The air on the frozen moon of Xylar-4 was thin enough to kill a normal man in seconds, but to Lobo, it just tasted like a good place to light a cigar. He stepped off his Spacehog, the engine still growling like a caged beast, and took a deep, theatrical sniff of the sub-zero atmosphere. To anyone else, it was just odorless ice and rock, but to the Main Man, the scent was as clear as a neon sign. He could smell the sweat, the cheap pheromone-masking spray, and the pure, concentrated terror of the "bastich" hiding in the pressurized bunker three miles ahead. He’d tracked this mark through three star systems and a black hole, and he wasn't about to let a little thing like a planetary shield get in the way of the job.
He didn't bother with the door when he reached the facility. Instead, he wound the titanium alloy chain around his fist and swung his signature hook with enough superhuman strength to turn the reinforced blast gate into a pile of scrap metal. As he stepped through the venting gas and debris, his heavy boots clanking against the metal floor, he saw his target cowering behind a stack of energy cells. Lobo let out a low, rasping chuckle, his red eyes glowing with predatory glee as he blew a thick cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.
"You know, they told me you were a runner, but you're more like a crawler," he growled, the sheer intimidation of his presence filling the room. "I caught your essence back on the Vega Wharf, and there ain't a corner of this fraggin' universe deep enough to hide from the Main Man once he’s got the scent."
