>be me 
>skeleton 
>inna house, chilling on a sofa 
>fat bastard of a master is chilling on the other end of the couch 
>fucker looks like he's one large pizza away from fusing with the furniture 
>his eyes, struggling to not be consumed by the pancake of lard that is the rest of his face, is focused intently on his filthy laptop 
>the sounds of periodic wheezing squeals of delight followed by tapping of a mechanical keyboard are all that fill the disgusting living room 
>what he looks at during this time I do not want to know 
>a loud knock resounds off the mildewing front door 
>the lard lord, pulled from his entertainment, sets his computer between us 
>with tremendous effort, the fat bastard tries with all his might to free his great girth from his ass sweat stained throne 
>after three tries, he sets himself down again, rolling back into his coushins, defeat on his face 
>a loud, wet fart signals his final defeat and oily tears begin to slick his lumpy face upon the realization of his self defecation
>If I had lips, I'd grimace at such a display. It was not the first time I'd seen this miserable mass of flesh do this 
>another, now louder knock rings out as I contemplate wether or not to leave this fucker to stew in his filth or help him 
>another bang on the door, much more forceful, and the hinges come flying off 
>a small cylinder rolls in just as quickly as the door is gone 
>BANG
>EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE 
>that's what I would've heard if skeletons could get tinnitus 
>but, instead the wails of the blob and the stamping of combat boots fills the room 
>I don't know who they are 
>I don't know why they're here 
>Hell, I don't know who I am 
>But, the mental command of my fat fuck of a master leaves me no choice 
>I must kill 
>jumping off the couch, I grab the first one in by the plate carrier 
>from that moment to the moment I lift him up, the rest of the stack has filled the room 
>weapons up, they all start shouting 
>demands to the effect of "Put him down, you boney motherfucker" are probably made as the squad of five spec eds circle me
>I don't really know 
>when a task is ordered, it gets that channelized attention going 
>and I've been ordered to do ultra violence 
>flip the tacticool retard upside down and hold him by his feet like a kid who owes me money 
>swing him by his legs like a baseball bat 
>domes collide and over-glorified bike helmets outfitted with the shiniest night lights crack against each other with satisfying loudness as I hit the one to my right
>fucker crumples to the floor and the one in my hands stops squirming 
>broke both their necks 
>there's a moment of "oh shit" before the entire room erupts in gunfire 
>can't hear shit 
>can't see shit 
>feel varying calibers bounce off my rib cage 
>mfw they do nothing 
>reach out a skeletal hand through the hail of lead 
>snag the business end of something with two barrels 
>that's not standard issue
>a pump followed by a double serving of buckshot sends pellets careening through the gaps of my exposed metacarpals 
>okay retard 
>snatch the DP-12 out of this larping faggot's hands 
>wonder who these fuckers are as I malicously work the pump 
>two shells flick out onto the floor 
>doesn't matter 
>bring the business end back up to its previous owner 
>howdy.jpeg 
>BOOM 
>head explodes like a melon at a Gallagher show 
>whip it around to the next retard 
>and now they'll know why they call me the two pump chump 
>Pump 
>poor bastard gets to see how far he can look down two barrels before he dies 
>BOOM 
>more Kurt Cobain style wall painting 
>turn to the next two 
>they're retreating to the inner recesses of my ham beast's grotto 
>the commands in my undead mind echo one thing 
>NO SURVIVORS  
>the two remaining survivors rush down a dim hall, unearthly smells undoubtedly assaulting them from every angle 
>I march behind them, goading them on with a merciless pump of the DP-12 
>yes 
>the reach the door at the end, paint peeling from it's rotting frame 
>hellish vapors burn their nostrils 
>Yes 
>another pump and unspent shells scatter on the floor 
>the sound spooks them from their hesitation and they hurry into the bowels of that God-forsaken room 
>YES 
>NOW THEY WILL KNOW 
>gagging and racking coughs sound off from behind the door as they choke on the fetid fumes within, but they dare not exit 
>if only they knew that death would be preferable to what awaited them in there 
>the noise of dripping, as of sludge, begins to slither out from the room 
>It pools up from the center of the Earth 
>their labored breathing hitches as slimey sounds creep along the floor, presumably towards them 
>silence 
>silence 
>silence 
>a cacaphony of gun fire and damnable screams resounds in the room before being quickly silenced 
>all that remains is the unearthly squelches of eldritch ooze as it consumes its victims whole 
>a giggle comes floating in from the living room, the tub of lard having survived 
>it developes into a titter any mere mortal would find maddening upon his realization of my work 
>mfw
>word to the wise for those who wish to survive a necromancer 
>never enter the Spunk Sepulcher  

>be me 
>skeleton 
>chilling inna shop stall at the local flee market 
>fat bastard working the counter 
>sells knives, swords, and other mall ninja accesories of questionable quality 
>I just grab whatever the customer needs from the wall 
>nobody freaks out because skeleton bits covered head to toe in vaquero gear 
>grab some shitty 15 blade dragon knife off the wall and hand it to some oily haired faggot who's interested in buying 
>he holds it up to his pimply face as if he knows what the fuck he's actually looking for 
>fatty watches impatiently, as being .2 seconds into his designated 2nd lunch break has made him hangry 
>crater face continues to eye fuck the serrated abomination before finally nodding in satisfaction 
>"So, like.... this is pretty cool, man." 
>fatty stirs slightly at the compliment, but his look of impatience doesn't change 
>"Master Strombom will be like.... totally stoked, dude." 
>if this faggot says like one more time I'm going to take the master sword replica off the wall and bash his skull in 
>fat ass hasn't groaned out an answer yet
>look over to master blubber to see if he's ready to sell the faggot the knife 
>he's gone completely pale, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water 
>the fuck 
>the next moment is a blur 
>dumb fuck pot head leaps across counter with newly aqcuired 15 bladed dragon dongs of triple serration and stabs fat ass in the sternum with it 
>mfw  
>snatch slick rick off fatty's grotesque form by his pencil kneck 
>he's kicking and screaming in that retarded stoner voice 
>reach under pancho and rip open button up shirt to reveal larp faggots DP-12 from yesterday strapped to the inside of my ribcage 
>yank it out and level double barreled fury to stoner faggot's stomache at a distance of no inches 
>fire trigger safe his midsection 
>his innards are turned into hamburger meat as a death groan manages to escape his tightly gripped throat 
>toss faggot's body back over counter and whirl around to check on fat ass 
>he's blubbering some shit about mama as ichor runs heavy down the front of his mountain dew shirt 
>his shaky, sweat slicked hands reach up to touch the retarded dagger sticking out from between his moobs 
>force his hands back down so he doesn't make it worse
>fuck 
>this isn't good 
>the sound of a gun shot pierces the air and something goes whizzing by my cranium 
>THIS ISN'T GOOD 
>look back to see who the fuck just shot at me 
>outside, I see a cowboy jacking the lever of a .44 Mare's Leg 
>on second look, it's a lot of cowboys 
>a lot of bare chested cowboys 
>a lot of bare chested cowboys with assless chaps 
>all armed with .44 Mare's Legs 
>flee market goers go stampeding from the area, trampling eachother to get away from death 
>no 
>it can't be 
>mfw it's the boys from the Ol' Prolapsed O
>"He killed the twink!", the leader of the homoerotic posse hollers in a southern twang, salt and pepper eyebrows bristling under a black stetson
>hoots and whoops come out of the crowd 
>"Get 'em, boys!", he orders, slapping some of the queer vaqueros on the ass as they pass in their charge 
>.44 begins pouring into the tiny shop as I duck behind the front desk, pulling fat ass down with me 
>gunfire and the sound of jacking levers fills the area 
>RAM RANCH IS UNDER SIEGE  
>grab fat ass by the back of his neck folds and start low crawling my boney ass toward the rear exit with him in tow 
>the hail of sexually pent frustration sends glass scattering on the floor from the display shelves 
>fatty groans in pain as I drag him along, shards of glass embedding themselves into his blubber 
>fuck it he'll thank me later 
>we make it to the back door by the time gun fire pauses 
>my guess is we have 25 seconds at most to get the fuck out of here before they come inside the place and murder fatty 
>get blubber up and on his feet with tremendous effort 
>fucker weighs a ton 
>I can hear the crunching of well polished ass skin boots on glass by the time we exit the back door 
>a few feet away, the skeleton drawn cart awaits 
>drag the glutton's great girth over to the transport and load him into the seat 
>the entire thing groans and the wagon leaf springs compress nearly to the axle 
>get up front, lift the two sticks, and start hauling ass with fatty secured in the cart 
>"They're getting away!", some faggot cowboy yells before another shot rings out from behind 
>.44 takes a chunk out of some mystery meat hanging outside of a grimey taquieria to my left 
>start hearing the sounds of horse hooves against the cement walkways of the market place 
>chance a look behind 
>40 wild cowboys are bare back riding horses after our asses, guns held in the air as they sound off a rebel yell 
>mfw  
>ripping ass out into the parking lot with the gang of ass bandits hot on our tail 
>more bullets fly by us 
>some snap into parked cars 
>one blows a hole through the tip of my sombrero 
>dios mios 
>I keep running, calcium strength allowing a speedy 40 mph on the road 
>however, the rider's keep chase easily 
>fuck 
>can't pull cart with one hand to return fire 
>fatty doesn't have a gun 
>not like it would matter, pretty sure he couldn't hit the broad side of a barn 
>fuck
>fire is becoming more accurate now 
>a chunk of cart handle on the right side explodes into splinters 
>make it out onto the the road now 
>and in about 500 feet, 600lbs of lard combined with probably another 600lbs of human cattle cart has to make a turn to the bridge at 40 mph 
>this'll end well 
>400 ft 
>a round domes the back of my skull, forcing me to keel over forward, barely keeping my balance 
>300 ft 
>another shatters against my right fore arm, forcing my grip to get uneven 
>200 ft 
>the whoops and hollers of the rowdy bunch of faggots are getting closer now 
>I pray to whoever the fuck is listening that I can make this damn turn 
>100 ft 
>a ghastly yell rips its way out of fatty's blubber lined esophagus 
>I look back to see, much to my horror, a chunk of master's left shoulder gone 
>the cowboys cheer and jeer from behind 
>0 ft 
>muster all my strength to make the turn, sticking one foot down and letting the other rise in hopes that the cart swings out in the rear 
>that doesn't happen 
>instead, the bitch rolls, and I roll with it 
>1 
>2 
>3 times over before we come to a rest 
>I recuperate quickly 
>looking back, the cart's overturned, master spilled out to the side like some potted meat thrown against the asphalt 
>the DP-12 is laying across the road way, the boys from the Ol' Prolapsed O already between me and it 
>I look back to fatty 
>there's no fear on that pale face of his 
>his entire body's gone so white he looks like a mound of marshmallow spread 
>I think he knows what shituation he's in 
>I also think he knows he won't be around when those faggots desecrate his body 
>if I still had tearducts, I'd shed one for the son of a bitch 
>even if he was a disgusting fucker, he brought me back from the dead 
>with one last glassy eyed look at me, a final command enter's my mind 
>escape 
>I obey, picking myself up and sprinting to the bridges edge 
>more hollering followed by more gunfire and lever working 
>some thunk the pavement, some thunk me 
>but that shit doesn't matter to a skeleton
>I jump off the bridge head first and swan dive into those cold waters of the Guadelupe 
>before things go black, I make a promise on my late master's soul 
>I'm gonna kill these faggots dead   

>be me 
>skeleton 
>pissed as fuck and onna rock river side beach 
>clothes are soaked 
>clothes are ripped to shit
>don't know where I am 
>unarmed 
>shit is fucked yo 
>grinding teeth together as I pour murky water out of my boots 
>the fuck do I do now? 
>well, find my way back to those faggots and kill them 
>but how? 
>well, it stands to reason that I've drifted down in the south easterly direction 
>but I could either be near Austin, San Antonio, or bumfuck nowhere 
>that's helpful 
>ringing out bandana when voices startle the shit out of me 
>a bunch of fucking pansy ass giggling
>put my ragged clothes back on quickly, covering up my boney bits
>start scanning up and down the river bank 
>the river bends out of sight on either side 
>the owner's of the voices can't be seen 
>suddenly, a sweet voice starts ringing out through the air 
>more join it, creating a heavenly choir 
>damn 
>that's nice as hell 
>get to my feet and start following that alluring song down and around the river's bend 
>don't even bother hiding myself when I approach the source 
>what I see is damn near paradise 
>a group of college girls playing in the water 
>they don't seem to notice me, just continuing to sing and play some water volley ball 
>the sun glistens off their hair and the beads of water on their fair skin 
>all of them got white shirts with a burnt orange bull's head on each one 
>guess I'm near Austin 
>that yuppie faggot city 
>one of the girl's turns toward me and let's loose a light laugh, motioning me to come over 
>she bats her long eyelashes at me, trying to draw me in with them bright blue eyes 
>lord have mercy
>the other girls just continue playing and singing 
>by this point they're at the midsection of the river
>I know where this is going 
>ah fuck it 
>start walking into the water, making that purdy gal smile 
>it'll be fun to blow off some steam before I gotta go kill some ass ranchers 
>the river water gets about to my knees before I stop 
>bend down and strart running a gloved hand along the river bottom 
>keeping an eye on that girl as I do so 
>her smile changes from one of those nice ones to one of those ones that says "the Hell are you doing?" 
>you'll find out soon 
>don't worry your pretty head about it 
>quickly find what I'm looking for and stand straight back up 
>open my hand to reveal a decently sized, smooth river stone 
>it's a glistening piece of granite shaped like a triangle 
>flat with rounded edges 
>now that's a good skipping rock 
>toss it up and catch it a few times 
>it's got some good weight to it too 
>girl in the river looks even more confused 
>her friends stopped playing water volley ball and singing 
>they look just as confused 
>look to stone and then back at the girl 
>she gives a reassuring smile and beckons me to got further in the water with a finger 
>yeah nah 
>hook the stone in the crook of my pointer finger 
>side arm throw that fucker full force 
>1 skip 
>dumb bitch watches as the stone slams into her god damn forehead 
>THUNK 
>mfw
>her head violently snaps to the rear 
>blood is quickly running down her face 
>she starts convulsing, body going sideways as her bottom half floats up to the surface 
>glistening scales reveal themselves, murky brown and dark stripes with a white under belly like some kinda giant bass 
>all the other girl's start shrieking and diving under the water, dorsal and tail fins cresting the surface before dissapearing into that murky river 
>guess they didn't know that some mother fuckers actually know a Texas Fresh Water Striped Bass Siren when they see one 
>chuck a couple larger stones out into that deep water to scare away the rest of the school 
>start wading out to the floater once I think the rest are gone 
>yeah, she's a pretty decent size 
>about 6 ft head to tail 
>damn 
>makes me miss the times I used to do this with fatty 
>may God rest his soul 
>those were good times 
>snap out of my memories and get back to task 
>if I were to be a betting man, I'd guess this shirt doesn't belong to this fish 
>on closer inspection, it's not a worn in shirt, so whoever they got it must've recently been killed 
>rest in peace you college girl 
>turn my attention to the creature's mid-section
>let's see what you had for lunch 
>pull a soaked glove off my left hand and put the points of my fingers to the siren's stomache
>push in and the skin yields with little resistance 
>blood starts chumming the water as I dig around in her guts 
>find a particular fleshy sack and pull it out, the rest of the digestive tract following with it 
>tear it open to see what prize is inside this flesh piñata 
>oh, what's this? 
>among the undigested bones of some unfortunate soul, I find a particularly shiney object 
>I pull it out and let the entrails splash into the water as I examine the item 
>it's a gore covered key 
>the rubbery bit has that pentagon star logo from those early 2000s Chrysler's 
>hell yeah 
>dunk the key into the water a few times to wash the guts off 
>turn away from the dead fish and wade back onto shore 
>spend a good chunk of the afternoon watching the floating corpse from the shore as it gets cannabalized by it's former sisters 
>they tear the damn thing apart in chunks, greedily gulping down whatever they can 
>fucking savages 
>chunk some more rocks at them before I leave to go further down the river 
>hoping I find this fucking car 
>that'd just really make my day 
>walk a mile or so at a leisurely pace 
>sun is getting lower in the sky, about to get to setting 
>reach a much larger, sandy shore 
>lo' and behold, there it is 
>shining in a patriot blue, a god damn jeep LJ on 35s 
>bitch had some nice taste before she got ate by acquatic life 
>stroll over and around to the driver side door 
>slide that key into the door lock, twist, and pull the door latch 
>the light door swings wide open 
>climb in, setting my sopping ass down in the seat and soaking the fabric 
>sorry about that, dead girl 
>look to the glove box, reach over, and tear the bitch open 
>sorry again 
>feel around with my metacarpals, fingers grace something I didn't expect 
>pull out a loaded Walther PPK 
>the entire thing is pink 
>... 
>fuck it, it's better than nothing 
>put it up on the dash and go digging back in the glove box 
>a little more searching and a few extra mags of 32 ACP later I finally pull out a road map 
>place it on the dash, too 
>slam the glove box closed 
>take the key and slide it into the ignition 
>moment of truth 
>turn it 
>the sweet sound of a straight piped 4.0 rumbles throughout the vehicle 
>pop the bitch into neutral, 4 wheel low, and back into drive 
>U-turn off the beach and onto a dirt road 
>after a while, the road becomes paved and street signs start showing up 
>parked on the shoulder, marking my way from outside of Austin all the way back to Canyon Lake 
>satisfied with my set course, I pull back onto the street 
>turn the radio up to be greeted by Robert Earl Keen 
>he's singing about shooting people on a train 
>reach cruising speed and look out to the horizon 
>sun's setting to the left, turning the sky a bright orange intermingled with purples and blues 
>God damn 
>it's enough to make a man cry 
>look back to the road, merging onto the interstate 
>eye the hand gun on the dash 
>today was a good day 
>tomorrow's gonna be better 
>I'm taking a trip to the Ol' Prolapsed O 

>be me 
>skeleton 
>some where just outside of Canyon Lake 
>pulling up to the long dirt drive of a ranch 
>more specifically the Ranch of the Ol' Prolapsed O 
>grab PPK off the dash 
>check to make sure it's loaded 
>put selector to fire 
>stuff it into the waist of my pants like a mexican gangbanger 
>put two extra seven round 32 ACP mags into right pants pocket 
>it'll last me till I rob one of these fuckers' corpses for a gun
>put LJ into park, shut her down, and step out the jeep 
>weathered boots crunch harshly on the gravel as I approach the gate 
>the thing's a pretty simple, waist high cattle stopper with one of them key pads and a hydraulic arm to stop vehicles getting through
>the only distinguishing feature is the iron work prolapsed anus welded to a piece of diamond plate welded to the gate itself 
>fucking hell 
>hop the gate and start trudging a long the dirt road 
>the land of the ass banditos is an expansive claim of rolling hills 
>lush, green, and well manicured grass stretches as far as the eye can see 
>a few miles away I spot the grand homestead 
>fucking thing looks like something the Bushes would live in 
>it's a massive three story lodge of dark wood accented with mixed stone work 
>complete with a drive way capable of fitting more than 30 bro trucks 
>odd due to the lack of cars 
>about 100 yards to the left of the is what appears to be a hangar 
>considering there's a horse for each of the 40 members of this ranch, I wouldn't be surprised if this was the stables 
>all their past contracts with Jerry Jones must've been lucrative as fuck 
>broken out of my observations by the sound of galloping 
>look to my left and and see the shape of a rider approaching 
>like every other faggot here, he's a bare chested, assless-chap-wearing, bare-back-horse-riding queer 
>he's got a .44 Mare's Leg in one hand and the reigns in the other 
>see him cross his reign arm over his chest, balancing the barrel of his lever gat on his forearm 
>bring it, faggot 
>BOOM 
>CRACK 
>let the .44 mag drop me to the ground as it crashes into my sternum 
>looking up at nothing but sky
>the a loud whoop as the fucking moron celebrates his "kill" 
>can hear his horse approaching, the beating of hooves slowing as he checks his speed 
>they stop just a couple of feet away from me 
>boots hit the ground and the sounds of crunching earth and clapping cheeks permeate the air 
>circles around to standing above my head and stops
>the faggot's leaning over me now 
>balls out and everything 
>not what I wanted to see today 
>there's a shit eating grin plasetered on his face as he examines his handy work 
>"I thought we killed your sweet ass yesterday, big boy.", he remarks 
>"Whatever, just means I get to mark you as mine today." 
>the fucker puts his feet to either side of my head and starts going crouching down 
>FUCK THIS 
>reach up with a gloved hand and crush the family jewels 
>faggot screams bloody murder, suddenly trying to stand up against to escape the introduction of vice-like grip to his gonads 
>mfw
>this only makes his pain worse 
>screaming his lungs out, he drops his Mare's Leg and starts trying to loosen my grip 
>looks down only to see the business end of an adorable pink PPK looking back 
>muzzle flash signals the quick delivery of an angry metal bee through his eye socket 
>it's followed by six more 
>let go of the homos testicles and he falls backwards into the dirt 
>that'll teach you to respect the dead, fuck head 
>roll over, grab his dropped Mare's Leg, and stand up 
>his horse looks at me anxiously, slightly startled by its master's demise 
>reach out slowly and put a concillatory hand on his nose 
>I know how you feel horse bro 
>but your faggot master deserved it 
>and so do his friends 
>slowly walk to the horse's side 
>give it one more pet on the snout and then mount up 
>jack the lever, ejecting the spent cartridge 
>grip the reigns with one hand 
>it's time to ride 
>Dig the heels of my boots into the horse's side 
>goes off like a bat out of hell 
>whoah mama 
>having trouble just staying on the fucker 
>eventually get myself situated enough that I'm not gonna eat shit 
>by this time, movement catches my attention back near the stables 
>a dozen steston wearing figures are riding out to the pasture to meet me in a v formation
>they're all armed and beginning to take aim 
>wrap the reigns around my hand and steer my steed to the center of their little squadron 
>sit up straight, use my reign hand as my support hand, and squeeze a shot off at the lead rider 
>the shot goes wide of the cowboy 
>but his horse isn't so lucky 
>blow a hole in the animal's neck 
>sends rider and mount rolling down into the grass 
>faggot cowboy scream upon impact, now stuck under a dead horse 
>probably pulverized his leg 
>the other vaqueeros waste no time in answering with some .44 of their own 
>get thumped in the noggin by the first shot, nearly un-horsing my ass 
>have to pull myself back up by the reigns 
>this causes my horse to slow down considerably allowing another easy shot 
>this one pops me right in the arm 
>alright fuck faces 
>re-establish firing stance and start tracking the first one to the left 
>work the lever and send a round down range 
>hits him in the chest, sending his corpse down into the dirt and the horse running aimlessly 
>rinse and repeat for the next rider to the right as we pass within 20 ft of each other 
>trade shots 
>blow his skull apart and he goes tumbling down 
>get nothing in return except for a new hole in my attire 
>gonna have to buy some new threads after this 
>both wings of the formation pass me by at this point and start rounding back to give chase 
>get dinged in the shoulder blade 
>does nothing because skeleton lol
>another shot rings out and suddenly horse drops out from under me 
>get sent flying forward 
>fuck 
>hand that's still wrapped up in the reigns reaches the end of the slack, yanking my arm backwards 
>stops all forward momentum and slams me face first into the ground 
>WHAM 
>.... 
>I'm slow to pick myself up 
>can only do it with one arm 
>look down and see why 
>left arm is gone 
>well that's inconvenient 
>look back to see it right next to my rolled over horse's corpse, still wrapped in leather 
>behind that are the 10 remaining riders
>they're are gaining hard on my posistion 
>the Mare's Leg is nowhere to be seen 
>PPK isn't in my waist band any more 
>don't even have the extra mags 
>all of them probably got thrown really fucking far 
>reach down and start trying to un-do the tangled up reigns around my removed arm 
>detached hand starts helping, slipping itself out of knots 
>by this point the riders are about 50 yards away 
>one takes a shot at my hunched over form 
>hits the horse's shoulder and takes a chunk out of it, sending blood spraying all over my bandana covered face 
>I'll forgive the red stains 
>I won't forgive shooting a dead horse 
>finally get my arm untangled and re-attach it 
>give a few experimental flexes of my fingers before standing straight up 
>a cowboy is now about barreling towards me, holding his lever gat by the barrel and swings the butt of the stock at my head like a club 
>"Die you son of a..." 
>grab the stock and yank on the fucker hard, ripping the rider off of his horse as he holds tight to the gun 
>sends the faggot into the dirt and he loses his grip on the Mare's Leg 
>standing above him I raise the stubby rifle above my head and swing down with the barrel hard 
>the fag raises up a forearm to protect himself only to have that get snapped in half like a twig 
>bring the stock back and butt stroke the faggot on the jaw 
>CRACK 
>sends his head jerking violently to the right, dropping his ass back to the ground, dead as a door knob 
>9 remain 
>and they're fucking pissed 
>two more riders approach 
>jack the lever and take a shot at the one on my right 
>fire, blowing his lungs out through his back 
>the other one passes behind me 
>aware of suddenly constricting feeling around my neck before I'm suddenly yanked off my feet and being dragged behind a horse 
>look up to see the back of a burly faggot holding the end of a rope in his right hand starting to fumble with a six shooter on his left hip 
>pull my Mare's Leg up to take aim 
>trying to steady out while the ground beats the shit out of me 
>finally shoot the faggot in the back once I'm stable enough 
>he let's out a parting cry before letting the lasso fall out of his hands and a few feet later falling off his horse 
>get back to my boots and loosen the rope and slip it over the top of my head, tossing it to the side 
>7 retards to go 
>the working of the lever and the blast of a gun shot signals the fall of another rider via .44 mag full frontal lobotomy 
>6
>they're firing at me wildly now out of fear and confusion 
>jack the lever and start tracking another ranch hand 
>squeeze 
>click 
>fuck 
>more bullets rain down on me as I turn and run for the corpse of the fucker who was dragging me 
>reach his carcass and grab for his six shooter 
>it's a Ruger Black Hawk 
>that's pretty nice 
>for a faggot 
>turn around and take a shot at the cowboy who I had a bead on earlier as he passes close by 
>.357 magnum enters under his arm and pops his heart like a balloon 
>5 
>the other cunts stop the charge and start turning around trying to flee from death 
>get back here, slaves 
>shoot the closest one right in the back of his head 
>4
>start picking off the cowards 
>click
>BOOM 
>3 
>click 
>BOOM 
>2 
>click 
>BOOM 
>and then there was 1 
>place thumb on the hammer once more as I take aim at the last survivor's shrinking back 
>damn, he's gone pretty far 
>last bullet too 
>aw fuck it, make it now and I can brag later 
>don't make it now, I'll kill him later 
>cock the hammer back slowly 
>click 
>squeeze at the same pace 
>BOOM 
>faggot keeps riding off into the sun 
>damn, guess I missed 
>keep watching him for a few moments 
>his form slowly slumps forward and slides off his horse 
>just like one of my spaghetti westerns 
>hot damn I'm good 
>start twirling the ruger lazily as I walk to lasso fags corpse to pillage some more .357 magnum 
>his belt's got little loops holding individual bullets 
>count 24 of them in total around his waist 
>undo the giant golden rodeo buckle depicting a cowboy on a bucking bull and rip the belt off his carcass 
>wrap it around my left shoulder and under my right arm and loosely buckle it to make a make shift bandolier 
>take 6 bullets off the belt and load them into the revolving chamber 
>we're ready to roll
>turn away from the carnage and start marching towards the mansion 
>get about 500 feet away before hell starts pouring from the windows 
>bullets are flying out of every opening in the god damn place 
>the front doors open up and a fucking 12 pound cannon rolls out manned by two cowboys in gimp suits that hug their pudgy bodies in a way that many would consider too tightly 
>one's holding a stick with a bit of smoldering rope at the end and is about to fire the cannon
>under fire, I slot the fucker with the ignition stick 
>drop the other soon after 
>run my boney ass to the front doors, bullets thumping and whomping me and everything around me along the way 
>once inside the threshold of the main foyer I come face to face with a firing squad 
>the remainders of the boys from the Ol' Prolapsed O make their final stand on the grand stair case 
>they take up the enitire fucking thing 
>have 2 seconds to wonder how all their asses managed to get in posistion that fast before a wall of bullets slams into me 
>forced to my hands and knees by the force of over 40 .44 mag Mare's Legs 
>can barely hear the men screaming over the gun shots and lever working  
>try to bring up the revolver on to have it get shot out of my hands by the bullet storm 
>it goes clattering somewhere behind me 
>fuck 
>try turning around and my hand knocks something 
>it's the ignition stick 
>an idea pops into my skull 
>it's incredibly devilish 
>grab the fucker and crawl over to the cannon 
>start crawling over the cannon, supporting my weight against the flurry of .44 
>the hail of ammo stops suddenly, the clicking of empty guns pervading the space 
>I take the oppurtunity to stand up, put a hand under the cannon, and rip it off the fucking wagon wheels 
>support the un-weildy cunt under my arm and whip the barrel around to the stair case 
>the faggots are dazed from the sounds and flash of their firing squad
>some of the cowboys are still trying to shoot their empty guns 
>some are fumbling with their reloads, hands shaking uncontrolably 
>some even realize what's going on 
>it's far too fucking late for that though 
>reach back with the burning end of the ingnition stick and light the fuse 
>BOOOM 
>the entire stair case gets peppered with grape shot 
>the front most cunts get turned to swiss cheese 
>they die quick deaths 
>the back most get stray shots, some fatal, most shredding their legs 
>they'll slowly bleed out
>while this happens, my ass flies out through the front doors 
>the solid log of iron that is the cannon lands on top of me 
>ow 
>have to take a breather (would I call it that if I don't breathe?) before I attempt to get up 
>roll the artillery peice off of my chest and slowly sit up 
>can already see the carnage I made 
>the once nice stairs of some antique and exotic dark wood is now shredded 
>blood is pooling at the bottom creating a lake of crimson in the foyer 
>the bodies of gay cowboys cover the entire thing 
>most of them have chunks taken out of them 
>quite a few in the front have missing limbs 
>some in the rear and center squirm feebly as they suffer in their death throes, covered in mangled bodies 
>be me 
>skeleton 
>have just effectively murdered every single member of the Ol' Prolapsed O via grape shot 
>mfw 
>get to my boots and stroll back inside the main foyer 
>grab the ruger I nabbed earlier off the wooden floor as I pass by it 
>take a closer look at the carnage I created 
>at the bottom of the grand stair case a lake of blood has formed, fed by the streams and rivers of red flowing slowly down the steps 
>there's little splinters of wood floating on the surface like scattered ships 
>certain areas are already starting to coagulate, creating maroon splotches in the mix 
>tread slowly through the pond, boots sending slight ripples through the ichor 
>on the stairs, around 50 dead ranch hands are all tangled together in some kind of fucked up game of corpse twister
>stetsons and assless chaps look like they've been put through shredders
>some are missing body parts 
>some just have parts that looks more like hamburger meat slapped on some bones 
>all have faces froze in agony or confusion 
>at least those that still have faces, that is 
>all set on a once elegant stage that's now shot to shit
>pretty fucking metal desu 
>just start walking over their corpses without a care 
>step on most of them, making sickening squelching noises under my boots 
>at the top of the stairs there's this really pretty double door set up 
>got a fancy gold leaf embroidery around the edges depicting the riding and debauchery of the boys from the Ol' Broken O 
>the doors themselves are made out of an almost black wood 
>carved into them is a scene of some bare chested cowboys on horse back chasing some humanoid fantasy folks 
>they've got gags in their mouths and hand tied behind their backs 
>pretty fucked up scene overall 
>each door has a ring handle of ivory 
>walk up to the doors and notice something new 
>a small entry hole breaks up the entire scene 
>and small, ragged gasps break up the dead silence now 
>somebody survived? 
>that's some bull shit 
>bring up the ruger and cock the hammer back 
>that problem is about to be fixed 
>grab the door habdle ring and pull the bitch wide open 
>enter without a care in the world 
>what's he gonna do, shoot me? 
>like that's fucking worked so far 
>look around to examine the lounge I'm in now 
>it's flowery as fuck 
>marble floors, roses in vases, pink paisely couches and sofas 
>fruity as they could make it 
>and on the largest couch facing me, the fruitiest faggot of them all leans against it, pink and frothy blood bubbling from a sucking chest wound 
>he's all decked out in cowhide shit 
>looks like he cut up Beevo to make his outfit 
>hat, boots, chaps, and even his fucking vest are made out of it 
>in his left hand, he's got a white knuckle grip on an old black powder six gun 
>it's all decked out in silver and gold plating creating a paisely patteren on the weapons surface 
>pretty gun faggot 
>boots click loudly against the floor as I mosey on over, leaving a trail of bloody foot prints on the once pristine floor as another fuck you 
>about car's length away when I stop 
>he's scared as shit, sweat rolling down his old and gnarled face as he tries to aim his gun more effectively 
>I'm already aimed at his face, ready to turn it into a close casket funeral with .357 
>let him take aim at me becuz big bone energy
>can't even get the gun to cross his chest to shoot me center mass 
>has to settle for my right arm 
>fucking christ old man 
>there's a couple more labored breaths before he finally pulls the trigger 
>I do too 
>in a flash his brains now join the rooms decor 
>twirl the ruger in my left hand absent-mindedly as I take another step forward 
>right foot hits something light and send it skidding forward 
>look down 
>mfw it's my right arm 
>mfw it's more specifically everything from half my fore arm and down 
>WTF IS THIS 
>look down to my right arm 
>the whatever the fuck the fore arm bone is cut in half, the end burnt and blackened
>looks like it was cut by a laser or some shit it's that precise 
>how in the FUCK 
>drop the ruger, reach down and pick up my arm 
>try to reattach it 
>it doesn't reattach 
>FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK 
>really freaking out now 
>this shit's never happened before 
>stare at my limp arm in my left hand for what seems like forever 
>Fuck 
>fuck it 
>I'll figure it out 
>can't do shit about it right now 
>fucking fuming 
>take anger out by stomping dead cowboy faggot's head against the edge of the gaudy sofa 
>stomp so hard I break the fucking thing in half 
>fucker's head is now just a pile of pink and crimson mush mixed in with sun spotted bits of skin and white hair 
>FUCK 
>I'm so pissed 
>at least I can rob this ass hole of his shiney gun and any other valuables in this place 
>secure now un-undead arm in chest bullet bandolier 
>reach down to snatch that fancy six shooter 
>right as hand is about to pry the pearl grip from the cowboy's cold dead hands I withdraw my hand fast as shit 
>the gun is hot 
>really fucking hot 
>can't get my hand near it without feeling like I'm holding it in a fire 
>I'm guessing that shit's enchanted 
>I'm guessing that that's why I'm now without a right arm for the time being 
>and I'm guessing that makes this fucker expensive as shit 
>all the more reason to take it as compensation for my troubles 
>unwrap what's left of bandana from my face 
>wad it up and use it to carefully grab the black powder pistol from its owner's death grip 
>can feel a slight, agitated warmth through the bandana as if the gun's pissed that I gamed the system 
>really don't want to touch it now 
>set it on the floor 
>peel off dead cowboy's cow hide boots and then take one of his thick, blood stained stocks 
>put bane of the undead into the sock 
>this all takes a shit ton of time and frustration just to do it without burning my fingers off 
>would be really fucking easy if I had MY FUCKING ARM 
>FUCK 
>where the hell am I gonna put this thing? 
>look over to dead cowboy and spot a cowhide holster on his hip 
>it's the same fucking color and pattern as the rest of his ensemble 
>fuck it 
>it's better than nothing 
>take a fucking hour getting it off him and putting it on me 
>finally holster the sock encased gun 
>holy shit this sucks 
>pillage the cowboy's pockets and find a wallet in his vest 
>inside is some weird shit 
>first off, a Texas driver's license that expired some time after the convergence 
>Victor Stromboli 
>is this that "Master Strombom" that twink was talking about? 
>the name's are close enough 
>might've just been whatever some alter ego this retard used to hide his real name 
>guess that shit didn't save him in the end 
>the other item of interest is a small gold coin 
>it's chipped on the edge with writing that's too worn down to read 
>there's a vaguely femenine head on both sides that's also worn down to shit 
>it's the only piece of currency in the entire wallet 
>pocket the fucker 
>probably worth a good amount too 
>stand up, give the corpse another good kick and wonder what the next place I should pillage 
>maybe check all the dead faggots on the stairs 
>maybe rob the rooms 
>broken out of my train of thought by the sound of clicking heels on marble 
>whip around and aim at the source with my six gun 
>have to stop myself from putting a bullet between an elf maid's eyes 
>fucking scared the shit out of me 
>can tell she's a maid from the french maid outfit she's wearing 
>has this little dingy feather duster in her hands 
>doesn't seem to mind the skeleton pointing a gun at her as she looks somberly at the blood stained marble with her vacant eyes and a small frown 
>lower my weapon slowly and walk on by out the double doors 
>she doesn't acknowledge any of this 
>be me 
>skeleton 
>wondering around house 
>found myself a library 
>it's pretty neat but kinda spooky 
>low light due to drawn curtains 
>many animal heads on walls 
>just about every single creature on God's green earth has been decapitated and had their head placed here 
>even creature's not of this world 
>stare at a troll's mishapened head for a few moments before moving on 
>book shelves line the walls 
>they're filled with heavy tomes and novels 
>some in English, some in foreign languages, and some in text either too alien and/or too ancient to know 
>at the end of the long room an unlit fire place of dark stone waits sullenly 
>the inside of its mouth is too dark to be seen into 
>in front of it is a single, crimson cushioned chair and a small table 
>Stromboli was an avid reader 
>or a psued 
>probably the second one 
>pass by another set of book shelves 
>stop 
>walk back to between the book cases 
>wat 
>a tall glass case sits snugly between the two book shelves 
>the front is hinged and has a small golden handle on the outside 
>open the case slowly, mesmerized by what's inside 
>typically, one might suspect that in a library full of animal heads, if there's a gun on display, it'd probably be something like an elephant gun 
>maybe a .600 or .700 nitro rifle 
>maybe a 2 or 4 gauge 
>maybe even a .577 revolver if they're eccentric 
>this is beyond eccentrism 
>mfw it's a .950 JDJ 
>mfw there's a foot drawer under the case filled with fucking .950 catridges 
>which really only means 10 of the fuckers 
>holy fuck 
>the behemoth of the gun has a big ass strap which might've been used at one point as a cargo tie down 
>grab it by that, pull it out, and sling it over my left shoulder 
>look down to the drawer with 10 .950 catridges in it 
>bend down and pull the drawer out 
>yeah, think I'll be keeping this for later use 
>if I can even use it later 
>fuck I really want my arm back 
>walk over to the chair, put down the drawer on the seat, and start looking for valuables 
>on the small wooden table sits a silver tray with a shot glass and a bottle of some old and probably expensive alcohol 
>pick up the tray 
>flip it over and let the shot glass and bottle of alcohol shatter on the floor 
>can't sell that shit to a pawn shop 
>can't get drunk off the alcohol either 
>there's not enough of it in that bottle 
>throw the small tray into the bullet drawer 
>snoop around the fire place 
>find it weird that there's no fire wood holder inside the fire place 
>just dark stone with not a single hint of ashes in it 
>.... 
>what a bunch of fucking weirdos 
>a couple minutes more of inspection and I finally give up 
>not much else is valuable here 
>gather my shit off the reading recliner and get ready to go 
>the sound of shifting stone stops me dead in my track 
>turn around 
>at first glance, nothing has changed 
>however, the mouth of the fire place looks darker 
>like it's stretching down to the center of the earth 
>a small ligh apears to be shining in that darkness 
>it's growing larger 
>raise the ruger at this bull shit 
>then, I can see the truth 
>the light isn't growing bigger 
>it's getting closer 
>so is the clicking of heels 
>a lot of heels 
>oh god 
>the lantern is now close enough to reveal the tight stone walls of a staircase 
>it's owner, that same elf I encountered earlier 
>how the fuck did she get here? 
>can see a long procession of shadows following her 
>forms of unholy amaglamations in the dark 
>they shift and shamble up the staircase 
>shapes poke unevenly out of their shadows and then change posistion 
>the clicking of what I once thought were heels is so loud and numerous now that it strikes me as the chitinous crackling of centipede legs against unhallowed stone 
>aim my weapon down into the pit the monster, led by it's somber master, is crawling out of 
>she pays me no mind 
>the blood curdling sloshing of fluids can be heard 
>what could it be? 
>acid producing glands? 
>terrible plague biles? 
>I do not wish to know 
>but I'm gonna fucking find out pretty soon here 
>back away from the mouth of the fire place 
>soon after, the elven maid pops up, the haunting glow of her lantern signaling the arrival of whatever antediluvian horror she brought from the depths 
>cock the hammer back 
>she steps out of the entrance of that grand hell mouth 
>the first shadowy form pops up from the top of the stairs 
>clench the blackhawk tighter, ready to dance with the monstrosity 
>it steps out of the shadows to reveal itself 
>it carries a water bucket and a mop 
>it wears a black dress accented with white lacing and a funny looking head dress 
>it's a maid 
>more of them start pouring out of the fire place 
>it's just maids 
>just a fuck ton of maids 
>holy shit that's a lot of maids 
>it takes at least twenty minutes before the they stop filing out of the stair case 
>the head maid looks at me and points at me with her lantern 
>bitch what the fuck are you doing? 
>one steps forward, this dimunitive human girl with a couple bruises on her face, same vacant eyes and small frown as the rest of the maids 
>she's holding a small sweep and dust pan in her tiny hands 
>another comes forward, this one a dark elf with a mop and water bucket 
>stop pointing the ruger at the maids, mainly out of confusion 
>they start walking forward and I aim once more, this time to the small human girl 
>don't know if they might try to kill me 
>they're really close now 
>literally just out of the reach of the gun's barrel 
>you better stop you bitch 
>she doesn't 
>she just bonks her head into the barrel 
>stops in her tracks and finally acknowledges my presence with those vacant eyes 
>"Sir, could you please move?" 
>her voice is extremely monotone 
>the dark elf has stopped too 
>at this point, she could've attacked me if she had wanted to 
>but, she hasn't 
>let the ruger down and step out of her way 
>she goes next to the seat, gets down on her knees and start sweeping the shards of glass from the mess I made before 
>the dark elf maid stands by with mop in hand to clean up the spilt alcohol once she's done sweeping 
>oh... 
>sorry about that 
>now remember the mess I made in the main foyer 
>at that moment, the rest of the maids march in a slow procession past me and out the library 
>oh.... 
>I'm really sorry about that 
>watch the two maids left finish cleaning, and then follow where their sisters went 
>turn back around to the what I now guess to be the entrance to the maids' chambers 
>should I really go down there? 
>not like they'd keep anything valuable down there 
>but... 
>there's a nagging feeling in the back of my skull like I should 
>decide fuck it and start my way down the stairs 
>it's dark 
>real dark 
>and it's a long way down 
>a really fucking long way down 
>start wondering how they managed to get all their cleaning shit up this thing when I start seeing the glow of unatural lights 
>the stairs stop and now I'm met with a short dark hall with light at the end of it 
>walk forward and step into the new area 
>well damn 
>the stair case empties out onto a street 
>it's narrow, walled off on both sides by brick houses dotted with lanterns windows and doors 
>the lanterns shine eerily, their source of light unable to be seen 
>they're only bright enough to light the street, the chasm above an infinite abyss 
>it seems like this little street stretches on forever in either direction 
>these are some pretty spooky maids' quarters desu 
>look down into the seemingly infinite lane of one side 
>look down into the other 
>that nagging feeling gets much stronger 
>oh boy 
>guess I better go that way 
>can feel warmth on my side 
>it's radiating from the holster 
>I'm sure that's a good sign 
>fuck, what am I getting myself into? 
>start walking down the street towards whatever's down this path 
>ruger blackhawk in hand 
>.950 JDJ slung over shoulder 
>un-undead arm secured across chest 
>remember that I don't actually have any .950 on me 
>left it up stairs 
>turn around only to find a brick wall staring back at me where the stairs were 
>aw fuck 
>really? 
>.950 JDJ is now effectively a club 
>that's just great 
>whatever, I'll get those sweet .950 cartridges when I get out of here 
>start heading toward whatever the fuck beckoned my ass down here 
>better be some good fucking loot 
>the street continues to drag on, slowly descending further and further into the bowels of the earth 
>the walls get older, more cracked and molded as I go 
>lanterns still dimly light the street as I make my slow and gradual descent 
>the closer I get, the warmer that blessed black powder six gun becomes 
>closer to what, I don't know 
>but, that feeling keeps drawing me further down and further down 
>eventually the end of the street is near 
>don't really know how long I've walked to get here 
>the lanterns have become sparse now 
>the end of this street is marke by one sheer wall of rock 
>and a tiny, wooden door with one solitary lantern above it 
>take a step forward 
>the blessed colt gets hot 
>really fucking hot really fucking fast 
>BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG 
>lead balls ricochet off the ground as the heat causes the powder to ignite 
>have to unstrap the holster quick as fuck, the heat becoming unbearable on my side 
>hold it away from me as the sock wrapped weapon begins to burn through the sock 
>the fur of the cowhide holster begins to burn with it 
>What the fuck is happening? 
>throw it away from myself, towards the solitary door at the end of the street 
>the thing is now completely on fire, the blaze hot as hell 
>liquid silver and gold is leaking out of the holster and bubbling into a metallic soup on the cobble stone street 
>it doesn't at any point stop bubbling 
>continues to boil on the ground as the holy metals violently writhe and squirm at whatever is beyond the door 
>now I'm fucking spooked 
>take the time to load the ruger an extra shot off the bandolier before entering into that door 
>satisfied, I lock the cylinder back into place 
>lord help me 
>what the fuck lurks behind that door? 
>step around the puddle of molten angry blessed steel and slowly open the door 
>am greeted by the sight of an altar in the middle of a dimly lit room of roughly carved stone walls 
>the nagging feeling in my head goes away instantantly 
>this is fucking spooky 
>creep around inside, checking corners 
>something shuffles in an unlit corner of the alter room 
>track towards the sound, approaching the shadows with weapon raised 
>about 5 feet away when a creature comes out of the shadows 
>if I had lungs, I'd breathe a sigh of relief 
>it's just another maid 
>human by the looks of it 
>she has these long golden locks of hair done up in a low bun 
>soft features grace her face and a light dusting of freckles mark the ridge of her petite nose and spread to flush cheeks 
>her skin is pale, almost deathly so 
>and among that, large eyes of an incredibly bright blue, filled with that spark of life much unlike the other maids 
>a small smile sits content on her lips
>really fucking pretty by anyone's standards 
>but why the fuck am I here? 
>the girl continues staring at me 
>stare back 
>I hope she stops soon because I might just blow here face off if she doesn't 
>as if on que she diverts her eyes down to the floor
>thanks 
>step away from her and look some more around the room 
>there's a small hall leading off into some deeper chamber 
>something taps me lightly on the shoulder and I whirl around, once more aiming my gun at the maid 
>quickly lower the muzzle out of her face 
>getting annoyed with these fucking maids 
>next time some bitch is catching a bullet with her face 
>she gesticulates to the hall, pointing a finger down that way 
>she wants me to go down there? 
>well, that's what I already planned to do, but hey, whatever 
>turn back around and start heading down the narrow passage 
>the clicking of heels echoes behind me 
>stop and the clicking stops too 
>look behind me to see the girl following closely 
>she gives a reassuring waive with a dainty hand 
>yeah, that's kinda weird 
>try to signal for her to go away with one hand 
>she doesn't seem to understand the gesture, tilting her head to the side at the action 
>fuck, you're denser than a nuetron star 
>whatever 
>continue down the hall and the clicking continues after me 
>after a while, there's this odd labored breathing seeping into the air 
>sometimes it's intermingled with gurgles 
>sometimes with wet and sickly coughs 
>eventually come to the source of the noise 
>the great foulness that is the last surviving member of the boys from the Ol' Prolapsed O, locked in a cage of iron bars, sealed far below ground 
>or, that is what I assume it to be 
>it's humanoid, wearing the combonation of stetson on its "head", assless chaps and boot 
>indeed, a singular boot as it's left leg is too swollen, too mishapened to be ever fit for any human foot wear 
>the skin of this... thing is human, but it hangs loosely on a frame of bone, lumpy and swollen in some places either by muscle or leaky sacs of yellowish puss 
>it turns, sensing our presence in its territory, and throws its malformed flesh violently against the bars, snarling and hissing 
>yeah nah 
>I'm not in the mood 
>start to walk past the creature when I'm tapped on the shoulder again 
>turn around to shoot the best annoyed glance I can at the maid 
>she's unperturbed by my efforts and instead points excitedly at the "man" 
>what? 
>she keeps pointing and then makes a finger gun, aiming it at the creatures head and mock firing it 
>you want me to kill it? 
>fucking why? 
>turn back around and start walking away when she suddenly snatches my hand 
>and I don't mean the one that's attached 
>whirl around on her and get ready to punch her fucking face in 
>she's already thrown my detached arm into the beast's cage 
>it grabs it and starts knawing on it, thick drool staining MY bones 
>look from it to the maid trying to deicde who gets cylinder dumped first
>she gives me a small smile 
>fuck it 
>I'll kill the bitch after I get my arm back 
>walk over to the cage, aim at the back of the creatures head as it's now looking away, and pull the trigger 
>BOOM 
>sends blood and pus spraying through the bars on the other side 
>click 
>BOOM 
>bone fragment skitters on the floor 
>click 
>BOOM 
>a rather large boil is popped, sending puss splattering all over 
>this includes a good smattering of viscous fluids on me 
>oh you're so fucking dead 
>click 
>BOOM 
>click 
>BOOM 
>by this point, it's a quivering mess on the floor of the cage, laying in a pool of and covered in its own horrid bodily fluids
>but it's still quivering 
>click 
>BOOM 
>that put a stop to its jittering 
>the head is barely intact if it can be at all considered to be intact 
>sickly threads of vile flesh hold it together 
>a deformed skull is visible, chunks of it missing 
>most importantly, my arm is too far to reach through the bars and get 
>it's somehow stilk in the monster's mouth 
>oh you've got to be fucking with me 
>grab one bar of the cage with my left hand and put my right foot on the bar next to it 
>spread those extremeties away from each other 
>the columns of rusted iron groan loudly, metal screaming as it's bent 
>step through the new gap and over to the corpse of what might've once been human 
>bend down and reach over to grab my arm out of its maw 
>as I do so, I note something odd about the inside of the creature's skull 
>it's empty 
>not in the sense of "I blew its brains out" empty 
>more like "there was never anything in there to begin with" empty 
>at the moment of my revelation, the creature snaps its jaws around my attached arm 
>OH FUCK 
>it launches itself off the floor and onto me with speed unbecoming of its malformed body 
>I'm pinned to the ground by an unnatural strength, looking up into madness hazed eyes 
>can't pry my arm out of its mouth 
>jab it in the face a few times with my free fore arm, using it as a kind of dagger 
>it pokes holes in the monster's mishapened face, even managing to poke out an eye 
>the things pops like a gore filled ballon, pus and blood exploding onto my face 
>oh God why 
>this only seemed to enrage the fucker 
>it starts shaking its head side to side violently like a dog mauling a homeless person 
>fuck this 
>bring my fore arm lower and jab upwards into the creatures stomache 
>it easily rips through the soft and mushy flesh 
>bring my fore arm upward, cutting the bastard open like gutting a fish 
>hot, steaming innards flow out of its abdomen, fluids of disgusting yellows and pitch blacks oozing out of organs that are close aproximations of their human counter parts 
>all of this nastiness plops right down on to my chest 
>OH GOD WHY 
>the creature squeals in what I assume is pain, it's thrashing intensifying for a moment before it goes completely limp 
>free both of my arms from its mouth and toss the fucker off me 
>sit up and the organs slide down my chest and into my lap as a pile of innards that ooze and gush biles and blood 
>I wish I could throw up right now 
>take a moment to zone out and really appreciate just how fucking disgusting that was 
>gives me conniptions 
>holy shit I'm going to kill that fucking maid 
>speaking of which, where did she go? 
>she's no longer outside the cage 
>look to my right and get spooked as she's standing next to the body of the monstrous cowboy 
>bent down, really focused on one of its arms she's holding up, not caring about the fluids leaking on to her hands 
>that's fucking gross lady 
>in a surprising show of strength, she snaps the arm in half like a twig, creating a compound fracture 
>the exposed bone leaks an oddly bright white marrow 
>she looks up and smiles at me, raising her find up closer towards me 
>okay yeah, that's great and all, but what the fuck 
>she points down at the part of my right arm that's still attached to my body and then to the part that isn't 
>not sure what she's getting at 
>before I can react, she snatches it again and starts slathering white marrow on the end of it 
>raise my right arm up and send it at her face, ready to impale it 
>at this moment, she raises the other piece of my arm up, and with inhuman precision, clicks the end of it with the end of my right fore arm 
>and then pain 
>lots of that shit 
>vision goes white as it feels like thermite is burning inside my bones 
>mfw 
>shake uncontrolably and collapse to the floor, writhing in pain 
>it feels like forever before my I go down to just twitching, face still against the floor 
>the black shoes of the maid fill my vision and then my vision is turned to the cieling 
>something is set under my head 
>judging from my new view of the maid looking down to me with a small smile, I'd wager to say it's her lap 
>I lay there like this for a while, unable to really move beyond twitching my right pinky toe
>this really fucking sucks 
>mainly because I really just want to gouge this bitch's eyes out 
>movement starts slowly coming back 
>shoot an arm up towards her smug face 
>she catches my right arm in an iron grip 
>wait 
>my right arm? 
>look closely at my appendage, studying it to make sure 
>surer than a bear shits in the woods, it's my fucking right arm 
>re-attached 
>no cracks 
>no scrapes 
>no chips 
>not even a hair-line fracture 
>my right arm is fucking back 
>sit up quickly, suddenly reinvigorated by the regaining of my close friend 
>maid has to pull her head back to avoid both my skull and the muzzle of the JDJ
>God fuck how I've missed you, Pancho 
>Lefty was getting lonely 
>the maid releases her grip, and I turn to look at her 
>she's fucking beaming at me 
>... 
>shake my head and get up to my feet 
>alright, bitch 
>you get to live 
>for now 
>give her a little nod as thanks 
>she stand up and does this smug ass curtsy 
>yeah yeah, don't get too ahead of yourself 
>I'll still kill your ass dead 
>squeeze my way through the bars and look to my right 
>there's a set of stone stairs there that lead upwards 
>bingo mother fucker 
>start walking off and up them 
>there's the clicking of small shoes behind me for a bit and then they pause when I reach the first step 
>look back to see why my little follower stopped 
>she's looking down to the ground, eyes entirely focused on some invisible threshold on the floor
>tap on the wall with a boney knuckle, getting her attention 
>she looks to me now, eyes watery 
>the hell are you crying for? 
>did the old fart not let you up stairs? 
>beckon her forward with a waive of the hand 
>she looks like she wants too, but she doesn't budge 
>what the fuck 
>drop my hand to my side in annoyance 
>I'm not dragging your ass up these fucking stairs 
>we stare at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time 
>alright, guess I am dragging your ass up the stairs 
>take a step down and grab hold of her hand 
>tag a long for a fight with a fucking shambling horror but you're too scared to go up some steps 
>that's fucking funny 
>give her hand a gentle tug and she doesn't budge 
>give a little more forceful tug 
>she still doesn't budge 
>shoot her a bewildered look 
>so, you just want to waste away down here? 
>Jesus fuck 
>well, she helped me, so now I'm gonna help her 
>grab her by the waste and throw her over my shoulder in a fire man carry 
>she doesn't protest to this 
>well that's a good sign 
>turn carefully back to the steps and walk over that invisible threshold 
>this turned out to be a bad idea 
>she absolutely flips her shit 
>is bucking wildly, her entire body thrashing and writhing on my shoulder so violently that I have to either crush her in my grip or set her down 
>choose to set her down on the first step 
>she's freaking the fuck out, trying to get past me and back behind that invisible barrier 
>keep body blocking her 
>nah, we're going up 
>she gets more anxious, more frustrated the longer she's away from where she was allowed to be 
>she locks eyes with my sockets, frantic fury burning in those orbs 
>give her a shrug 
>she responds by visciously lunging, hands out stretched to my skull 
>don't really react 
>not like she can do much against me 
>right? 
>hands touch my temples 
>I was wrong 
>very wrong 
>all at once my body goes stiff 
>can't move 
>she's still got her hands on the sides of my head, gazing with an intensity like she's trying to burn holes through my eye sockets 
>there's this feeling of... leaking in my head 
>yeah, that's the best way I can describe it 
>leaking 
>leaking a fluid maybe? 
>no, it's not tangible enough for that 
>it's somewhere between a very real sensation and one of those ghost feelings you get sometimes 
>like when you feel like somebody's watching you 
>that feeling you get in the back of your head 
>it's almost like that 
>remember the killing of those tacticool faggots 
>remember fatty's death 
>God rest his soul 
>remember skipping stones at fresh water sirens 
>remember killing the boys of the Ol' Prolapsed O with a 12 pound cannon 
>remember blowing Stromboli's brains out 
>and then I wonder about something 
>why the fuck am I recalling these things? 
>the answer is standing right in front of me, and it hits me like a fucking truck 
>I'm not 
>she 
>no, it is recalling these things 
>whatever fucking monstosity that hides itself within human flesh 
>this is why the sacred metal melted and bubbled violently 
>this fucking thing 
>try to will my body to move, to protest this mental pillaging 
>no use 
>I'm not sure if such a creature can kill an undead, but I don't want to find out through this 
>let go of me you bitch! 
>and she does, allowing my boney ass to drop to the floor 
>I lay there, trying to comprehend the fuck just happened 
>I just got mind fucked by some eldritch abomination in the form of a cute girl 
>there's a calm clarity to that realization 
>like my mind got cleared of a lot of tangled thoughts and now I feel as though there's only one line of thinking 
>and that thinking is "I've been mentally raped and there's no SAPR office for this." 
>the fucks a SAPR office? 
>attention drawn back to the "maid" 
>it's standing on the stairs, a look of concern on its facade 
>but, it's no longer hostile  
>it takes a cautious step towards me 
>I scoot back on the floor, drawing the .375 magnum on the bitch 
>you better stop right there cunt 
>it stops in its tracks 
>shakily and hastily pull myself off the floor 
>keep the muzzle trained on the ancient horror 
>not really sure if .357 does much against lovecraftian nightmares 
>makes me feel safer to have a gun pointed at it, though 
>and it did stop when I pointed a gun at it, so there's gotta be at least the threat of pain involved to it 
>yeah, I'm in a good spot 
>totally wouldn't be shitting my pants if I had a digestive track right now 
>but now she's 
>I mean, it's between me and the only stair case out of this fucking basement 
>wish it'd move the fuck out of the way 
>as soon as I think that it does, taking a little side step out of the way 
>yeah, that's pretty fucking weird 
>the fuck is going on here? 
>an accent straight from the backest of woods sounds off from the creature's mouth
>"I'm jus' fallowin' yer orders, sir." 
>oh God it spoke 
>what fucking incantation did it just speak? 
>did this bitch just try to call down some powers from beyond? 
>the fuck does "I'm jus' fallowin' yer orders, sir" even mean? 
>wait 
>what? 
>"Sir, I don' mean to cause no alarm. I jus-" 
>shut the fuck up 
>it closes it's mouth just as quickly as it opened it 
>let me think 
>well, it sure as Hell wasn't proper english 
>but, it was english 
>fallowin' orders 
>the fuck does that mean? 
>"Yer thoughts, sir." 
>what? 
>"Yer thoughts. Y'know? The werds insider yer noggin?" 
>I know what a fucking thought is 
>I'm just a little confused 
>"About hwat, sir?" 
>Oh, I don't know 
>About the fact you're READING MY FUCKING MIND 
>"Oh, thas jus' hwat you'd call one a them a-dap-tations." 
>oh, sure 
>that makes sense 
>thank you 
>"Well yer welcome, sir." 
>I was being facetious 
>"Fa-see-hwat?" 
>You don't know wha- 
>the leaking feeling comes back 
>AAAAAAA 
>"Oh, so it's like sarcasm. I get it now." 
>COULD YOU FUCKING NOT DO THAT? 
>"Oh, sorry, sir. That's jus' how my kinder people get information." 
>the leaking feeling stops 
>never do that shit again 
>"Yes sir." 
>thank you 
>"Yer welcome, sir." 
>now stay the fuck down here and let me leave 
>it opens its mouth as if to protest, and then quickly closes it, stepping out of the way and looking back to the ground 
>"Yes, sir..."
>I scramble to my boots and keep the ruger blackhawk trained on her head as I pass by 
>keep my back to the stairs, facing the monster before the back of my heel hits the first step 
>turn around and take off up the stairs, clearing at least five steps with each bound 
>fuck whatever that was 
>takes me probably ten minutes to reach the top 
>it opens up into a small dark room with a heavily slanted roof 
>fumble around in the dark for a bit before deciding I don't need a door handle 
>tap the wall to my right and it sounds like nothing is on the other side 
>back up from it to get a running start 
>burst through the bitch like it's a wet paper towel 
>OH YEAH 
>I'm back out in the main foyer, next to the stairs 
>three maids (a harpy, an elf, and a rare female dwarf) all look at me 
>they look at the new chunks of wood and splinters scattered over the freshly cleaned floor 
>through their dead eyed stares I can see some flickers of resentment 
>some maids from the front of the foyer peak around the corner and give me the same look 
>.... 
>sorry about that 
>sorry for what, sir? 
>OH GOD WHY? 
>WHY ARE YOU IN MY FUCKING HEAD? 
>mental link, sir 
>the fuck do you mean? 
>like what you and fatty had 
>keep his name out of your mouth, you fucking abomination 
>I ain't said his name, jus' thought it, sir 
>that's not the point 
>then what is? 
>.... 
>alright, bitch 
>what the fuck do you want? 
>to serve you, sir 
>pause at the answer 
>what? 
>it's what my species does, sir 
>serve? 
>yes sir, we serve 
>why? 
>it's jus' our purpose 
>I don' really know why 
>well that's cool 
>you want to know how you can serve me? 
>how, sir? 
>get the fuck out of my head 
>there's no response 
>finally 
>holy shit that was annoying 
>finally pay attention to my surroundings again 
>there's more maids gathered around me 
>like a fucking shit ton of maids 
>they're all glaring daggers at me 
>stare into the crowd before giving a shrug 
>what? 
>this was apparently upsetting 
>"Die, unclean one!" 
>a female hafling with a Kabar the size of her fore arm charges me 
>am too stunned by the charge of the cleaning brigade to really react 
>the blade slips between my ribs and she looks confused when the metal finds no flesh to dig into 
>mfw 
>bring my leg back and punt the bitch in her jaw 
>CRACK 
>her head snaps back and she falls to the floor, dead 
>the foyer is dead silent 
>fuck 
>maybe I should've held back 
>look at the maids 
>they're all brandishing various implements of ancient armed warfare 
>swords, maces, axes, bows, crossbows, etc 
>even see one pull a halberd out from beneath her dress 
>they all look pissed 
>shrug at them again 
>maybe the bitch shouldn't have stabbed me 
>without any hesitation they all leap upon me 
>pull the kabar that's loosely hanging out of my ruined pancho out 
>the first maid comes into reach, big as hell and full of muscle, two handing a messer above her head 
>didn't even know they made maid uniforms for amazons 
>note that it must be a custom dress when I stab the blade into her forehead 
>her body falls with a heavy thud to the ground, kabar implanted into her skull
>snatched the messer from her hands before it follows its owner to the floor 
>two hand it and whip around just in time to see a heavily engraved metal gauntlet flying into my face 
>CRACK 
>sends my head to the side and I watch my bottom jaw go skittering across the floor 
>alright bitch 
>face a smiling oni girl with one horn 
>only one horn as the other was cleaved off 
>plan on giving her a matching pair 
>rush at the bitch, messer raised above my head 
>she brings up her armored gauntlets, confident in their protection 
>spartan kick her in the stomache 
>she doubles overs screaming
>pretty sure I felt a kidney pop from that 
>take a hand away from the grip of my sword and grab her one remaining horn 
>she doesn't even try to stop it, hands preoccupied with clutching her abdomen as she gasps for air 
>that's until I start trying to break the horn off with a single hand 
>she's flailing around now, screaming bloody murder as I slowly twist it off her head 
>SNAP 
>it violently breaks off her forehead 
>she passes out from the pain 
>what a pussy 
>raise my boot up and bring it down hard 
>her head makes a terrible cracking followed by a mushy noise as I stomp it into paste 
>look at the little horn in my hand and note just how much the inside of it looks like a bull's horn 
>that's neat 
>a fucking dumb orc girl tries to hitch a piggy back ride and the slaughter begins 
>I just kinda start killing things 
>noting shit as I go 
>like how brittle harpy bones really are in the hand
>or the fact that elf ears are hyper-sensitive, especially to being torn off 
>did you know that lamia have detachable jaws? 
>just like real snakes 
>no shit, just figured that out 
>take a quick glance at the lamia who's jaws I have stretched out in my hands 
>she's dead 
>oh, they're not supposed to go THAT far 
>never mind on that detachable jaws thing 
>keep on just observing the little quirks my multi-specied opponents have 
>keeps my mind off the fact I'm brutalizing a group of maids 
>eventually just kinda standing in a mess 
>not really sure where one maid's body begins and ends 
>they're all just mixed into each other like one big maid salsa: extra chunky
>have a gore drenched mace in my hands now 
>lost the messer somewhere in the brawl 
>my clothes are effectively non-existant by this point 
>just strips of cloth hanging off me 
>there's not a scratch on my bones 
>mfw 
>be me 
>skeleton 
>digging inna corpse pile 
>can't find my god damn bottom jaw 
>everything is just covered in blood and guts 
>my lower jaw is probably inter mixed with the bones and flesh of the maids' somewhere in this gore filled side of the foyer 
>fucking christ 
>it'd be nice if I had a helping hand 
>maybe... 
>no, fuck that 
>keep searching, scrounging through corpses for my jaw 
>this continues for another two hours 
>CAN'T FIND MY FUCKING JAW 
>I'm a little upset at this point 
>throwing mangled maid corpses across the foyer at this point 
>still can't find it
>don't lose my arm permanently to a fucking blessed weapon, but I'll lose my jaw to what amounts to a dwarven bar room brawl gone awry 
>FUCK THIS 
>AND FUCK IT
>maid, get your ass up here and find my jaw 
>there's no mental reply 
>just stand there looking at the hole I made expectantly 
>five minutes pass 
>any time now 
>another four minutes pass 
>there's a clatter of heel from under the grand stair case and the eldritch maid leaps through the hole in the wall 
>"Yes sir!" 
>doesn't even stop its sprint and just dives into a particularly large pile of guts 
>literally dives, head first, into this shit
>at this point I'm beyond being phased 
>it seems to be trying to reach for something 
>comes up a few moment later, a bloody lower jaw in its crimson splattered hand 
>it scrambles its way over, absolutely drenched in blood 
>presents my jaw to me, beaming and practically bouncing on her feet like an excited puppy
>well.. "its" feet 
>grab it carefully from her hands and re-attach it 
>give my bottom jaw a few experimental flexes, stretching it in multiple direction before being satisfied with the fit 
>it's definitely my jaw 
>thanks 
>"Yer welcome, sir!", she chirps. 
>you seem excited 
>"Yes sir, I am! First time I've been up 'ere!" 
>"Ain't seen the Sun in so long I forgot what it look like." 
>yeah, that's neat 
>it's staring out of a window and directly at the Sun 
>no blinking, nothing 
>yeah, that's neat 
>you know what'd be even neater, maid? 
>it snaps out of its staring contest with a star (which I get the feeling this fucking thing might've won) to look at me 
>"Hwat, sir?" 
>it's still smiling a toothy, dumb grin at me 
>big, bright eyes practically sparkling with delight 
>If you'd go back into the basement 
>there's a look of confusion before the smile slowly fades, that spark of happiness dying in its eyes 
>"I... bu-" 
>yeah, no 
>I don't give a fuck 
>go back down in the basement 
>the maid just stands there, not responding 
>well, you can go now 
>"Y-yes sir..." 
>it somberly turns away and starts going back to the hole in the side of the stairs 
>watch it trudge a long until it disappears into the hole 
>wait ten minutes, about the time it takes to reach the basement 
>wait another ten just incase it was slow to get down there 
>satisfied with that, I step away and into the main part of the foyer 
>on this side the maid's were practically done cleaning 
>large, black trash bags that are filled to bursting sit heavily in wheel barrows 
>mop buckets that contain more blood than water sit at regular intervals on the floor 
>if it weren't for bullet holes proliferating the front of the foyer, one would've never known what happened here 
>go back up the stairs and down to one of the wings of the mansion 
>looking for a bathroom I can wash myself off in 
>open a door and am greeted by the gaudiest mast bed room I've ever had the displeasure of seeing 
>pink and tiger stripe and gold 
>everywhere and randomly placed 
>looks like a miami vice fever dream 
>something catches my attention that at first surprised my but in hindsight shouldn't have 
>a large glass door fridge, almost like those ones for gas stations 
>walk over and open it up 
>there's shit ton of grain alcohol in here 
>everything from Tito's to Everclear 
>all of them in the largest containers they come in
>turn to my right and see a set of double doors 
>walk over, open them, and step into a master bathroom covered floor to cieling in marble 
>place the ruger, mace, and the JDJ that somehow managed to stay strapped onto me during the brawl on the stone counter that houses two deep basin sinks 
>while I'm doing this, my eye sockets are locked on one thing 
>a bath tub big enough to fit eight people 
>really, it's just a jacuzzi with marble sides, a faucet, and a drain 
>but I have a pretty good idea on how to use it 
>flick the little strips of clothing that still cling to me off 
>grab a stack of white towels out of a small closet behind me and place them on the marble counter 
>wet one in a sink and get to work cleaning blood off me 
>don't want to taint the vodka bath 
>by the time I'm done, twenty white towels are now twenty red towels 
>all lying on the marble floor, sopping wet and starting to stain it 
>walk over to the tub, climb in, and press down on the drain cover, sealing it 
>climb out and walk back to the bar in a fridge 
>start grabbing what I need 
>which means grabbing everything out of the fridge and slowly ferrying all of its contents over to the bathroom 
>once every surface is covered in full bottle of grain alcohol, I just start emptying them into the jacuzzi 
>it's time to get victory drunk 
>fun fact for the un-necromantically inclined 
>skeletons, as you may already know, can't drink 
>but, bones are porous 
>dip a bone in enough liquid for long enough and eventually it'll absorb into the marrow 
>but, for skeletons, any liquid with any kind of effect, say a strength potion (or in this case alcohol), needs to be in a large enough concentration and quantity so as to throughly soak the entire skeleton and have any effect 
>good thing I have an entire bar and jacuzzi to work with 
>by this point, emtpy bottles are floating in a crystal clear pool of liquid courage 
>aw fuck yeah 
>step in, sit down, stretch out, and relax 
>.... 
>now, I don't know exactly how long I was in the alcohol bath 
>but I know when I woke up I wasn't in it 
>I was in a cloth seat 
>can't see shit, think I went blind and panic for a second before I lift the brim of a stetson off over my eye sockets
>I'm in a car seat 
>specifically, the seat of the LJ
>it's night time 
>I can tell that by the fact I can't see shit besides what the high beams are showing on a some winding back roads 
>REK is singing softly on the radio again 
>lean back in my seat 
>good thing I'm not driving 
>not completely sure if I'm sober enough to do that 
>wait, who the fuck's driving? 
>look to my left 
>it's that fucking maid 
>feel around only to realize there's no weapon available 
>not even in my pockets 
>pockets? 
>yeah, I've got pockets 
>got an entirely new set of threads on now 
>wtf happened? 
>"Oh, hey sir!" 
>look back to the maid and it shoots me a little waive with a hand that's grasping a road map
>"We're almost to that motel you were talkin' about. That one with the six." 
>I don't remember talking about a Motel Six 
>why the fuck would I even insist on going to one of those? 
>why am I in the LJ with new clothes? 
>where are my weapons? 
>why the fuck are you here? 
>"Well, you were in-toxi-cated, sir. You were bellyachin' about wantin' to go get in a bed that didn't belong to "some faggot ass cowboys". 
>she pauses for a moment to scan the road and check the map 
>"Well, I thank you gone about halfway to the door before you fell down and started requestin' some assistance. So, I came up and got you here." 
>and my weapons? 
>"All in the back, sir. Everythang's accounted fer. Includin' that .950 you were wantin'." 
>the clothes? 
>"Somethin' to cover up yer bones." 
>well... okay 
>I really don't remember any of this 
>fuck, I apparently time traveled via alcohol 
>look to the back and can't see my weapons in the back seat 
>fuck 
>gotta be in the trunk 
>for a while I just sit there, staring at the maid in mental silence 
>nothing but the faint radio and the droning of road noise and a straight six permeates the air for an uncomfortable amount of time 
>finally nut up enough to ask the question 
>are you going to kill me? 
>the maid looks taken back 
>it edges the steering wheel over to the shoulder of the road and gently deccelerates 
>while this is happening, I'm sitting in the passenger seat thinking this is it 
>it wanted me to ask just so it could answer by taking me to the side of the road and sucking out my consciousness or some shit 
>like some lovecraftian highway serial killer 
>fuck fuck fuck fuck 
>the vehicle stops and it turns to me with a livid face 
>FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK 
>it sighs and shakes its head 
>"Now why on... No! I'd never do that, sir!" 
>just continue staring 
>no? 
>"No! I ain't had a single inclination to hurt you, sir. I'm here to serve. You remember that, don't you?" 
>yeah, kinda 
>but, you also sucked shit out of my mind right after I met you 
>"I already explained I was jus' learnin' some thangs. Thought you were tryna get me to break Master Stromboli's rules. Didn't know he was dead till I checked yer thoughts." 
>she sighs before reaching over and putting a hand on my shoulder 
>shrink back from the touch, still piss scared this is all just a ruse 
>"Look, you gotta trust me, sir. Yer stuck with me." 
>and why's that? 
>"Because yer my master, and I remember you tellin' me to not leave yer side no matter hwat." 
>I don't remember thinking th- 
>drunk me 
>drunk me ordered that 
>"Drunk or no, you still ordered it, sir. No matter hwat means no matter hwat." 
>no 
>I didn't just get drunk enough to actively allow an eldritch abomination to stick to my side no matter what 
>"Yes sir, you did." 
>she reaches out and taps me on the forehead 
>suddenly back in a memory 
>on the stairs 
>using maid as a crutch 
>shakily point a skeletal finger at her 
>remember thinking a highly stunted thought of "yuo stay righ ere by me, no matter what." 
>pulled out of the vivid vision of the past and look at the maid 
>its eyebrows are raised in that "I told you so" way 
>Well, shit 
>I was drunk enough 
>from this day forward, I'm going cold turkey on that shit 
>Well, since it's not going to kill me... 
>I guess I'm good then? 
>"Yes sir, you are.", it pipes up. 
>"And, I am a "she" by the way. There are females in my species." 
>oh 
>okay 
>why the clarification? 
>"Well, I think I know why ya ain't taken a liking to me. Probably the same as ol' Victor. Yer scared because of hwat ya don't know." 
>well, yes, most people are 
>how observant of you 
>but, just because you explained you're a girl doesn't mean I'm anywhere closer to understanding what the fuck you are 
>she goes silent and looks down at her hands on the steering wheel for a second before speaking again 
>"I know that. I know there's... some thangs I can't explain to you. Yer language ain't got enough werds to really describe everythang about me." 
>she looks at me now, right in the eyes 
>"But, I'm tryin', sir. I wanna be a comfort to ya. I don't want you to be afraid a' me." 
>she's starting to tear up now 
>aw fuck 
>that look 
>that frown 
>mfw 
>don't cry, please don't cry 
>you're going to make me grow tearducts 
>she wipes her eyes with her sleeves and looks back to the road 
>"Well, I guess we better get back on down the road. We'll hit I-35 and stop at a motel in Austin." 
>yeah, that sounds good 
>kinda just sit back in my seat, taking it all in 
>Jesus Christ 
>my afterlife is a mess 
>we roll on down the road for a while and the street become lighted, businesses and communities becoming more frequent a long with other cars on the road the closer we get to the capitol of Texas 
>watch the world roll by through the passenger window 
>eventually we stop just outside of down town, pulling into the parking lot of a Motel Six 
>it's mostly empty, a few shitboxes and schizo vans pulled into a couple of spots outside a few of the rooms 
>the Motel Six sign buzzes overhead the yellow lit front office 
>the maid parks in front of a room away from the other vehicles and opens the center console 
>digs around a little bit and then pulls out a roll of cash 
>where'd you get that? 
>"Oh, ya had me pawn off some of them silver items the ranch had so we could have money for tonight. A couple of guns, too." 
>damn 
>hope I didn't want those 
>she shuts the jeep off and hands the keys to me 
>"You can start unpacking if ya want. If ya don't, don't. I'm gonna go get us a room key. I'll be back real quick." 
>she opens up the driver side door and jumps out with the cash in her hand, closing the door behind her 
>sit for a couple of moments in the passenger seat, watching her go to the front office before slowly stepping out of the vehicle 
>walk to the back, unlock the trunk, and am greeted by the ruger, the JDJ, and the drawer of 10 .950 and a box of .357
>well, she did get what I wanted 
>sling the big bastard of a rifle over my shoulder and put the revolver in my belt loop 
>grab the ammo drawer with one hand and close the LJ back up 
>lock all the doors and wait oustide room 110 
>maid comes back practically skipping, a room key in her hand 
>I gesture to the door and she opens it 
>step inside and flick on the lights 
>it's a small, dingy room 
>paint isn't peeling off the walls, but it is yellowing 
>the beds look surprisingly alright 
>the bedding is beige and a brownish yellow, but there's no mystery stains 
>there's a small night stand between the two with a lamp 
>the opposite wall has a small flat screen with a cable box underneath it on a miniscule dresser 
>the wall furthest from us has a door leading to the small one toilet one shower bathroom 
>the wall closest to us has a desk next to the window with a room service phone on it 
>close the door behind us and draw the curtains closed on the window 
>lay my guns out on the table and put the ammo drawer on it too 
>hey maid 
>"Yes sir?" 
>can you load the ruger and bring it to the night table when you're done? 
>I'm going to turn the television on and see if something good's on 
>"Yes sir." 
>move away from the desk when she comes over and let her get to work 
>not really concerned about her being near the guns 
>not like that shit can kill me 
>not really sure how she knows what to do as I watch her swing the cylinder out 
>get the sneaking suspicion she probably got that from my head 
>turn around, grab the remote from the small dresser that the television is on, and go lay out on the bed 
>turn it on and flip through the channels 
>news, elvish news, dwarvish new, Ork Entertainment Channel playing another re-run of Grunk Mog's House of Pain 
>don't know how people can watch that shit 
>flip one more channel and it's a showing of Die Hard 
>oh hell yeah 
>turn the volume up and leave it on 
>maid comes over, places the revolver on the night stand, and lays out on the other bed 
>thank you, uh... you got a name? 
>"Yer welcome, sir. As fer a name... well..." 
>she laughs to herself a little before continuing 
>"Don't worry about it. You wouldn't be able to pronounce it." 
>we just sit there for a moment, watching John shoot germans like a true American 
>at a certain point I kinda get to that point where I'm ready to go dormant 
>hey, can you go turn the lights off, please? 
>don't take my eyes off the screen, just hear her shift off the bed and a few seconds later the only light in the room is the television screen 
>the sound of covers shifting signals her return 
>thank you 
>"Yer welcome, sir." 
>you don't have to call me sir 
>"Then what do I call ya? Do you have a name, because I didn't see one in yer memories." 
>you got me there 
>call me whatever you want, blondie 
>"Alright... bonehead." 
>yeah, that's better  
>we just sit there in silence, watching Die Hard 
>looking back on it, today was a good day 
>avenged fatty, God rest his soul 
>got some new guns 
>got some new clothes 
>got a new... friend? 
>look at the maid in the soft glow of the television light 
>she has this small, content smile on her face 
>yeah 
>I'd say I got a new friend 
>even if she's some kind of shoggoth or some shit 
>finally register something off about her 
>her dress isn't covered in blood 
>hey, did you get a clean maid outfit? 
>"Huh? Oh, no sir, I didn't." 
>then how are you... 
>"Clean? I jus' took a shower before we left. Figured you didn't want stains on yer seats." 
>in your dress? 
>"Yes sir. Kinda hard not to shower in my own skin." 
>takes me a moment to get what she means 
>that's.... not even that surprising 
>remember, you don't have to call me sir 
>"Oh, shoot. It's a habit. Sorry about that." 
>yeah, whatever 
>don't sweat it too much 
>eventually we both just go quiet, enjoying the cheap comforts of a motel 
>doze off during a Jim Adler commercial, something about 18 wheelers hitting an elf 
>actually have a dream that night 
>it's me and fatty 
>maid is there too 
>we're dynamite fishing out on Possum Kingdom 
>damn 
>it feels good feeling good again  
>be me 
>skeleton 
>be roused out of dormancy 
>light is shining through a slight crack in the curtains, creating a beam that runs straight over both my eyes 
>thanks, sun 
>roll over in bed 
>maid's face about an inch from mine 
>nearly jump out off my clothes 
>FUCK 
>"Oh, sorry sir." 
>maid looks mostly apologetic but also slightly amused 
>can you not do that? 
>"Sorry. It's jus' that I've never seen yet kind do that." 
>sleep? 
>"Yep." 
>well now you have 
>don't do that shit again 
>"Yes, sir." 
>Jesus 
>settle back down in the covers 
>look over at the cheap little digital alarm clock on the desk 
>it reads 2:00 PM 
>fuck 
>long time dormancy 
>sit up in bed and swing my legs out over the edge, boots hitting the floor 
>stand up and take stock of what I've got 
>a set of clothes 
>a Ruger Blackhawk 
>a box of .357 with 44 rounds left 
>a JDJ big fuck off rifle 
>10 rounds of .950 to go with it 
>a steel mace 
>a set of car keys
>and... 
>hey, maid 
>how much money do we have? 
>"About one thousand dollars, sir." 
>are you fucking kidding me? 
>is that all you got from pawning that shit off? 
>"Yes sir."
>mentally note not to allow the maid to handle money without supervision again 
>well, damn 
>I can survive on one thousand 
>but why the Hell would I only want to survive? 
>well, that's a good question 
>what the Hell do I even want to do? 
>never really had to make a decision on my own 
>I better figure this shit out 
>I'm the master now 
>but what's fun 
>that I can make a living off of 
>and won't get me killed by some cleric or some government cleric 
>mfw
>that rules out robbery 
>probably most mercenary work too 
>but... 
>that could work 
>hey, maid 
>"Yes sir?" 
>you don't have to... whatever 
>anyways, go start the jeep 
>"Yes sir." 
>toss the keys over and she catches them 
>she heads out the door and I start organizing the shitty little arsenal I have 
>get everything gathered, grab the room key, and head outside 
>the LJ is idling away in the parking spot 
>walk over to the driver side where the maid's sitting and tap on the door 
>she cranks down the window and gives me a smile 
>"Got it started, sir." 
>thank you 
>now get out and turn the room key into the front office 
>I'm driving today 
>she opens the door and hops out 
>hand her the key and she runs over to the office 
>I place the ammo drawer down, and then pull the driver seat forward 
>grab my ammo and climb into the back with it 
>place everything in a kinda orderly way in the back bench seat 
>climb out, scoot the driver seat all the way back, and climb back in 
>close the door after me and crank the window back up
>at this time, the maid is back and she runs around to the other side 
>gets in and has to put the seat nearly all the way forward to see over the hood 
>"We're all checked outta this place, sir." 
>cool 
>"So.... hwater we doing now?" 
>going to have fun and get paid for it 
>pull out of the Motel 6's parking lot and back onto the main road 
>grab the road map off the dash and locate our posistion and Marble Falls 
>so, some background on the little town about 35 miles or so outside of Austin 
>used to be known for jack shit before the /k/onvergence 
>now it's known for a certain type of activity 
>after a bunch of fantasy niggers poured outta portals and took over the country side, the former owners of those vast tracts of once private lands want those acres back 
>but, the government was more concerned with cities than a bunch of rich fags' summer homes 
>so, they bartered with some races to get their land back 
>most fantasy races could be reasoned with with the use of money 
>but some are more... feral 
>werewolves 
>skinwalkers 
>wendigos 
>slimes 
>etc
>it's where most of the Texan mercs get their start 
>where the Ol' Prolapsed O boys got their start 
>it's where I'm gonna find some money 
>the Hunting Blind 
>for all your private monster clearing needs 
>goblins and orcs included 
>Be me 
>skeleton 
>sitting inna jeep 
>maid looks out the window of the parked vehicle, eyes intently locked on the front gate of the Hunting Blind 
>think of it as kinda like the entrance to the Fort Worth Stock Yards 
>but with gobbo skulls hanging from the top of the arched wrought iron gate 
>people are coming in and out, some in suits, some in casual attire, and quite a few armed 
>some are carrying sacks with questionable stains on the bottom of them
>figure it must be the guys looking for their land to get cleaned up walking through a crowd of exterminators who are either going in to pick up contracts, cash in on bounties, or those going off on a hunt 
>adjust my geddup in the rear view mirror to cover the fact I'm not alive 
>once satisfied, tap maid on the shoulder and hand her the keys 
>she nods and then practically leaps out of the LJ 
>can hear her unlocking the trunk for me as I take one last glance in the mirror 
>If anyone fogures me out, there's gonna be a lot of fucking dead red necks today 
>pull the ruger out of its holster and swing out the cylinder, making sure it's loaded
>step out of the jeep and go to the back where the maid is waiting, JDJ and the ammo drawer occupying both her hands 
>she shoots me a smile 
>I guess that makes me feel better about my chances here 
>take the gun and ammo from the maid and she locks the jeep up 
>she hops over to my side and we turn to face the gate 
>.... 
>well, here we go 
>one step closer to money 
>money for more bullet 
>have the JDJ slung over my shoulder, six gun on my hip, and ammo under one arm 
>other hand is free 
>until it isn't 
>feel a squeeze on it and look down to see the maid's small fingers gripping my gloved skelly phalanges 
>she's beaming at me with a toothy grin 
>"Yer gonna do great, sir." 
>the touch is somehow soothing 
>like all my worries got washed away 
>fucking eldritch mental fuckery man 
>fuck it, it works
>thanks, maid 
>"Yer welcome, sir." 
>we enter, hand in hand 
>notice how strange the maid's hand feels in mine 
>a firm squeeze reveals that it is indeed flesh-like, but that's seemingly all it is 
>no bones
>as we enter through the gate, we're welcomed by the site of the largest hunting showcase in Texas 
>shops everywhere, either selling weaponry, traps, general mythical hunting supplies, hunting services, or churros 
>they line both sides of a long street that end in a cul-de-sac 
>at the end of this, a rather large Texas Roadhouse  
>maid doesn't seem too interested in any of it, however 
>she just looks around confused 
>"So... hwat'er we here fer, sir?"
>point at the Texas Roadhouse and she excitedly leads the way  
>we enter the Texas Road House 
>and it is a Texas Road House 
>well, half of it is 
>there's this wall that seperates two halves of the building 
>has large windows 
>on the otherside of the wall are what appear to be multiple receptionist's desks integrated in the far wall with lines of.. eccentric characters in front of them 
>from casual wear to fetish wear
>Can see the younger counter worker scrunch up her face every time she has to interact with some faggot in a gimp suit 
>the older one working the desk to the left isn't phased  
>between both walls is this giant ass white board with a step ladder next to it and writing all over it 
>people are gathered around it, staring intently at the tiny contracts on the board
>open the door to the otherside, walk through with maid trailing behind me, and we take our spot 
>hey maid, I got a couple of things for you to say 
>she shoots me a glance and then nods 
>while waiting for a bunch of fuckers to get out of our way, we have a mental discussion on shit I need/want to know 
>eventually reach the desk of the dead eyed granny 
>"New or returnin'?" she asks with with a voice only matched by office workers who are one piece of paperwork away from reinacting Fight Club 
>"We're new here, mam." 
>the old lady looks from me, a giant cowboy, to the maid and back to me 
>a shrug and she switches her attention back to the maid  
>must not be the weirdest thing she's seen  
>hag digs around in an unseen drawer before pulling out some paper work and a stamp
>"Are you here fer huntin' or mercenary work?"  
>"Huntin', mam." 
>she doesn't even look at the paperwork before slamming the stamp down on some part of the paperwork  
>"Small game or large game?" 
>"Large game, mam." 
>old lady flips a page and slams the stamp again 
>"Up fer any government work?" 
>"No mam." 
>the old lady chuckles roughly and shakes her head 
>"They never are." 
>another page flip, another stamp slam 
>"Interstate work?" 
>"Yes mam." 
>stamp 
>she scribbles some things on the page and flips it around, pushing toward me with a pen 
>"That's about it fer the paperwork. Any questions?" 
>"A couple. Any entrance fee?" 
>the old lady scoffs at this 
>"Like some kinda club membership? The last faggot to do that got strung up by his entrails outside the gate." 
>well that's good news  
>"How often we gotta come back here?" 
>"As often as you turn in heads. Or just to confirm yer still alive. Last guy that lost his hunting name got uppity and that ended well fer him" 
>she points behind us and I turn to see a piece of decor I hadn't noticed before 
>It's a person's head mounted on the wall 
>but it's not a usual mount 
>mainly because there's a stuffed prairie dog fucking his eye socket 
>turn back to the granny and she's smiling, seemingly reminiscing on nicer times before snapping back to reality 
>"Anyways, anything else?" 
>"No mam." 
>"Well good." 
>she taps a pen on a square on the paper 
>"Hunter isignia here." 
>pick up the pen 
>God damn 
>I'm finally doing it 
>about to place pen to paper when I realize I don't know what the fuck to write 
>mind just completely blank 
>FUCK 
>Sit there with the pen hovering so long that the old cunt starts tapping loudly on the desk 
>aw fuck it 
>hand the pen to maid 
>she looks at me expectantly 
>just make it something I'd like 
>she nods her head and gets to writing on the paper 
>takes her like 5 minutes to write one symbol 
>literally just looks like squiggles 
>glare daggers into the maid 
>she shrugs back 
>look back to the paper and something's off 
>squiggles aren't quite the same 
>not any language I can understand 
>but everytime I glance away that writing isn't the same 
>okay 
>that's kinda neat 
>old lady is currently doing thirty double takes before finally deciding trying to understand that shit is a lost cause 
>she shuffles the papers back together and stuffs them into another unseen drawer  
>she extends a gnarled hand over the counter
>"Welcome aboard uh...." 
>the maid takes her hand and shakes it 
>"Leysa Anam, mam." 
>"Sure."  
>the ancient hand retreats behind the desk and the old crone straightens herself out 
>"Go to the board and get yerself a contract." 

>be me 
>Skeleton 
>lookin' atta board 
>specifically the contract board 
>all the writing is fucking tiny 
>some general rules for contracts 
>anything in blue dry erase marker is small game 
>anything in red is large 
>general rule for sizes is that if it can carry a person off, it's large game 
>if it can't, that's just some pests 
>anything with a star by it is in Texas 
>anything without isn't 
>the general information is listed as follows 
>contractor's name 
>points of contact 
>address 
>and finally target 
>any finer details are figured out between you and the contractor 
>and picking up a contract and turning in the kill for a reward is on a... first come first serve basis in a sense  
>the person who takes the contract doesn't necessarily have to be the same person who turns it in
>it's not uncommon for people to just highway man themselves a kill to make easy money 
>I feel bad for the faggot that'd try pulling that on me 
>one thing is somewhat distressing today 
>ain't shit for large game contracts 
>there's literally one 
>some faggot just outside of Amarillo 
>the target is unknown, shown by the question marks on the board 
>I could wait till tomorrow, but.. I want my fucking money as soon as possible 
>take a moment to memorize the address before I step away from the white board 
>it takes me and the maid 2 minutes to get back to the jeep 
>takes us 30 seconds to pull out of the parking lot and start making our way. 
>long fucking drive 
>but I know for certain I'm taking that contract 
>maid looks over the road map for me, reading out directions till we get to cruising on the interstate 
>hey, maid 
>"Yes sir?"  
>what the hell did you write for my hunting name back there? 
>"Leysa Anam?" 
>well, I meant the writing 
>but sure, also the spoken version 
>not saying I don't like it, but it's kinda long, and I cant write whatever you fucking wrote 
>"Well, fer one, they ain't the same language." 
>alright, I can buy that 
>"I wanted something that applied to you, but since the werd fer death don't exist in my first masters' speech, I figured "Un-sleeping" would work." 
>oh 
>that's comforting 
>well it's still kinda long  
>"Well how does Anam sound then?" 
>eh, it works 
>better than just calling me sir all the time 
>and I know that fucking signature will be unmistakable as me 
>we go quiet again, maid looking out the window at the passing Texas scenery as hill country slowly gives away to the plains of the panhandle 
>so, do you have a name, maid? 
>her eyes snap to me at a speed that'd probably snap a human neck 
>"Oh, well yes I do, Anam. It's------." 
>it's...? 
>"I just said it, sir." 
>I sure as hell didn't hear a single fucking thing come out of your mouth 
>shoot the maid a glance and a sudden look of "Oh right" crosses her face 
>"Oh, I'm so sorry, Anam. Spoke my first language again." 
>what do you mean by that? 
>"Well, that kind of speaking ain't meant to be heard. Not by human ears anyways." 
>well, okay...
>just give it in English then  
>or at least in some human sound
>she puts on a contemplative look before speaking again 
>"I think about the closest I can get is Tylenol." 
>I give her a look before focusing once more on the road
>you're fucking with me, right? 
>"Nope." 
>why? 
>why the fuck are you named Tylenol? 
>"It's just the closest thing to my name, sir. I'm working with the vocab of Larry who weren't the smartest kid." 
>that doesn't answer my question 
>and who the fuck is Larry? 
>"Oh, he's the kid that I learnt English from. Remember him from the cage?" 
>that mutated fuckhead was Larry? 
>and you're telling me it spoke English?
>"At a point in time, yes. After I learnt English from him, he didn't speak no more. Put my hands to the sides of his head, got me my knowledge, and Larry became that thing in the cage." 
>God damn 
>that's cold hearted 
>or whatever organ you have to substitute that 
>"Well, I didn't know it'd do that, sir. Back in the day that's how we all spoke." 
>on one hand I wanna say that isn't a fate any man deserves 
>on the other, any faggot who was part of the Ol' Prolapsed O wasn't a fucking man, so it evens out in the end 
>but that means... 
>hey, you tried doing that shit to me, cunt 
>Tylenol goes silent and looks down at her hands clasped together in her lap
>I just stare out the windshield, gripping the steering wheel so hard the plastic on it cracks and I have to stop myself from shattering it
>we sit there in tense silence for what feels like forever  
>it's so quiet I can hear her nervously rubbing her thumbs together
>Eh, fuck it 
>I forgive you, Tylenol 
>the thumb twiddling stops and she looks at me with relieved bright blue eyes 
>I'm still here, ain't I? 
>so as far as I'm concerned, it's water under the bridge 
>helps that you also decided to tag a long with me and be helpful 
>her face breaks into that goofy toothy grin 
>anyways, I can't calling you fucking Tylenol 
>how's Tyler sound? 
>she doesn't even contemplate the name before she answers 
>"Sounds pretty darn good, Anam." 
>good shit, Tyler 
>good shit 
>by this point the ground is flat and we're surrounded by nothing but fields of grass and windmills for miles 
>those giant fans tower over everything, blades casting large shadows from the light of a setting sun 
>me and Tyler stare down a long empty road 
>money just a few miles ahead 
>one by one, little homesteads in the big empty that is the panhandle pass us by 
>little lights burning in the now near pitchblack prairie 
>the headlights sweep across fences and little dingy mailboxes, their numbers getting closer to our target 
>start slowing down right around mailbox number 103 
>104 passes by and I can't help but wonder what the Hell I'll be hunting  
>105 passes by 
>might be a drake 
>106 passes by 
>how would a drake live out in the prairie? 
>107 passes by 
>ain't shit to roost in out here except for windmills 
>108 passes by 
>and I'm not quite sure if a windmill is large enough for a drake nest 
>wait... 
>fuck 
>slam down on the brakes and the jeep comes to an abrupt stop 
>I manage to keep my face off the horn 
>Tyler's head goes full force into the dash 
>oh damn 
>look over to her and she quickly recovers, unphased 
>gives me a little thumbs up 
>shake my head as I go to put the LJ in reverse 
>you dumbass  
>reverse to mailbox 108 and pull into the mouth of the gravel drive 
>off in the distance, house lights beckon with a soft yellow glow 
>roll slowly along the gravel drive until we reach the front gate 
>it's just a cattle gate with some chain and a lock on it 
>another vehicle, some faggot's bright yellow hummer, sits outside the gate too 
>fuck, am I late? 
>screw it, we're going hunting 
>I'll fucking deck this faggot who thinks he can show up before me 
>park the jeep on the other side of the gate, shut it down, and unload the weapons 
>the sling of the JDJ is pulled tight by one hand, the barrel sticking straight into the air 
>ruger .357 blackhawk on my hip 
>Tyler carries the drawer of ammunition in both arms 
>with the vehicle locked up, I hop the gate and my hunting buddy ducks under it 
>we walk in darkness, making a pilgrimage to the light in the distance 
>after 10 minutes of bumbling around in the darkness and hitting every single mole hill on the way there, we arrive to the warm light of a front porch 
>there's a cunt sitting out front, rocking back and forth in an old and gnarled rocking chair 
>some limpwristed homo with a gucci'd ar sitting across his lap, sucking down a cigarette and nervously tapping the arm of his seat 
>me and Tyler step out into the light and the faggot nearly jumps out of his skin before standing up 
>he has his rifle in a white knuckled grip, cig dropping from his mouth as he tries to find the words to say 
>I continue at a brisk pace, walking right past him 
>there's a sound of commotion inside 
>place a hand on the grip of my revolver before opening the front door and walking in, Tyler close behind 
>"Hey, you can't go in there m-" 
>slam the door behind me before limpwrist can say anymore 
>too late faggot 
>the sound of commotion stops  
>there's a large living room and around a corner to the right shadows are cast out into the living room 
>an old man's head capped in white bristly hair pops out around the corner  
>a giant scowl across his face
>"Well shit, finally somebody else bothered to fucking show up." 
>beckons me over and Tyler and I oblige 
>enter into a dining room with a circular table in it and a lamp hangs overhead 
>every seat around it is taken by what looks to be college yuppies 
>all dressed in their best jeans and polos 
>table is covered in slavshit and gucci ARs alike 
>smoke lazily hangs thick in the air from multiple burning cigs 
>"All right you bunch of useless shit heads, stop smoking my fucking house up. Get!", the old man commands  
>they all throw their hands up and sigh like the bunch of faggots they are 
>but they refuse to move 
>can see the old man turning visibly red 
>decide to take action before my client dies from a popped blood vessel 
>kick the chair out from under the closest faggot to me
>he lets out a yelp and one of his buddies tries standing up  
>double him over with a gut destroying blow to the stomache  
>he lays on the floor clawing at his belly and gasping for air
>slam another's head into the table because he looked at me funny 
>one faggot gets a bright idea to actually lay a finger on his gun 
>ohshitniggerwhatareyoudoing.jpg 
>kick the table into him and pin him to the wall with it 
>grab the ruger, click the hammer back, and aim it at the dumb cunt 
>go ahead retard, I fucking want you to  
>slammed head faggot slowly starts getting back up 
>Tyler comes up behind him and slams his head back into the table with a hefty thwack  
>looks like the table got a bit of wood splintered on the edge 
>Tyler lets go of the cunt's now bleeding head and he slowly slumps down and under the table
>well damn 
>she looks to me and I give her a thumbs up 
>nice work 
>old man nods his head in approval as he listens to them leave 
>"Well, I already like you two more than them." 
>he turns and looks to us, shooting glances between me and Tyler 
>"I don't think I caught your names." 
>he says this with a warm smile, which Tyler returns 
>"Well, I'm Tyler, and the big guy is Anam." 
>she reaches out a hand and old man answers with a handshake 
>I give a little wave and nod of the head 
>"Don't mind him, sir. He don't talk too much." 
>old man shrugs 
>"Well, that ain't a problem. Those boys from earlier ran their damn mouthes too much." 
>he grumbles some curses under his breath before continuing 
>"Anyway, my name's Gerald." 
>Tyler and Gerald break their handshake and he fetches a cig out of the front pocket of his button up rodeo shirt 
>"Ya mind if I smoke while I show you two the problem?" 
>"Not at all, sir." 
>hearing this, Gerald pops the unfiltered cigarette into his mouth, fishes a lighter out of his pocket, and lights it up 
>"Thank ya, Tyler. Nice to meet ya both, but we got business to do now. Come follow me." 
>he gives one last nod of his head and turns on his heels 
>we follow after him, out a back door from the living room 
>out back, the silhouette of a side-by-side is parked close to the back door 
>Gerald takes a pair of keys out of his pocket and beckons us to follow 
>he sits down in the driver side while Tyler sits in the passenger side with the newly acquired AK 
>I sit in the bed, JDJ resting on one shoulder and ammo drawer in my lap
>we ride on a rough dirt road to a destination only known by our driver 
>the headlights casts beams far and wide, but even then the night is almost all encompassing 
>everything outside of the scope of the light is unknown and shrouded 
>check the JDJ to make sure a round of .959 is loaded 
>might be needing it soon 
>"The barn is just a little bit up from here." 
>Gerald's voice strains above the grinding of earth against tire and the rattling of the engine 
>a building, one of those pre-built metal ones, sits on the crest of a gentle rise in the land 
>outdoor lamps greet us with buzzing white light in which various insects lazily float about 
>a little door, flanked on both sides by small dark windows, is the only visible entrance to the barn 
>that's... odd 
>I'm pretty sure a barn implies live stock of some kind 
>Gerald pulls up to the side of the barn and shuts the vehicle off 
>Tyler jumps out of the passenger seat with the AK and I climb out of the bed with gear in hand 
>Gerald gets out, his cigarette already nearly burnt down to his lips 
>he spits it into the ground and snuffs it out with the toe of his boot 
>begins smoking another 
>a new set of keys sit from a ring gripped by his index finger 
>Gerald walks ahead of us as we round the corner  
>he fiddles with the keys when we arrive at the door and shortly finds what he's looking for 
>the door swings open to an abyss as it's unlocked 
>old man steps inside, and for a second, nothing happens 
>then light floods the enterior, a warm amber glow welcoming us inside 
>we oblige 
>and it's upon enterring that my suspicions are confirmed that this isn't a typical barn 
>mainly because a barn doesn't have rooms with doors
>or a leather couch with a television 
>Hell, I think there's a kitchen in the back corner 
>the fuck is this?