Chicago Wildlife - 17. What Are We, Some Kind Of...(Part 4)

Mega Chapter 14: What Are We, Some Kind Of...(Part 4)

Sisterly Bond hmpf-ed. She thought she spied deux pairs of arses that belonged to her. She wondered what they would be up to. No doubt something naughty. And look, they even brought a friend along for their threesome! Sisterly Bond had finished off her latest “client” for the evening and was left wanting more stimulation, so she thought, ‘Why not? Let’s have a little fun. Let my hair down.’

“Jacques, I’m hurt,” she said, oozing with sarcasm. “You never told me you were seeing someone else on the side.”

“Oh God,” he moaned, “I don’t need you and your problems, not tonight!”

“Problems? Dear, I don’t have problems. Only…pests.”

“We’re on a tight schedule,” crooned the strutting cockadoodle she had met at the museum some time ago. “I already sold the pearls. Hope you don’t mind.”

Well, wasn’t he the cheeky one? Still thought he was the dominant one in the room. Sisterly Bond couldn’t care less about some shiny minerals or some ancient statue.

“And if it’s the dildo you’re after,” he continued, “I had the good sense to ‘donate’ it to my dear friend Jacques here.”

“It’s a WHAT?! You regifted me a sex toy?!”

“Don’t worry. It’s probably not still cursed,” the lad said.

“Probably?!”

“You’re such a silly willy,” she said, addressing Robin. “Maybe I’ll grow a soft spot for you yet.”

“Well, if you’re quite done getting your jollies off—”

“Wait!” yelled Jacques. “Since you’re out and about dressed like that…”

He was referring to Sisterly Bond’s not-at-all-congregation-friendly outfit.

“…does that mean we have to worry about demons, too?”

“Not unless you’re counting your strong but silent type boy toy back there.”

She nodded towards Pierre, who had erected his long, solid piece and had the tip aimed squarely at Sisterly Bond’s head the whole time. He held up his left hand, showing off his wedding ring.

“Oh, how dreadfully sorry I am. Don’t I have egg on my face. Who was the pastor? Was it Father Joshua?”

“Look sister, we don’t have time for this nonsense,” Jacques ejaculated. “We’ve got a hospital to get to, a freak we need to stop, and somehow get all these tiny machines out of our bodies before we melt!”

“Sounds like a thrilling Friday night.”

Her arousal wasn’t quite piqued yet.

“Shame it’s a stag party,” Robin quipped. “Why don’t you find yourself another fuck demon to screw around with and we’ll handle the prevention of a city block being leveled?”

Her arousal was quite piqued.

“Jacques! Charity? Who knew you had it in you? Maybe your soul is worth saving after all,” she gushed.

“Ha ha. Yeah, right,” he said rather prickly. “If we don’t get to Ann & Robert’s and stop Ditto Perfect from French kissing a nuclear bomb, I’m gonna make Freddy Krueger look like Chris Evans!”

“Ann & Robert’s, you say? Well, the church never did repay them for their kindness and generosity with their large, ample donation last year,” she said.

She stared off fondly into the distance for a second before returning to earth.

“Alright, boys! Into the car! I’m going to drop you off to school today.”

“What,” Robin flatly said.

“Come quickly. We haven’t got all day.”

Pierre was already sliding into the velvety interiors of Sisterly Bond’s car. Jacques was hesitant at first, but he poked his head in soon after.

“Really, you two?” Robin asked incredulously.

“Don’t even try to fight it,” came Jacques. “Once she gets an idea in her head, there’s no changing it. Just like with all my exes!”

“Don’t tell me you’re the one who’s afraid of getting cooties,” she taunted at Robin.

He groaned and got into the passenger side’s seat.

‘I do love when my pets obey their master,’ she mused.

#

“Must you attempt vehicular homicide at every red light?” Cid inquired.

Fred, who was maneuvering the car, made a sharp right turn at yet another red light. A civilian car perpendicular to where Fred was produced a shrill of annoyance.

“Can’t help it, Cid. Don’t know when the bombs inside us are gonna go off! Besides, we also don’t know when Ditto Perfect’s gonna get to the hospital. It could be any second now!”

The uncertainty of the whole situation was worrisome, Cid had to admit. But becoming deceased via sudden impact was not Cid’s preferred way of alleviating his problems. He was about to reiterate that exact thought when Fred frantically made another perfect ninety-degree turn. For a fleeting moment, Cid feared that their somewhat unwilling passenger in the backseat might experience his own mortal coil coming to a complete and sudden stop via an unnatural bend in his upper cervical spine. He glanced at the backseat, expecting the worst, but to his surprise, the disturbing individual appeared completely calm, almost oblivious to his immediate situation. Then he verbalized something that could have only been identified as a premonition.

“The logical threat escalation for a racing scene is to include a squad of cop cars.”

As if on cue, all the automobile’s inhabitants suddenly heard the telltale siren of the crimson and navy lights. Cid considered this inevitability, given Fred’s eccentric driving. His only recourse was the fact that the police were unawares of Cid’s and Fred’s double identities. Cid fathomed Fred would be unopposed to the notion of revealing his “normal” form to the masses, but as for Cid himself, he preferred the safer cloak of obscurity, to be able to stroll down the street and not fret himself into unease at the thought of some random passerby identifying him to the proper authorities.

“Ooh! Did we just upgrade into a chase scene?!” hollered Fred.

“Yes,” replied You. “Another necessary complication that the cast must overcome.”

“Hell yeah!” Fred responded.

Cid did not share in Fred’s newfound enthusiasm. In an instant, he formulated a plan. He unbuckled himself, rolled down the windows, and started to “flame on.” You looked demonstrably nonplussed by Cid’s new appearance. Additionally, Cid was likewise unconcerned about the continuing structural integrity of the interior of the car. He leaned out of the window, formed a fireball in his hand, and hurled it at the police squad.

“And so the stealth plotline is scratched out,” commented You.

“Lead them on a wild goose chase to obfuscate our true desired location,” Cid ordered Fred.

Unfortunately, Fred seemed to have other plans.

#

Fred was psyched that Cid decided to bring out the big guns. As soon as he felt the intense heat, he just knew that Cid decided to start a fight. And since Cid was the smart one of the group, that meant it had to be the right choice. Fred couldn’t just sit there and not help out his buddy. So…he rolled down his own window, started to “freeze over,” and, using his left hand, aimed directly at the cop cars and blasted an icy beam at them! A couple of cars tried to swerve out of the way, but they were soon spinning entirely out of their control. Fred laughed from all the fun he was having!

“Fred,” Cid said, almost raising his voice, “you are supposed to be focusing on the road.”

“I am focusing on the road,” he shot back. “The road behind us!”

“Divert your attention to the oncoming traffic.”

“I’m gonna divert these coppers into that building over there!”

“It appears the quality of the jokes in this story are subpar,” piped up You.

“No backseat driving! I’m the one driving here.”

Suddenly, shots were being fired!

“So it seems the hapless duo are considered dangerous enough to open fire upon,” said You.

“I repeat myself, Fred, do not drive straight to the hospital,” whined Cid. “We need to escape their observation.”

“An idea, to deal with the immediate antagonists,” said You.

But just then, Fred heard a familiar voice in his brain!

“Oh yoo-hoo? Freddy dear? It’s yo dear old Auntie Persephone callin’. Now I know you youngsters don’t like to call yo elders, but chu will listen to what I have to say, considerin’ I installed a landline straight into yo head when I injected chu with all dose lovely nanomachines. Now you seem like da type to get dings done around here, and chu and I? We both have da patience of a highly strung kitten, so let me tell you how to get dings done faster so we can all go home and catch da Monster Jam World Finals.”

It was the woman! She hacked his head? Was she reading his mind? He imagined a middle finger, hoping to send her a message.

“Now I can vouch fo’ yo brosef, but dose other guys? Honestly, I just picked dem up off da street corner, and I don’t trust a single one of dem. Including dat man in da back seat. Now don’t look! He’ll know I squealed if you do, which will set off my brain bomb, and if I die, you all die, too! So here’s da plan. Meet up with all da rest at Northwestern. And den kill dem. Make sure you’re not caught. Dey’re all against chu. Da less of dem dere are, da more likely I’ll be in disarming all our brain bombs.”

The rest of the group were bad guys? Well, Cid and Fred were bad guys themselves, but that meant that the rest were even worse bad guys! And worst of all, Persephone told him to keep this a secret from his best friend, Cid. Fred wasn’t one for subterfuge. That was Cid’s job! Fred only even knew the word “subterfuge” because Cid kept talking about it during the rare cases where he came up with a plan!

“Fred,” stressed Cid.

Fred snapped himself back into reality. Even he wasn’t sure how he managed to not hit any cars while Persephone was talking.

“An important inner monologue must have occurred,” said You.

“Fred, were you ruminating about trivial curiosities whilst a possible escape disposition was being constructed?” Cid pried.

Fred froze up for a second. Did the two of them already know about his secret meeting with Persephone? Cid was a genius, but he wasn’t psychic. Fred had to make it up as he went along, his specialty.

“Yeah! Just looking for any 18 wheelers to push over. That’s a great plan, right? Buys us time and I get to work on my target practice.”

“You’re thinking of something more…permanent,” said You.

“Take the immediate right and head for Queen’s Landing,” instructed Cid. “We’ll rid ourselves of our pursuant problems there.”

#

So I’m tearing down I94, being sure to go…oh, I’ve already told that one. Seeing the situation I’m in now, I think I would have preferred my original story. Now I’m stuck shotgunning a car that’s too eye-catching for my liking, with the world’s most offensive mime and Illinois’ top toady in the backseat, and the Holy Father’s Naughtiest Daughter driving at high speeds down I90.

“So tell me, love,” the harpy says, “what exactly does ‘snake chic’ have to do with stealing things that aren’t yours?”

Oh she is not going to be the dominating force here.

“Whaaat? Didn’t the Adam and Eve tale teach you that the snake always gets what he wants?” I say, smiling with my mouth, but not with my eyes.

“As I recall, the snake only did one thing of note and kept congratulating itself while the rest of the world promptly forgot about him,” she replies, not even bothering to glance over.

Aw, it’s cute she thought that was an insult. Well, since I don’t want to give her any more of my secrets, I’ll let her keep thinking I’m an attention whore.

“Well, I do enjoy treating myself after a good day of pinching,” I say, trailing off as if in reminisce.

The car is silent for a few brief moments.

“Jesus, I knew having the two of you in the same car was gonna cause me grief,” pipes Jacques. “Either kill each other or fuck already. I don’t got time for this romantic foreplay shit.”

“Jacques,” Mary Magdalene says in a playfully shocked tone, “I’m surprised that you would again insinuate that a lady of the cloth would engage in such sacrilegious acts when you know that sisters devote themselves fully to God.”

“Which sex acts were you thinking about, Jacques?” I jump in. “Missionary? Doggy? Oh who am I kidding. You’re probably thinking about whips and straps and waterspoOOHHH!”

The bitch just made a sharp right turn.

“So sorry, loves. I’m not familiar with this part of town.”

I’m sure not even the mime buys that one, especially given the ever-present smirk on her face as she says it.

“Might need to get those tires looked at,” I say, without a hint of pissiness. “Wouldn’t want to break Jacques’ glass dick.”

I see Jacques turn to Pierre.

“You see what I have to put up with? Does this type of thing happen to you often?” he asks.

Pierre takes the high road like a champ and doesn’t give a witty comeback. He merely gives Jacques a dry look, a “Gurl, does it look like I’m the universe’s chew toy?” face.

“Such delightful individuals you decided to include in your threesome,” she says.

“You’re always welcome to watch us work,” I reply. “Those two could really use some encouragement.”

“Maybe they just have a bad partner,” she counters.

“Trust me, madam. No one’s ever said I was a bad partner,” I correct her.

“So sad…” she says. Her smirk never leaves her face. Just what kind of implication is she going for here?

Suddenly, I notice her eyes widen just a bit. She slams on the breaks, which would’ve killed all of us if that sudden sharp right turn earlier didn’t have us all buckling up as a safety precaution.

“What the fuck!” shouts Jacques.

I share the same sentiment, though I would’ve used different words. I glance back and see Pierre quickly “mumbling” something in ASL. Mother Teresa gets out of the car.

“Looks like your free ride is up, lads,” she says to no one.

“Aw shit,” says Jacques. “You said you didn’t have any problems!”

“I said I only have pests. Isn’t that right, Morgasmon?”

An earthquake happens. Oh no. I hate when I recognize names. Sure enough, the highway in front of us erupts, and a disturbingly attractive, grey, winged demon, clad only in a deliberately small loincloth, emerges from the depths.

“Impudent girl…” he leads off with.

Pierre shoots him right between the eyes. The bullet just bounces off though, crumpled like an empty beer can. I figure it wouldn’t be that easy, but points for trying. Pierre looks at me, expectedly.

“Sex demon. Nigh invulnerable. May make your cock twitch just a little,” I inform him.

He gives me the perfect WTF face.

“Tits McGee can handle it,” I reassure him. “She’s got a bazooka up her ass. Literally.”

Perhaps it’s by the way his shoulders just slump, but I get the impression he doesn’t quite believe me. Nevertheless, he looks back at the witch, no doubt expecting something miraculous to happen.

“Insignificant clown,” Morgasmon growls.

Pierre gives him the bird. Was that a shred of respect I just felt towards him? Morgasmon glows purple and raises his hands, palms upwards. The ground around us glows the same shade.

“Ah fuck,” Jacques says.

“Give the clown a gun!” I command.

Pierre wastes no time tossing Jacques a loaded gun, all the while demons start flying out of the ground. I jump into the driver’s seat, ready to hotwire it. I hear a whistle and turn my head towards it. Instinctively, I catch whatever it is that’s being thrown at me. I open my hand to find the car keys in it. I look back up to see that woman smirking at me.

“I expect it to be topped up when I come for it,” she says.

She then turns back around to Morgasmon and rubs her pasties.

“Feverish Fuck!” she yells.

And from out of the heavenly ether materializes an ornate-looking flamethrower. She tests it out on the demons coming for us first, their bodies vaporizing in the holy flames before turning her attention back to Morgasmon.

“I hope this doesn’t get you all hot and bothered,” she says.

“Speck of a witch, I will smother you with my passionate heat!” he bellows.

I jam the keys into the ignition and hightail it out of there before I become the cameraman for their porno shoot.

#

You awaken to find yourself and the stock twin characters at Queen’s Landing. More pleasingly, you find that you’re already on foot. Good. Less words used in this already lengthy story. Moreover, this gives the Author less opportunities to write down your already established plan. Plans undisclosed to the Readers always succeed.

You hide in your favorite spot, the shadows. You see all from your vantage point. The getaway car is still running, as empty as all these characters’ lives. Police cars are pulling up to the pier, bit players stepping out with their guns cocked. The cold fire one, Cid, and the hot ice one, Fred, are hidden amongst the partially built buildings, depowered so they don’t become beacons to themselves.

The cops step further into the enclosure. It is time to remind the Readers that they are not reading about heroes.

Cop #1 walks past you, unable to distinguish your black visage from the shadows of the night. You reach out from behind him, cover his mouth with one hand, and slit his throat with your knife with the other. He drops his gun as he tries to claw for his neck. Blood pours out as he gurgles and drowns. In a few seconds, he drops to the floor. You drag him to the shadows. No sense in dropping him into the lake. It’s not as visually impactful as seeing a pile of corpses. And no one ever called one body a “pile.”

Cops #2 and #3 are patrolling on the side of the building. You make your way to them, silent as a mouse. You hold your breath as you ready another knife, and stab both bodies in the neck. They wouldn’t even be able to warn the others.

Cop #4 you throw one of your spare knives like a shuriken. Of course, it lands blade side in. No one’s ever been able to pull off a failed knife throw barring a comedy act, and this story is no comedy. Cop #5 is wearing chest armor, so you slash his legs from behind and then bury your knife in his face. Cops #6 and #7 you decide to get creative with, just this once. You wait until they’re in a long corridor, and then you cut the rope holding a bunch of concrete pillars in place, causing them to roll down and crush the officers.

You are throwing the corpses of Cops #6 and #7 onto the ever-growing pile of bodies, when you hear someone shout. It is then that you realize that Cops #8, #9, and #10 have surrounded you, each armed with police sticks. No guns. In-universe, they can explain this away by saying that they don’t want to accidentally shoot each other. From the Author’s perspective, this is so that They can up the stakes without resorting to impossible odds. Acceptable.

All three of them charge at you. Knives in hand, you turn fifty degrees clockwise and slash at one of the background characters. You quickly kick behind you, connecting with a second throwaway character. You thrust both knives into the third bit character, stopping him cold. You yank both knives outwards to do as much damage as possible and then swipe him across the neck. You turn back to the first background character, who is still reeling in pain from being sliced from head to hip, and rapidly jab at him like a punching bag. Ten times you stab him before turning back around to the second throwaway character. He is starting to regain his balance, ready to charge at you again. You step forward, your energy reaching its peak, and you start making wide horizontal slashes against his body. Over and over you drag your knives from one side of his body to the other, from the stomach to the chest to the arms to the neck to the face. You feel no resistance from the body as the blades carve into it numerous times. You believe that the Author probably liked to imagine your performance much like a cartoon depicting an artist madly slashing paint onto a blank canvas.

Finally, you are finished. Three more bodies lay on the floor. You drag each of them onto the pile. You look at it with contemplation. Not a single female body. Even with the high amount of women police enrolled in a major metropolitan city like Chicago. It seems you are working with Readers who still hold on to traditional values. This will be valuable information for later.

Out of your peripheral vision, you see a flash of blue. You walk over to where you saw it. You turned around a corner and spy a cop, completely encased in ice from the neck down. His head is jittery, his teeth clacking. He looks absolutely terrified. He sees you and tries to stammer out a plea.

“H-h-h-help m-m-me…”

As you get closer, he notices the blood-soaked knives in your hands. His eyes grow wide.

“N-n-n-n-no!”

You imagine slicing his head clean off in one stroke. It would serve as an excellent splash panel. Perhaps everything is silhouetted against a blood red backdrop? Unfortunately, not every sharp object in the universe acts like a katana, your knives included. If you truly wished to behead this man, you would have to hack at his neck several times over, and that just isn’t as interesting to observe. You briefly think about finding a lead pipe somewhere nearby and simply whacking at the man’s head until it rips off. Go for the gruesome, needlessly sadistic angle instead of the evil-but-awesome one. But alas, you don’t have time for that, not in this already bloated crossover event. So you unceremoniously slice his throat open and watch the life drain from his eyes.

“Fuck, man! You’re hardcore!” comes Fred, emerging from the shadows. Cid appears next to him.

“That was not entirely necessary,” Cid says.

“No, it wasn’t,” you reply.

You turn around.

“The plan was a success. We should depart for the hospital immediately before more reinforcements are alerted.”

You walk back to the car, the twins following. You pass by the mountain of bodies on the way.

“Holy shit!” you hear Fred shout-whisper.

“The antagonists were taken care of,” you state plainly.

“I’d exercise heightened caution around this individual,” Cid says to Fred.

You aren’t sure if Cid meant for you to hear that. You get into the passenger’s seat of the car and look back at them.

“It’s time for a change of scene.”

#

“They’re gaining on us!”

“Thanks for the news update, Jacques! Don’t know what I’d do without ya!”

“Can’t this thing go any faster?!”

“Does it look like I’m concerned about the speed limit?”

“Hey, clown! How many bullets are you packing?!”

“Probably not more than what Morgasmon can summon.”

“What do you mean, you’re running out?! You’re the only genius who thought to bring live ammo on this assassination attempt!”

“What? What is it, Pierre? No, I can’t handle a pistol and drive at the same time!”

“What the fuck?! You mean to tell me you had a spare pistol all this time and you didn’t think to give me one?!”

“Just give him the gun already.”

“Hey, don’t just toss it at me! The safety could’ve been off! I could’ve shot myself!”

“And you’d be doing us all a favor, since you’re still yammering and not shooting!”

“AAAGGGGHHHH!!! Take that, you motherfuckers! Shit! Aren’t sniper rifles supposed to be silent?! …Don’t give me that look!”

“Hey Jacques, is there still construction on North Columbus Drive?”

“How should I know? I haven’t been over to that side of town since I got food poisonING! Ow! Warn me when you take sharp turns like that!”

“Should’ve worn your seat belt. And I’m still not hearing gunfire back there.”

“I’m out of bullets!”

“Then get another pistol!”

“Hey! Give me another gun, will ya?!”

“Are any of those demons being affected by those bullets? That head shaking is not what I want to see, Pierre.”

“Weren’t you supposed to have lost these fuckers by now?!”

“They are being rather persistent, aren’t they?”

“What’s even the point of…hey! Are they supposed to glow like that?”

“That doesn’t look good.”

“We’re gonna get fried!”

“Not on my agenda for the day.”

“Huh? They just disappeared!”

“Looked more like they disintegrated. Pierre, you see anything? No?”

“Where’d they all go?”

“If we’re lucky, they’re all going back to finish off Tits McGee.”

“Heh heh, good luck with that, ya flying bastards.”

“Both of you keep an eye out, just in case they do decide to come back. Next stop: Ann & Robert’s.”