorns right hand fished deftly into the handbag, extracted a fat blue leather wallet. Put that back. Her voice was icy. You don’t have any right to do that. The drivers license was in the first plastic cardholder.
They were eyes that would not be stared down, which fixed on Leaphorns eyes-unabashed, arrogant, slightly amused. Get in the front seat, Leaphorn said. He didn’t want her behind him. They jolted through the boulder field in silence and onto the smoother going of a long sandstone slope. Theodora Adams dug into her purse, extracted a folded square of notepaper and smoothed it on the leg of her pants. It was a pencil-drawn map. About where are we? Leaphorn turned up the dash light and peered at it.
Yeah, Leaphorn said. You got it figured right. They thought about it awhile. The old mantel clock on the shelf behind Leaphorns chair became suddenly noisy in the silence. McGinnis smiled faintly over his Coca-Cola glass. But McGinnis hadn’t seen it happen, hadn’t seen the defeat of Father Benjamin Tso as Leaphorn had. Leaphorn had asked the priest a few more questions about the letter, and had established that Father Tso had seen nothing of Goldrims, and no sign of the dog. And then Theodora Adams had opened the back door of the carryall, and taken out her small duffel bag, and put it on the ground beside the vehicle.