White hot slag entered the young psi-stalker woman's chest with searing pain burning instantly the flesh around her beating heart. Tears streamed from her cheeks, tears of pain, of fear, of uncertainty, of hope. She could see the raw blackened flesh of her breasts through her acidic tears. The heat of the slag instantly fused her blackened skin to her Hunter chest plate, that provided little protection from the blast of the K-Dawg's forward-mounted dual cannon. She rose her tear-filled gaze to the eyes of her killer. She saw her own eyes, her own face, her own sorrow filled body and quivering frame seated in the co-pilot seat of the K-Dawg. Each woman stared at each other in horror and apprehension. The vision of the psi-stalker with the hole in her chest slowly faded to a pulsating gray, then to a black oblivion as she fell to the ground with a sickly thud. Within the cockpit of the K-Dawg the psi-stalker Benna's quivering hands released the remote trigger of the forward cannons. Her double, which she had created through the power of a magic crown she received from Father Christmas nearly eight years ago, laid crumpled and breathless at the feet of a giant amorphous golem made of solid magic ice. The splattered blood of Benna's double congealed upon the surfaces of the ice monster like sticky red velvet cake batter. Benna had desperately hoped that sacrificing her magic doppelgänger it would imbue the K-Dawg's cannon with the same essence of death that had affected the golem a moment earlier. Her thoughts raced back to that moment. What made the hand of the golem peel back as if burnt by acid? What was it? "Think, Benna! Think!" She thought to herself in a panic. As her mind drifted back to that moment, it traveled back even further. -------- "Hi, Boss!" Benna said gleefully through her Irregulars issued comms as she lay on the bed reading a magazine, Psyscapolitan , she found in the hotel night stand. "Are you guys downstairs?" "We..........are.........." from the other line. "Of course you are! Why else would you be calling right now. Come on up!" ..... "Room number? Oh yeah, I'll ask. Hold on. Nosmo! What room is this?" From the bathroom Nosmo cracked the door and stuck his head out, steam from the shower escaped through the open crack. His dark long hair was wet, the shower was still running. "What did you ask, Benna?" Nosmo responded drying his hair with a towel. "I couldn't hear you over the shower." "Mr. Turag wanted to know what room we are in. He is in the lobby now, I think with Luc. I think that's all he wanted, I sort of cut him off. You know how he draws everything out." "Oh. Room 118. I'm just going to finish up here. I'll be out soon." "Mr. Turag, still there?" Benna returned to the comm. "What?.....That was just the shower......I'm not sure I am following you.....Nosmo? Yeah its just us in the room.....huh....well.....No! Nothing happened!.....Nothing happened on the train on the way here either.....I swear to you, Mr. Turag....have I ever lied to you?.....ok.....hey, by the way the room number is 118....." Benna dropped the comm on the bed. Turag's slow voice could still be heard inaudibly coming from the earpiece. She rolled her eyes and mockingly made a talking sock puppet with her hand as she returned to her magazine. "Sheesh!" She muttered under her breath. "Maybe Sister Rebecca is right about him." "I.....heard....that....." the inaudible voice suddenly became more audible. -------- Turag's long Trimadore neck entered room 118 first. His eyes looked suspiciously around the room for non-existent clues. As a technowizard he had access to gear with incredible capabilities. If there was something to be found, his technowizard devices could find it. Turning up empty handed and still suspicious he began to doubt the preciseness of his gear, something Turag feared more than anything. He knew his companions depended on his gear for protection. If it wasn't working properly, it needed to be rechecked. He moved to a quiet corner and began going over his "things" absentmindedly forgetting his original suspicions. Lucryllan, the elvish necromancer walked into the room behind Turag. Lucryllan had perfect, smooth grey skin on his face framed with silky white long hair. For always digging up graves and dealing with rotting flesh he dressed emaculately in a high breasted suit with French cuffs and Ferragamo style shoes crafted from a rare species of non-sentient saurian d-bee. His most prized possession was a rib cage cuirass that served as a phylactery for his dark magic. The ribs had been well prepared and treated. Leathery flesh still clung to the mostly cover bleached bones. Jewels of agate, ruby, sapphire and topaz studded the bones in a Gothic ornate fashion. Lucryllan carried himself with poise and command. It was no wonder the dead obeyed his every whim. "I'm heading out to prepare my entourage", Lucryllan said dryly. "Off the the cemetery again?" Benna piped in. "Boring! Can't you do your thing somewhere more exciting? Raising skeletons and zombies from somebody's dead grandparents is so last decade, Luc. You gotta get up on the times. The trendy Neo-Necros are now raising things like zombie lycanobats and thalycine-turtle pigs. You gotta branch out to d-bees. Wutta ya say?" "I suppose a slaughter house may be suitable for my bidding." Luc responded haughtily. "Sounds like fun, mind if I join?" "I can't stop you." Luc responded. Nosmo came out of the bathroom pulling his Glitter Girls rock band shirt over his chiseled abs. Benna caught a glimpse and blushed a bright red against her ashy white complexion. "I need to head to the temple here in Lazlo to recharge", Nosmo interjected. "Would you care to join me, Uncle T?" Turag put the last screw in a strange contraption he had been working on. He looked up puzzled. "Yes....I....will....go....with....you.....son.....of....Rex...." "Did ThorFrid make it back from her hoorah at the Shangri-Oo-Lala?" Nosmo asked. "No." Benna said. "Do you suppose we she go and find her?" "What....I....know....about....ThorFrid....is....she....does....not.....want.....to.....be.....found....She....will....find....us. -------- Benna's memory raced forward to the slaughter house with Lucryllan. "Luc, ya suppose they'll have anything interesting that might taste delicious?" Benna asked. "For a psi-stalker I mean." "Possibly, it is a slaughter house." Lucryllan stated. "Come on, Luc! You could help both of us out. You get your zombies. I get a little snack. It will just require an extra minute for me to do my thing." "I cannot control what they provide us, but I suppose I could try to accommodate your request." He said haughtily. A small gnome with an iconic red pointy hat walked up wearing a blood stained white apron, black grease gloves that came past his elbows, and splash googles. His name tag read, "Farley Tigglesbottom". "Can I help you?" The gnome asked in a squeaky prepubescent sort of voice. "Yes." Lucryllan responded impetuously. "I am looking for dead bodies...for personal reasons." "Uh, what he means is that he personally will eat each delicious bite," Benna added quickly. "But Luc, you know it is better to share. Speaking about sharing we talked about getting something extra special...something delicious and MAGICAL. "Mr.?," Benna looked down at the gnome's name tag, "Tigglesbottom, we are here to procure a higher grade of meats." She winked at the gnome supposing he understood what she meant of magical creatures. "High grade meats? That is our specialty here at High Grade Meats and Links." Mr. Tigglesbottom replied with an air of respectful sarcasm only wielded by the most powerful practitioners of customer service. "May I suggest an excellent cut of tri-tip of some imported beef from the Southern tip of South America, called El Vacatorro de Fuego. It has five stars on our reviews." "A cut? I need the whole beast!" Lucryllan ejected. "A whole cow coming right up!" Mr. Tigglesbottom said gleefully with eyes full of all the credits he would earn from this commission. "Whoa! Hold on a minute." Benna interrupted. "Is this Vacatorio de Fugo magical?" "Magical, not per se," Farley said seeing the sell vanish before his eyes. "Nothing like a dragon or unicorn, but many would agree the taste of its perfect balance of marbling is certainly magical." "No deal." Benna said abruptly. "Come on Luc, we're walking." "Wait, wait, wait." The gnome conceded. "I may have something you're looking for. But there not for everyone. Have you ever dealt with a hinky-punk? Nasty little creatures." "Ooo! Hinky-punks!" Benna said excitedly in squeal. "Those sound like fun!" "Quiet down!" Mr. Tigglesbottom shushed Benna's enthusiasm. "Are you trying to get us all in trouble?" "Oh, sorry." Benna rescinded timidly. "We have a guy," Mr. Tigglesbottom continued looking over both shoulders. "He has a particular taste for..." He quieted his tone even softer, "...Hinky-punks. We get a shipment every other month or so. You are in luck. His order just came in last night. I could possibly 'misplace' three or four from his order. I would be putting my neck on the line for this. What would you be paying for these specialty meats to make it worth my while?" "Pay?" Lucryllan looked at the gnome with pomposity. "Uh, what he means," Benna interjected, "is how much do most people pay for such an exquisite deal, Mr. Tigglesbottom?" "How about 1,000 Federation Runics a piece?" the gnome said satisfiedly. "Credits!" Lucryllan cool but imposingly chortled. "I do not deal in credits, whether it be from the Federation or the failed Coalition States..." "Tone, Luc, tone!" Benna tried to warn her impetuous friend. "...BUT! What I can offer you, my diminutive conical crowned fellow is MY services." Lucryllan put a lot of emphasis when he stated 'MY', like it was a lost treasure having been unearthed after a thousand years in a solid gold box. "What sort of services?" Mr. Tigglesbottom asked incredulously. "I see from the four scratches on your left arm precisely 1.35 inches apart, the pheromonous odeur wafting about your aura, and the slight limp on your left leg that you have been having quite the quarrel with these hinky-punks. Furthermore, it appears one is in heat and has labeled you as its dominatee...repeatedly...oh my, Mr. Tigglesbottom!" "B-b-but how?" Mr. Tigglesbottom stammered. "Do not mind the HOW, think about the WHAT. Mr. Tigglesbottom." Lucryllan continued. "What do need to fix your hinky-punks problem? You need a hinky-punk to dominate yourself! Here is where I can help you. Bring me four hinky-punks and I will change one into your unwavering slave to make the others cower before you." "H-how?" "I told you not to mind the how! Now go and retrieve my purchase." The little gnome dumbfoundedly scurried off to fulfill Lucryllan's order. Soon enough, he returned with four freshly dead hinky-punk carcasses. "I could only manage to get these dead ones without drawing too much attention." Mr. Tigglesbottom said. "This will do nicely." Lucryllan said half gleefully, half ominously. Lucryllan began rubbing his hands together creating an arcane mist to form from the friction. He began chanting in a tongue that Benna and the gnome could understand. The insidious elf bent down to one of the dead hinky-punks. He opened both palms and placed them on the hinky-punks bloodied head where the bullet slug went through to end its life. Lucryllan continued to whisper in the unknown tongue. Suddenly, the hinky-punk's eyes opened. The irises were stark white. Lucryllan breathed a large sighful breath expelling more of the gray arcane mist. The mist swirled around the elf's head and neck for a second then drifted down into the hinky-punk's nostrils. At that point the hinky-punk thrashed to life, muscles spasmed viciously, and spittle foamed from its mouth. "Wretch! I have awakened you as you have asked. You now must obey my command. Do you understand?" The feral cat-like head of the hinky-punk nodded its head, then bowed low to its master. "This short creature who smells like the fishy aroma of a Lothian hookah brothel is Farley Tigglesbottom. You must obey his every command as if it were my command. Is this understood?" The hinky-punk once more nodded, bowed itself before the necromancer. It then walked over the Farley Tigglesbottom, and knelt down on all fours. It tucked its massive clawed paws underneath its rosetta-tawny under fur, remaining still and submissive. "As promised, Mr. Tigglesbottom. You now have a creature that will enforce your will upon the insolent who act out against you. Do with it how you will. I and my associate shall take our leave with my three as was bargained." Lucryllan rose one more as a zombie. Benna then quickly assisted placing the other two lifeless corpses on the back of newly risen one. The pair of Irregulars left the slaughter house with Lucryllan's animated undead hinky-punk toting the two motionless hinky-punks in tow. Just as they reached the door, Benna stopped for a moment. Her psi-stalker senses could feel the presence of the rest of the live hinky-punks. She waited just long enough for one of them to be slaughtered, then reached out psychically to taste their death. She savored the fleeing life energy for one more moment. Then, licking her lips she caught back up with Lucryllan and his hinky-punks. ------
