Soon after he became the chief of the Fry Guy police force in McDonaldland, he heard about a man who had reconstructive surgery to look like the Mayor McCheese character from the McDonald’s Bible. The Mayor was the official spokesperson for the Blessed McDonald’s Corporation and acted as the city’s leader. It was Willem who proposed the idea to undergo the same operation. He wanted to become the Hamburglar who, in the McDonald’s Bible, was the punisher of all sinners. The Blessed McDonald’s Corporation was very enthusiastic about the idea and put him into surgery immediately.
From that day on, Willem was the Hamburglar. He turned the Fry Guy police force into the toughest, most ruthless army McDonaldland had every known. With his second katana masterpiece perfected, he was complete. He never required a gun to fight crime, he had his two swords. And with real criminals to fight, he was able to practice his samurai skills on an almost daily basis.
Mayor McCheese became fast friends with Hamburglar. At long last, Hamburglar had found himself a man he could call his equal. While the Mayor was not as skilled of a warrior as Hamburglar, he had impressive ambitions and ideas. The Mayor believed only the intelligent and the strong should have full rights as citizens. He believed in a powerful military force. He believed in order, in art, in perfection. Not only that, but he loved the Hamburglar’s piano playing.
They would spend their weekends together, drinking the finest illegal wine that only the wealthiest of McDonaldland citizens were privy to, attempting not to spill every single drop while sipping with their oversized mutant heads. Hamburglar would listen to the Mayor’s big plans for the future of their city and then the Mayor would listen to Hamburglar play piano long into the night.
“That was genius,” the Mayor would say after every concerto. “Absolute genius.”
The Hamburglar adored hearing him say that.
But the Mayor knew how to stroke men’s egos. He understood how to win their favor. It was quite obvious to him that all the Hamburglar needed was a little appreciation. He knew that the man was desperate to be admired, to have his brilliance recognized, to be treated not as a peer but as a better. Although the Mayor did enjoy the Hamburglar’s music, he too knew it wasn’t quite perfect, it wasn’t passionate enough.
Although he had no idea the Mayor was exaggerating his appreciation for the music, Hamburglar himself could recognize that his music was lacking no matter how much it was praised. He had become the greatest warrior in all of McDonaldland, a master of the sword, a new world samurai, but he would not be satisfied until he could also master music. It was his mission to finally experience the emotion of love, so that he could express his passion in his art.
Tomahawk and Horatio ran into Hamburglar downstairs. They saw all the dead bodies surrounding them. They saw Richards’ uniform on a headless corpse. They saw what was left of Greggy and Sun.
“So that’s it?” Tomahawk said. “We’re the only three left?”
Hamburglar ogled them with his sinister grin but said nothing.
“Looks that way,” Horatio said, his rifle pointing at the ceiling.
“Fuck,” Tomahawk said. “What now?”
“There’s still hundreds of them downstairs,” Horatio said. “And a ton more that will probably break in from the roof at any minute. Not to mention the sentinels patrolling the building.”
“The what?”
“You’ll have to see them for yourself.”
Then three infected mutants came up from the elevator shaft and charged them, but Hamburglar cut them down before they had a chance to interrupt the conversation.
Tomahawk didn’t even blink. “I say we just fight our way through the yard, find a vehicle that works and get the hell out of here.”
“Think any of the vehicles run?”
“No time to worry about that now,” Tomahawk said.
As they turned to move toward the shaft, they realized the Hamburglar was already on his way.
“Wait,” Bunny yelled as they passed her cell. “You can’t leave me here.”
Tomahawk passed her by, but Horatio paused.
“Fuck her,” Tomahawk said.
“I can help you,” the woman said.
Horatio stared at her, contemplating whether he could trust her or not.
“She might be useful,” Horatio said.
Tomahawk turned around. “You can’t be serious. Let’s go.”
“Where’s the key?” Horatio asked.
“How the fuck should I know?” Tomahawk said.
“Your Captain had it,” Bunny said.
“Okay.” Horatio went in the direction of Richards’ body.
“If you’re going to free that Bitch then I’m leaving without you,” Tomahawk said.
“Wait for me. I’ll just be a second.”
Tomahawk shook his head and continued on. Before he got to the shaft, he turned around and said. “She’s a Bitch. She’ll turn on you. I promise.”
But Horatio was already digging for keys in the headless Captain’s uniform.
The infected came running downstairs from the roof as Horatio pulled the jail key out of the mouth of a large metal worm crawling out of Richards’ anus. He fired one round at the leading mutant coming out of the stairwell, causing those behind him to trip and stumble, slowing the entire horde down.
Just before he unlocked the cell, he stared Bunny in the eyes, as if looking for a sign that she was not trustworthy. She understood the look he was giving her.
“I don’t trust you either,” she said. “But what choice do we have?”
Horatio unlocked the door and stepped back. He just waited with his weapon out to the side, giving her a chance to kill him if that’s what she desired. But she stepped to him without the slightest sign of aggression.
“I’ll trust you,” he said, as an infected man came at him from behind.
Before it could reach him, Bunny grabbed the screaming mutant’s neck and slammed his face between the bars of the cell, cracking his skull inwards in the process.
Then she said, “Where’s my weapon?”
Horatio took her to the hallway outside the medical bay where Lockjaw had dropped her chainsaw boomerang. The floor was now littered with dead bodies. It was buried in there somewhere.
As Bunny searched through the corpses, Horatio fired at the mutants coming at them. He used his bullets conservatively, killing only the fast-moving ones.
“Hurry up,” Horatio said.
Bunny kicked through the bodies. The mutants got closer.
“Hurry up,” Horatio said.
They were too close and too many for him to shoot, so he raised his gun to use as a bat. Then the chainsaws roared as Bunny found her weapon. She lifted it over her head and revved the engine, drowning out the screams of their attackers.
Horatio ducked as she used her boomerang like a chainsaw sword, slashing the arriving mutants and emptying their stomach contents onto the floor.
“Let’s go,” Bunny said.
Horatio ran toward the elevator, but she called him back. “Not that way. The roof.” And although he had no idea what she had planned, Horatio went along.
Bunny hacked through the mutants, killing all the ones near them, and then tossed her boomerang at the crowd at the end of the hall. They screamed as they fell into halves, the boomerang not slowing down a bit as it sliced through. It bounced off the back wall and returned, shredding through the last two standing mutants, and into her hand.
“Upstairs,” Bunny said.
They went up to the roof, slashing through necks and bellies. Horatio stayed back, avoiding the metal worms that were spraying out of the flesh, conserving his bullets.
“Why are we going to the roof?” Horatio asked.
“My secret weapon is up there,” Bunny said, as five men surrounded her.
Then she spun around in a circle with her chainsaw blades out, decapitating all five men at once.
After Tomahawk climbed down the elevator shaft, he noticed he was all alone in
the warehouse with a dozen infected mutants coming after him, catching him off guard. Using his assault rifle, he emptied his clip into the crowd, their blood splashing into his eyes. He felt tiny maggot-sized worms squirming in his corneas and rubbed them out as quickly as he could. They weren’t on his fingers when he pulled them away and he wondered if they had punctured his retinas and gotten inside. While stepping through the warehouse, he could feel tickling sensations in his eyes but he thought it might just be paranoia.
Outside, he fired his last clip into the crowd of mutants, and then moved onto his hammers. He held them out, one in each hand, his third hand pumping a fist, as he yelled the battle cry of a Viking warlord. Then he charged into the horde, aiming to crush some skulls.
Hamburglar was slicing his way through the army of worm-coated soldiers, cutting them down as easily as paper dolls. Music was playing in his head, beautiful passionate music.
In the search for love, Hamburglar made many bad decisions. He was desperate to bring passion into his music and was willing to try anything. He tried spending time with his father, hoping to figure out how to love the man who raised him, but his father had been completely terrified of him ever since he transformed his flesh into that of the Hamburglar. He represented the devil, after all, and his father would not spend much time with him.
Then the Hamburglar tried to experience the love for a pet. He bought a McPuppy and played with it, took care of it. But the little animal only lasted a week before he cut it in half for urinating on his pristine living room carpet.
Then he made the biggest mistake of all. When he was drunk with the Mayor one night, the Hamburglar was seduced into having sex with him. Although the Hamburglar considered himself asexual, that night he learned the Mayor was quite fond of the male gender. While drunk on illegal wine, the Mayor wondered what it would be like to sleep with the Hamburglar, and suggested the idea to him as if it were a business proposal. Wondering if he could find love with the Mayor, the only living person on the planet he truly respected, Hamburglar decided to give it a try.
The next morning, the two of them awoke naked in bed together, their giant heads dwarfing the pillows beneath them as they both stared at the ceiling, not saying a word to each other. They could hear each other’s breaths, the Hamburglar’s fingers fidgeting with the top of the silken sheet. The Mayor cleared his throat, looking over at the Hamburglar, and then back at the ceiling.
Neither of them knew what to say. Neither of them wanted to be the first to leave the bed. So they just lay there in an awkward silence, wishing they hadn’t had so much to drink the night before.
“So,” the Mayor began, after twenty more minutes of discomfort. “Let’s pretend that never happened.”
The Hamburglar nodded his bulbous head, then continued staring at the ceiling in awkward silence.
On the roof, Bunny went to a crate on the other side of the building. It was full of supplies.
“What’s all this?” Horatio said.
Bunny tossed her boomerang at a couple mutants as they climbed off of the metal spider machine still collapsed against the side of the building.
“I had been living up here for the past week,” she said. “This is what’s left of my supplies.”
Horatio could tell she had no food left. It was mostly a bunch of empty cans. She probably hadn’t eaten in days.
“Here we go,” Bunny said as she pulled a device out from a pile of fur-coated blankets.
She caught her boomerang as it returned and then took the device to the edge of the roof. Down below, Horatio could see the Hamburglar and Tomahawk fighting a crowd of mutants. Hamburglar with his two swords slicing bodies apart. Tomahawk with his two sledgehammers, crushing brains out of skulls and hearts out of ribcages.
Bunny put the device on the ledge of the roof, and Horatio could tell it was some kind of remote control.
“The last Meat left alive after this army became infected taught me how to use this,” she said. “It’s been quite useful.”
When the rabbit/wolf girl moved the controls on the device, one of the spider sentinels stomped around the building toward them. As it arrived, Horatio ducked but Bunny just smiled at it.
“Are you controlling that thing?” Horatio asked.
Bunny smirked. “Mostly. The worms are also controlling the animal’s brain, but this device has a stronger influence.”
As Bunny moved a secondary joystick and held down a red button on its handle, the sentinel opened fire on the mutants below. The wolf girl laughed as the Gatlings shredded apart their jittering bodies.
“Now what?” Horatio said.
“What do you mean? We just try to kill them all until there’s none left to stop us from walking out of here.”
“That’s it? We can’t kill them all. We’ll just run out of bullets.”
“Well, what else can we do?” she asked.
“Well,” Horatio pointed at the device, “when you showed me that control for the sentinel, I thought we were going to ride it out of here.”
Bunny’s lips curled into a smile. “Huh, I never thought about that. I wonder if it would work.”
She controlled the sentinel toward the edge of the roof and jumped onto the top of the machine, just above the infected warthog.
Bunny held out her hand. “Come on, Meat. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Horatio took her furry claw and she pulled him into her arms.
“Careful,” she said, balancing him in an awkward embrace. Since she was over a foot taller than him, he found his chin pressed firmly between her breasts.
Then she sat down, her legs dangling off the front of the machine, the control in her lap. The roof of the sentinel was not very large, about a quarter the size of the roof of a car. Horatio had to squeeze in tight around Bunny, wrapping his arms around her hairy waist.
“Hold on tight,” she said, and then they began to move, firing into the mutants underfoot.
Tomahawk’s arms were beginning to get tired. He had swung his sledgehammers around so much that the muscles were pulled and twisted. One of his arms was so sore that he had to switch to using a handgun, and even the act of pulling the trigger sent a needle of pain up his arm. His large third arm was only slightly weakened and was able to crush skulls continually without tire. Unfortunately, this arm wasn’t as fast and agile as his natural arms. It was like a lumbering tank, not able to crush more than one skull every other minute.
The Hamburglar didn’t notice Tomahawk was weakening or else he might have come to his aid, but he was too absorbed in the music within his head, too absorbed in killing.
The Hamburglar never gave up trying to find love and passion, but the more he failed the more difficult it became to keep optimism. Eventually, he spent more and more time practicing his swordsmanship, and less and less time trying to find love. Fighting made him happy, failing at music did not. So he focused more on being a samurai.
Bunny’s fluffy tail wiggled in the soft flesh below Horatio’s bellybutton as she fired the Gatling guns into the third sentinel. Her waist was warm against his hands, her ass tight against his crotch.
As the beast within the machine was shredded to bits and collapsing into the junkyard, Bunny felt something stiff growing beneath her tail.
“Do you have a fucking erection again?” Bunny yelled.
Horatio blushed. “Sorry. This is the closest I’ve been to a woman in an incredibly long time.”
“Well, cut it out,” she said.
“I wish I could.”
He wagged his third leg like a tail.
She grumbled loudly, firing into the swarm of mutants below to release her aggression.
A mutant grabbed Tomahawk by his slowly moving third arm. This arm was strong enough to crush the mutant’s head, but the infected man wouldn’t let go of the wrist, dropping all of his weight to the ground. All of a sudden Tomahawk couldn’t move very quickly, dragging this clingy mutant through the yard.
Tomahawk poin
ted his handgun at the man’s head, but it only made a clicking noise when he pulled the trigger. Out of bullets. He tried smashing the man’s skull with his free sledgehammer but couldn’t break his head open at the awkward angle.
Dragging the clinging man all the way across the yard, Tomahawk arrived at a supply truck and attempted to turn it on. The engine wouldn’t start. It seemed as if the battery were dead. He moved to another vehicle, still dragging the man who didn’t try to bite or harm him, just holding on tightly.Another mutant came at him and he cracked its forehead with his free hammer, its dead body flipping backward as if he had just been clotheslined.
The car was small but could carry a couple of people. This one started up fine, but the engine made some glugging noise for a couple minutes before it died. It was out of gas.
“Fuck me,” Tomahawk said.
The Hamburglar stabbed one mutant through each of his eyes, the blades poking out the back of his head, then he pulled them out and gutted two more mutants coming at him from each side.
The Hamburglar thought back to all the fun he used to have when he was the Chief of Police in McDonaldland. It was his job to escort criminals out of the city, but once they were brought out of the city walls he wouldn’t just let them go. He would give them one of his swords, the long one, to fight him with. If they refused to pick up the sword after a few minutes, the criminal was beheaded on the spot. But if the criminal was willing to play his game, he gave the person a fair fight.
This was one way that Hamburglar was able to get his samurai practice in. He fought the most dirty, hardened criminals—sometimes blindfolded—trying to cut them down in as quickly and efficiently a manner as possible, only drawing his sword for a split second for a lethal attack. Then he would re-sheath his weapon as the blood-spraying body collapsed to the ground.
Barbarian Beast Bitches of the Badlands Page 11