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Like Butch and Sundance... But With More Irony

The shell ejected from the gun, tumbling into the air for a few seconds, before landing on the marble floor. It joined his brothers on the floor. With both guns blazing Max was making sure that the mooks around him knew who they were dealing with.

"Don't you die on me you bastard," Max told the crumpled figure on the floor.

He was surveying the area and he was vastly outnumbered. No matter how many he took out, it seemed like two would take the place of one fallen comrade. It looked like this time that these mooks would rather face death than report back to their bossman of a failure.

"I ain't going to die just yet," the crumpled figure said. "There's still plenty of things to do."

"Who are these guys?" Max asked.

"Why they belong to your counterpoint..." the figure replied.

"Ain't you my counterpart?" Max questioned the figure on the floor. Max had always figured that Control was behind most of the stuff he had been through; after all he was Control.

"No," Control said. "I'm not your Anti-Max."