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The thug woke up with a start.
And realized he and his car weren't on the summit of mount Everest, but in Paris, in front of La fourchette d'argent.
After a few seconds of surprise, he heaved a huge sigh of relief.
A nightmare. It was just a nightmare...
"No, it wasn't a nightmare," snarled a horrifyingly recognizable voice.
Slowly, the robber looked to his right.
And saw the blob right next to the car, glaring at him.
The fact that it wasn't monstrously gigantic anymore didn't help, because it still was easily three times taller than the average human, and ridiculously overmuscled.
The terror returned, just as great as before.

"Quit screaming like a little girl, again, and get out of the car."
As his enemy obeyed, Bock smirked.
During his walk towards Everest, he had calmed down a little bit.
Oh, he still had been pissed as hell against the bastard, but had recovered enough common sense to realize that killing the prick was the worst thing to do. Retaliation or not, he'd become a murderer, and morally and pragmatically, that wasn't acceptable for him.
He thus decided to settle for traumatizing him.
After the human had fainted, the blob had picked the car again and gone back to Paris.
Once there, he had shrunk to Hulk-size and waited for the bandit to wake up.
Of course, a horde of journalists, cops and military people had been there, but a glare while he was still building-sized had them keep their distances, but still all aorund.
Okay, time for the cherry on the cake.

"Your phone."
"What?" whimpered the thug.
"YOUR PHONE!!"
Trembling, the robber obeyed.
Bock then grabbed the thug with an oversized hand, fiddled with the phone, and took a selfie.
He then gave back the phone, displaying the selfie, the thug's traumatized expression and the blob's deliberately goofy grin superbly shown on it.
"A little memento," smirked Bock before shoving the thug to the cops, then retaking, for the first time since he first took his humanoid form, an amorphous shape before slithering in the shadows of a close alley, escaping the journalists and the military.
All they could do now was watch the cops arrest a very traumatized yet very relieved thug.

And inside La fourchette d'argent...
"Where's Henri?!" exclaimed a fully-back-to-his-normal-dimensions Bock, as he saw that the boss wasn't here anymore.
"I took him to the hospital to have him examined," replied Jacques, the chief-in-second. "I just came back. The doctors say he has a broken skull. Nothing dangerous at first sight, but they intend to keep him to make sure."
"Okay. Good..."
An uneasy silence followed.
"Dude... What happened to you?" finally asked Pierre, another cook.
"Not sure," was the answer.
A new silence came.
"Guys... I scare you?" asked sadly Bock.
"No," reassured Jacques. "The fact you spared that bastard proves you're still our good old Bock. But we're surprised as hell. I mean, you outgrew the goddamn mount Everest, and you didn't look like you were gonna stop! And you talk now!"
"Yeah, still a bit of a shock for me too," snarked back the blob, a snark that didn't hide his relief. "But a bigger shock is my past."
"Your past?" repeated Sylvain, one of the waiters.
"Yeah, you know how I remember nothing of before the restaurant? Well, I remember now..."
"And what is it?"
"I'll tell when we'll go and see Henri, I don't really want to say it twice."
"Fair enough."
"When can we go and see him, actually?" asked the blob.
"If it depended of only him, right now," snorted Jacques. "But the docs were very clear: no visits before thursday."

Art by  buckdasystem
Color by  yoshils
Original here: https://twitter.com/Yoshils/status/.....46579043098624
Bock © me