"So where do we go now?" Killer Frost asked, waking up as Luke drove the stolen Impala. "I think you'll like this surprise," he smiled. "We're headed to Atlantic City." Killer Frost nodded. "I like." "Alright," Luke nodded. "I figured you'd want to have some fun in control. See how well I know you," he smiled. "Showtime."
The two stepped out of the car looking fearless and strong. "Alright, party's over, everybody out," Luke announced loudly, bursting into the most glamorous and exuberant club in Atlantic City.
The obvious fool leader of the group laughed derisively, completely underestimating the pair. Despite the fact that they each carried an uzi. "Well look everyone, it's Bonnie and Clyde," he sneered. "That's cute." Killer Frost grinned. "I'll show you cute."
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The man laughed. "I like your girlfriend," he said appreciatively to Luke. "She's got.... style." "Evidently more than you," Killer Frost noted, glancing at the man's awful multicolored jacket.
The music stopped, and the entire drunken, sloppy crowd was just itching for a violent outbreak. "Ooooh." The man smiled, looking down for a moment. "Alright, alright. So you like 'em feisty. You've got a real flare to you, buddy," he nodded almost out of respect. "I'm not interested in your respect," Luke smirked,"buddy." "Well, if I were you, I'd just get going then," the man said threateningly.
Killer Frost immediately yet calmly fired her gun into the air, two shots precisely. No more than a second apart, as she'd studied. "We're not going anywhere," Killer Frost said firmly, parts of her sickly pale face shadowed by the darkness of the club.
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"Unless we want to," she said more gently.
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