Stanley

[Pepperson]

The streets never change, forth left off Burbank turn onto Apache, Down Apache three more blocks, take a right on to the circle drive third house on the right. I never really have gotten to know my neighbors never really saw the need. But from the looks of there homes I’m not missing much. Each one painted in the exact same shade of bland, overgrown yards and flower beds with no flowers to speak off. But the bland colors of the house only seem to complement the never-ending gray that seems to hang above this place. This all of course fails to compare to the stack of rumble my aunt left me. My parents died in a car wreck when I was three, better then seven or eight I guess; I don’t really remember them. My aunt raised me; she was a bitter lady, not really all that fond of kids but I didn’t hate her just never really liked her. She died in her sleep three years ago left everything to me; which after her funeral and the bills she left amounts to just this house and a room of furniture. Two stories tall no real work done on it in close to twenty years. Keeps me out of the rain I guess and that’s all a house is really for.
The door slams as loud as it always does and then I commence to take off as many of my cloths in the shortest distance I possible can. Making in to the recliner and leftover Chinese food I was too lazy to go put in fridge in a record 6 seconds.

[Buddy_DoQ]

Maybe it was the bitterness of the woolen rice, or perhaps it was the unsealed window allowing a slight chill to enter the small living room, but Stanley suddenly decided he was miserable. Not the kind of miserable that comes with a broken leg, or a chipped tooth, no, this was something bigger, something more fundamental. The thought just entered his head, completely uninvited, but try as he might, it just couldn’t kick it out. His feet began to grow chill, wet socks half removed, and dripping with a long day’s cold sweat. The thought grew larger still. If he could be bothered to remove himself from the recliner, Stanley reckoned the thought could be squashed with something warm to drink. He rose clumsily to his feet, fumbling to control the resisting rusted springs of his tattered recliner. The ominous thought suddenly flared and began to blind him. Exasperated and frozen in a half step towards the kitchen, Stanley suddenly realized the full potential, the dreadful implications, of this horrible thought. This was the rest of his life -- no, this was the entirety. He shuddered with it.

[Keglunek_DoQ]

Stanley stumbled around with the pocket on his flannel shirt, his course fingers digging for the crumpled cigarette pack hiding at the bottom. He grabbed the only cigarette that wasn't broken and put them between his dry lips. His fingers dug into more pockets, trying to find that damn lighter of his. "Fucking finally" he said, and with quick desperation he gave the smoke a light. As hot smoke burned his lungs Stanley wished that it would burn that dreadful feeling away as well.

Slowly trying to kill himself from the inside.

"It'd be faster with a gun you asshole" he snarled to no one in particular. He turned and plodded off to his bedroom. Digging around a rotting set of drawers he found his old service .38, the only clean thing in the house. Drawing another searing breath he admired the pistol, weighing it in his hands, turning it over. He chuckled a little, sending flecks of ash floating down on crumpled shirts. Six rounds sat in their chambers, waiting. Stanley gave the revolver a twirl, then with gun in hand, went to find that drink.

The recliner gave its familiar muffled protest as Stanley sat back. He stared at the ceiling for moment, made a Donald Duck out of the patchy mold, the stub of a cigarette flicking more ashes over his chest as his lips form half formed smiles and full frowns. He took a drink, feeling more fire within, and softly bobbed the gun in his hand. Another shot, another cigarette. When the effects of a half a bottle of Jack started to take hold, he looked up again, and raised his gun, placing a slug between Donald Duck's eyes. "Never did like that asshole." He grinned, another swig. Then a twinkle lit up his eyes, the kind that only animals in corners have. "I wonder if eternity will have that awful lead aftertaste."

[Barricus Americus]

Stanley took another swig of "liquid courage".  As the bourbon poured down his throat, he eyed the .38.  He picked it up, set it next to the bottle of Jack and said,"Well it's been a hell of a ride and I'm glad both of you were here for me."  He took a final puff of his cigarette and then put it out under the heel of his shoe.  Stanley picked up the gun put it to his temple and pulled the trigger.  A burning sensation emerged and then he heard a voice. 
"STANLEY YOU DOUCHE!  If your going to sleep, at least turn of the fryer!"  Stanley sat up with a start.  He had successfully deep fried his "Burger Bistro" tie and name tag, along with a part of his face.  He rubbed his temple and turned to face his manager, "Big Wysocki".  Stanley wasn't sure of Wysocki's first name or gender for that matter.  He didn't want to, for the fear of familiarity with this 350 pound leviathan with a face that would scare the blind absolutely terrified him.  "Sometimes I think the only reason I keep you around is because of your nice ass!"  Stanley threw up in his mouth a little.  As Wysocki left, it (for lack of a better way of defining Wysocki) grabbed Stanley's rear end.  "God, Allah, Bhudda, Satan, Vishnu, Zeus, what did I do to deserve this?", thought Stanley.

[Pepperson]

4:30 Thank god, after watching Wysocki down 2 cheese burgers, 3 tacos, and 6 apple pies my relief showed up and  I managed to stumbled to my car. Its a piece of shit, the hood is primer Grey and driver side door won't even open. The only saving grace is the crack in the window shield manages to distort the image Of Wysocki scarfing down 2 more packs of French fries. Ah well the dream the was nice, at least she could have at least let me finish off Donald thou the Bitch. I start the piece of shit and think of 4 good spots to veer off the road and end this bad dream.  Then before I know it I'm already back at home,  staring at my Grey house just looking as bleak and uninviting as always. Then in that moment I snapped, what the point? Get up every day just to have my ass grabbed by a Wookie? It came to me, what felt like the best idea I've ever had. I start the car and head to the local grocery. I walk in and grab 2 bottles of the cheapest wine I can and one those hand carrying gas containers.  Quick stop off at the gas station and I'm back looking at the ever Grey shack in under 20 minutes right as the sets no less. This is as close perfect as gets and for the first time in years a smile cracks across my face.

[Buddy_DoQ]

With a grin sure to win the praise of old Davy Crockett himself, Stanley pulled the cork off a bottle of the cheap wine. With a toast splashing playfully in the air, he bade the condemned abode stationed before him a hearty fare-thee-well,

“To all the nights I’ve come staggering back from my daily labors, welcomed naught by occupants fair and wise, but by a family called my own under cite only of law. To all the times at hither dawn born jovial, made into misery by such uncouth inhabitants. I bid to thee farewell, may the ashen stove coals keep your fingers thawed, in absence of warming the hearty meals shared by families true.”

Not pausing to fill a glass, Stanley took a massive swig right from the bottle. A few savory drops of crimson slid down his chin, adding a few more blotches to the bistro apron. Stanley was confident they would not be noticed. And with that, Stanley was on the road again, the winter of yesterday behind him and the spring of tomorrow before him. Hope, like the creamed center of a fresh delicious Twinkie filled his spirits. It was a thousand miles to anywhere and he had booze and gas to spare.

[Keglunek_DoQ]

The gravel crunched loudly underneath the heavy steps of Stanley's shoes. Wind whipped at him, giving his hair a tousle, his half crispy "Burger Bistro" tie slapping in wild fits against his hunched frame. He took a drag of a cold cigarette, cursed, and threw it to the side. Behind him about a mile back was the emaciated corpse of a car, its fuel tank as empty as the road that lay ahead. He pulled the corners of his coat as another jab of cold wind hit him. He cursed again. His right hand slipped into a pocket, searching for another cigarette. None. But what he did find was four or five little squares of paper. He pulled one out and used his other hand to shield it from the wind.

Before Stanley had left town, he had made a visit with a whore named Tammy. Tammy worked a corner between the Burger Bistro and the grey mistake Stanley called home. They had crossed paths one wet afternoon when Stanley's car has refused to turn. He had turned from Smith Street on to the ol 385 when he ran into Tammy. Two inches shy of midget, she was armed with a eternal sneer made by a cleft in her lip. A dark bronze bruise sat under her eye. Her hair pressed against her chubby face in the drizzle. Stanley pulled a twenty from his wallet and bought an afternoon's worth of her time, mainly because he felt sorry, and partly because he wanted out of the rain. To Tammy's surprise, all Stanley wanted was to do was talk.

When Stanley came to say goodbye, all she could do was hug him and cry quietly into his chest. . All he could do was stand there quietly and hug this poor muddled mass of forgotten.  For most of Tammy's life, she had been meat sold to impotent men who'd otherwise never dare raise a hand to their business suit wives. 

She broke the unfamiliar embrace, patting his chest softly. "I need....I need to give you something...." she said tearful. Before he could respond she ran into the dim dingy kitchen across the way, leaving him standing in the ramshackle room. Patches of wallpaper were peeling, revealing more Donald Ducks staring back at Stanley. He could hear drawers and week old dishes clattering, worn hands searching for something among  the piles of garbage in the apartment. "Got it!" Tammy came hobbling from the kitchen, her hands closed around something small. She held his up and placed the small pieces of paper in his hands. "It's the only thing I have that's worth anything...including me..." she looked away for a second. Then she looked back and forced an awkward quasimodo smile. "Send me a postcard, k?" Stanley spoke for the first time. "Sure Tammy. I'll find a good one."

Now here he was standing in the middle of nowhere, hunched looking at his hands as if receiving an invisible communion. He placed the little paper under his tongue and started to walk. Five minutes later, when the acid started to take hold, he was still thinking of Tammy and the last thing she said to him. "They help me survive when it comes time to find the rent."

[Barricus Americus]

The acid began to kick into second gear as Stanly walk along the path.  The surroundings began to warp towards him, as if through a fish eye lens.  Colors began to pool in the corners of his eyes, giving way to a scene befitting a Dali painting.  Stanley felt his own body begin to warp.  He felt as if he was being twisted like a dirty dish rag and slowly felt his essence, his psyche, rise into his skull until the pressure was unbearable and he burst out.  As he oozed out of what used to be his body, he looked back as saw that his formerly pale and speckled body was now that of a crushed Twinkie.  He looked down at his hands and saw that he was now the cream filling, free of it's spongy prison.  He was set free.  He soared around his acid induced wonderland, taking in the colors and shapes.  He was happy and his past troubles had died along with his body. 
Suddenly, the world is eclipsed in a dark shadow.  A 200 ton Wysocki had spotted him and was planning on making a deep fried Fluffernutter sandwich, with Stanly as the marshmallow fluff.  The two pieces of bread in Wysockizilla's huge talons, one with something vaguely resembling chunky peanut butter smeared on it, it slowly closed the monstrous sandwich-to-be around the helpless Stanley.
Stanley sat up quickly.  He was in a warehouse stocked full of prepackaged food.  A broken glass jar of peanut butter was beside him.  It was covered in blood.  He then noticed the pain on his forehead.  The jar had cut him as broke, probably due to his wanderings in his chemical stupor.  At this point he also realized that he was surrounded in Twinkie wrappers, completely naked, and covered from head to toe in cream filling.  "FUCK!", he screamed at the top of his lungs.

[Pepperson]

I can't help but smile about this, completely hung over and bleeding from the forehead and its still the best I've felt in years.  I manged to stumbled onto my cloths and even got lucky and found a hose, then I cleaned up best I could and off I went. Once I left the warehouse I just started following the road. I kept going for what seem like an hour enjoying the peace and quiet watching the sun rise as I walked.
    Just about the time  the sun got over the horizon the silence was broken by a 18 wheeler rolling past, I didn't really think much of it until I turned the next bend. The truck was pulled over to the shoulder with it's parking lights on and what I assume to be the driver walking back towards me.  He looked to be about six feet of pure muscle, I thought about strolling on past him like I didn't see him but before I was even ten yards from him he was already talking. "Saw a car on the side of the road a few miles back been looking for someone since you ok man?" I thought about my forehead and how I must look " Just a bit of headache as you can tell, you have a first aid kit and something to drink?" Before I could even finished the sentence he throw a bottle of water at me. "Sure thing man come on up to truck will get you fixed up names Jay.

[Buddy_DoQ]

With a sigh and a twitch of pain in his left big toe, Stanley settled into his seat inside the big-rig cabin. Closing his eyes, Stanley pressed the cold damp bottle of water to his face. With a low and mellow hum, the truck came to life. For several minutes they rode in silence, Jay fidgeting nervously at the wheel, Stanley frozen in his long sigh. “I… I know who you are, man…” Jay spoke with shaken conviction. He grew more confident, and yet, more nervous, “I knew it was you… when I saw the car! Nobody drives cars like that anymore!” Stanley shifted, but kept his eyes closed, his head still pounding. Jay continued, “They said we might find you first, but…but, I never really thought… Oh man, this is great!” Stanley turned his head, and muttered, “Look, I haven’t even been gone for...” Suddenly, there was a crackled voice coming the cabin radio, it struck Stanley as familiar, subtle, and very attractive, “Jay… Please tell me you really found him, cut the bull shit.”

“I… It’s really him! Scouts honor!” Jay looked hurt, yet hopeful. The radio was silent for a moment, and then she spoke softly, “Just get him here as quickly as you can, before they discover the feed loop.” Stanley opened his eyes a slit to see Jay straighten in his seat, and with renewed vigor, he replied with a hearty 10-4. Stanley’s brain slowly came into focus. It struck Stanley that this wasn’t like the inside of any truck he had ever known. Lights and symbols the likes of which he had never seen danced around a large screen in the center console. The windshield was dome, with screens like a jet fighter all around, some of them followed Jay when he moved and turned his head. “Um, Jay right? What sort of truck is this?” Jay beamed, and replied, “This ain’t no truck pal! It’s a hovercraft, bit of a classic, an ‘ol 2032 model. Do… don’t worry man, we ain’t got far.”

After a moment of silence, Stanley asked Jay for a newspaper. Jay pulled out a thin sheet of black plastic from his coat pocket, and tossed to Stanley. He turned it over in his hand for a second, it was pure-black, a bit shiny, and this was not a newspaper. Jay came to the rescue, “Just pull on the ends, man!” Stanley complied, and placed his thumbs on opposite sides. As he gave a little tug, the sheet stretched out and the day’s headline sparked to life.

“Titian Declares Embargo, Earth Leaders “Disappointed.”

[Keglunek_DoQ]

Stanley rubbed his eyes as he started to feel the pangs of a throbbing headache. He understood where he was, but something in the back of his head was still revolting against him, and it felt as if it was trying to break out and hide somewhere. Oddly enough, that's what he wanted to do. He knew however, sitting in the cab of this strange vehicle, that there wasn't really anywhere he could go. The best he could do was make some small take with Jay and maybe he could get a feel of the world out there. "So what do they mean, disappointed?"

Jay quickly glanced over to Stanley, "Whatcha mean?"

"It says here, Earth leaders 'Disappointed'" said Stanley, pointing at the electric newspaper.

"Oh that" Jay said with a spat. "Listen man, things have changed. I really don't know how long it's been, but I am old enough to see the change."

"How so?"

"I think back in your day you were free to say what you felt. If you wanted to tell someone to go suck your mother's corns then you could. But now...man now it's so bad. The Mothers have outlawed pretty much everything. The reason? Because it might offend someone. I can't laugh out loud because I might offend depressed people."

"What the fuck?" shot out Stanley.

Jay perked up, his eyes going wide. He turned and stared at Stanley. "Pl...pll.....please say that again...."

"Why?"

Jay sheepishly grinned. "It's...I haven't heard that word in a long while...said without any fear...pl..please let me hear it. The Mothers have outlawed that word, along with long list of others. Again, because it may offend someone. But man...it's like music to my ears."

Stanley gave a slight chuckle. "Alright, he we go." He cleared his throat. "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCKK PISS CUNT MOTHERFUCKER!"

Stanley looked over to see Jay having a giggle fit, chuckling to him self. "Aw man it's good to hear that! Like I said man, the Mothers can be bi...b......."

"Bitches?"

Jay blushed as he sputtered on that word. "Bi...bitches man. BITCHES! BITCH BITCH BITCHES!"

Stanley watched in amusement as Jay bounced in his seat, swearing at the top of his lungs like a kid in class who just learned the word "penis". "Is it really that bad Jay?"

Jay went still, his head dipped a little. "Yeah it's bad. The Mothers have basically made everything so lousy. There isn't any color anymore, everything, our houses our clothes have to be a neutral gray so we don't offend somebody who likes a certain color. We can't listen to music because it might offend those who don't. We can't read certain books unless it's ones about not offending people, and even those are in debate because they might offend people who like to be offended. That will take forever because technically we aren't supposed to debate because it might offend those who feel that they are right, which again..no one is right because that might offend those who are really wrong. It goes on and on. That's why they said "dissapointed". They didn't want to offend the people on Titian. "

Stanley was looking forward, lost in awe of the copious amounts of bullshit he had just stepped into. "Okay but who are the Titians and why the embargo?"

"The Titians are an awesome race of people. They hold parties, love colors, read book out in the open without having to worry about offending those who are stupid. They look just like us, except one big difference. The women have a third breast and the guys get blessed with a second....banana. Their chief export? Porn."

Stanley laughed again? "PORN!? I'm sorry but wouldn't someone find that offensive?"

"Technically yes, but...you see since we can't teach how to....do it, expecially in the schools because it might offend, the Titians send us....'educational material'. It's there, just no one talks about it. Otherwise we wouldn't continue the species. We can't ask for s..we can't ask for it because women may find it off..."

"Oh Jesus just stop right there. This is getting stupid."

"That's what the Titians said too. Hence, the embargo. Man, one day, I wish I could live there..."

Stanley sat and rubbed his eyes again. The throbbing headache had now set up shop in his head, and was now holding a carnival and selling dildos as door prizes. "How the hell do you live in this place?"

Jay glanced back and forth nervously. "Well...you can get things on the black market. I had bought a book, long time ago, one that was burned in the great purge. It's....sacred, and it helps me when I feel like I should let this hovertruck back over me. To have this thing is to be so offensive that it warrants the death penalty." He reached up and knocked gently on the ceiling of the back. A panel shifted, invisible moments before. Jay pushed it gently to one side and reached in, pulling out what seemed to be a tattered book, the edges of the really thick pages frayed. He handed it over with a sheepish grin on his face.  Stanley reached over and gently took hold of it as if it was a bible. He took a look and the color ran from his face. On the cover was four crudely drawn pictures. Stanley sat there, staring, as if he just saw the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Above the drawings was two words written is a baby poo yellow kind of color:

"EVERYONE POOPS"

....

The hovertruck was cruising across the cracked mud of a dried lake bed when the sun was low in the sky. Jay has increased the speed enough to shake Stanley from a nap. Stanley stirred in the seat, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He noticed Jay had a certain look of panic cross his face. "Hey man, what's...what's going on?"

Jay didn't even look at him. "Man I'm sorry, man I'm sorry. I got so wrapped in finding you that I forgot...oh man did I forget. " Jay fell quiet, silently cursing to himself words Stanley taught him today.

"Jay...what is going on?"

"This is where they live..."

"Who Jay?"

Jay didn't respond. Stanley was about to ask again when a loud crash startled him, followed by broken glass flying everywhere. Stanley managed to cover his eyes in time, but he could feel millions of tiny jabs in his arms as glass screamed toward him. He quickly looked up when when he thought it was safe too and was shocked to see a tiny arm reaching in through the window, grabbing at Jay's throat as he tried desperately to keep control of the hovertruck. The arm was connected to small snarling person with a cleft chin and bad teeth dressed like a Mexican Bandito, complete with grenades. Stanley watched in shock as Jay reached into the overhead compartment and pulled out a sawed off handcannon. The midget punched Jay hard in the jaw, strong for such a little guy, causing Jay to drop the sawed off. He growled and bit into the midgets arm, and with a swift movement, Jay pulled a pin on one of the grenades on the midget's chest and gave the wee one a hard punch, breaking the midget's nose and causing the attacker to fly off the hovertruck. Jay stuck his head out the window in time to see the midget hit a rickety hover-pickup that was in hot pursuit, filled with more midgets. He howled as they exploded into a wonderful fireball, a loud victorious "FUCK YOU" emanating from Jay.

[Barricus Americus]

"What...the...hell...was that thing?", Stanley asked as he pulled tiny shards of glass out of his hair. 

"Niños pequeños, little children.  They're spawned by The Mothers.  No feelings, no remorse, but non-offensive.", said Jay, rubbing his chin. 

"Non-offensive?  What about to Mexicans?", asked Stanley. 
"The Mothers wiped all of the Mexicans out.  Completely massacred.  They were too proud and too stubborn to submit to the will of The Mothers.  So all that remains of them lies in the twisted and mutated fragments of DNA inside the niños pequeños."

"So no more Mexican food?", said Stanley.

"Not a single frijole..."

"THOSE BASTARDS!", swore Stanley.

"Yeah the b-b-bastards!  But more importantly, we need to ditch the hovertruck.  The Mothers will notice when the niños we offed don't come back.  We gotta hoof it, until we find a safehouse and get some new wheels."

"But why am I being attacked?  And you recognized me before, when you picked me up?  Why?", pleaded Stanley.

"Because you're our savior, our fuckin' savior."  Jay rolled up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of Stanley's face.  "Welcome back, Leader."

[Pepperson]

The hovertruck was fading the in the distance before Stanley could get the image of the tattoo out of his head.

" So Jay what happens if the Niños pequeños catch us on foot?" Stanley asked

Jay turned around and the color drained from his face

" We'll thats kinda hard to say, most of the time if someone goes missing there not to much left to trace them with, the only
things we ever find are legs cut off at the knees."

Now the color in Stanley face drained away

" The twisted little mother fuckers cut off there legs?"

Jay giggled a little "Little mo other f u uck ers hehe, Maybe people being taller offends them so they even things up we don't really know."

"But wouldn't the people getting there legs off be offended?" Stanley asked

"Depends you alive or dead? Cause really hard to be offended when your dead."

They walked in silence for a time after that, Stanley spent the time trying to piece it all together. The Niños pequeños, Jay, The Titians, Mothers it was
really a lot to take in and the time passed surprisingly quick. Before Stanley knew it night was falling and he was getting tired.

"Jay where are we going anyway." Stanley asked

The sound of a thud was the only answer he received.

Looking out into the darkness all he make out see was jay laying on the ground face first in the dirt. Stanley stood there in shock he couldn't see anything that would be able to take down Jay matter of fact there was nothing around them at all expect for dirt.That was when we saw them, all 8 of them. Not a one of them was over 3 feet tall and they were all almost complete hidden by what they had on. They all matched perfectly to the color of the ground there was no way anyone could see them without really stopping and looking all they had to do was lay there and wait they just needed to know where too be. Which lead to another question how did they where we were, and what can I do to stop them.

Stanley looked around and not a one of them had a moved a inch, why wouldn't they had moved?  Then he finally took a really good look around there, wasn't 8 there was 15 and the reason they didn't move is cause they didn't have too he was completely surrounded they wanted him alive and waiting right there for they were going to do next.

[Buddy_DoQ]

It was dark.

Stanley didn't know how long he had been asleep, or for that matter, where he was.

From behind a terry-cloth muzzle, Stanley probed his surroundings, “Jay, where are you?”

Silence.

The events leading up to this point slowly blotted back into his memory. The shapes in the desert. Jay sprawled out in the sand. The figure in the cloth mask. The big-ass gun that was used to knock him out.

Stanley had an itch on his nose. Try as he might, his he could not feel his arms, it was as if he had no hands with which to quell his burning left most nostril. He slowly realized that he was bound to a chair. Moments became seconds, seconds became eons, as the itch grew into soul-consuming fire.

“Ummm, Is anybody there?! Where am I? Could someone please scratch my nose?”

A foot broke the dirt floor with the soft scrunch of a size 12 military boot, powered by a person 8 foot nothing and 400lbs.

The muzzle was slowly lowered by a firm calloused hand.

“Mr. Stanley,” began a voice with an unfamiliar accent, “We know who you are. We know what you can do. Do as we command, and you shall live. Do as we command, and we may even let your little friend live. Jay I believe he is called.”

“Wha... what do you want from me..?” Stanley muttered.

A firm hand gripped his head, and with a rush the room flashed into Stanley's eyes like a torrent of thousands of tiny points. As he struggled regain his sight, his captor rushed into detailed instructions, precise directions for Stanley to preform. Pointing at a blueprint, his captor explained, “I want you to make this.”

The world came into focus, “What the hell... is that a missile?!”

“You should know Mr. Stanley, it's your design! The 404 Trough Digger 9000... The most effective mid-ranged surface to surface ballistic acoustic missile ever conceived by man... and with this design, our organization will be the most powerful in all the badlands! It has been our most epic dream to rule these lands with a fist of explosives, and you Mr. Stanley will make our dream come true. With this Mr. Stanley, even Mother would fear us...”

Confused and a little concerned for the general affairs of the so-called badlands Stanley asked, “And if I refuse?”

“My dear Mr. Stanley, I will kill you! And your little dog too!”

“I'm going to need a hammer, and someone who knows his way around a shop. Jays' worked with me before, it'd be faster if he helped me.”

“Then we are well met, you have 2 weeks to complete my missile Mr. Stanley. Begin.”

“Let'em up, and keep an eye on him Thunder...”

Stanley knew exactly what he had to do. He was going to build a flame-throwing iro...

As the large woman moved aside after uniting his binds, Stanley looked into the face of his captor for the first time, and was taken aback. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

The badge on her ab-revealing shredded army surplus jacket read: The 40-Caliber Badland Babes.

She leaned into his face, and softly kissed his nose.

Stanley no longer knew exactly what he had to do.

Stanley also wondered when he designed a missile. He was pretty certain his fry cook days had not given him that level of expertise.

He was mistaken.

The itch was gone.

[ZerroDefex]

Red

Why did the clouds always have to be red before a plasmic storm Nathan muttered to nobody in particular.

It had been a nasty few weeks in this part of the badlands and it didn't look to be improving tonight.  Nathan had spent the past six hours looking for that idiot Jay and the so called "Savior" but all he had found was the hover truck and tracks leading to the North-West.

While Nathan knew that two men on foot didn't stand a chance with the Nino's on the hunt, he wasn't one to think for himself when there were orders to be followed.

Six and a half minutes later Nathan was armed to the teeth and on the Sand Grazer headed North-West.