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Let's Get Lucky

Pros: an astute, intelligent man; willingly helps people when they are in need; keeps healthy on a regular basis; doesn't complain when things are too tough.

Cons: a pernicious, self-obsessed wife-beater; chronic rapist; only helps people when he sees something he can get from them; has murdered at least three women.

We have this slimy little bastard tied to a tree outside in the snow, along with two of his accomplices. Jason and I managed to "coerce" them into telling us about a prostitution ring somewhere in the south part of the city. They'd grab young women (and sometimes young boys) right off the street and take them somewhere in the city, where they were forced to do things to people and have things done to them, the most debaucheriest of things. Those who didn't comply were abused and beaten, some so badly that they eventually die. One of them, a squirrel, told me of a time he was giving it to this one vixen so hard that she just had a heart attack and collapsed on the velvet bed--he didn't pay it any mind, he just kept on screwing her until he was finished. "It was still warm, man...I felt obligated, you know," he told me, giving me a cheeky little grin.

I grabbed a thick pine bough and left the contents of the squirrel's head scattered about the snow-strewn landscape. When his colleagues yelled at me why I was doing this, I just told them that I felt obligated, and left them there in the snow and freezing wind. It was times like this that I really wished I had a wood-chipper.

When I got back to the cabin, Jason told me of what one of our captives said when he was working them over. He told me that the whole operation was run by a big guy that everyone called Lucky. From what they said, Lucky was a big bear who didn't take any sort of shit from any sort of person, a guy who ruled his domain with an iron fist--an iron fist that was probably punching the hell out of a little girl or guy.

I pulled out my revolver, checked the bullets, and winked at Jason.

"Let's get Lucky."

Twenty minutes later, we were walking down the city streets in our urban-warfare best. Jason was wearing his Spetsnaz uniform and a fake ushanka hat; a small metal tag that said "soldier of misfortune" dangled and clanked lightly around his neck. I wore my burgundy bomber jacket, a black T-shirt that said "If it ain't stiff, it ain't worth a fuck," and some punky patch & stitch pants. We both had guns, and we both had burn-through-metal hate for a guy called Lucky. Somebody is going to wish they never got out of bed this morning.

We found the place sometime around dawn, or heard it I should say; hardcore techno-metal was blaring from a pair of massive loudspeakers, practically making the entire building quiver. Hell, I thought it made the blinking strobe-lights shake. Jason and I hopped up onto a bunch of crates and looked in through a window, seeing what could only be described as a BDSM rave scene. A whole bunch of furs, clad in various leather straps and chains were jumping and raising their fists to the music. Some were wearing ball-gags and handcuffs, and a select few who were "talented" were doing burlesque aerobics above the dance floor, attached to ropes suspended from the ceiling. Some in particular were making out, quite wildly, near the walls of the building.

The whole bondage-rave thing was something I didn't mind. Different strokes for different folks, right? It was the whole master/slave mentality that I despised. Nobody belonged to anybody in that way, like a fucking object to be used and abused until all use was used and couldn't be used anymore. It reminded me of dark things, of dark days before the comet.

It reminded me of Kevin...

My rage-o-meter struck the sky again, and I wanted to crash the party guns a-blazin'. I was so angry my upper body even twitched forward like I was really going to do it, but a split second decision that it would've been a bad idea stopped me. Jason tapped me on the shoulder, I looked at him and he twirled his finger. I knew what he meant; he was going to go around and find a way in. I nodded and watched him walk away, his beat-up Kalashnikov slung over his shoulder. I waited, watching the dance progress into something more fast-paced, keeping my ears low so I won't get seen.

Just then I heard a clattering sound, like a bunch of glass bottles falling onto the pavement but not actually breaking. My fur rose up and my tail bushed out, I took out a little dagger and jumped quietly down from the crates, proceeding to the corner of the building. I didn't want to use my gun; any shot would probably be heard over the music inside. I walked slowly, side-stepping between clutter and rubbish.

When I got to the corner, I stopped and kneeled down. I looked down and saw a shadow rise up, slowly growing bigger. I readied myself, feeling the adrenaline course through me like a bastard freight train. I picked my moment, and leapt up with a growl...

My knife was just at the ferret's throat when I noticed the row of Uzis pointed at my face, keeping me from pushing the metal through the skin. I don't know about anybody else, but a group of small semi-automatics pointed at one's face is usually a good incentive, so when they got in a few punches and kicks and frog-marched me into the building, I let them.

They led me through the dance floor, skirting the jumping masses to a door at the back of the building. The room inside was small and dark and smelled like a poorly-managed nursing home. I looked inquiringly at one of my captors, who promptly knocked me out with the butt of his Uzi.

When I woke up, both sides of my head were aching, as were my chest, abdomen, legs, and my ass. I was in a big, luxurious room that looked like the inside of some Egyptian harem. Crimson silk and lavish pillows were adorned every square inch of the place. Gold-trimmed rugs covered the floor, and the light came from a dozen bunches of candles, all red. At the center of this room, seated on a massive scarlet pillow was a huge brown bear, garbed simply in a extra-extra-large shirt and baggy pants, puffing longingly on a hookah pipe. It could only be Lucky.

He looked every bit the asshole I thought he'd be.

After a little bit more puffing on the hookah, he put the pipe down and looked down at me from a pair of red-rimmed brown eyes. When he spoke, his speech was slurred and babbling.

"And...and who might you be, sir? Who dares enter the lair of the...of the Lucky? Hmmmm?"

Yep, pure self-righteous asshole all the way through. I coughed and made a snide comment about how a true host doesn't rape their guests in the first minute. He just blinked and looked at me with something that was probably a mix of anger and confusion.

"Oh...Oh, that's not what you're supposed to say. You...you're supposed to say 'I will do whatever you ask, master.'" He leaned back on his pillow and filled the room with a hefty, hearty laugh. He sounded like Bluto from all those Popeye cartoons.

But whatever happened to Bluto in all those cartoons? He got the shit knocked out of him, every single time, by a squinty little man a third his size. I jumped up and made to give the fat prick my version of a twisker punch when I felt something pull at my neck, holding me back. I put my hands up to my throat and felt the cold surface of a steel collar. There was writing on the front; I felt it with my fingertips and made out the writing: SLUT.

That son of a bitch...

I stood there fuming, glaring at the big brown bear seated on his voluptuous pillow. He slowly started to get up, his belly shaking and rippling like fuzzy brown gelatin. It took him a good minute, what with his slightly altered conscious and ridiculous girth, but he finally managed to steady himself on his two thick legs and slowly shamble toward me. I clenched my fists, feeling the tips of my fingers pop in protest. If he so much as lays one sausage-like finger on me I'll strangle him with my bare hands...

Then again, looking at him much closer, I don't think my hands would be able to encompass his thick neck. He reached out an arm twice as thick as my leg and grabbed onto my shoulder; I pulled back my arm to punch him in his bloodshot eye, but he grabbed my hand with some surprisingly fast movements. I brought up my knee and hit him in the gut. He gave a baritone grunt and swiftly slammed his fist into my stomach, driving the wind right out through my throat. He spun me around, reached around my waist, and unzipped my pants; obviously he had been doing this for quite a while if he can do it stoned out of his noggin. He bent me over, mumbled something, and threw down my pants with one swift motion.

I knew what to do; I'd be lying if I said it hadn't happened before. I braced myself and waited. When I thought he was going to, I heard a low rumbling, the familiar sound of a gun-butt slapping the back of a skull, and instantly I felt the bear's whole weight pressing down on me, forcing me into the floor. Whatever air I had left in my lungs was forced out, my aching chest burning for oxygen. Jason's voice filled my ears as I gasped like a land-laden fish.

"Are you okay, hon?" he asked with utmost urgency.

"No...get...asshole...off me!"

There was much grunting and lifting, and soon Jason had rolled the entire mass of bear off of me. I breathed pure air (as pure as air can get in this hashish-filled room) as it filled my lungs. He pulled me up onto my feet and gave me a quick hug, but I pushed him away. I didn't like having my pants down without my consent, and even though it was a bit romantic having Jason here to save me, it also felt kind of odd to have him almost catching me getting raped...by a professional rapist, no less.

I pulled my pants up and buttoned them . Jason was standing there in his Spetsnaz uniform, his fuzzy hat hanging askew on his head. He looked at me, cocking his head at a weird angle. I know what he was doing; he was making sure if I really was fine or not. I assured him that I was, and nodded toward Lucky, asking Jason what we ought to do with him.

After Jason took off the collar around my neck, we hooked it onto Lucky's wrist (it fit almost perfectly; I'm sure it was causing him a nice bit of discomfort and lack of blood flow) and dragged him into that corner. I took a candle and let the hot wax drip onto the bear's nose. He sprung up and scratched at the burned area, his beady little red-rimmed eyes squinting at us. Suddenly he just squatted down and said "Hey, guys. What's uh...what's going on?"

Jason looked at me and said "One of those, huh?" I nodded solemnly, knowing that there was way too many of those in the world, before and after the comet. I walked in front him, my arms behind my back, staring him in the face with one evil eye.

"What's going on, man, is that you've pissed some people off, people who you don't want pissed off. Got it?"

He looked at me, gave a jittery smile and chuckled, his hills and mountains of fat jiggling merrily. Jason came over with his rifle and shoved its muzzle directly into Lucky's face. He growled low in his throat before tapping the bear with the tip of his boot.

"Listen up, shitbag! We want answers, and if you can't come up with some in ten seconds I'm going to make your head turn into last year's fireworks. Get me?"

The bear just nodded and swooned; the prick was way too stoned to interrogate. I nudged Jason and shook my head.

"There's no way we'll get anything out of him, Jason. Why don't we skip the grilling phase and go straight to the rubber hose?"

"No. I want to know what makes this asshole think the way he does."

"Well, you can smell that in the air, babe..."

Jason gave me a wry smile before pressing the gun against Lucky's face. He started counting down from ten. When he got to three, the bear put up his hands and said "Whoa, hey, man. What's the rush? Ain't no use rushing a guy, you know? There's tastes for everybody, right? I can cut you guys a good deal, the best you'll find, huh? Whatever you want, I can accommodate, you dig? Maybe some nice young things to keep you warm at night, huh? You're into that buttsex, yeah?"

I grabbed Jason's Kalashnikov and declared that I was going to waste him right fucking now. Jason took the gun away from me; I pouted, but it didn't do any good. I wasn't really a pouter anyway.

It took a good long while before Lucky decided (or maybe it was the drug's decision, who knows; I just wanted to get this shit over with...and take a bath) to tell us. He thought that the comet was a messenger of the gods--Jason asked him which gods, but Lucky just ignored him and went on with his spiel--sent to bring about a new order to the world, a new hedonistic order revolving around nothing but pleasure, with the tagline being "whatever you want, however you want." The alleged gods, for no evident reason why, also decided to appoint good old Lucky as the new order's promoter, the sandwich-board for a future of indulgence and luxuriance. All the kidnapped furs were just instruments, toys, curios for which passersby can be attracted to and play with, eventually to be suckered in by whatever lies Lucky fed them.

We got our answers, which meant that the next objective was "waste current motherfucker," and I immediately let Jason know this. To be honest, it took us a good few minutes to decide the best course of action, but we eventually thought up something nice and poetic.

This entire building was an edifice to Lucky's evil plans, a flagship, if you will, and we decided that in order for this little undertaking to come to a successful conclusion, it had to be brought down along with Lucky. So Jason and I each grabbed a candle and touched the flame to the bear's fur, instantly setting him alight. The bear wailed in pain as he flailed about, passing the fire from his body to the highly flammable fabrics all around him. We quickly ran out of the room (it was just beneath the empty room I was knocked out in, connected by a short flight of grimy stairs) and into the main dancing hub, where we began shouting "Fire! Fire!" over the slow trance that the DJ was playing. It was a mad rush of bodies, desperately trying to get out of the building. Who could blame them, the thing was set to go up like a 4th of July sparkler pretty soon.

Jason and I quickly went through all the rooms in the building, making sure all the sex-slaves were unbound and capable of exiting safely. Jason personally made sure that all the people who worked for Lucky and enforced his pompous dreams were in their captive's position; chained up and tied up and gagged. They were officially "fucked," if the reader will permit me a slight bon mot.

When we were finished, Jason and I stood at a safe distance away from the burning building, watching as flames rose up out of blackening windows. It had stopped snowing, and the wind had calmed down by a good measure. I took Jason's hand and sighed; it had been one long evening, and all I wanted was to go home and get some rest. But I decided to wait for a little bit and admire our work.

"Very...moving," I said.

"Heartwarming, Mr. Wint" Jason said.

"A glowing tribute, Mr. Kidd," I said.

With that out of the way, Jason and I headed back home, hand in hand. The forest was quiet tonight, with all the birds asleep in their little nests, as we should be. It gets quite dark at night, this forest of ours, but we've traversed it so many times we knew it like the back of each other's hands. Jason let go of my hand and threw his arm around my shoulder; I put mine around his waist. We stayed that way all the way to the cabin...

Suddenly a shadow came out of the trees and thwacked Jason on the back of the head with a shovel. It made a dull clunk of a sound, and I stared in shock as his body went limp and he fell face-first into the snow.

I looked up in time to see the trespasser raise the shovel, intending to crash it downward on my skull. I pulled out the .45 I kept tucked away in my jacket and fired off a couple rounds into his chest. He went down on his back on top of Jason, landing with a sharp intake of breath. I leapt forward, grabbing a little safety flashlight a kept in a utility pouch beneath my jacket and flashing it on the assailant. He was a rabbit, a big one, one of the jerks Jason and I had tied up earlier today. Somehow he had gotten broken out...

But where was the other one?

I flashed the light on Jason, making sure he was alright. I didn't see any blood; his hat took up most of the shovel's blow, thankfully. I got up from the snow, pocketed my gun, and grabbed Jason's rifle. I went about the vicinity of our home, sweeping through the darkness with the flashlight and Kalashnikov, finding nobody. There weren't even any footprints that I could see. It was just weird as hell...

Then I found him. He was lying half-buried in the snow, his feline face bent up in a mask of horror and pain. Blood had frozen on the corners of his mouth, making crimson icicles, giving him an ethereal look of a hydra-like lizard-cat.

There were no footprints around the body, not even ones snowed over.

I had never been more terrified in my life. My imagination kicked into overdrive; and I started seeing eyes from everywhere. I ran as fast as I could back to Jason, picked him up, and dragged him to the cabin. I turned on all the lights (It was a waste of precious power, I know, but I was just so damn scared I wasn't thinking correctly) and placed Jason on the couch in the living room. Five minutes later I got the fire going strong, and I felt well enough to turn off some of the lights, but not all...

I needed some of the lights on. When Jason woke up, I didn't tell him about the hideous body lying out there in the snow. I'd decided that I'd tell him later, when we were both feeling better, when it was daylight.