S/k/eleton

>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?