Friday, January 3, 2014

The Storm

The Ladies and Sabine

“. . .And Donut has arrived, fashionably late as usual.”

“It’s not pink; it’s light-ish red.”

“Oh, how no one except for us misses those jokes.”

“Or gets those jokes.” Shemo added, interrupting what she suspected was going to spawn into a long tangent of banter that moved the storyline nowhere. “Can I kill something now, please?”

“Alright kids, it’s time for the action sequence that climaxes into a cliffhanger.” Rani agreed, gesturing to the trio of truck trailers parked against the building.

“I’ll climax in her cliff. . .” Donut trailed off and hurried after the others, deciding the punch line was a moot point without an audience. Plus he didn’t want to be the sexy weirdo in the pink suit with a sword strapped across his back standing around the loading area of Ginger Corp’s biggest store. Well, not on a week day anyway. He usually saved that for the late Saturday nights that promised a hung-over Sunday.

“Sky, release the beast.” Rani ordered briskly with a quick nod to the angry heavens. “ Donut, give the middle truck the can-opener treatment and take Sabine with you to toss the backroom a little bit. Sky will drop some lightning love on the roof from out here, shorting out the electrical systems and killing the alarm. When the power is gone, Shemo will drop through the roof hatch death from above style and make anything red in the head dead. If reinforcements arrive before we bail, they’ll have to deal with hurricane Sky standing guard right here. While you guys are having your fun I’ll be using the chaos and confusion to search for any evidence of soulless reproduction. Any questions?”

“Is soulless reproduction anything like gentle time?”

“I need more alcohol to bother acknowledging that reference that only Donut and I get. Any decent questions?”

“You mean the storm is my doing? How do I do it?” Sky asked, chewing an anxious fingernail as she watched the wrathful clouds lurk threateningly.

“Just stop holding back and let it happen. You don’t have to wait anymore.”

“Waiting for the storm, I get it. Okay; let’s do this.”

The clap that escaped the heavens in response was comparable only to electric Chlamydia and the silence that followed rivaled only by the awkward tension of the recently executed completely tasteless joke. And then, as they say, all hell broke loose.

The thin steel of the trailer wall offered as little resistance as a cheerleader on prom night, sliding apart for the demonic blade as if the sword had plied it with alcohol and insincere compliments. If Donut didn’t know any better, he would have thought the blue sheen of the edge was Rohypnol residue. Actually, come to think of it, he didn’t know any better. And was it natural behavior of metal to curl in on itself and vanish without a trace after being cut? He was no metal smith, but vanity incarnate was fairly sure that metal didn’t do that. Outside of a bizarre fantasy realm created in the mind of his friend where they were all super-heroes, gingers had the intelligence to be a real threat and his friend got laid. He could buy the super-heroes part, but the rest had to be roofies. Maybe that was why Rani had been getting more action then him lately. . .

“Down!” Donut acted on instinctive obedience, having been too absorbed in trying to hijack the story with his mental musing to notice the guard raise train a pistol on him in response to his sudden entrance. The crimson bolt missed only due to his sudden evasion, and Donut made a silent promise to keep his eye on the prize. He was, after all, too damn pretty to die.

“Hit them hard and fast, we have radio silence from the scouts.” Sabine heard the order, but saw no evidence of their reckless leader in the madness going on around them. She watched in fascination as Donut impaled a rampaging ranga, one that had been shooting some freaky laser, and the offending security officer vanished into a cloud of blue and red mist. Whatever Rani was on when he thought up this shit, it definitely wasn’t street legal.

“Now would be a good time for my powers to work!” Sabine screamed in frustration at no one in particular, unleashing her anger on the nearest employee with the added force of a broom handle she wielded as an improvised weapon. The wooden handle snapped easily under the stress of the attack and her opponent staggered. In a complete overkill of the use of the color red, the dark-skinned worker’s eyes began to glow a feral red and Sabine knew she was in trouble if her mojo didn’t kick in soon. To hell with waiting for a man to come to her rescue, Sabine desperately resorted to most brutal action a woman can inflict upon a man short of dragging him for shopping or cutting him off from sex. She introduced the steel toe of her boot to his most private of areas with the hostility and frustration she felt toward the entire damn gender. Needless to say, the unfortunate Wally World employee did not rise again.


Shemo was having the time of her life in the break room. There was something sadistically satisfying about ripping members of the security force to bloody bits with only her claws. Her powers had come naturally to her so far, it was as easily as letting her feral impulse loose upon anything that moved. It was a bloody mess, and she loved every second of it as evil flesh parted and her mystical talons sank deep into soulless meat. It was morbid, it was graphic, it was without mercy or compassion; it was everything she wanted out of a character.  It was so much bloodthirsty fun that she lost herself in the carnage and forgot that she was supposed to be luring the enemy to her as a distraction and not driving them away from her in terror. Had she been less of an awesome bloody fucking warhawk, Rani might not have found himself surrounded by a mob of ginger thralls that wanted to be anywhere other than the site of the massacre in the break room.