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Speak the Neon, Langer (Call me!)

by The Brain of Lazarus

Goddamn was this town hot.

Langer had never gotten used to the heat. It was always a sticky mess of humidity, suffocating air and nasty little bugs that screeched about it in their tree towers, like audible thermometers. The sun would throw unending waves of brutal scorch on every little thing it could touch, and it drove him nuts. Take a fucking chill pill, would you sun? He'd say that to himself, sometimes aloud, as if the sun gave a damn.

That was on the way here. Oh but now? Fuck, Castelle was nothing like the roads up through Georgia. Oh no, Florida heat couldn't be tolerable, it had to gear up to goddamn eleven. It didn't help that every bush-waddling city tourist and burnt up orange-skin had to come wafting out like a parade of lunatics in all this bloody sun. Yeah, the bristling sting of light was bad enough, but now every sidewalk was coated with families and sight seers and bro-dudes and whatever scum expat had decided to visit the bowels of Florida tourist attractions.

Fingers shuffled through the blinders on his hotel window pane. Eyes leered about, scooping up the horrendous hodgepodge of sights. Ugh, it was a mess out there. This weekend was party week. Buildings and beaches and attractions were a sprawling vomited mess of neon lights, bad alcohol, greasy food, and squeals of suburban soccer moms getting their misbehaving little shits in line. A sick squabble of ugly clashing paint layered every odd wall and townhouse, with fences of broads, ugly and pretty, tossing their tits in open view at the sight of colorful plastic beads. It was a damn butchery of holiday and tradition out there.

But, it did serve a purpose.

Langer Sedge had not driven through miles of eastern United States road trash for a hiatus at the world's shittiest economy hotel. Now far be it from him to question the cryptic wisdom of The Answer, but for whatever fuck reason, the Triangle had pinned his next contract in the bowels of drunk-college-sluts: the city. Their logic? It was party time, and party time was noisy, and people were stupid, eyelids blinded by godawful beer and piss drugs. The cops were choked up with a minor nuisance every hour of every day. Made Castelle low hanging fruit.

Why was that relevant? Because in the amber-lit room of the one-bed motel, Langer wasn't here for fun. No. He was here to execute an unlucky batch of fucks who'd managed to to piss off the Triangle. Or at least amuse them for a while. His device of crucifixion? A sexy, 12 gauged short barreled shotgun with pump action lead belching shells topped off by a completely needless silencer. Did it work? Barely. But it would be fine enough with all the downpour of bad music and party banter. Or so Langer assumed. He didn't care, killing was killing.

There was something else though, tapping his impatient fingers along the ugly bed spread he was perched on. Parts of Florida roused up aspects of himself he didn't even contemplate. Lusts, lots of hot and bothered good-gracious oh my stars lusts. Not the kind you'd get facilitating some pleasure in the face of an electronic screen, no, the kind where your whole body gets hungry in proximity to some daisy flashing her fat titted cleavage. That kind. And this place was utterly oozing it.

So he found himself a little honey on the side, by chance. Traditionally, he tried to find a little action before getting down to the gritty. You never forget a night of blood spatters and smoking muzzles when you start it off balls deep in some beautiful thing's puss. Shit, he'd rather find a sweet peach and keep her, but the Triangle wasn't exactly keen on letting their top cleaner suck tits when blood-work had to be done.

Ah well. He'd enjoy himself tonight anyway, and hopefully, give some enjoyment too. See he'd met some young bar-flower on his way in Castelle, one of the drop point taverns or some mess. Lizard Lesters? Lusty Lizard? Something. He had to grab the Box, get all the details for his marks. But while he was there, some sweet thing was hanging around the barkeep, idly sipping sweet liquors, pretty angel of gold and blue. All those aforementioned lusts had really put him on a tear, so, he found it impossible to ignore her.

Oh god yes, she was something else. Langer reflected on her again, with boyish excitement. She was like candy for the soul, that's how pretty she was. She? Had a name. Chelle. This gorgeous bombshell bunny sitting beside herself, perky fat rump all smothered cozily on the barstool, supple, full bosoms leaning over the table, azure gem eyes, sweet smile with glorious wheat-blonde fur. Her hair was a long, curly river of honey-hues, teasingly sitting around her shoulders like sensual come-hither fingers.

The bubbly bun was in naught but high denim shorts that gave sight to fantastic never-quitting hips and thighs, puff teardrop tail wiggling in beats of excitement while her sumptuous tits rocked around in a high-teal sport top. And the sweet assed lass had the metaphorical stones to sport strapped pump heels. Heels were tough on a woman, especially a bun, and she had them on like it was nothing. Damn, Langer had thought. His eyes were just begging for it. Whew, what he wouldn't have done just to strip that beauty down, but he resisted. Well of course he did, Sedge didn't think himself an animal. That's what he killed, animals.

Excitement excitement. So why all the butterflies? Well, even though he was at the tavern to grab the Box, it was this tall eared siren that struck up a conversation with him first. The silent bartender had handed over said Box and well, this perked Chelle's interest.

"Wow, I think that's the first time I've seen mail delivery at a bar." she'd said at the time. A songbird from deep dreaming.

That had been one curious sentiment, something Langer didn't expect. Sure, he knocked heads for a living and sometimes that made him feel larger than life but. Wow, he felt like the luckiest schmuck this side of the states when she talked to him. So talk he did.

Through the casual kindness of small talk, he got to know her and she him. Sedge's cover was he was down for a visit with some friends and important business, relating to the Box. A surprise, he'd called it. She'd cutely responded how she liked surprises. Well damn, sweetheart, so do I.

But her? Same, of sorts. Chelle was a wandering beach gal. Big bottomed bunny who played acoustic for traveling change and saw every part of the nation she could. A traveler, a bit like him. Just without the you know, killy stuff. So, when this appeared it might be a one time greet, he played some metaphorical sexual risk, and asked her if she wanted to stop by his motel later tonight. Not in that awkward, oh shucks can I fuck you type of way, more in the confident "I'd love to have to have some fun with you, if that's okay" type of way.

Everyone liked fun. It was amazing what a guy could accomplish when he didn't call some beautiful peach a slut.

Details were exchanged and yeah, here he was. Dying in the heat of Castelle and hoping the dizzy angelic vision in a seedy tavern would tap at his door. As he checked the time, he got concerned. Concerned in the sense that aw man, no bunny? He had a couple hours before the hit had to be produced and mother of all fucks, the Triangle was precise. Late shit was not tolerated. So if this pretty gal didn't show up he'd well, have to leave her high and dry.

Knock knock.

Guy nearly sprang from the bed when he heard a sound better than all the music in the world. He took one last peak through the blinds to be certain, and sure enough, from the corner his peripheral, there stood the curvy shape of one big breasted bunny.

He eagerly unlocked the door, opening as a siege of noise leaked in from the outside, the dribble of Castelle's partying populace. But there, before him, in all her glory, was indeed Chelle, soaking him up with her ocean blue eyes. God damn woman, just marry me now.

"Ah! Made it!" She spoke first, her face brightening and pulling a cute, amiable smile. Her lips were glazed too, the sunlight making them sparkle. Interesting touch.

"You did." he replied with quiet, happy astonishment. "Have any trouble finding the place? What with all the uh. . . that."

A gesture towards all the outside debauchery while he opened the door further for her.

"That, yeah. But no, I followed my ears," she replied warmly, tossing her hair.

Trotting in, her lovely, sloshing breasts heaved and tossed with her stride, hands going to hips as she scanned over the room. Pump heels still there. Did they make her tits bounce even more? Huh, Langer wondered.

"Woof. Wow. Econo lodge, never again." said she with a disapproving tongue click.

Langer scratched his chin. "For the traveler on the go, I guess it's the best you can do. Hell I wasn't around for the sights until you came along, Chelle."

She glanced to him, smirking. "Uh huh. You sure you didn't come all the way down here just for me?"

"Sure? Not anymore," He chuckled. "I wouldn't have kept you waiting if this was all planned."

She spun towards him now, her tits crashing against each other in miniature wobbles. Her cleavage was excessively pronounced in his sight, Langer taking in eyefulls. Little bun was doing it on purpose, bless her.

"So what is planned, mmm? Out with friends like you mentioned before? You aren't gonna leave me alone, are you?" she chided playfully, hands still to hips.

He smiled. "Oh yeah, important stuff. But I'm beginning to see this is more important. Heh. But I don't need to leave for a while, and it won't take long. Hell I'd cancel the whole thing if I could but, let's just say it's not something I should blow off,"

His tone was simple and warm. He'd be honest, if he could, but, was for the better she didn't know about his interstate butchery. She didn't appear bothered by his explanation anyway, and he was touched she wanted to spend time with him. As he did her after all, despite what this visit was all about.

"I tease, I tease. We only just met. Not like I expect you to bend over backwards for me. That's _my_job."

He chortled. "You know frankly I think I'd be okay with you playing some songs. I mean, naked of course, that'd be fantastic."

She blinked slowly at him. "Ohh, I didn't bring it. I figured because we'd be focused on something else."

"Something else, huh?" She wasn't wrong. Well, maybe next time he could get that naked song. But now. . .

Time was burning up like the drug encrusted town of Chatelle, so slowly and firmly, he took a step to the bun and roped his hands to her hips. Strong, yet softly petting palms would roll over her waist and hips, causing the gal to blush a bit. She didn't hesitate to return the momentum, either, own silky little palms rolling onto his shoulders.

"Something." she'd say quietly.

So he kissed her. A rushed one, no doubt, since Langer was feeling rushed all together, but he'd make it worth it. Lips came to dance with bunny maw, nose touching wiggly pink one, her ears straightening at, full and attentive. Mouths danced and played, tongues darting, licking, exploring the tunnel of the others oral chamber. Puffy teardrop tail wiggled excitedly, girlish moans and gasps mingled with lower, masculine groans.

Damn. He wanted this to stay. Never ending moment. Your brain latches on to the chemical rush of pleasure you get from kissing on a firecracker of a girl, getting all warm, getting closer. But permeating through his thoughts was that pulsing, scarlet triangle. He'd just have to make this quick fix go right. He gently broke off the kiss, sweetly as he could, trying not to just yank the girl to the bed. Nah, he wanted to enjoy the nectar of this fruit. He stared.

"What?" she'd say to him adorably.

Langer started to chuckle.

"Hey now, you wouldn't mind bending over for me, would ya?" he asked like it was as casual as passing the salt. Lots of girls might blush or not really get into it but. . .

Butt. "I don't. As long as you promise to not just sit there and ignore it, kay?" she chimed, giving him a sultry smirk.

Oh, so she was into this. That worked, because so was Langer, no doubt. But he never liked to demand and refuse to give, there was enough of that greedy shit in the world.

"That's, wow. I'd have to some kinda fucked up to ignore you, Chelle," he said, half jest and half serious.

She'd break away from him, tediously, holding to his hand for as long as she could, til' she kind of positioned herself nicely for him. The bunny gave an approving chirp, but slowly lowered her frame, planting hands on the circular motel table in front of the window, having turned her back to him. Her nice, peachy fat ass, perfectly shaped, began popping into sight, the denim shorts scooting up her hips as the plump rear took form. In occasions of the flesh, Sedge was an impatient man. He didn't like leaving a kill undone and, with girls, he liked them free and exposed. So he exposed her.

Hopping to his knees, he gave an affirming grunt, his fingers going to the hip hugging shorts, starting to tug them down.

"Hey! You didn't say you wanted to_see_ my big butt!" Chelle prodded, turning head to glance down at him.

"Mm? So you admit it's big?" he shot back with a chuckle. The bunny wasn't serious in her halting, however, and began to unzip and unbutton the tight little shorts, relieving their greedy grip from delicious waistline.

Hands started to yank harder now, getting those pesky pants away from the lovely slopes of Mt. Big fat bunny ass. Chelle giggled, tossing her hips to and fro, making it harder for him to get those pants down. Langer wouldn't be beaten though, and shuffled them down those sweet honey hips, eventually to knees, and finally ankles.

"Hah, I like it when you shake, babe," Sedge said with approval, while Chelle gently tossed aside the little shorts with heel-wearing feet. Unf, did he love a bottomless babe in heels.

He pressed his face into her rump cheek, the only thing guarding her steamy, bunny honeypot a thin line of pink g-string. He kissed there, gently. Smacked the soft cheek with mouth, resting his face on it, just, appreciating the beauty of that full, fantastic rear.

"Mmmmh. You do, huh?" Chelle intoned, looking down to him. "You want me to bounce for you?"

Well, Langer thought, I certainly want a lot of things now. "Maybe I do."

"Mmf. Don't be shy, mister uh, Sedge. Tell me what you want."

Shy? Of all things he'd been called, that was a new one. Also mister Sedge. But boy were her words doing his loins some favors, and not so favors, making it uncomfortable down there. She was flinging some interesting concepts his way, as though she really wanted to uh, serve him. Some folks got off that way, the saints.

His hands eloped from their idling about now and starting to caress her thighs, in slow, easy sweeping motions. Oh that silky soft fur. It greeted his palms like fields of fluff, kissing the generally knuckle-breaking digits with sweet silkiness. He'd tell her alright, with his hands.

"Mm, ooh,"

The bun was watching him curiously. Where were those hands gonna go, she wondered? But the pets were nice, as they teased over hips, squeezing in places, touching yet not touching the fine contours of her big bottomed behind. Langer would toss those cheeks, gripping them, watching with youthful glee as they shook and jiggled from the contact of his swirling hands. So he explored even more, pulling them apart, glancing at the supple honey muff of her sweltering loins, releasing so the fat fullness would bobble and clap against each other, fleshy ripples rolling over that backside like an ocean of ass.

"H-having fun down there?" she'd smirk, face flushing a bit, wiggling her hips a touch. She was easing lower now, starting to melt from the heat of Langer's work, her frothy bosoms pancaking on the hard round table, nips starting to stiffen through the bright teal fabric of her sport's top.

"Heh, well, let's say you're a generous gal, and I really like generous people."

He'd give those sweeping mountains of bunny backside some light pats, enough to cause them to shake and jiggle excitedly. He never really smacked a girl, even with an ass like this, just gave some pats. Got him all "associative memory" and whatever the psycho-babble was. Wasn't about breaking bodies, it was about loving bunnies.

Kissing her rump cheeks again, in a kind of sporadic appreciation, he'd hug arms around thighs, holding them close together to make that plump rear perk up in a perfect heart shape. He'd nose on her hidden, nectar glistening walls, mouthing on the line of fabric that shielded her plump lips and inner tunnel, trying to nuzzle the nub too. He got some sounds of encouragement, but didn't overdo it. The woman's pearl was a nice sensitive spot, kind of an emergency button if things were getting dull, but there was a whole lot of lass here that needed pleasing.

"You still, mmf, haven't told me what you wanted," she chimed, voice laboring with the kind of hot, breathy afterthought that rolls about when your body is flooded with arousal.

"Alright," he conceded with his own verbal heat. He didn't say more, only gripped those silly little lines hugging her hips like a jealous boyfriend, before yanking them off to the side. Not down, but off, the satisfaction of a light rip hitting his ears as well as a surprised bottom bounce from Chelle.

"Wha- ooh! Did you rip those? Those were kind of priaAAAH!"

It's okay sweetheart, I'll buy em back. Anything you want. But he didn't actually say that, he just slammed his mouth and face into the split of her succulent peach rump. More specifically, into that thick steamy cleft of juicy bunny puss, a nice darker shade of blonde, almost like maple. That was the hungrier side too, as he suckled and licked along the seething lips glistening with dew, letting his tongue dive into folds, gauging reactions.

"Nn! Ah!" Nice quiet little gasps, her head bucking forward, letting that long hair dance about.

He'd smooch the sweet little pussy before breaking, retrieving his fingers to explore those inner walls some. A couple digits pressed into the suckling, hot walls of silky flesh, quite moist and slippery, easy to dip into. He'd coax and explore, rolling and twisting, noting the little jerks and small tosses of hips that worked with or against his fingers, enjoying every moment. Chelle seemed to like it, her eyelids closed and face an expression of passive concentration, biting her lower lip. When he'd dip in, nice and slow, she'd moan softly and go forward a pinch, causing those fat breasts to mash against the table. Was pretty cute.

"Heh, now I want you to bounce for me." he'd announce, retrieving his fingers, sniffing the scent of aroused bunny. Interesting aroma, like vanilla.

"Yes," she near-whispered back, in a kind of acknowledgment-yet-wanting type of way.

So she did. Those hoppy hips started working their fantastic curves, rising and falling, in little tosses of the rump, the whole of the backside bucking with brimming, jiggly waves. Tap tap. Lightly and eagerly Chelle would tap her excited puffy puss against the frame of Sedge's face, those sweet sticky mons mooshing into the brim of his nose and mouth, where he'd take excited licks, the heavy bottom crashing on and around his face. This kinda shape wasn't possible with human girls, he was discovering. Only a bun could look like a sports star and have a thick ass and full chest too.

"Like that?" she'd say, looking to him again. Well, according to the aching discomfort of his pants, yeah, just like that baby girl.

"Just like that," he repeated.

He grappled her fat full ass again, squeezing, playing around with the excess of bottom, patting, petting, quickly sweeping to thighs. She'd moan a bit louder while his face seemed to lock in position, where her bouncy butt could wiggle and whack against. Each time the maple honey chalice would collide with his face, he'd gingerly mouth at the supple mound of heat, feeling the jiggly ripples crash around her fantastic bum. Soon, she started prolonging her visits to his visage, leaving the naughty muff there a few seconds longer, for a few more licks, a few more moans.

"Mmfmf. You're such a pretty girl. Spoiling me, gmf, outright you know?" he'd say to her, interrupted by the breach of bottom clapping against him.

He could've knelt there all day, muffled and munching on the sweet bunny maple muffin, but, there were things to do. So finally, he paused, still feeling the wiggle of rabbit hips in hand, squeezing at the soft silk and fur. Wiping his mouth of dew, he stood, beginning to unsaddle himself of cumbersome clothing.

He'd glance over her ached back and sweet honey fur that shined like incandescent fields of gold and wheat, petting over the lovely sinew of her body in appreciation.

"C'mon babe, let's break in this shitty motel bed."

Looking back to him, she pushed herself from table, legs a bit wobbly from previous attentions. Rabbit girls got wired real easy. Didn't stop her from hoisting herself up and striding towards the bed, as she began shimmying off her sports top to let those healthy bosoms bobble out, skillfully freeing feet from heels too.

"Yeah, we do," she agreed in a quiet, flushed voice.

Sedge didn't linger with the rest of his clothes, and like her he was bare to the hot evening room. He slid up behind her, feeling his throbbing erection press against her, embracing all that nude bunny, exploring hands taking a nice healthful palmfull of enormous breasts. She sighed as he nibbled and kissed into her neck, smelling the deep scent of honey hued fur, absorbing the womanly essence, making sure it coiled around his brain like a narcotic haze.

"Come on, please, don't keep me waiting anymore," she'd say, kind of pushing her wide hips into him, rutting. Time was ticking, he realized.

He whispered into her and obliged, pushing and leading her to the bed, getting her to go prone and have her bubbly rump jut out for him. There were hundreds of things he wanted to do here. So many places he wanted to taste and kiss and touch, but, the quick and dirty came before the fell blows.

"Heh, on second thought," he say with a sniff. He'd go to her, but decided to turn her over. Oh his cock was twitching to dip in that steamy mound of female bliss but, he'd enjoyed her rump plenty. He wanted to see her face.

"Tell me what feels good," Langer would say in a low voice, starting to crawl atop her, starting down at the soaking puss again, giving it a few licks before traveling up. Up, and up, hiking through the valleys of soft tummy, nosing and breathing into the fluff of fur, chin rubbing over belly and navel. Chelle would reciprocate with longing coos and heated breaths, her silky hands stroking along Langer's head.

His own hands would follow, arriving with fleet sex-on-bunny, rolling up along her legs, hips, thumbing into soft spots with tease, her sides-

"Mnah! There!"

Sides? His head kept moving but felt where his hands were. Just on the sides of her midsection. He lightly, lightly touched them, almost to fake the inducement of tingles, making her squirm a bit, her legs coming under his shoulders to kind of raise him forward, coax him. So he touched the sides again, stroking, while the frame of his all-body steadily rose over her, head dipping between the grip of soft, teardrop tits that perked up like little mountains.

So, on mt. bunny, he found the little tenting nips that were that same maple brown, matching her muff, starting to suckle them both, teeth gripping, lapping, pulling, much like an animal. This incurred even more squeak and rabbit chirps from Chelle, what with the additional bliss attrition from the massaging of her sides. A lady had all sorts of hot spots, it was just a matter of asking, snooping around. They wouldn't tell you all their secrets though, that's why it was fun to explore.

He could feel her body trembling in light jerks, big bun hips clamped at his waist and, yeah, his mind was saturated with want too. He positioned his waist, prodding til the hot tip of his member found the slippery entrance, the fountain of arousal and woman. He dipped a bit into the honey pot. Not all the way, just a test, just a dip in the water.

"Nnng!" came Chelle's response, a mix of frustrated pleasure. He'd leave her breasts a moment, allowing his hand to take the place, tossing them about to cause them fleshy collisions, while he looked at her seething, dripping loins. Langer just wanted to watch himself sink in the bunny puss, wasn't something he observed every day.

He didn't tease long, his mind was becoming an unfocused mess. In he went then, burying the hilt of his malehood far into the tunnel of bunny wall, which choked and suckled on his rod like hot, slick silk.

"Gggah!" Now it was his turn to grunt, rabbit legs pulling him as far as he could go, little drops of arousal splashing out between the coupling. He shivered as the whole of himself sunk in, choked by the surprisingly tight inner walls, jutting here and there to get a feel for those soaked nether lips. Damn. He was having a hard time holding himself up now, as the thrusts began, short, slow ones, each making a sloppy smack of echoes that danced through the room.

Each shove of hips caused the two to moan in their masculine feminine harmony. The bucking of hips throwing echoes of flesh all about, Chelle's heavy tits tossing in friction flows with Langer's act, as he tilled, gardening in the field of hot summer girl. These were his hills to plow now, his to grow and lay with seed.

Arms, getting a little weary. He could hold himself there as long as needed but, hell, wasn't worth the discomfort to him. So, his arms scooped up the curvaceous bun, sitting her on his loins while he sat erect. Much better now, much closer, tossing that delectable lady up and down, bouncing her round rabbit ass off his cock. She kissed him this time, too, smacking their lips together, tongues reuniting for more play, wobbling breasts smooshing into the rugged, flat male chest.

"Ahh ah ah!"

Her curly locks were winding and bouncing with her, her face a flustered expression of clamped eyelids and rosy cheeks, hands gripped around Langer's waist, legs still coiled around him, keeping him, holding him close. Close?

"F-fuck girl, I'm getting close," he'd say aloud. His piping malehood was seething, boiling with issue, soaked in her juices. It'd been a while, he didn't have a lot of endurance for the situation. Next time, and he hoped there was a next time, he'd certainly want to play longer.

But tonight wasn't that night. For now, the two would mold together, hit the unifying crescendo that was making love between a man and woman. Or man and beautiful bunny, in this case. Chelle laid her arms around Langer's broad shoulders, holding on through the rambunctious upward thrusts of his piston-grind cock, while her fat full buttocks came hopping down in crashy waves against his thighs, a lewd little orchestra. Their kisses were a collaboration of mixed moans and tongue sucking lip-locks, faces blushed and sweaty, giving in, collapsing.

Finally, all at once Langer's urges got the better of him, and he felt his cock explode with a jettison of pleasure and issue, the sticky hot liquid flooding into Chelle's honey pot in quick white ropes. He groaned aloud, salted with hot angry exhales as he twitched and fucked and bounced into that succulent cunny, his palms gripping wide rear to make the slams even firmer, faster. He tried to do whatever he could so incur her orgasm too, massaging the sides of her waists, nibbling her neck, anything.

She came too. A fantastic feeling that, when a girl peaks with you. Not all girls were the same, sometimes it took a different type of coaxing, a bit more attention. Oh but she spilled, shrieked a long wailing moan as Langer held her tight, feeling warm, syrupy juice spill over his mast, spilling in sloppy splashes, pooling into the sheets. Her whole body trembled, shuddering, those muscle laden hips quivering as she went limp, resting in his chest, while Langer fell back, keeping them clung together.

Moments passed as they caught their breath in silence. The only ambiance was the vibrating hum of Chatelle's excess noise, the crowds and bad music forming one fine paste of awful. Didn't bother Langer anymore, though. Neither did the heat. All he cared about now was the generous, curvy bunny gal resting atop him, her hair of gold rivers pouring over his shoulder while he caressed her back.

"Nnn. That was great." she'd finally say, in a mumbly kind of tone, eyelids still closed. Sex took it out of you.

"It was baby, it was. It's gonna stay that way,"

Now that was an odd promise. Who was that for? Himself? He blinked, mulling the words over. Ah fuck, why not. What else did he have to live for?

Chelle was also curious. "Mmwhat do you mean?" she asked, raising her head lazily.

Langer didn't know if he was completely sure but, a quick fire plan started forming in front of him.

"Well. I gotta see my friends in a little bit. But I'll be back before you know it. And when I get back I've got nothing else for this town, I'm probably leaving. I. . . will you come with me?"

She was a traveler after all. And The Answer never kept Mr. Sedge in one place for long, so it wasn't like he was caging her up.

Her ears stood and flicked. "Come. . . go. Go where?"

Okay, she didn't say no, good sign.

"Anywhere you want babe. On the road. I do freelance stuff on the side, uh. Doesn't require me to stay somewhere very long. We can travel. Keep the fun going, you know?"

It was asking a lot, he realized. It was essentially a relationship founded on a quick, good fuck, tempered in the crucible of ugly neon colors and hungry Florida heat. Was that enough?

"I. Shit, wow, hmm. That's a big question, Sedgey." Her expression shifted to a concerned one.

"I'm not saying no." she added quickly. "I just, um. I really have to think about that."

That was all he needed. He grinned, kissing her on the nose. "Sounds good baby. Look, I've gotta get ready, but I'll be back real quick, I promise. Just give it, yeah, give it a good think okay?"

She mumbled a yeah while Langer quickly sprang from bed, bathed, and got his clothes back on. A needless visual ritual to keep her from getting suspicious. He gave her another kiss, a swift goodbye, and started out the door, in the downpour of Florida's finest filth. In the parking lot, his blood red car was waiting. In it the Box. In it the mask. In it the weapon.

And so he left. And so people would die.

• ? -

Ugly teal lights butchered high pitched cyans and greens. Psychedelic drugs choked their air with that raw, mind-killing stench. Discordant techno rattled the walls in a low hum heartbeat kind of way, distorted from the seeping pools of crimson dipping into electronics.

The room had become a sludge covered mess of filth and blood. Gore and flesh painted the walls, heads were split, ribs were bashed clean open, and ugly slugs shattered the bodies and faces of every scum-fucker that Langer Sedge saw. He was sure a good deal of these guys weren't part of the Answer's list but, oh well. Guilty by association. In truth he had three marks. Two drug addled nobodies and a bad cop.

Bad how? Apparently this old dog, some worn out canine spit up from the district and living out his days as a worthless has been, was a rapacious little shit. Spent his time forcing himself on girls, using his position as a cop to extort them for sex. It was all there, in the Box. So, while he didn't have much time, he took extra care of his new found dirty cop buddy.

He had made himself quite comfortable, sitting on the bloated chest of the broken canine, who was a picture of snapped limbs, fear, and a body slowly fading to shock.

"See that's what I don't get, you know? You're a cop, yeah? Like, you were trained, to protect and serve? And just for the fuck of it you said, hey, I'm gonna rape some people."

The figured gurgled under him, breathing through slowly collapsing lungs.

"Me? Know what I do pal? I kill people. I fucking love it, this job. I kill and I hurt and it's great, the beat down I get to put on fucks like you. The other week I blasted some shit's face all over the wall. You woulda' loved it, brain all over the paint. Like a goddamn Lovecraft Picasso. But you know what? When it comes to girls? Every beautiful broad I meet, I try to marry em. It's fucking pathetic really. Sweet honey in every town and I just wanna dick em and stay with em."

A dry chuckle.

"Pleaath m-man. . ." the fellow whimpered, a bit of crimson running down his neck.

Broken jaw trying to form words.

"I'm as fucked up as they get pal, and even I don't rape. I'm no goddamn hero, I'm one wipe away on the ass of society to being as low as you. But still. Shit, wow. You're an item, friend. What makes a guy like you abandon everything about his training? I had the easy decision, a no brainer. But you. . . ah well. You're gonna die anyway. Tough luck, eh pal?"

Another laugh, so casual, like two friends sharing a beer. Then, gloved fingers went to the broken maw, aggressively beginning to yank apart the canine's jaw line. He started to scream, the dog, while Langer tried to shush him.

"Oh oh oh now, baby come on, I'm just gonna crack your face open. Shut up bud. Shut the fuck up and die, alright?"

Moments of terrible struggled passed, while the sinew of muscle tendons snapped, bones cracked, and finally. . . yes. Langer essentially cracked off the hound's jaw and, pulled open his face. A veil of sweat formed on his head from the struggle. He shook his hands free of blood, sniffing.

Goddamn, he thought. This was the type of guy that would rape a girl like Chelle.

He stood up, stretching, looking over the glorious blood-work that was a carnival mess of bodies, strewn about like a morbid doll collection. That wasn't so bad. It never was though, they were always caught off guard, these marks. It was only a matter of sealing the deal quickly enough. Ah, but it was so beautiful though, when he could turn the gutter trash of society into squabbling masses of begging, dying cowards.

"Ah damn, wish we coulda' played longers boys."

He really did too. So much that he felt. . . remorse, as though he had denied them quality time. He just wanted to spend a bit longer on them. Pull some teeth, pick out the brain matter, make them understand. Understand this was what begot foul acts. An even fouler act. Especially the cop, hot damn did he hate dirty cops.

Langer laughed though. He had a girl to get back too, or so he hoped. And he'd removed one less shit stain from the world that would hurt a gal like her.

"What am I, some kinda fucking vigilante?" he said with another laugh, strolling out the seedy basement. He pulled out a disposable phone, dialing a very specific number.

"Job's done!" he said excitedly.

Springing back to his blood red car, he quickly got out of his "cleaner" uniform, pulling off the plastic wolf-skull shaped mask, which was all a mess of crimson and dead matter. He sung a cheerful tune as he stripped, even as what look like chunks of brain felt from the one piece cleaner suit. All he could think of was Chelle.

• ! -

The drive back was surprisingly peaceful. The nauseating wash of clashing lights sprang up through the night like ugly specks of glitter, and the streets were still suffocated with humanity's finest. But it didn't really bother Langer this time around. Neither did the heat, or the noise, or the smells. The stalking bodies of buildings and faces and trees and shit passed by his car windows, all a lifeless smear of unimportance.

There the motel was, again. A bit quieter this time. The sun was setting, the sky a strange mix of orange, night, and smog. Some people hung around the second floor fences, smoking and dribbling about their worthless experiences in Florida. But they were needless intrusions to his senses. Driving in, parking up, Langer made sure he didn't stink of death. He'd have to bleach down the suit at some point and keep the silenced shotty well hidden, but that was generally never a problem.

He felt oddly nervous. His guts were that strange gut mix of uncertainty and anxiety. Like he was afraid.

It took him a few minutes to collect himself. He knew why. He knew because he was frightened of an answer. Not their Answer, Chelle's. Only way to it was to fight through it, he thought.

Exiting the car, he started up the ugly cement stairs towards his door. He'd never seen a more terrifying sight than the peeling paint of faded blue. He was so damn sure that cop he butchered was gonna be in there, murder raping the bun. Or worse, she wouldn't be there.

Taking a breath, he unlocked the knob and entered. Phew. Place was still smothered with heat. He looked to the bed.

. . .

She was still there. Back turned, curled in the white sheets, sleeping. Langer checked the time. A little after 10. He'd been gone almost two hours. Plenty of excess for her to just pick up and go. Yet she didn't, so he took it that was her decision. Wonderful girl.

Christ, he was so happy.

Hey, here was something. A piece of paper on the table? Interesting. He went to that first, he never liked unfamiliar elements he couldn't gauge. As he held it up, he didn't see anything. Huh. Turned it around.

His eyes widened. He looked to the sleeping girl.

"CHELLE!?"

She didn't move. There was a deep, scarlet triangle on the otherwise obscenely clean, blank paper. Under it, some words Langer did not see.

"CHELLE!" he screamed again, going to her, turning her limb body to see the deep pool of red that had stained the sheets, the bullet wound entry through her neck, and her passive, once beautiful, now lifeless eyes.

"FUCKING FUCKIN FUCK!"

He tried to shake her back to life, in enraged desperation. This was one thing violence could not solve for him.

The words he did not read were thus: "A wolf without rage is a wolf without fangs."

His face screwed up in a dozen different contortions, emotions vomiting out of him. He knew what this was. He was being reminded. The Triangle didn't tolerate distractions. This was not his life, he chose differently long ago. How did they know what he was planning? They had ways. They always did. They were The Answer.

After what seemed like hours of beating the walls with his fists, screaming, holding Chelle's lifeless frame, he sat, kneels curled to chest. The sun set in his motel room, the shine of neon plastered over the bed. His mind was numb static.

Funny, he thought. He'd never actually know if Chelle was going with him.

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