Awesomesquad! Assemble! 2! (Revisited!)- Part 2!!

Hey everyone, this is a continuation of last week’s post, so if you didn’t read that one, catch up here. Otherwise, let’s continue.

Kim Kardassian

*****

“Did you kill him?”

“Of course I didn’t kill him.”

“Because it kind of looks like you killed him.”

“I didn’t kill him”

“He does kinda look like he’s dead.”

“He’s not dead!”

“Did you check his pulse?”

“No.”

“Then I guess you don’t know if he’s dead or not, now do you?”

“He’s not dead!”

“Who’s dead?” I mumbled.

“Oh good, he’s waking up,” I heard Lady Smash say.

“You’re dead,” Derren’s voice answered.

“Hey guys!” Jessie’s voice exclaimed, “Who killed Minigan?”

“Shut up, Jessie,” I snapped.

“See, he’s totally not dead,” Lady Smash confirmed.

I opened my eyes and found Jessie, Lady Smash, Phlegm, Criss, and Derren looking down on me. We were in my room. My head pulsed with pain. I tried to rub it, but I couldn’t move my hands. I looked to them and found that I had been bound to my bed with hot pink, fuzzy handcuffs.

“In case you tried to do anything stupid again,” Lady Smash explained as I pulled on the handcuffs.

“OK, well you can let me go now,” I replied.

“No can do,” Phlegm told me, “The last time we tried that, you tried to molest the TV.”

Damien, GMZ, Everett, and Nut’n Fancy walked into my room, each one holding their head and looking nauseous.

“And why didn’t you tie them to their beds?!” I cried.

“Because they weren’t trying to molest the TV,” Derren quipped.

“What happened, anyway?” Everett asked, “All I remember is watching TV, being interrupted and then thrown into the air.”

“I’ll tell you what happened,” Lady Smash snapped, “You all were so drawn into the cultural black hole that is ‘Keeping Up With The Kardashians’ that you didn’t even hear Phlegm and I come in. To get your attention, I turned off the TV. You all went bezerk, except for Derren and Criss, both of whom are not lousy pervs with poor taste.”

“Wow,” Jessie blurted.

“Yeah,” Phlegm replied, “I always figured Criss to be the most unapologetically perverted one in the group.”

“Hey!”

“Oh, please,” Lady Smash scoffed at Criss, “You always go for the hottest chick to help you preform your magic tricks.”

I began, “That’s weird-”

“I know!” Lady Smash interjected, “Who uses magic to pick up women?”

Criss Angel Trick

Criss, seen here seducing the women in the crowd with his magic.

“No, I meant it’s weird that the only reason we started watching in the first place is because GMZ had freaked out on me for interrupting him.“

“OK, so we pinpointed our patient zero,” Phlegm noted, “But we still don’t know why the show turned you all into drooling morons.”

Still strapped to the bed, I rested my head back on the pillow and recalled what happened before I woke up chained to my bed with kink handcuffs. The Ass. Its image was standing out clearly in my head, and it’s voice (which sounded a lot like Billy D. Williams) echoed in my mind clear enough that it could have been talking into my ear. I heard the echo repeat in its sexy, smooth voice “…You must stop them, even if it means killing them…” I opened my eyes again and gasped.

“Kim Kardashian’s ass! That’s what drew me in!” I exclaimed as I struggled against the restraints, “Her ass must have the ability to hypnotize people!”

“No,” Lady Smash said in a matter-o-factly tone, “You’re just a dirty pervert.”

With a condescending laugh, Damien added, “She’s right, Minigan, Kim Kardashian’s ass isn’t hypnotic. Obviously, that’s ridiculous. There has to be a more rational explanation. Maybe we ate something that had a weird effect on us.”

“Like what?” Derren asked, “Only GMZ ate the brownies, and Lady Smash was the one to make those.”

Everett added, “Yeah, unless Lady Smash put LSD or hallucinogenic mushrooms into all of our food, I doubt what we ate was the cause.”

“All I’m saying is that we should not start a crusade against the Kardashians just because we were acting a little weird,” Damien replied.

“A little weird?!” Phlegm cried. “All of you went bezerk.”

Lady Smash nodded, “Damien, dude, I love it that we are usually on the same side of arguments, but I think you should probably sit this one out because you’re not helping our side at all.”

“Ok,” Damien admitted, “Maybe we did get out of hand, but I still don’t think we were hypnotized my Kim Kardashian’s ass.”

“Where the hell were you when this happened, Damien?” I asked, “Did you not hear Billy D. William’s voice come out of her ass?”

Damien didn’t answer, but Lady Smash looked to Phlegm and then down to me. “OK, You guys are just fucking with us now, right?”

“Can someone please un cuff me from my bed?” I requested, ignoring Lady Smash’s question. I then asked, “And why did you guys use fuzzy handcuffs?”

“They were the only ones we had here,” Phlegm answered as she freed my ankles from their restraints.

“And who had sex handcuffs here?” Criss queried.

Phlegm and Lady Smash looked to a red faced Everett who threw up his hands and cried, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Once Phlegm had freed my last wrist, I sat up and replied, “I think we need to talk about it.”

“Minigan,” Derren interrupted, “What do you want to do about Kim Kardashian?”

“Wait,” Lady Smash interjected, “You and Criss weren’t acting ‘hypnotized.’ Why do you believe this crap?”

“It didn’t happen to Criss and myself is because we both know how to hypnotize others, which makes it impossible to be hypnotized.”

“So you believe that the Kardashians are harboring a woman with magical ass powers?”

“More like Kardassians,” GMZ quipped.

“Good one, GMZ,” I replied, “Let’s all call her that when we go fight her.”

Lady Smash pinched the bridge of her nose and requested, “Can’t we at least vote on it?”

“Sure,” I replied, “Whoever thinks that Kim Kardassian really does have a hypnotic ass raise your hand.”

Everett, GMZ, Criss, Derren, Nut’n Fancy, and myself raised our hands.

“And whoever thinks that literally any explanation other than ‘Kim K’s ass is magic’ is a better one, raise your hand.”

Phlegm, Jessie, and Damien raised their hands with Lady Smash. She counted the raised hands and scowled at me.

I smiled back at her and announced to my group, “Well, it looks like we’re fighting Kim Kardassian. Everyone get ready.” I instructed GMZ to find the address of the Kardashian house, and to send the rest of the Kardashian Klan across town to what they think is surprise party for Kim.

“What should the reason be?” GMZ asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied impatiently, “To celebrate Kim’s acting debut, or maybe she won some award, or maybe even it’s a party to celebrate Kim simply to remind the rest of the family who the important one is. Any stupid explanation will do. These people are reality TV stars; they’re accustomed to being in terrible story lines.”

GMZ nodded and left, but the rest of my team waited behind.

“Can’t we please talk about this a little more? You’re doing the same bloody thing you did with Trump,” Damien pointed out.

“We put it to a vote, Damien,” I reminded him, “See, that’s how a democracy works: People vote, and the winners of that vote decide what’s going to happen. I know that this concept must be difficult for you to grasp, since you live under the rule of the Queen and all.”

“We’ve had a democratically elected Parliament for the past 208 years, asswipe,” Damien snapped.

“It would be much easier if we had literally any more information,” Lady Smash explained, “Like, how is Kim Kardashian’s ass hypnotizing people, or if it has other powers, like the ability to create clouds and thunder, or possibly if it could shoot deadly missiles.”

kim kardashian ass 1- censored

It’s probably best if we didn’t take any chances.

“Hey that’s a good idea,” I replied, “Theoretically, it could have some more mind manipulating- Wait, are you being serious, or did you just make a make a poop and fart joke.”

“I did. But that first part was totally serious.”

“It couldn’t hurt going into this fight a little better informed,” Everett added.

The others murmured in agreement.

“Fine,” I yielded, “We’ll prepare for the next four days. We’ll gather up intel on Kim, her family, and her ass, but we’ll have to do this the right way. Damien, Go up and tell GMZ to schedule the party for four days from tonight. Then plan out some cardio workouts for tonight to make sure we’re all in good enough shape to fight.”

Rather grumpily, he replied with a simple, “Fine,” and exited my room.

I turned to my two female teammates and said, “Lady Smash and Phlegm, since the ass has no effect on you, go up to the Watch Tower and find out what ever you can about it.” I turned to Derren and Criss and continued, “I’ll need you two to watch as much of ‘Keeping Up With The Kardashians’ as you can. We won’t be able to get a blueprint of their house without a permit or breaking into where ever those are kept, but we can learn enough about the layout from the show. Also look for any weaknesses she might have. Everett and Nut’n Fancy, do some research on friends and the rest of the family. Go back through the family tree. Look for anything that might be relevant. Also look into Bruce Jenner’s family. I don’t trust that face.”

“What do you want me to do, Boss?” Jessie asked in an upbeat tone. Despite having voted against the the idea that Kim Kardashian’s ass is hypnotic, he still seemed excited to go on any adventure at all.

“Do a walk through maintenance inspection on the Awesomecopter!,” I answered, “And try to make it as quiet as possible. We’ll be in a residential neighborhood, so we’ll need to keep it quiet.”

“You know that the Awesomecopter! is a helicopter, right?” He asked me, “I can’t just make it silent.”

“Fine,” I replied, “Do something to make the Awesomebus! quieter and more inconspicuous.”

He nodded and left, as did the rest of the team to carry out their various tasks.  I stood up from my bed, paced across my room, and began brainstorming how we were going to break into the Kardashian residence.

Awesomesquad! Assemble! 2! (Revisited!)

Hi Everyone! I know it has been almost a year since I posted anything, and even longer since I posted anything book related, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing. I started a new magazine with my boyfriend (check it out here), so I’ve been primarily busy writing the articles for that, and I have been working on my book, just nothing that you’ll see here. I did, however, finish the battle between Kim Kardassian and our gang of lovable idiots.

For those who have never read an Awesomesquad! post of mine before, welcome! This should be exciting for you. You’ll probably want some background info, whether you’re new or just need a refresher, so check this page out. It will give you the information you need about the team.

Other than that, enjoy!

Kim Kardassian

*****

It was about a month after I introduced Phlegm to the team before we had any celebrity fighting mission. I actually remember the date- September fifth. The date itself isn’t all that important; I’m just impressed that I remembered it.

Anyway, the guy installing our Satellite TV service had just left, and Derren, GMZ, Criss, and myself were changing back out of our cult garb. Damein, Everett, and Nut’n Fancy were out in the woods surrounding the Awesomebase!, building our obstacle course. Jessie was in the Awesomehangar! working on the Awesomecopter!, and Phlegm and Lady Smash were out buying supplies. Feeling that yet another day would be ending early for me, I headed up to the kitchen to gather up some brownies Lady Smash had baked, and then catch up on some TV. However, when I got to the Great Room, I found that the TV and the brownies had already been claimed by GMZ.

As I approached, I noticed something off. He stared at the TV, his expression blank, and he was barely holding onto the half-eaten brownie in his hand. I watched him for a few seconds, expecting him to snap out of it. He did not.

“Hey, GMZ,” I called to him.

I got no response. I repeated myself, but still didn’t even get a murmur from him.

“LISTEN UP, YOU LOUSY SACK OF DISGARDED LLAMA PLACENTA!” I yelled.

When he didn’t answer to that, I marched towards him, grumbling, and nudged the side of his head. He toppled over, but he snapped out of it.

He jumped back to his feet, his face scrunched up and red with anger, and screamed, “WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THAT ALL I WAS DOING WAS WATCHING TV WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?!?!”

“Whoa,” I cried as I dodged his swinging fist, “Calm down. I was just trying to get your attention.”

“CALM DOWN?! NO I WON’T CALM DOWN!!” He took another couple swings at me, which I batted off. He then yelled in my face, “YOU ATTACK ME AND THEN SAY I NEED TO CALM DOWN.”

“What the bloody hell is going on here?” Derren asked as he and Criss rushed into the room. Raul came running into the room from the lab, holding a mop in one hand and a scalpel in the other.

GMZ cried, “I was just watching TV when this psychopath attacked me!”

“I nudged you!” I retorted, “And I only did that because you weren’t answering me!”

“Both of you, calm down,” Derren commanded. He then looked to GMZ and said, “Tell me what happened.”

Damien, Nut’n Fancy, and Everett entered the Great room just as GMZ started his story. GMZ told Derren how he was sitting quietly watching TV and eating a brownie, when I, in a jealous rage, stormed into the Great Room and began beating him over the head. Derren nodded and asked me to tell my side of the story. I explained to him what really happened, and while I did, Derren didn’t take his eyes of me.

Once I was finished telling my side of the story, Derren stood quietly for a couple of long seconds, and announced, “I think they’re both telling the truth.”

“What?!” GMZ roared.

Derren clarified, “I don’t think Minigan actually attacked you, GMZ. None of his body language is coming off as if he’s lying. But I think that you believe that he attacked you, because other than you being livid right now, your body language is saying the same thing.”

“No!” GMZ cried, “He did attack me. He’s just jealous of my relationship with her!”

“With whom?” Derren asked.

“With her!” GMZ shouted as he pointed at the TV screen. The six other men rushed around the couch to get a good look at whom GMZ was pointing.

I looked down to see a towering, vaguely humanoid creature stomping around in the yard. Judging by its surroundings, I figured the beast had to be at least ten feet tall. I could only assume it was a woman by its hair and clothing.

“That mountain giant?” I asked.

“No, not Khloé,” GMZ snapped at me, “Her.”

khloe Kardashian

AAahhh!

 

 

What came onto screen next made me gasp. An ass- but not just any ass- a perfect ass. It was big but toned, round but perky. It was like someone had stuck two balloons under a skimpy red dress. I could not look away. Even the rest of the body attached to the beautiful ass was amazing, but my focus kept getting pulled back to that butt. It was like it was speaking directly to me. And then, it did.

“Minigan, baby,” The ass cooed at me, its rich, smooth chocolaty voice making love to my eardrums, “Just sit down and look at me. I’ll take care of everything you need.”

I believed this ass. I believed it would take care of me. In only that brief amount of time since I had met it, I had never felt anything as strong as the love I felt for it. Even after those few short moments together, it had become more than just my world, it became the whole reason I exist. The answers to all of life’s greatest mysteries were nestled between those firm, cushiony butt cheeks, and I was sure it wanted to confide in me, so I obeyed it.

“I will do anything to make you happy” I heard my self say. I think I heard other people say it too, but they didn’t matter. They were so far away, and their voices were so small, that I knew that they weren’t talking to the stunning ass I had said it too. In fact, not a single thing those voices mattered. The only thing that was important to me anymore was keeping that ass happy.

The Ass replied in it’s deep, seductive voice, “Good. Now, what I want you to do is to send me all the money you have. I need it to make myself look good for you. You’re so handsome and muscular. I want to be the best that I can be for you.”

“What’s going on here?” I heard a faint woman’s voice say. I didn’t answer.

“Hey, guys, what’s wrong?” Another woman, this one just as uninteresting as the first, asked.

“Baby,” The Ass warned, “Two jealous she-devils are trying to keep us apart. They are here now. You must stop them, even if it means killing them. Do it, for uh-“

The world went black, and suddenly, I was thrown into a cruel, hideous world where the Ass was no longer present. In front of me were the two she-devils I was warned about: Lady Smash and Phlegm. The Betrayers! I thought, I bring them onto my team, and they take the love of my life away from me?!

I and several of the men around me screamed at them both. I was in such a mindless rage, that I cannot remember what I, or the rest of them, said, but I do remember screaming to the point where drool was running out of the side of my mouth. Looks of fear were carved onto Lady Smash and Phlegm’s faces, which only made us angrier. I lunged at Lady Smash, who dodged me, threw me to the ground, and drove her boney knee into my spine.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” She yelled, the anger in her voice barely covering up the fear.

“You took The Ass away from me!” I managed to sputter out with what little air my lungs were getting.

“What?!” She, Phlegm, Criss and Derren cried.

I was starting to get a better sense of my surroundings. At the edge of my peripheral vision, I could see forms floating somewhere above Lady Smash’s head. They were the bodies of Damien and Nut’n Fancy.

“What the hell is Minigan Talking about Derren?” Phlegm asked.

“I don’t know. We were just watching ‘Keeping Up With The Kardashians’ when they all went into some bizarre trance.”

Lady Smash grunted and replied, “Why were you watching that garbage anyway?”

“GMZ said that he was in love with someone on there, and he was trying to show us who,” Criss answered.

“Lady Smash,” I gasped, as I squirmed under her knee, “Could you ease up a little bit? I’m sorry I tried to attack you. I’m better now.”

She warned me, “If you try to attack any of us, I’m going to tase the figurative and literal shit out of you.”

“I promise I won’t,” I said with sincerity.

She released her knee from my spine, and immediately I scurried on my hands and knees to the TV and turned it back on. After an entire lifetime crammed into a single second, The Ass returned to me.

“Minigan, baby,” it cooed seductively, “I missed you.”

 

The voice wafted out of The Ass and into my ears, assuring me that it would take care of me, and I was lost to it again.

Kim Kardashian 1-censored

I tried to reach for it, just to touch it and let it know that I was real and there for it, but it vanished and I felt a wave of burning pain crash through my muscles. I tried to scream, but my jaw, vocal chords, lungs, and brain stopped working. My arms and legs twitched as the Great room came back into view. Lady Smash, Phlegm, Derren, and Criss were standing over me, and a pair of wires lead from somewhere in my chest to Lady Smash’s Taser. Then, everything went black.

Fighting a Hoard of Gypsies With Zac Efron

This is a sequel to an earlier post. You might want to read that first.

If not, then enjoy!

***

Minigan sat in the open field, staring up at the overcast sky, and then to the jar in his hands. The jar, which appeared to house some kind of large insect, glinted in the late morning sun as Minigan rolled it in his hands.

“How do I get you back up there?” Minigan asked himself more than the insect.

“Dude,” Zac Efron interjected, sitting up from where he was laying, “Maybe we use a slingshot!”

“We’ll never be able to achieve escape velocity with a sling shot, Zaccy Effs. We’ll need a rocket. But even then we need to get it to the sun.”

“You could just let me free,” The insect squeeked.

“No can do, Kinish Asia,” Minigan replied, “All you’ll do is bring about the end of days on Earth. I cannot have you do that. I think it’s best if we launch you into the sun.”

“But that will kill me! And my name is ‘Kinich Ahau!’”

Zac and Minigan replied with disinterested, “meh’s” and continued with their activities: Zac lying down and tossing a ball into the air, and Minigan mindlessly spinning the jar, making the Mayan Sun God tumble around in his glass prison. Kinich Ahau roared (which sounded as if a chipmunk was trying to imitate a panther) and blasted fire at the glass.  Casually, as if he had to do this on an hourly basis, Minigan jostled the jar and sent Kinich bouncing back and forth.

“How many times do I have to tell you,” Minigan said into the airholes of the jar, “I made sure that the jar and its lid are impervious to flame. And don’t bother trying to heat up the glass to make everything on the outside of it burn: I already thought of that and saw to it that the glass insulates the heat from escaping.”

“What kind of god are you, Minigan?” The Mayan diety asked.

“I wouldn’t call myself a god,” Minigan said, blushing, “A demigod, probably, but not a god- god.”

Zac sat up and whined, “How much more time is left, bro? This is boring.”

“It should be done any minute,” Minigan replied as he leaned over to check the time on the old Easy Bake oven, which continued to putter away at its task.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a woman step off the gravel parking lot and head directly for them in the field. Minigan looked towards her and immediately recognized her. She was tall, very pregnant, and wore a bandana around her head. It was Della.

“Minigan,” she shouted to the men sitting in the grass.

“I’m sorry, but Minigan isn’t home right now” Minigan answered in a telephone operator’s voice, “Please leave a message along with the date that you called and he will get back to you.”

Della stopped, her expression changed from one of determination to the one a person makes when they leave a message on voicemail (You know, eyebrows raised, nostrils flared. Think about it next time you leave one). Della replied, “OK, Well tell Minigan that I need to speak to him about his birthday present for me, and that he needs to get a hold of me. Or he could just talk to me now since I’m staring at him right now, and I’m not an idiot.”

“Damn,” Minigan whispered to Zac, “I almost thought that worked.”

“Me too bro!”

“Minigan!”

“Hi Della! What have you been up to lately, other than being knocked up? When did that happen?”

“Cut the shit, Minigan,” Della snapped, “You’ve been dodging me all summer, but now it’s time. You need to do something to fix the damage you’ve done on my birthday.”

“But that wasn’t even your birthday!” Minigan cried, jumping to his feet, “And besides, how is it my fault that the gypsy that I had enslaved to make your cake cursed it so that it would unleash snakes and a shit monster inside your house?”

“Do you even listen to yourself talk?” Della asked.

“Shit, dude, did that really happen?” Zac asked as he sat up.

Della did a double take at the actor whom she just realized she was in the presence of, and then asked “And why the hell are you and Zac Efron sitting in the middle of a field with an Easy Bake Oven, a bookbag, and a jar with a huge bug in it?” She gasped, “You didn’t kidnap Zac Efron, did you?”

“Not this time,” Zac replied as he cast a glare Minigan’s direction.

“Nope,” Minigan added, “Zaccy Effs is here because of his own poor decision making abilities.”

“OK,” Della replied, “But that still doesn’t answer the ‘Why.’”

Minigan picked up the jar with Kinich Ahau in it and tossed it to Della. Inside the jar, Kinich screamed a tiny scream as he flew through the air.  When Della caught the jar, he fell into a pile of himself on the bottom. Della looked inside curiously as the Mayan god of the Sun returned to his feet, brushed himself off, and then began punching the glass with his bare hands. Each hit bouncing off the glass with a light “clink” that just barely escaped the airholes.

Before Della had a chance to ask, Minigan stated, “That is the Mayan god of the Sun Kinish Asia-“

“Kinich Ahau!” the little imprisoned man interjected.

“And last year, he tried to bring about the end of the world. Zac and I stopped him, and now we’re trying to figure out how to get him back to the sun.”

“Why’s he so small?” Della queried.

“We had to keep him somewhere,” Zac added, “If he touches the ground, the world will end. So Minigan decided to shrink him down and put him in a jar until we could get him back to the sun.”

“Ok,” Della replied, uncertain, still staring at the captured Mayan diety, “So you two were sitting out here because?”

Minigan replied, “Because NASA won’t let us borrow one of their rockets so that we can blast a jar into the sun-“

“Obviously.”

“The selfish Jerks,” Zac interjected.

“Yes,” Della retorted snarkily, “That is the problem.”

“So, I had to go about my normal methods,” Minigan continued, “By which I mean taking a drug that will let me warp reality to my will.”

Minigan ushered Della towards the Easy Bake Oven. He continued, “Cooking in the Easy Bake Oven right now is a drug I like to call Olivia Wilde. It’s a powerful hallucinogen that will send the user on very realistic trips.”

“I hate to break it to you, Minigan,” Della replied, “But that Easy Bake Oven isn’t cooking anything; the plug is stabbed into the ground.”

“It’s all in accordance to how you make Olivia Wilde, Della!” Minigan cried, “You must cook the specific ingredients in an Easy Bake Oven with its plug in the dirt, the morning before the First Quarter Moon.”

“Minigan was supposed to have a batch already done, but apparently he was ‘too busy’ to spend four hours in a clearing as he waited for the drug to cook last month, even though he promised to.”

“I had shit to do!” Minigan cried, “I’m sorry that my career hasn’t given me so much down time that I can waste a morning like you clearly can.”

“How will a hallucinogen help you warp reality, though?” Della asked.

Minigan answered, “By mixing it with this…”

Before Minigan continued, he began to rummage through his bookbag and pulled out two jars. The first was a glass masonry jar, similar to the one in which Kinich Ahau was imprisoned, but this one had a metallic coating on the bottom. The other was plastic with a blue lid, was filled with ice, and had a red and white object lodged in the center.

“Once the Olivia Wilde is complete, you mix one of these,” Minigan shook the plastic jar, “into the powder to create the drug that lets the user change any aspect of reality that he or she sees fit.”

He handed both jars to Zac, and began another search through his book bag. This time, his search yielded him a lighter, an unused red candle stick, a small glass vial filled with a clear liquid, and an eyedropper. Minigan  sat Indian style on the ground and had Zac place the two jars in front of him. Minigan then sat the candle stick and the eye dropper on his lap and arranged the vial and two jars in a line in front of him. He opened both jars, and pulled the red and white object out from the plastic one. The white of the object turned out to be a paper towel, and the red was the blood that seeped through. Della and Zac recoiled in disgust as Minigan unrolled the paper towel to reveal three severed fingers. With his thumb and index finger, Minigan gingerly picked up one of the fingers and dropped it into the metal lined jar, then rerolled the remaining two fingers and returned them to the ice filled jar.

Minigan raised the jar with the finger it to a grossed out Della and Zac, and stated, “This is one of Charlie Sheen’s fingers. If you remember his outbursts from 2011, you’ll remember all the crazy things he said about himself: that he is a warlock from mars, that he has tiger blood, that he himself is a drug. That last one is true. Sheen had done so much drugs during his life that he can now be classified as a narcotic. Of course, Charlie Sheen is dangerous by itself, which is why I always cut it with Olivia Wilde.”

“So, you’re telling me that that is one of three severed fingers of Charlie Sheen that you just have?” Della asked with a look of suspicion and disgust frozen upon her face.

“Damn Minigan,” Zac added, “That whole thing happened two and a half years ago. Those jokes are so tired, dude.”

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH! SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH, YOU PERMINANT CASE OF BED HEAD MEGA-DOUCHE!!!!”

Zac Efron after being attacked by a colony of bats, probably.

Zac Efron after being attacked by a colony of bats, probably.

As if Zac had said nothing at all, Minigan continued, “Della, yes, those are Charlie Sheen’s actual fingers. He can regenerate them. He actually gave me three because he is getting tired of me bothering him all the time. Anyway, I first have to burn the finger down into ash before I can cut it with Olivia Wilde. That’s what this other stuff is for. I learned that if I light the finger in a silver lined jar, with a virgin candle made of beeswax, and then add a drop of Alaskan glacier water, the process takes a few seconds instead of a few hours. Watch.”

Minigan lit the candle, and then pressed the flame up against the finger. Once the flesh started to blacken, and the smell of burning meat crept out of the jar and into the air around them, Minigan pulled the candle out, took a drop of water from the vial, and dropped it onto the burning finger. Instantly, the finger burst into vibrant blue flames. It spun around madly in the jar, emitting a high pitched squeal as it did. The flames quickly engulfed the entire inside of the jar and were shooting out the top. It did this for a couple of seconds before an orange fireball erupted from the jar and straight up into the air. The fireball fanned out to form a tiger, and as it did, disembodied guitar riffs rang out from the jar itself. Just as quickly as the fire had begun, it was extinguished, leaving only the smoldering ashes behind.”

“What the hell was that?!” Della cried.

“The raddest fucking thing I’ve ever fucking seen, that’s what that was!” Zac answered. “Minigan, bro, do it again!”

“Sorry Zaccy Effs, but I need to keep the other two fresh until I need them.”

Della pinched the bridge of her nose, “So you’re going to cannibalize Charlie Sheen’s fingers after you mix it with whatever you’re not cooking in that Easy Bake Oven.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘cannibalizing.’ And I already told you, The Olivia Wilde is cooking.”

Della pulled the hair on the sides of her head, quickly losing patience with the situation, snapped, “No, Minigan. Nothing’s cooking. You have that damn toy plugged into the dir-“

The Easy Bake Oven’s timer went off with a “ping.” Zac cried excitedly and grabbed the oven by its sides. The hissing sound of searing flesh and the second degree burns that accompanied it transformed Zac’s excited cry into a pained wail.

Easy Bake Oven: burning stupid kids since 1965!

Easy Bake Oven: burning stupid kids since 1965!

“Damn it, Zac,” Minigan shouted as he slapped the back of the actor’s head so hard that it knocked the oven out of his hands, “How many times do I have to say it? Oven- Hot. Oven like fire. No touch.”

As Zac whimpered at his blistered hands, Minigan used the purple pusher/ spatula to retrieve the cake pan containing the drug. Della wasn’t sure what exactly she was expecting to see, but what came out what definitely not it. In the pan was a flat, homely, moldy green disk. It had a texture similar to old corks, and its scent was akin to warm compost. Minigan overturned the pan, and the disk plopped heavily into his hand. Despite the heat from the Easy Bake Oven, the disk was surprisingly cool to the touch, and Minigan was able to hold it in his bare hands without even a wince. Then, Minigan dropped the hideous green disk into a plastic bag. Minigan then snapped the disk in half, and both halves turned to a brilliant royal blue. He broke the pieces in half again, and the color shifted from blue to indigo. He split the four pieces in half again, and the crumbling chunks turned violet. From there, he crushed each piece into powder, and once all eight pieces were nothing but dust, the color changed one last time from violet to hot pink.

Minigan dumped the Charlie Sheen ash into the bag, gave it a light shake, and then announced, “Alright. It’s ready. Let’s launch this Mayan God into the Sun.”

“But what about fixing my house!” Della cried, “I’m going to have this baby soon, and I’d really appreciate it if my living room no longer had holes in the walls or stink like a sewer.”

“C’mon dude,” Zac requested, “We can send Kinish Asia-“

“Kinich Ahau!”

“into the sun after we fix that house. It won’t take that long; we can just montage it!”

“That’s not going to work,” Minigan replied, “We’re talking about powerful gypsy magic here.  That isn’t something our drugs can fix on their own. We’ll have to find the gypsy and ask him to change it back himself.”

“This is why you don’t enslave gypsies, Bro!” Zac scolded.

“You shouldn’t be enslaving anybody!” Della added. Then, remembering that nothing she could ever say would affect how Minigan acts, she asked, “Do you have any idea where the gypsy would’ve gone after he escaped your capture?”

Minigan pondered for a moment, and then answered, “Well, he was a Polish Gypsy, but he and his clan were nomadic, so I’d say somewhere in Eastern Europe.”

“Oh, well that narrows it down,” Della replied sarcastically, “If you would have said all of Europe, I would have been like, ‘Let’s just give up- that’s too much land to search.’ But since you said Eastern Europe, that’s much more doable for the three of us.”

“It will be once I take this,” Minigan  replied as she shook the drug filled bag in front of her.

“Why you?” Zac asked.

“Because I remember what happened last time I let you take the drugs without me.”

“Honestly, Minigan, I’d feel better about this whole thing if you weren’t the one with reality warping superpowers,” Della insisted, “Let Zac have it.”

“But… But…”

“Minigan,” Della begged, “I’m asking you as a- well- friend. Please let Zac have this.”

Minigan felt defeated, but he obliged. He shoved the bag into Zac’s chest, and Zac immediately started pouring the powder into his mouth. Almost immediately, Zac Efron’s eyes began to roll in opposite directions.

After a few seconds of doing this, his pupils darted back to the center, and he stated, “OK. We’re going skydiving.”

“OK-What?!?!” Della and Minigan cried in unison.

A blast of icy wind hit them both from behind as their diving instructor opened the door of the plane. They looked to Zac, who was wearing an Army green jump suit, aviator sunglasses, and a parachute back pack.

“Are you two ready? Zac Efron asked the uneasy Minigan and the terrified and still very pregnant Della. The roar of the wind made it hard for them to hear, but Zac made sure to yell it loud enough so that they could.

“No!” they answered in unison.

“We don’t even have parachutes!” Della added as she tried to step away from the airplane’s open door.

“It’s too late to start worrying about those kinds of luxuries, dudes,” Zac replied. He then grabbed a hold of an exposed beam above his head, swung both of his legs out in front of him, and kicked Minigan and Della in the rears, sending them tumbling out of the cabin of the cruising airplane. Zac did a running front flip out of the door, and zoomed down to his freefalling compatriots. Della was face up, her arms and legs flailing wildly and her long, dark brown hair obscuring her face. Minigan was facing the rapidly approaching earth, his mouth open wide and the wind expanding his cheeks, making it look like he was breathing out while his mouth was pressed up against a window.

Zac spun, dipped, darted, whirled, and whipped around them, making him look like he had the flying capabilities of Superman. He spun around to face them both and yelled, “Don’t worry, you two will land lightly on your feet when you hit the ground.”

This didn’t sooth either of them. As they plummeted for the next thirty seconds, both Minigan and Della panicked and flailed their limbs accordingly. But Zac was right. Right as they were about to hit the ground, all three sky divers slowed, and their legs swung down thanks to some invisible force. Each of their feet  gently touched the cracked, unkempt concrete as if they were only coming down of a single step.

“Minigan, Della, Welcome to Pryipat Ukraine.” Zac announced brightly to his shaking and panting cohorts.

Once he caught his breath, Minigan charged at Zac, yelling, “You kicked us out of a plane you son of a bit-“

“You’re a flaccid penis monster, Minigan!” Zac cried just Minigan swung a fist at his jaw.

The penis monster Minigan toppled forward into a pile on the irradiated ground, but not before landing a soft punch across Zac’s face. Zac laughed hysterically as the puddle of penises that was once Minigan Blackwood feebly gasped for air, his penis ribcage too weak to prevent his body collapsing upon itself.

“Despite how much I love seeing someone giving Minigan a taste of the torture he inflicts upon the rest of us,” Della said to Zac between sucking in lungful’s of air, “There is no one on this planet I hate more than you right now. So change him back before I punch the dick off you. Do you understand, bro?”

“Ugh, fine,” Zac replied, “Minigan isn’t a penis monster. Just his normal self.”

Zac reached out his hand to help Minigan up, but when Minigan swung his arm up, he missed Zac’s hand and punched him directly in the groin. When Zac leaned over and instinctively clutched his pummeled genitals, Minigan hit him with a right hook that sent him toppling to the ground.

As Zac, rolled on the ground, his hands wrapped around his crotch, as if doing that was the only thing keeping his balls from falling off and running away, Minigan climbed to his feet and said, “Really, asshole? You made my bones flaccid dicks too!?”

“Oh, shut up, Minigan,” Della snapped, “It’s your fault we’re here in the first place.”

“My fault?! Let’s not forget who decided to give fucking Troy Bolton here “Drug Fueled Leader” status.”

Della didn’t reply, but instead looked around at the long since abandoned amusement park they had landed in. Directly behind them was the bumpercars; the years of neglect had stripped the pavilion of its roof, and allowed tufts of foliage to break through the floor between the rusted cars. About thirty or so yards to their left was the Ferris wheel, its weathered skeleton looming over the area like death itself.

Nothing good comes in a setting with an abandoned Ferris wheel.

Nothing good comes in a setting with an abandoned Ferris wheel.

“Why does this place look so familiar to me?” Della asked.

“Have you ever heard of Chernobyl?” Minigan replied.

“Yeah.”

“Well, this was a neighboring town that was evacuated because of the Chernobyl disaster. Usually pictures from Pripyat get lumped in with the ones from the city of Chernobyl.”

“So, we’re in a place that was evacuated because of its deadly levels of radiation.”

“Exactly,” Minigan answered. Then, realizing what Della was getting at, he nudged the still incapacitated Zac with his foot and said, “Hey, you need to make us immune to the radiation here.”

“We’re immune,” Zac coughed.

“Good. Now get up, asshole, we need to find this gypsy.” Minigan and Della headed towards a series of apartment buildings that sat on the other side of a line of trees. Zac climbed to his feet, and as fast as he could while still cupping his balls, waddled to catch up with them.

“So where are we headed?” Zac asked.

“The gypsies are probably staying in one of these buildings. We’re going to search through each one until we find them,” Minigan answered.

“How do you know where they’re living?” Della asked.

“That’s where they were the last two times I found them.”

“Two times?”

“Yeah,” Minigan stated, “Two times. The first time so that they could teach me how to make the Olivia Wilde drug, the second so that I could kidnap and enslave Vanlow.”

Della rushed in front of Minigan and put her hand out, effectively stopping him. She stared at him with a combination of disbelief and anger when she said, “So not only did you know the gypsy you were going to enslave, but you also knew that they could do magic when you enslaved one of them?!”

“I wanted to make you a really nice cake! Besides, I was going to let him go afterwards.”

“It doesn’t matter you sociopath! I cannot believe I have to say this, but you shouldn’t enslave anyone, especially someone who you know can perform magic!”

“Uh guys,” Zac interrupted, tapping them both on the shoulder.

They looked to him, but he didn’t look back. Instead, he was focused on something several yards ahead. Minigan looked around Della to see what Zac was staring at. It was a little girl. Together, the three Americans cautiously walked towards the girl, who stood perfectly still, staring directly at them. The little girl, Minigan decided, couldn’t be older than seven years old. She wore a long dress that looked like it was stitched together from different patterns of fabric. Her blouse was baggy. Minigan wasn’t sure if it was tan or just discolored from lack of washing. The girl’s dark brown hair reached her waist, and was so wild that she had to keep it in place with a bandana similar to the one Della was wearing. In her hads was an old baby doll, obviously abandoned by the original owner during the evacuation in 1986, and wore only a gas mask over its face.

The Eighties were a weird time for everyone.

The Eighties were a weird time for everyone.

They were mere feet from the girl now; she just stared at them. She didn’t seem scared, or even wary of the intruders upon her home, she just stood and waited for them to get closer. Zac, Della, and Minigan stopped. No one said a word.

The girl stared at them with her teal colored eyes for a second or two, and then looked to Minigan and said, “Minigan Blackwood, Vanlow has been waiting for you.”

“Where is he,” Della asked before Minigan was even able to open his mouth.

The little girl looked to Della and said, “Follow the smoke.”

She then turned and made an underhand throwing motion. A cloud of crimson smoke formed about ten feet off the ground, and then darted off towards the buildings. Zac, Minigan, and Della quickly looked towards one another, and then rushed to catch up with it.

As they hurried along  the abandoned streets, Minigan regularly glanced upwards towards the forlorn buildings and through the darkened windows for any sign of life. Every once and a while, he would even glance behind them to make sure they weren’t being tailed. Not even the little girl with the gas mask doll was to be found.

The tree of them followed the smoke as it made a sharp left down an alleyway, and Minigan muttered to the other two, “Keep a lookout for gypsies; this is probably a trap.”

“Don’t worry Bro and bro-ette,” Zac replied, “If any try to ambush us, I’ll just spit some acid in their face.”

To demonstrate, Zac breathed deep and spat at the nearest wall. Oozing saliva (still a pale pink from the drugs) foamed up and ate away at the wall. In a matter of seconds, Zac’s spit had eroded a hole big enough for a person to climb through and it continued to expand. The already weakened structure began to sway towards the alley.

“Shit, Run!”

The building crumbled over them, showering the three with larger and larger chunks of debris. The thundering crash of the one building toppling into the other encouraged Della, Zac, and Minigan to run faster. The collapsing building chased them in return. Della, with the weight of her unborn child slowing her down, started to fall behind the two 25 year old men in peak physical condition. Realizing this, Minigan stopped, picked her up, and began sprinting down the alley once again, the toppling building raining pieces of brick and mortar upon them as he ran.  Minigan and Della escaped the alley with only a second to spare before the building Zac spat on collapsed entirely into the other, which then folded in upon itself, leaving a colossal pile of rubble where the two buildings and alley once sat.

Zac looked back at the destruction he had caused and said, “My bad.”

Minigan lowered Della’s feet back to the ground, and in an irritated tone, replied, “Nevermind. Let’s keep following the smoke.”

They followed the trail of crimson smoke through the desolate ruins of Pripyat for an uneventful ten minutes, the smoke winding its way through the city, it’s vibrant color stood out brilliantly compared to the dull off whites of the surrounding buildings. Finally, the smoke brought them to a town square. The crimson smoke darted towards the center of the square, and then stopped. The three hurried up on it, and once they got close enough, the cloud of smoke shot straight down.

Pripyat Central Square

Zac and Minigan hurried to the spot, with Della hobbling behind, grumbling about her aching back and feet. The three looked down at where the smoke had rested, finding it resting on the ground in the shape of a circle not much larger than a fist. Suddenly, sixteen lines of smoke began creeping from the circle, fanning out across the ground.

romani protection symbol

Curious, Minigan stepped away from the central point and watched as the sixteen lines spread outward from the center. It took a second or two, but Minigan finally recognized the symbol.

“We need to get out of the circle!” Minigan cried to Della and Zac, who were still fascinated by the arms of crimson smoke stretching across the pale grey concrete, “NOW!”

All three ran towards the ends of the smoke lines, but it was too late. The lines stopped, connected to each other with an outer circle, and in a flash, a semi-transparent dome erupted from the circle, trapping the three inside. Minigan had managed to extend his arm across the line as the dome formed, but the dome formed around it, trapping him and leaving his arm flailing on the outside. Minigan tugged on it, but I could not pull it through the dome’s force-field wall.

“Uh, guys,” Minigan begged, still pointlessly pulling, “A little help please?”

Della and Zac both grabbed onto Minigan’s torso and began to pull. Still nothing.

“What the hell is this, anyway?” Della asked as she wrapped her hands around Minigan’s bicep and tugged.

“The sixteen spoke wheel,” Minigan explained, “It’s a protection symbol for Gypsies. I remember seeing it drawn on Vanlow’s hand in icing when he was making the cake for you. I looked it up after he had escaped.”

“How did he escape, anyway?” Zac asked.

“I’m not sure- Della, stop digging your nails into my arm. I would like to keep it attached.” Minigan continued, “Della and I went to confront him after we survived the attack of the shit monster, but he had already escaped. He was able to perform some magic, but nothing like this, at least, not like I had ever seen. His magic seemed to be more potion based. I think he may have picked the lock or something.”

Wicked cackling erupted from behind them, making all three of them jump and Minigan wince in pain from his trapped arm. They turned around to see the little girl who had directed them there standing at the other end of the circle, grinning a devious grin at them.

I’ve waited long for you, dog.” She said in a voice more suited for an old hag than a little girl.

The little girls eyes sunk into their sockets, and the area around them darkened. Her fingernails grew into axe blades, and her teeth flattened into large bladed scoops, similar to shovels. She charged at the three, her toothy mouth opened wide to devour her captors. She lept. Zac spit. His spit hit her right on her cheek, and immediately began to eat away at her face. She fell to the concrete, shrieking and writhing in pain.

“Nice work, Efron,” a male’s voice with a light European accent said from outside the dome.

It was Vanlow. He was fairly young, no more than a year older than Zac or Minigan, but his dark features made him look much older. His hair was jet black and just long enough for the natural waves to stand out. He wore a pair of loose, dark blue pants that looked like they were made from some repurposed canvas cloth, which was tied with a weathered looking rope. A battered button-up shirt that was several sizes too large for him draped over his torso, and its sleeves he wore rolled up past his elbow. Confidently, he stepped through the force-field dome. Once inside, he turned to the wailing and now disfigured witch and made the sign of a cross. The witch instantly exploded into a cloud of crimson smoke, which continued to hang in the air , giving the light that passed through it a pink haze.

“I knew I should have never entrusted a witch to capture you,” Vanlow said with a grin, “They do have a tendency for eating their prey, do they not?”

Vanlow then grabbed onto Minigan’s trapped arm, and, with no concern about Minigan’s comfort, yanked his arm free from the dome, which sealed the hole his arm had left. He let Minigan fall to the ground, and slowly paced away from Minigan, Zac, and Della, to the other end of the dome.

Minigan rubbed his freed arm, and begrudgingly said, “Well, thanks, I guess.”

“Now now, Minigan!” Vanlow cried as he turned on his heels and faced him, “That is such an improper tone to take with an old friend such as I. After all, I did teach you how to turn those fingers into ashes, did I not?” He started to walk back towards Minigan, his eyes flashing malevolently. “I assume you’re here to capture me once again? I’m sorry to say that that will not be happening today.

“Actually,” Della interrupted, “We’re only here to ask you to remove the curse you put into the cake. It destroyed my house, and I would really like for it to be back to normal before my baby arrives.”

Vanlow looked to her with mild surprise, “Your house? Minigan, you didn’t.”

“No. No. No. He absolutely didn’t have any involvement in me getting pregnant.” Della interjected, “Nor will he ever be. I have a husband that I love very much, and I’m very glad that he is nothing like Minigan.”

“I like you,” Vanlow said to her with a friendly smile, “Did you know that he had enslaved someone to make it?”

“No! Well, kind of. He mentioned it right before we ate it, but Minigan wouldn’t accept me refusing to eat a piece!”

“So you ate the cake, knowing that it was created by slave labor?” Vanlow asked as his friendly smile morphed into a dark glare, “Then I cannot help you. You did this to yourself.”

“C’mon, Vanlow” Minigan said as he returned to his feet, “Just change it back, and then you’ll never see us again.”

“How dare you!” The gypsy spat, “You enslaved me to make a cake!”

“And you’re being a real asshole about it right now, so I’d say we’re even.”

“OK, I’ve had enough of this,” Zac stated. He then pressed his wrists together, aiming his hands at Vanlow and yelled, “Hadouken!”

I burst of blue fire shot from Zac’s hands and at the chest of Vanlow, sending him sailing far outside the dome prison. Zac then turned to the dome and began to feverishly spit on it. Each wad of spit sailed through the dome as if nothing was there. Almost instantly, Vanlow was back on his feet and inside the dome, with tendrils of dark blue smoke stretching out from under his shirt and wrapping around Zac. With a light flick, the smoke tossed Zac across their prison, and he slammed hard into the force-field wall on the other end. Zac fell to the ground in a heap and didn’t move.

“You see, Minigan,”  Vanlow explained as we flicked his wrist and made the dome grow arms that grabbed Minigan and bound him to the wall, “I knew you’d come back to capture me again, so I have been practicing my magic. Impressive, no?”

“Very impressive,” A struggling Minigan replied, “Who knew being a raging prick was actually a form of witchcraft?”

“Even in the face of defeat, you still make your belittling jokes. You have no sense. Your ego makes you stubbornly refuse to bargin.”

“You never said that bargining was an option!”

“Bargining is always an option with Romanis.”

“Well then, what do you want?”

Vanlow paused for a second, scratching his chin as he pondered. When he figured it out, his eyes lit up with excitement and he answered, “I want a slave, just as you enslaved me.”

“Alright,” Minigan answered, the sound of defeat in his voice, “I’ll be your slave on the condition that if I escape, we’re still even.”

Vanlow laughed a hardy, booming laugh, “Who said I want you as a slave? I want her.”

“Her?!”

“Me?!”

“Yes, her,” Vanlow stated, “Enslaving one of your friends should be a much better punishment than enslaving you. Plus, when she gives birth, I’ll have a second slave. That’s just a better deal, is it not?”

“Then no deal,” Minigan replied, still struggling against the dome’s hands, “The whole reason we’re here is to help fix Della’s house. This isn’t fair to her. Just enslave me instead.”

“Listen to him!” Della pleaded frantically, “He’s strong! He can lift a lot heavier things that I can! You can put him to work!”

“This isn’t your decision, miss Della,” Vanlow said dismissively.”

“This decision directly affects me, of course it’s my decision!” Della snapped.

Minigan and Vanlow simultaneously shouted, “Stay out of this, Della!”

“I have a magical gypsy axe!” Zac shouted from the other end of the dome.

Vanlow turned around and watched in horror as Zac swung his axe down at the crimson smoke marking on the ground. The blade severed one of the sixteen lines, and the wheel symbol, as well as the imprisoning dome, vanished.

“No!” Vanlow roared.

“Hadouken!!”

Another blue fireball shot out of Zac’s hands and hit Vanlow, sending him flying for a second time. Della and Minigan rushed to him just as dozens of gypsies poured out of the decrepit buildings surrounding the square and surrounded them. The gypsies quickly had them surrounded, each one poised to attack with their various weapons or magic.

“Hold” Vanlow called from somewhere in the hoard. He stepped through the crowd, his wavy black hair disheveled from the blow, and his eyes bloodshot and furious. He picked up a stone from the ground, held it in one hand, and squeezed. From the rock dripped water as if the rock were a sponge.  When Vanlow opened his hand, all that was left of the stone vanished in a puff of dark blue smoke. He glared at them for a second or two before saying, “So you have chosen to fight, yes?”

“You got it, asshole,” Minigan called back.

“Fine,” the gypsy replied, “But the Romani are a close knit family. If you fight one of us, you fight all of us.”

“Bring it on!” Zac yelled. He then leaned over to Della and muttered under his breath, “Get on the wagon behind us, I have an idea.”

Della looked to find the cart sitting there, waiting for her, and she did just what Zac has said.

“Family, Attack!”

The clan of Gypsies charged at the three Americans. Zac and Minigan ran around to the other side of the wagon, pulled down of the handles so that Della’s end raised, and together, they began to push. Within seconds, Zac and Minigan were on the receiving end of a series of punches, blows from various chains and clubs, and blasts of smoke that were filled with needles or caused the two to feel dizzy. Whenever he could, Zac spat at the gypsies, effectively incapacitating them with the acid in his saliva.

Minigan, still taking a beating and unable to fight them off, yelled, “Zac, we need more superpowers to fight them off!”

“You’re right,” he replied between spits, “Della, stop them with your queefs!”

“My what?!”

“ Your queefs! You have superpowered queefs! It’s the classiest superpower ever!”

“Ever, or that your pathetic mind could think of?!”

“I meant me!” Minigan cried as a fanned away a turquoise cloud of smoke that was making is eyes swell.

Zac and Minigan spun the cart around, knocking over several gypsies in the process.

“Della hit ’em!”

With a look of pure loathing plastered on her face, Della leaned back, spread her legs, and squeezed. A light “pfft” sound crept out of her crotch. Suddenly, the tree gypsies coming up on Della were blown across the plaza, as if being carried away by some great wind. The gypsy hoard saw this, and out of either shock or fear, hesitated to move any closer. Taking this opportunity, Zac and Minigan spun the cart around again, and pulled it through the newly made gap in the crowd and towards the edge of the Plaza.

“What are you waiting for?!” Vanlow roared, “GET THEM!”

The mob obliged. Several steams of different colored smoke shot into the air like arrows, and then arched down at the fleeing Americans. Della aimed her pelvis and squeezed again. After about a second, the smoke collided with the queef, turning each trail of smoke a sickly green. The smoke trails then changed their direction and rushed back at the gypsy hoard, attacking their former masters. Panicked shrieks echoed through the otherwise quiet plaza. Chaos erupted from the clan as the clouds of queef tainted smoke assaulted the people who had cast them, many of them frantically running around, blinded by the haze. In the center of the Pandemonium, Vanlow stood, seething as he watched Minigan and his friends escape the plaza.

“What direction are we headed?” Zac asked between heavy breaths.

“I think towards the amusement park,” Minigan replied, “Let just try to get a much distance between us and those gypsies before we head back home.”

“But what about my house!” Della cried, right before she blasted a queef at a burly and mustachioed gypsy whom managed to break away from the carnage in the square and catch up to them. The queef hit the man, instantly binding him with ropes. He lost his balance and fell to the ground, squirming to break free from the bindings.

“I’m sorry, I totally forgot about your house,” Minigan replied to Della sarcastically, “maybe if we just stop and ask Vanlow nicely, he’ll change his mind.”

“Can we argue about this later?” Zac interjected, “I don’t think just distance is enough to keep those people from catching us.” he pondered for a second or two, then exclaimed, “I’ve got it! These buildings can shift to form a series of blockades!

Just then, the ground beneath them began to rumble. The shaking became more and more violent, to the point where the already decrepit apartment complexes began to sway. Then, slowly at first, with the sound of concrete rubbing on concrete, each building started to move. They spun and slid over the streets, and slammed into one another, forming an impenetrable maze of abandoned buildings in Minigan, Zac, and Della’s wake. Even the ones a head of them shifted, creating an escape route that lead directly to the Ferris Wheel. After not much time at all, the three had escaped the moving buildings of Pripyat, and were racing towards the vacant lot where they had begun.

Imagine it as the cheap version of Inception.

Imagine it as the cheap version of Inception.

Della, after she carefully scanned the now still buildings for signs on approaching gypsies, uttered “I can’t believe you, Minigan.”

“What did I do?”

“This is all your fault. If you hadn’t taken Vanlow as a slave, that cake wouldn’t have destroyed my house, and I wouldn’t in the Ukraine queefing at an angry mob of magical gypsies.”

“But I’m not the one to decide that the frat guy from Seth Rogan’s new movie should take the reality bending drugs!”

“Hey! I’ve been doing a good job!”

“You kicked us out of an airplane and almost collapsed a building on us, you dick!” Della snapped.

“That’s right!”

“Hey, I don’t even need to help you bickering douchebags!” Zac snapped, “How is any of this my problem?”

The three continued to argue, and as they did, they failed to notice the plume of dark blue smoke rise over the buildings and fly towards them. The smoke arched, and then rocketed to the ground, landing mere feet away from the arguing trio. Out of the smoke stepped Vanlow, still notably furious, but also wearing a look of triumph on his tan face.

“You really thought you could escape me so easily?” Vanlow announced, but Della, Minigan, and Zac payed no attention to him, opting to continue arguing instead. Flabbergasted by such an unusual response, momentarily paused, his anger robbed from him. Once it resurfaced, he roared, “HEY!”

Minigan, Zac, and Della stopped and looked to him. In unison, they said, “Will you shut the hell up, we’re in the middle of something!”

Zac added, “You wait until the Americans are done talking.”

With a flick of his wrist, Vanlow whipped up some dark blue smoke. The smoke raced down to Zac’s ankles, wrapped around them, and then shot upwards, making Zac flip in the air and land on his neck. Minigan charged at the gypsy. He counter acted with another burst of smoke, this one throwing Minigan across the parking lot and into the bumper cars pavilion. Minigan slammed into one of the weather worn cars and collapsed onto the ground. Vanlow shot seven more smoke blasts at the pavilion before turning to face Della.

Vanlow smirked at Della, “You’re coming with me.”

“Stand back,” Della cried, “My queefs will rip you apart!”

She closed her legs and then opened them again, and her vagina made a sound similar to that of a cocking gun (see what I did there?). Vanlow was undeterred, and took a step towards her. Poot. The shock of the queef made Vanlow stagger backwards, but he quickly regained his composure and stepped up to face Della again. He raised his right hand, and emitted a thick cloud of smoke that darted at the pregnant Della. She queefed again, and it collided with the smoke, turning it a sickly green color like the others. But it didn’t attack Vanlow; It just hung in the air for a second or two before bursting into flames.

“Oh, come on, my Queefs aren’t that deadly.”

Vanlow didn’t reply, but instead shot another plume of smoke at Della. Della was too slow that time, and the smoke hit her directly in the stomach. Della didn’t feel a thing. She gave Vanlow a confused look, that is, until she felt her pants get wet.

“Guys!” she yelled, “My water just broke I think!”

Zac, with his face planted on the concrete, mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, “I’m fine.” Feeling better, Zac stood up, jumped on the cart, and yelled, “This cart can move by itself, and wants to keep away from Vanlow!”

The bed of the cart leveled, and with an awkward lurch forward, sped away from the vengeful Romani smoke lord. Vanlow created a pool of blue smoke at his feet. He closed his eyes as the smoke swirled and rolled around him, undulating as if something alive was stirring beneath its surface. The swirling waves of smoke grew more violent, and then Vanlow opened his eyes. The smoke shot up into the sky, carrying him with it. Within seconds, he was several stories up in the air, and arcing downward towards the fleeing cart. Vanlow rocketed at Zac and Della, looking like a hipster Iron Man with a serious suit malfunction. The cart sped up in an attempt to avoid the flying gypsy, but Vanlow was too quick, and within seconds was about to crash into them. That’s when Minigan dove into Vanlow’s path, and collided with him, sending both men spiraling  away from the cart.

-a few minutes earlier-

Minigan landed on his back, his body spread out on the bumper car pavilion’s floor. Struggling to sit up, he watched as seven blasts of smoke followed him into the pavilion and crashed into each of the cars. Instantly, the cars came to life and charged at Minigan. Despite feeling worn down already, Minigan jumped to his feet and dove over the first car. The second and third car charged at him at the same time, so Minigan jumped at the last second, causing them to crash into one another. He landed on the yellow one that had pink graffiti scrawled on the hood, and from there hopped over the metal fence and out of the pavilion.

You can see the murder in their non-eyes.

You can see the murder in their non-eyes.

Racing away from the bumpercars that were desperately trying to break free, Minigan looked up and saw Vanlow’s smoke trail streaking down towards the fleeing cart. As fast as his burning legs could carry him, Minigan sprinted towards the cart. At the last second, he dove, managing to grab a hold of Vanlow as he passed.

The two men hit the rough concrete and rolled several feet before breaking apart and coming to a stop. Minigan was back on his feet first, but was unsteady. His warm blood oozed from the newly formed scrapes on his forarms and face, and the dull throbbing pain in his skull made it hard to see straight.

From behind him, Minigan heard Zac yell, “You’re fine Minigan! Kick that dirty gypsy’s ass!”

“OK,” Minigan replied, his vision cleared and his head feeling fine, “Just help Della give birth!”

“What?!”

“You heard me-“

A loud clang of metal hitting pavement indicated to Minigan that the bumper cars had escaped. He looked to where Vanlow had been, only to realize he had vanished. Minigan ran back to the zigzagging cart, deciding that that was the perfect opportunity to give himself an edge against Vanlow. He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out his secret bag of Olivia Wilde and Charlie Sheen. As best he could, Minigan dumped the contents into his mouth and swallowed.

“I’m on the cart,” he announced.

“Holy shit,” Zac stammered, looking both terrified and sick, “H-How did you do that?”

“No time for questions Zaccy Effs,” Minigan replied brightly, “Where is Vanlow?”

“That’s a question!”

In a pained voice, Della replied, “I don’t know. God this hurts!”

“Good to know. But while he’s still gone, we need to figure out how to stop him.”

“There’s no way to stop him!” Zac cried, a little more frantically than he normally would have, “He is more powerful than the drugs. Nothing I tried has stopped him yet.”

Minigan pondered for a second, and then asked, “Quick, what’s the one thing Gypsies are powerless against?”

“Nazis?” Della answered between breaths.

“Soap?” Zac added.

“Ugly jewelry?”

“Peddling their half assed fortune telling chicanery?”

“Bondage!” Minigan shouted, “They’re mostly nomadic. They hate being tied to a particular place! If we are able to tie him up, then maybe that will weaken him!”

“But you tied him up before and he escaped,” Della noted, “oh God, here comes another contraction!”

“Minigan please don’t make me help with this,” Zac pleaded over Della’s pained yells.

“Vanlow picked the lock- he didn’t use magic, Della. And Zac, you need to help deliver the baby, it’s the only way.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

Just then, the leading bumper car rammed into the back of the cart, making the wooden bed tilt back and forth like a seesaw.

“That’s why,” Minigan said as he pulled a handful of mines out of his pocket.

“Where the hell did you get those?!” Zac asked, “Wait a second, did you take some Olivia Wilde?!”

“Yes.”

“I thought you didn’t have anymore!”

“I had to lie to you cause I figured you would try to dick me over again,” Minigan explained, “So this was my back up in case shit went afoul,”

“You deceitful little bastard!” a red faced Della shouted in a much deeper voice that usual, “You’ve been giving me shit all day about letting Zac have the stupid bag of drugs when you had more! You petty little shit. If I wasn’t about to have a baby, I’d beat the hell out of you!”

“Hey, if I wanted someone to ride my ass, I would’ve just twerked with Robin Thicke at the VMA’s.”

Without another word, Minigan dumped the mines onto the ground in front of the cart. The cart rolled over them with no problem, but as soon as the first automatous  bumper car drove over one, it exploded into thousands of pieces of flying shrapnel. The other cars were destroyed in the same way, one at a time, exploding into pieces.

“Impressive, Minigan,”Vanlow’s voice said from behind him.

“Oh, God, the baby’s coming!”

“Tell it to wait a little while longer!”

“Vanlow,” Minigan demanded, “End this. Let us go.”

“Never.”

“Fine.” Minigan snapped, “Vanlow is tied down with chains!”

Vanlow looked at the thick metal chains that were binding him. He scoffed, and the chains vanished in a puff of Dark blue smoke.

“The three of you know nothing about me,” Vanlow muttered darkly, “Nothing about the Roma! Nothing about our culture! You don’t even know one of our oral traditions.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a few oral traditions of my own, if you know what I mean,” Zac interjects. He goes to give Della a high five, but she just glares at him.

“Shut up, Zaccy Effs,” Minigan commanded.

Ignoring Zac, Vanlow continued, “So let me give you a lesson!”

“You’re a penis monster, Minigan.”

Vanlow shot several spike shaped clouds of smoke at the penis monster Minigan, but all they did was disperse once they hit him.

Penis monster Minigan smirked at the dumbfounded Vanlow and quipped, “So, was the first lesson that you guys are pointless?”

Vanlow let out an angry roar and dive tackled Minigan. The two men tumbled out of the rolling cart and onto the metal strewn concrete. Vanlow rolled away from Minigan and quickly stood up, and then backed away from the Penis monster on the ground, clouds of blue smoke puffing erratically out of his ears and nose. Penis monster Minigan stood up and faced his foe. Noting that Vanlow seemed to have lost some of the control of his smoke after tackling him, Minigan charged.

Vanlow dodged Minigan’s attack and screamed, “You want to fight as monsters? I shall fight you as a monster!”

The gypsy vanished in a billowing plume of smoke that grew upwards about forty feet. The swirling, dark blue cloud expanded and expanded until it blocked most of the rearranged Pripyat from view. Then, with a deafening high pitched roar, a 24 headed dragon stepped out.

Della screamed in pain, which was echoed by Zac and Minigan, who admittedly were screaming about two different things.

The dragon, with a single swipe, snatched up Minigan in its claw and brought it up to one of its many faces.

“Stop Pushing, Zac!”

“YOU stop pushing, Della!”

“THAT’S NOT HOW THIS WORKS, EFRON!”

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!” Minigan cried, as he stared into the gaping mouth of the 24 headed dragon.

“You’ll never stop me, Minigan,” The dragon roared, “Either give me the girl, or I’ll destroy everything you love.”

“How about you not take the girl and not destroy everything I love?” Minigan asked.

“That also works,” The dragon replied.” And how about we sit down and drink of the finest wine, and eat meat that no man has ever eaten?” The Vanlow Dragon joked, “This isn’t a fairy tale, Minigan! In the real world, dragons aren’t so easily outsmarted!”

Vanlow closed his claws around Minigan and squeezed. Bursts of pain shot through his body as his bones and internal organs were squeezes to the point of breaking or rupturing. Minigan began to feel the blood vessels in his eyes begin to burst and the oxygen escape from is lungs.

Thinking quickly, Minigan used his free hand and, with what little breath he had left, squeaked, “My penis fingers are highly elastic.”

Minigan’s elastic penis fingers stretched out and wrapped themselves around the main head of the multi headed dragon.  This didn’t do much, so Minigan had his fingers urinate on the Dragon. All twenty four heads shrieked in pain as the urine burned its skin. Out of the combination of anger and pain, the dragon threw Minigan to the ground. Minigan bounced to his feet, and while the Dragon was still wailing because of his burns, Minigan ran to the cart.

“Della,” Minigan shouted, looking at her through his strained and bloody eyes, “I need your afterbirth!”

Della- Why must the all the focus be on what comes out of my vagina today?!

Despite taking deep lungful gasps of air, Minigan managed to retort, “You’re expelling a human being from it right now. Try to keep up, Della, this is important.”

“Fuck you Minigan!” Della screamed through clenched teeth.

“The head’s out!” A shaky Zac interjected, “One more push I think. At least that’s what the movies say.”

Della screamed, gave a final push, and little Myka was born. Zac caught it, and spanked its ass, causing the newborn to start crying. Zac then wrapped the baby in a blanket that he pulled out of nowhere and handed him to an exhausted Della. She looked into her baby’s eyes, and for a moment, everyone was at peace. Nothing mattered except that the baby was ok, which he was. Minigan breathed a sigh of relief and patted Zac on the shoulder, which Zac returned. Della, for the first time in months, was smiling.

But of course, the moment was ruined by the livid twenty four headed dragon lumbering towards them. Minigan quickly  gathered up as much after birth as he could, doing his best not to gag, and placed it into a large plastic bag he had pulled from nowhere. He tied the bag, aimed, and threw.

Majestically, the bag of placenta sailed high into the air, catching the light of the setting sun as it did. Not so majestically, it exploded on one of the faces of the dragon. The other twenty three heads began to screech and flail, and one by one, exploded into blue smoke.

Just as the dragon’s body did the same Minigan ran forward yelling, “Vanlow is tiny and I have a jar that is impervious to all kinds of gypsy magic!”

I tiny sounding cry rang out from the blue smoke, and Penis Monster Minigan did a running somersault to catch the miniaturized  gypsy. He caught the four inch tall man in the jar, and immediately twisted the lid on and sealed it.

“Let me out, Minigan,” the tiny Vanlow cried, “I demand it!”

“I’m so sorry, Vanny Low,” Minigan replied, “but I’m afraid I cannot do that. I gave you enough opportunities to not be an insufferable butt-hole, but you refused. This jar is where you shall stay.

“You want my curse undone?” Vanlow bargained, “It’s done. The curse has been lifted, and her house is back to normal.

“Oh yeah,” The penisified Minigan said incredulously, “We’ll see about that.” He then shouted to no one in particular, “We’re all back at Della’s house, in her living room.”

Regular Minigan turned around to see Della resting on her living room couch. The ceiling and walls were neither stained with sewage nor containing giant holes and exposed pipes. The air was heavy with a sweet smelling potpourri, not the smell of human excrement, and there wasn’t a single terrified snake in sight.

“See,” Vanlow cried, “Now can you let me out?”

“Sorry. Not gonna happen.”

“But we made a deal!”

“I’m sorry?” Minigan snapped, “We made no deal. You did this on your own; I didn’t agree to anything.”

“But bargaining is always an option!” Vanlow cried.

“Bargaining was an option until you turned into a dragon and tried to squeeze the life out of me.”

“But…”

Minigan refused to hear another word from Vanlow, and instead stuffed the jar into his bookbag. He then joined Zac, Della, and her husband and sister in celebrating the new life.

Hours later, when Minigan finally got back home, he went to his room, shutting the door behind him. With his bookbag, he climbed up to the shelf above his desk. He pulled out the jars of Kinich Ahau and Vanlow and placed them on the shelf.

Then, with a lingering look over at the rest of the empty shelf, said, “Hmm…”

THE END… FOR NOW

Ways I Would Ruin A Date With Anna Kendrick

If there’s one thing I like to do, it’s to play with my cellphone while I poop. If there’s two there’s two things I like to do, it’s to play with my cellphone while I poop and to imagine scenarios in which I’m on a date (or at least having a conversation) with a celebrity. If there’s a third thing I like to do, it’s to overuse already worn out humor clichés.

Picture Unrelated

Picture Unrelated

But as for that second thing, I like doing it because, well, most of my time I’m imagining scenarios in which I’m fighting celebrities, so it’s fun to mix it up every once and a while and think up situations where they are stuck by my suaveness and charm instead of my mighty, mighty fists. Also, I might have an unhealthy fascination with fame culture in which I demonize it, yet secretly yearn to be a part of it. But that kind of deep psychological self-examination has no place in my blog. No, this blog is a gaping void of classlessness that I’m trying desperately to fill with dick jokes.

http://www.stormbowling.com/products/balls/classic/second-dimension

See what I did there? I know, I am a genius. But let’s move on.

However, despite all my awesomeness which must be incomprehensible to you hu-mons, I try to honest with myself, so I’m sad to say that a date with Anna Kendrick would probably not end well. I mean, let’s face it- we love celebrities so much because we only see a fraction of what they really are. We see the characters that they play/ hear the music they make/ read the words they write/ etc. but don’t ever see them more that a two (or sometimes one) dimensional prop in the slash fiction plays that we constantly create in our own heads. So while in my head the date would go swimmingly and she would be thoroughly wooed by extensive knowledge from half remembered Cracked articles and delightful array of fart jokes, in reality she is a real, living person with her own separate thoughts, emotions, and reactions that the real life me would not be prepared for. And that’s why I’m going to completely undercut what I just wrote in this paragraph by making sweeping generalizations about Miss Kendrick’s personality despite knowing very little about what she is like in her private life in order to prove my point. Sorry Anna.

“Oh Minigan, I think it’s sexy how you’ve turned me into a paper doll for one of your weird fantasies.” –The Anna Kendrick inside my head.

“Oh Minigan, I think it’s sexy how you’ve turned me into a paper doll for one of your weird fantasies.” –The Anna Kendrick inside my head.

1. She is so much cooler than me

This probably isn’t the ideal place to explain who Anna Kendrick is for those of you who don’t know, but I didn’t have a good place to put it before now, so here will have to do. Anna is an actress. She was in the cult movie “Pitch Perfect,” which came out last year, but has also been in “The Twilight Saga,” “50/50,” “Paranorman,” “Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World,” and according to her IMDb page, the Broadway musical, “High Society.” She also has a hit song out called “Cups,” but I’m going to get to that later.

Frankly, she seems like she would be a pretty cool person to hang out with even before you know much about her. She just seems to have a look about her that makes you think that if you ever met her, she would probably be pretty damn chill. That’s what I thought at least. And then I started following her on Twitter. Holy shit, guys. If you’re not following her on Twitter, you need to get with the goddamn program. Seriously, look at this shit:

Anna Kendrick Tweet 1

I understand that there are a lot of shitty things that happen on Twitter. Believe me, I know. It’s hard not to think that are language be dying when you see some of the stupid shit the masses on Twitter post (My tweets included), but this single tweet has to make up for some of that. It’s just so simple, so perfect, such an incredible use of hashtags- which at times feel like shameless pleas for attention. But not in this tweet. No, the hashtags only add to the beautiful simplicity of it. I don’t remember what I tweeted for my 1,000th tweet, but I can assure you that it wasn’t nearly as awesome as this one is.

Oh my God, you’re amazing!

Oh my God, you’re amazing!

And this is why I’d ruin the date. I cannot compete with this. I’d walk into the date all cocky, like I’d be able to handle the violent cyclone of awesome that is Anna Kendrick, so I’d be totally unprepared for it when her awesomeness slaps me in the face. In reality, Anna’s level of coolness would, in all likelihood, tear me the fuck apart. The date would consist of me saying something that I think is good, followed by something amazing she would say, and all I would have to say in reply to her would be, “I have nothing to add. You’ve just conquered the human language, you beautiful monster.”

Of course, that’s if I’m able to talk at all, because…

2. My social awkwardness would probably ruin our date before it would even begin

Here’s how I’d imagine the first exchange of the date would sound like:

Anna- Hello, Minigan, It’s very nice to meet you.

Me- hurr…argle…gooorg…ba-ba-bargle…

This is how every real life conversation I have goes if I'm not already comfortable with you.

This is how every real life conversation I have goes if I’m not already comfortable with you.

That sound I made would be the sound of my tongue, fearing that I was about to say something stupid, retreating down into my throat and inadvertently choking me. But let’s just say that I don’t become a bumbling mess of spoken word when she says “Hi” to me, and instead think of how an actual conversation would go between us.

Unfortunately for me, I am incredibly inconsistent when it comes to meeting people for the first time. Sometimes, I can be open and social and seem like I actually do fit in as a functioning member of society- like when I met the people that would eventually become my fellow writing tutor friends, or when I met the people I would be traveling through Europe with. Then there are time where I just refuse to talk to or even acknowledge a person for the first dozen or so times I meet a person. And then there are times when I start off seeming social, but manage to ruin it with my innate ability to fuck up any nice conversation. I once met a friend’s girlfriend who used to make a webcomic I enjoyed, and when I went to complement her on her work on the comic, I said, “Yeah, I enjoy your work on the internet… well, not that kind of work.” That last part was a porn joke. The woman I said that to was not in a porn, nor will she ever be, and that shit flew out of my mouth before I could stop it. Granted, my phrasing was shitty enough that she probably didn’t understand what I was referencing (see: she was never in a goddamn porno to begin with), so she probably just ignored the last part, chalking it up to me being strange. But I knew what I meant by it, and I seriously considered jumping out a window to flee from the conversation. I was so embarrassed by my stupidity that I barely said another word to her that night. So then I probably seemed like I was actually a dick. Granted, that’s better than creepy, but not by much.

Seriously, this is me.

Seriously, this is me.

So, if I’m able to speak at all, then I will probably make some terrible joke that will make everything awkward, and she’ll get up to go to the restroom and never come back. And honestly, I wouldn’t blame her. It would be a smart move on your part, Anna. Trust me.

3. I cannot do the “Cups” clap.

I told you I would be getting back to this. For those of you who don’t know what the “Cups” clap is, then I suggest you watch this video. Or rather, watch this video regardless of whether or not you know what the “Cups” clap is.

That is the video for Anna’s single, “Cups.” The song is short, but it’s so catchy that it’s been classified as a Class 2 addictive substance in 23 states. I had it stuck in my head so bad that no song, not even the Oscar Mayer Bologna song, was able to get it out of my head. I watched the video once and then immediately downloaded a copy of it from iTunes, and I never do that. That’s how powerfully addictive that song is. It’s like ear crack.

Now, here is a video of me trying and failing to do the clap that is featured in the video:


I assume that during our date, I will mention how much I enjoy her song, and she will proceed to test my worthiness of her company by having me attempt the clap. I will, of course, fail, and she will deem me as an unworthy suitor and cast me asunder.

"How can one man be so terrible at such a simple clap? Throw him into the snake pit!”

“How can one man be so terrible at such a simple clap? Throw him into the snake pit!”

So, Anna, if you’re reading this, I would be honored to go on a date with you, but I fear it would be a complete waste of your time. Don’t put yourself through all that.

…Unless, of course you want to. In that case, call me.

But until then, Peace.

Awesomesquad! Assemble! 1 Revisited! (Part 4)

Since this is part 4 of this section of my novel, you need to be filled in on what happened in the first three. If you’re new to Awesomesquad! Assemble!, then you should go back and read them when you’re done. I promise you won’t regret it (a lot).

Back in May of 2009, Jessie James (our mechanic/ vehicle builder) came to us with the theory that Donald Trump was up to deeds more dastardly than his usual dastardly deeds. Against Damien Walters’s (our fighting/ parkour trainer) wishes, we flew to New York City to run some surveillance on the orange skinned millionaire. We stayed at a hotel the night before we were to carry out the stake out.

The next morning, Damien left to break into the lower levels of the Trump Tower and download a program onto the Security system so that we would have access to the cameras, while the rest of us minus Lady Caggiano (my second in command/ stubborn crazy person) went to stake out the atrium of The Trump Tower and to try and bug Trump. Our first attempt was a failure; Jessie was unable to get Trump to talk to him at all. Then, I recieved word that Damien was in trouble with security, so I had Criss Angel (Mind Freak/ the team’s wizard) distract some of the guards. Finally, when our second chance to bug Trump arrived, Jessie was about to do just that when Trump’s body guards found the bug Jessie was trying to plant. Thinking quickly, I had Criss, plant the bug instead. He successfully managed to do it, but we were all caught and thrown out of the Trump Tower. When we made it back to the hotel room, we waited for any information from Damien, who still hadn’t come back. While we waited, we watched the security camera in Trump’s private elevator, and discovered that Jessie’s theory was actually correct.

Meanwhile, Damien was found out by security, and had to fight his way to the security station deep within the lower levels of The Trump Tower. Once inside, he was able install the software and the router that GMZ needed to take over the security cameras. However, the building’s security team gathered enough forces to attempt to break down the door. Damien, in a brilliant display of enginuity, managed to knock out most of the guards and escape through the ceiling. However, the ceiling panels couldn’t hold his weight, and he fell back through. On the run again, he made it back to the elevator and into the ventilation ducts, where he overheard a conversation about Trump buying an apartment complex and forcing everyone out- thus proving Jessie’s theory. Damien made it out  and back to the hotel, where we planned our breach of Trump’s loft.

And that’s where we are now. So,now I give you Awesomesquad! Assemble! 1 Revisited! (Part 4).

*Disclaimer*

This is a work of fiction. All the characters- even the ones based on real people- are simply parodies and noting written here should be taken as the truth. Trump, Please don’t sue. I don’t have any money, and I won’t learn my lesson.

***

As we ate our dinner and waited for Everett to return, we talked about whether or not Dan Brown’s latest novel was going to be any good, and how hard of a left turn down Crazy Street the ending would take. We all agreed that it wouldn’t be “’Deception Point’s’ swirling shark vortex,” hard left, but had to be at least above “The Da Vinci Code’s’ British geriatric with crutches holding a gun” left.

“I’d want the ridiculous, over the top ending, over the clever one” Nut’n Fancy noted. When I looked at him with mild surprise, he defended himself by saying, “What? It’s an action novel. You’re not supposed to learn some great truth about the universe from the action, you’re supposed to sit back and enjoy all the ‘splosions.”

“I’m just impressed that you read books,” Lady Caggiano quipped jokingly.

Nut’n Fancy shrugged and replied with a grin, “Well, I gotta keep y’all book lov’n Liberals on ya’lls toes, don’t I?”

“I guess,” Lady Caggiano answered pleasantly enough, “But in any case, out-of-left-field action sequences that only exist to be as over the top as possible only entertain, and action has the opportunity to be deep as well as entertaining. And action is even worse when it’s so over the top that it makes no goddamn sense. It’s like the writers don’t give a shit about the reader.”

Once we had finished our sandwiches, we stuffed the wrappers in the already overflowing trash bin, and began to prepare for our mission. Lady Caggiano emptied out her suitcase and loaded her belongings into mine. Then, she began loading up her guns, vest, pants, mask, gas mask, knockout gas, and knives into the emptied suitcase.

As for the rest of the group, we each loaded up our book bags full of weapons, extra ammo, and other assorted equipment. GMZ loaded two bags: the first simply had his laptop, his Bluetooth headset, a pair of binoculars, and a couple of stink bombs, the other had a lap top, plus everything the rest of us put in ours. I realized that second one was for Everett, as he made sure to add the flame throwers and extra bottles of butane. I eyed the metallic hand torches longingly; Everett at this point hadn’t made any more flame throwers than the ones he already had, so he was the only one to use them. Damn it I wanted to use those things.

By the time we had finished loading our stuff into our book bags, and loading the rest of our belongings back into our duffle bags, it was almost 9:30, and Everett and Derren had arrived.

As he marched through the door, Derren announced, “OK, everyone. I need to sign us out of the room and take our luggage to the Awesomecopter!, so everyone but GMZ needs to help bring the bags down to the Lobby.”

We all nodded in understanding, and then I turned to GMZ and said, “Go up to the rooftop bar and get set up. I’ll text you when we’re headed up.”

“Right on,” he replied, and without another word, grabbed his book bag and headed out the door.

The rest of us headed down to the lobby, and as Derren checked out, Damien and I hailed a taxi and we loaded it with the remaining five duffel bags. Once we were finished, and Derren had boarded the taxi and left for the airport, everyone but Lady Caggiano and I returned to the lobby. I looked at her, and for a brief second, I couldn’t help but think of how she actually did look kind of cute in the schoolgirl outfit.

I shook that awkward thought from my mind and said to her, “Walk around the Trump Tower until I radio you and tell you that we’re in position.”

“Got it.”

“Do you have a gun on you right now?” I asked in a hushed voice.

“Of course,” she replied.

I answered, “Good. If anyone tries to bother you when you’re walking around, don’t be afraid to threaten them with it.”

Lady Caggiano smirked, “Like I would ever let someone bother me.”

I chuckled, knowing that that poor soul would never be able to walk again, and then said, “Good luck.”

I opened my arms for a hug, but she just stared at me.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked, “We only fist pound, bro.”

Taken aback, I dropped my arms and instead held out my fist for her to pound it.

She laughed, “I’m only fuckin’ with you. Of course I’ll hug you.” She stepped into me and wrapped her arms around my chest. With her voice slightly muffled, she said to me, “You guys be careful.”

“Same to you,” I replied into the top of her head.

We pulled apart, and confidently, she walked off in the direction of the Trump Tower, dragging her suitcase with her. I watched her go for a second or two, and then headed back into the Lobby.

Once inside, I was greeted with a chorus of “awe’s” from the remaining four team members.

As firmly as I could, I spat, “Each one of you can blow it out your ass. Let’s get to the roof.”

We entered the first empty elevator and rode it to the roof. Once it began its ascent, I texted GMZ and let him know that we were headed up. I didn’t get a response back. I didn’t need one, however, because the in pouring of panicked bar patrons and bar tenders, each of them covering their mouths and noses from the putrid, sour stench that washed in behind them, was enough indication that he had thrown the stink bombs. Criss, Damien, Nut’n Fancy, Everett, and I pushed our way through the packed elevator, covered our noses and mouths with our shirt sleeves, and set off to find GMZ through the acrid smoke. I walked through the haze, the smell from the stink bombs making my eyes sting and tear up in defense. After a few seconds of fumbling over overturned chairs, we found him right where we planned: in the seating area closest to the intersection we would be zip lining over. He was already wearing his gas mask and was typing feverishly at his computer.

Although the mask muffled his voice, I heard him say, “You guys are gonna want to hurry up, because security will probably be up here soon.”

We all nodded, GMZ lit and threw the last of the stink bombs in the direction of the elevators, and Everett began unpacking a bag full of our zip line gear. GMZ pulled the mask off of his face and handed it to Everett, who stuffed it in the now empty zip line bag. Once he got a whiff of the foul air, he gasped, “Jesus Crist in a neck brace, this is awful.”

“Stop take’n The Lord’s name in vain!” Nut’n Fancy shouted.

“Minigan does it all the time!”  GMZ cried back as he covered his mouth with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“I’ve told him to stop saying that a hundred times!”

“Enough already!” I shouted, the stench becoming too much for me to handle, “Let’s just get going already.

Nut’n Fancy obliged, assembled the heavy duty grappling hook gun in a flash, and fired the hook diagonally across the 5th Avenue intersection. The Hook lodged itself into the center of the roof of the building on the opposite block. Everett fastened the wire to the roof, seeing to it that it would be safe enough for us zip line across without it coming loose. Then the five of us put on our harnesses, our gloves, and our protective goggles as fast as we could, and then one at a time attached our zip line trolleys to the wire.

Damien went first. Fearlessly, the man jumped off the building flew through the air high over the busy street. Within seconds, he pressed his hand down the on the wire, and once his feet touched the roof, he ran to a stop. I looked over the railing to see if anyone on the street had noticed. Everyone down there was bustling on, completely unaware that someone had just zip lined from one building to another.

Nut’n Fancy was up next. He slung the grappling hook gun across his shoulder,  grabbed a hold of his trolley and jumped. He awkwardly spun to one side as he whipped across the rooftops, but managed to correct himself before he landed. I checked again to see if anyone on the ground had noticed (they hadn’t), and then Everett  and Criss followed.

It was my turn. I fastened my trolley to the wire, and before I jumped, I reminded GMZ, “Once I make it across, start unfastening the wire. Everett will reel it in, so let go once you feel it tug.”

“Got it. And I’ve already got my WoW game set up for when security gets up here,” he replied.

Figuring that Security would immediately suspect him of setting off the smoke bombs, GMZ decided his best alibi would be to act like he was in the middle of an intense quest in the MMORPG World of Warcraft, and that he was too preoccupied with the game that he wouldn’t move, even if someone set off smoke bombs or if security was bothering him. This also meant that he could talk to us freely and not look suspicious once the bar patrons and workers returned.

I jumped off the side of the building and rolled backwards. I pulled my knees up to my chest, and zoomed across the intersection. The cool night air rushed past my face and filled my nostrils with the smell of car exhaust, which was a welcoming scent after the stink bombs. Poor GMZ was going to have to deal with that for a while. Once I got close enough to the building, I pressed my gloved hand onto the wire behind my trolley, and slowed myself down. Once I reached the roof, I dropped my legs and let my feet slow me to a stop. I immediately unclipped my zip line trolley from the wire, and Everett freed the wire from the hook lodged into the roof. He then fed his end through a reeling device, and the other four of us stepped behind him as he pressed the button. The machine lit up with a bright orange light and let out a loud “whir” noise. In the matter of only a couple of seconds, the other end of wire shot out of GMZ’s hands on the Peninsula’s roof and across the intersection. Once the last inch was inside the reeling device, the light went out and the sound ceased with a light click. When I looked back up, GMZ was already staring at his computer screen.

“Alright, guys,” I said to my team, “let’s go.”

Quietly, we crept across the roof top until we reached the glass wall of the office building separating us from the Trump Tower. Nut’n Fancy reloaded the Grappling hook gun, and shot it up the side of the building. Nut’n Fancy tugged on the rope to make sure it was secure, and once he was satisfied, we began to creep up the wall of the building. We made it to the top, making sure to step around any illuminated window, and once we climbed over the wall we prepared ourselves to do it again.

Nut’n Fancy changed the rope on the grappling hook, this time to one that several loops at the end so that we could fasten our carabiners to. He attached the looped end to the gun, put the grabbling hook into the barrel, and fired at the Trump Tower’s roof. The hook sailed up into the darkness, but after a moment or two, found an edge to hook onto. We all hooked our carabiners into a separate loop, and then Nut’n Fancy (who was hooked into the last loop) fastened the gun to his chest. Together, we jumped off the roof. In one motion, we swung across East 56th Street and slammed into the glass. Luckily, we slammed into the levels that housed offices, so the rooms were dark and uninhabited. As soon as we all had our feet planted on the wall of the building, we began to scale the Trump Tower with me leading the way up.

After only a few minutes of climbing I began to feel the burn in my muscles. I closed my eyes and forced my body to work through the pain. As we moved higher, the winds picked up, and we had to move even slower so that we could brace ourselves from the gusts. The sounds of the street below were growing distant at an unacceptably slow rate, and beads of sweat formed on my forehead before rolling down my face and evaporating, making the cool gusts feel icy cold against my skin.

After what felt like hours, we were finally getting close to the top when I noticed that we were coming up on a window that was dimly illuminated. From such an extreme angle that I was looking up at even just twenty feet below, I couldn’t see the light until just then.

“Guys,” I said as quietly as I could but still loud enough so that they could hear me, “We’re coming up on a window, move to the right.”

They heard, and slowly we inched up the wall and gradually drifted to the right. As soon as I got up to the window, my curiosity got the best of me and peered inside.

“Holy shit you guys!” I exclaimed a little bit louder than what I should’ve, “Jay-Z and Beyoncé live here!”

“Shut up, Minigan!” they answered in unison in what I assumed was disbelief and not aggravation by my outburst.

But it absolutely was them. The entire room was dark, but the light coming from their TV illuminated their faces to the point that I was sure it was them. Jay-Z had his arm wrapped around Beyoncé and was holding onto what I guessed was a beer bottle with his free hand. Beyoncé was draped in a blanket with her feet poking out of the side. On her lap was a bowl of popcorn that she was eating out of, one kernel at a time. I paused and watched them for a second or two, confident that black I was wearing (my cloak was in my book bag) and their complete absorption in whatever they were watching would render me invisible to them.

I had every intention to watch them for just a little while longer, but Damien punched me in my leg and whispered, “Hurry up, you bloody git!”

I obliged and hurried my way past the window, the couple inside completely oblivious to the people climbing right outside their window.

“Holy shit! That is Beyoncé and Jay-Z!” Everett exclaimed.

“I told you so!”

After another long minute or two of climbing, I finally reached the top. I climbed over the side and then immediately turned around to help pull Damien up. Once he was over, we both helped Everett, Criss, and Nut’n Fancy over the railing. We unhooked ourselves from the rope, and then wasted no time setting up. Everett began setting up his laptop near the access door that Lady Caggiano was supposed to open for us. Nut’n Fancy, Damien, and Criss unpacked their bags and began placing their weapons and extra ammo in their belts and holsters.

I pressed the button on my earpiece and announced, “We’re on the roof. Lady Caggiano, head towards the Atrium’s entrance now, but do not engage until I say so.”

She coughed twice, which I took as meaning “affirmative.”

“GMZ,” I asked, “How are things on your end?”

“Pretty good so far. Security asked me a few questions about the stink bombs, but I had them convinced that I was way into WoW to care about the smell. Lady Caggiano, there is a doorman and two of Trump’s guards at the Atrium entrance, so you’ll have to take them out before heading up to Trump’s loft.”

She coughed again.

“Alright,” I added, “I’ll radio you both when we’re ready to start.”

As quickly as I could, I loaded my guns and fastened the holsters to my bullet proof vest. I then loaded up my belt with extra magazines, knives, my grappling gun and hooks, smoke and flash bombs, and a tube of what Everett called “Sticky Bombs.” I pulled out my folded white cloak from the bottom of my bag, shook it, and let the lightweight yet strong cloth unfold itself into its normal cloak shape. With one fluid motion, I twirled the cloak at the base of the hood around my neck and fastened it. I then checked the secret pocket inside and felt the blade of my Justice Stick. I had never used it in battle before, and if everything went smoothly, I wouldn’t be using it tonight either. I sighed. I had been training at night with Damien over the past few months with practice poles, and I was just itching to whip it out and swing my big stick at people (Trust me, I’m going to be making those jokes through this entire story. Be prepared for it).

Once we were all ready and had gathered back at where Everett had set up his computer, I radioed Lady Caggiano and GMZ. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

“OK,” GMZ replied, “I switched the camera footage being played in the Trump Tower security to footage from the night before and I’ve also blocked radio communication for Trump Tower’s security. So, Lady Caggiano, the only people watching you on those cameras is us.”

She sniffed, which indicated that she was getting into character. I crouched down with the rest of the team on the roof to watch. Everett brought up the view from one of the Atrium cameras where the entrance, the doorman, and Trump’s two private guards were all in view. The doorman was pacing back and forth, one of the guards stood near the elevator, and the other directly in front of the camera. Thanks to the bugs we planted in the morning, we could hear the doorman as he griped about Trump forcing the three of them to stay the night.

“This is some high class, premium cut bullshit.” He yelled out with his Brooklyn accent, “I was gonna meet up with some bitches tonight.”

I murmured to my group, “If Lady Caggiano heard that, that man is already dead.”

From outside, I noticed the murky image of Lady Caggiano appear from the darkness. Everett zoomed in as the doorman turned around and saw Lady Caggiano at the door. She waved at him. She smiled, but she was clearly distraught, and I was pretty sure that there was a steady flow of tears running down her face.

“Don’t let her in,” one of Trump’s private security commanded.

“What?” the doorman replied, “It’s just some girl. What’s she gonna do? Besides, there was no women in the group that got kicked out this morning.”

The doorman turned around, headed to the door, and let the sobbing Lady Caggiano inside. “What’s the matter, miss?” he asked politely.

“I,” she sniffed, “I lost my school group when we got off the subway and my cell phone is dead and I don’t know where to go and I… I…” she broke into full body sobs that made Helen Miren’s acting look unfit for B horror movies.

“No, no, don’t cry!” he said as he patted her reassuringly on her shoulder. He then turned to the nervous guards and said, “See? She’s just a lost little girl in the big city.” “Would you like to use my cellphone, hun?”

Lady Caggiano’s eyes lit up as she replied, “Oh, yes please, please, please! Thank you so much, sir!”

He pulled out his phone, leaned in to hand it to Lady Caggiano, and then stood perfectly still for a second. Then two seconds. Then five seconds. I looked to everyone else watching the video feed; they all had puzzled looks on their faces, but their eyes had not turned away from the screen. The man was still standing in his awkward stance, partially bowing towards Lady Caggiano. From the position of the camera, we could only see Lady Caggiano’s pigtails- everything else was blocked by the doorman. Apparently, guards were just as curious as we were, because one slowly moved off to the side to see what was happening.

Lady Caggiano stepped to her right, gun in hand and the barrel lodged in the doorman’s mouth. She fired. The doorman shrieked and fell to the floor, and the security guard near the elevator fell to the ground, dead. Before the other guard could react, Lady Caggiano aimed and fired at him, hitting him in his chest.

She walked away from the writhing and moaning doorman whom she had shot through the cheek, and fired the kill shot into his head after saying, “Don’t call me hun.”

The five of us stared slack jawed at the laptop where we had just watched Lady Caggiano casually murder three people. GMZ’s flabbergasted and mildly terrified voice came through my earpiece, “What in the entire cosmos of celestial fucks just happened?”

Lady Caggiano strode to the elevator doors, and with her gun in one hand, the handle of her pink roller suitcase in the other, she stole the clearance card from the dead guard and swiped it. Then, as the elevator doors opened, she looked to the camera and made a couple of gestures with her hands and forearms.

Damien looked up from the screen, the golden light illuminating half of his face and asked, “What does that mean?”

I answered as I rubbed my forehead with the tips of my fingers, “I have no fucking clue. We didn’t plan out hand signals.”

After she was finished making nonsensical hand signals, she stepped into Trump’s private elevator and let the doors close behind her.

Everett toggled up the camera inside the elevator, and the image of three dead men in the Trump Tower Atrium was replaced with Lady Caggiano changing in the elevator.

I covered the screen with my hand and said, “Let’s give her some privacy-)

The screen went black.

I pressed the button on my earpiece and asked, “Lady Caggiano, what happened to the camera?”

“I covered it with my BIMBONIA ACADEMY jacket,” she replied, “that way, you dirty pervs couldn’t watch.”

“I was covering you up with my hand,” I insisted. Then, I made my voice harsh and asked, “And what the hell was with you murdering those three guys? Did you not bring the tranquilizer gun?!”

“Hey,” she snapped back, “Trump wants them to use deadly force on us, so why shouldn’t we use deadly force back? Plus, Damien shot two of those darts into that one guard’s neck and that didn’t even knock him out, and the two guards in the Atrium were much bigger than that guy was.”

“She’s got a point, Minigan,” Damien added.

“But this is still our first real mission, and I don’t immediately want to get a bad reputation-“

“From whom?” Lady Caggiano asked sarcastically, “No one knows we’re doing this. That was the whole point, remember. Besides, I don’t give a damn about my reputation.”

“Well,” I snapped back at her, “It’s a good thing you don’t give a damn about your bad reputation, Joan Jett, because right now your reputation is that you’re a grade A psychopath.”

I pressed the button on my earpiece to turn off the speaker, and then said to the other four men, “I hate it when she’s right.”

After about a minute or two of silence from Lady Caggiano’s end, she uncovered the camera, revealing herself in her bulletproof vest, black pants, and goggles. Her guns, knives, and canisters of knockout gas were strapped to her vest and belt for easy access, and her long, light brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

GMZ’s voice came through my earpiece and announced, “OK Lady Caggiano, you’re getting close. There are three men outside the elevator door. Use a can of knockout gas to take them out.”

“Sure,” she replied as she grabbed the canister on her chest. She ripped it out of the pocket, but the ring got caught on her vest and pulled out of the top. “Oh shit,” She muttered.

“Oh shit,” The five us on the roof answered.

“Oh shit,” GMZ’s voice echoed.

There was about a second where I could clearly see the expression that I can only describe as “pure fucked” on Lady Caggiano’s face before the cloud of knockout gas enveloped her head. Within seconds, the entire elevator was filled with the gas and the whole computer screen went white.

“GMZ!” I shouted as I jumped to my feet and pressed the button on my earpiece, “We need to save her! We need to break into the Trump Tower now!”

“OK,” GMZ replied, his voice shaken. He steadied it and continued, “If you guys are on the grass, that means over the ledge should be a glass roof. That’s the roof to the elevator shaft. The doors open in your direction, and then the hallway in Trump’s penthouse head left parallel to East 56th. If you rappel down either the shaft you could save her before the doors open.”

“Too late,” Everett interjected, “the elevator is at Trump’s floor.”

“Nut’n Fancy and Damien,” I commanded hurriedly, “Set up ropes to rappel down the side of the building. We’ll need to create a diversion.”

Both men ran off without another word in the direction that GMZ said. I pulled out one of the sticky bombs, pressed the center of the green gel disk as Everett directed, and threw it at the glass skylight. It beeped for a few seconds and then exploded, shattering the glass which sparkled for a brief second as it fell into the dark shaft.

“Derren and me are in the Awesomecopter! and on our way,” Jessie’s voiced announced in my ear.

“Great,” I answered back, still looking into the dark pit I was about to jump down, “There was a complication at Trump’s loft, and we’re about to break in, so the sooner you get here, the better.”

I tied a rope to a tree and was about to rappel down the shaft when Everett cried, “Guys, get back here!”

I hopped over the wall and ran to Everett and Criss, who were staring at the computer. On the screen, they had brought up the camera right outside the elevator on Trump’s level. I watched as the beating of my heart drowned out every other noise. The doors opened. I bit my lip. The three guards turned around to see what caused the doors to open. Smoke billowed out. Then, a knife sliced through the dense gas and into the first guard’s throat. The other two guards raised their guns, but a still conscious Lady Caggiano sprinted out, still awake and moving faster than I’ve ever seen her (or anyone) move before. She slid past the guard on her left, jumped and bounced off the wall, and landed on his back. She threw another knife at the third guard before he could shoot, getting him in the neck as well. She the then pulled out her hunting knife, held it to the guard who’s shoulders she was sitting on, and slit his throat. He fell to the ground and she rolled off of him. With a single bound, she was behind a pedestal holding a large vase. I was relieved, until she bumped the pedestal and knocked over the vase.

Everett pulled up another camera. There were nine other guards in Trump’s kitchen, hanging around an island that looked like it could hold a queen size mattress. They heard the crash and ran to the other end of the hallway. Just then, Nut’n Fancy and Damien came back, claiming that the ropes for us to rappel down were ready. When they saw the look on Criss, Everett, and my faces, they circled around the computer to get a look at the screen. Everett put up a spit-screen view of the hallway, one facing the hazy elevator entrance, the other down the narrow, bookshelf lined hallway itself.

The guards filed down the hallway, each with his gun drawn and a determined look on his face. Lady Caggiano sat behind the pedestal, holding a glock in each hand. She looked tense; even through the smoke, I could see her tightly gripping her pistols. The guards were all in the hallway now, and had stopped far enough apart and staggered that it would be impossible for anyone to get to the other end of the hallway.

GMZ warned Lady Caggiano, “There are nine men in the hallway. You’ll never make it. Do not engage.”

Lady Caggiano’s face twisted itself into a look of pure rage, and she jumped from behind the pedestal. Bang. The first man went down. The other guards started firing. Lady Caggiano ran at a full sprint, zigzagging back from one side of the hallway to the other, shooting her guns. The men aimed and shot. She dodged, rolled, and fired back. Guards two and three were down. She shot the fourth in his knee, and jumped up to punch him in the face before shooting the fifth between the eyes. She ran forward, kicked the sixth onto into a book case and shot him in the chest. She released her empty magazines from the guns. She then threw up two loaded magazines and caught them in the handle.

“How is that even possible?!” someone on my team asked in awe.

There was no time to consider it. Lady Caggiano jumped up, grabbed a hold of the bookcase nearest her, swung back and fired at the fourth, who was about to raise his gun again. She jumped off the book case, and charged at the seventh. She shot at his wrist, making him drop his gun, and then shot him in the chest and head. The eighth dodged a few of her shots, but she delivered a swift roundhouse kick to his face before shooting him a few times in the chest. The ninth walked backwards, firing wildly in Lady Caggiano’s direction. She shot the gun out of his hand, and then threw her guns into the air. She dove over the table, planted her hands on it, and swung her feet between her arms. When her legs came up, she kicked the man hard in the chest. Lady Caggiano landed on her feet, spun around, and caught both guns. She spun back around to face the man on the floor. She squeezed the trigger. Click. She was out of ammo again. Just then, a faint ping from behind her warned her that a new wave of guards had arrived. She took a running leap and dove onto the island. She slid to the other side and dropped to her hands and knees onto the kitchen floor.

“Shit,” I said, looking up to the other four members of my team, “Let’s get down there.”

We abandoned Everett’s laptop, and the rope I was going to rappel down to get to the elevator car, and we climbed over the wall that separated the grassy area from the rest of the roof. I sprinted across the gravel topped section of the roof, jumped down the set of stairs that lead to the final section of the roof. I somersaulted the landing, but I was immediately back on my feet and running to the edge of the building. I reached it, and a couple seconds later, Criss, Damien, Everett, and Nut’n Fancy joined me. I grabbed one of the four ropes and- Shit. Only four ropes. Of course there would only be four ropes because the fifth was hanging down the elevator shaft where I left it.

Noticing the problem at hand and proceeding to make it worse, Damien said, “That’s not the only thing, Minigan. This glass is too strong for us to kick out when we rappel down, and the angle is too sharp for us shoot at or throw a sticky bomb at.

“Well, shit.” We were running out of time. Lady Caggiano was hiding behind that island while more guards, probably heavily armed and protected, rushed into the penthouse. Maybe it was because the panic that image had caused, but my mind went blank.

“Wait!” Everett interjected, “Criss, that card trick you did this morning- the one where you made them fly around- could you do that with a sticky bomb?”

“Maybe, but I won’t be sure if it lands on the right floor,” he answered.

Everett directed Criss to the edge, pointed down, and said, “Just aim for those lighted windows. That’s Trump’s loft.”

“That’s great and all,” Damien added, “But that still leave the issue with their only being four ropes for the five of us. If one of us rappels down after the other four, that one will get blown to Hell.”

Building off of Everett’s idea, I replied, “Criss can just levitate down!”

“What?!” Damien and Criss cried in unison.

“Yeah! If you levitate down with us, then you won’t need a rope,” I answered.

Angrily, Criss asked, “What makes you think I can even levitate off the side of a building?”

“Because you’re a wizard, and that is one of the many things that wizards do.”

“I AM NOT A WIZARD, MINIGAN!”

“Quit your argue’n!” Nut’n snapped, “We’re outta time!”

Without another word, Criss snatched a sticky bomb out of Everett’s hand, pressed the button, and threw it over the side. It made a wide downward arc and stuck onto the illuminated window below. There was a loud bang and a flash of light. The sounds of screaming and gun fire rang out from the new opening. Damien, Everett, Nut’n Fancy, and I rappelled down the side of the building (I made it to the window in two bounds), and we swung inside the High end loft turned battle zone, our gloves hot from the friction on the ropes.

To my right, the island and the kitchen walls were riddled with bullet holes. On the floor in front of me was the guard that Lady Caggiano couldn’t kill before backups had arrived, dead with three kitchen knives lodged in his chest. Behind his corpse was the bookshelf and dead body lined hallway, and in it were three terrified looking guards, two of them being Trump’s personal body guards from earlier that day. The guard I hadn’t seen before saw me and raised his automatic rifle. Before I could even process the thought, my hand had pulled out my hand gun and fired a shot into his chest. He fell backwards onto the other two, knocking one of them down. With the guards momentarily distracted, the five of us dove behind the battered island.

We were greeted by Lady Caggiano’s who was sitting pensively with her back to the island, and holding a bunch of pots and frying pans. Her pupils were dilated to the point where I could barely see her brown irises. Then, in an unsettlingly calm voice, “Trump is coming. He’s bringing more guards. Cover me.”

I nodded, raised my gun and peeked my head over the counter top. Lady Caggiano did the same, and then threw each of the pots and pans on the stove. She lit each burner, making sure that the flames were as high as they could go, before sitting back down. I heard commotion coming from the hallway, and I knew that the new series of guards, as well as Trump, were on their way.

I handed Lady Caggiano one of my hand guns, and then whispered to my team, “Get ready.”

We stayed silent as several pairs of footsteps came down the hallway and into the livingroom. I nodded to my team, and as one, we jumped up and started shooting. We only managed to kill one of the guards before the others dove behind various pieces of furniture. We were out of rounds within seconds, all of our bullets expended into the inexplicably impenetrable couches and chairs. The guards popped their heads out from behind the furniture and began firing at us as we ducked down and reloaded.

As they fired, lady Caggiano stood up, grabbed one of the now red hot frying pans, and chucked it across the room. There was a clang, followed by a loud shriek, which told me that the pan had hit its mark. As the other three men were distracted, I stood up and threw a throwing knife at the one behind the couch. It missed, and he fired back at us in retaliation.

I looked to Lady Caggiano, who was taking deep breaths and clenching her fists, and asked, “Are you okay?”

She looked at me with an expression of anger that genuinely scared me. Her face was red and the veins in her neck and forehead were pulsing. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her pupils still dilated, and her jaw muscles bulged from how tightly she had her jaw clenched. She looked me directly in the eyes and growled, “Fuck hiding.”

She then stood up, grabbed a pot in each hand, and charged at the guards. Damien, Nut’n Fancy, Everett, Criss, and I were taken so much by surprise, that when we managed to scramble to our feet and follow her, she was already on top of a guard beating the hell out of him with the hot pan. One of the guards took aim at her. I reached into my cloak pocket, pulled out my Justice stick, and charged at him.

Gunshots rang out all around me. I jumped feet first at the man. My feet connected with his chest, and the blade of my pole-arm with the side of his face. He fell backward, firing bullets from his semi-automatic rifle up the side of the wall near Lady Caggiano. I lost my balance, fell over the coffee table, and landed upside down on the couch on the other side of it. The guard with the burnt face, which happened to be the spray tanned, bald guard from that morning, stood up and aimed his gun at my face. He fired. I rolled. He flew across the room and smashed into a large portrait hanging on the wall. Criss was standing several feet behind where the guard was standing with his hand raised.

I jumped back onto my feet and called, “Nice one, Criss,” before kicking my Justice Stick into the air, catching it, and going back to fighting the guard with the semi-automatic.

More guards rushed in- maybe seven or eight, and immediately found themselves in the center of an intense battle. Damien was crushing one guy’s face with his knee, Criss was tossing guards across the room like they were superballs, and Lady Caggiano was bludgeoning anyone stupid enough to come within swinging distance of her and her pots. I had successfully knocked the gun away from the guard I was fighting, but he came back at me with two large, Arabian looking swords from over the fireplace mantel. He sliced at my chest, but only shredded my vest. He swung his swords down at my shoulders, but I blocked them with my pole-arm and kicked him in the stomach. He stumbled backward, but right as I was about to charge at him, two big arms wrapped themselves around my chest and knocked my weapon from my hands. It was the fat black guard from this morning.

I struggled to free myself, but the arms were too strong. The guard I had been fighting ran towards me, the thought of murder in his eyes. I lifted my legs and kicked him in the face. He stumbled backwards, clutching his nose, but not before swinging one of his swords at me and slicing my leg. I ignored the sharp pain in my thigh from the gash, and instead focused my energy on swinging my legs back down and slamming my feet into my captor’s knees. He screamed in pain right into my ear, and then fell… right on top of me.

I felt all the air rush out of my lungs as the man’s heavy body fell on top of mine. I struggled to free myself, but he still had his arms around me.  My face was sandwiched between the cool, hard floor, and the guard’s warm, doughy body, so I couldn’t hear what was happening, but after an excruciatingly long second or two, the guard’s body went limp, and a pair of boots kicked him off of me. I took a deep breath of gunsmoke and blood scented air, and looked up to see Nut’n Fancy extending his hand down to me.

He pulled me up, and said, “You know you’re bleed’n from your leg, right?”

“Yeah,” I answered smartly, “But I’m kinda busy right now.”

“I know,” he joked back as he fired a couple of shots at the guards in the hallway, each bullet hitting its target, “I saw you let’n that guy fool around on top of you. I had no clue you were inta bigger guys”

“God is a lie,” I snapped back at him, knowing that would piss him off more than any insult I had in my arsenal at the time.

Without another word, he went off to shoot at the other guards in the hallway, and I turned to face the guard with the swords again. He spun the swords around in his hand and charged at me. I ran at him, and kicked up my Justice Stick once again. I twirled the pole in my hands, and then plunged it into his chest.

He stopped. His swords dropped to the ground. I was leaning forward, bracing myself for the impact, so when he stopped, his face was less than a foot away from mine. I watched at the expression on his face shift from anger, to pain, to fear, and then to nothing. The light behind his green eyes went out, and for a second, I stared at the expressionless face of the man I just killed. I pulled my Justice Stick out of the mortal wound I created, took a few steps back, and let the man collapse in front of me.

“ENOUGH!!!” a voice roared from the hallway.

It was Trump. His face was red, redder than his hair, and his normally dead looking eyes were burning with rage. He stepped into the room, and all fighting stopped. His guards backed away from him, and looked to the ground as if staring him in the eyes would turn them into stone.

“You little shits,” he shouted, his lips so thin that they were practically invisible, “All of you! You destroyed my living room! Well, I’ve had enough!  You’ll all pay dearly, and by my hand.”

“Sir,” The bald, spray tanned, and burnt guard pleaded, “We were only trying to protect you. They came very prepared.”

“I don’t care!” Trump raged as he strode to the middle of the room and up to the guard, “They shouldn’t have even made it up here in the first place!”

“They- they managed to get control of the security cameras somehow, sir!” The guard said, his voice shaking.”

“So you failed.”

“No!” the bald guard cried, now visibly shaking with fear. The other guards backed as far away as they could. Some managed to slip into the hallway and into another room. The bald guard continued, “They only-“

“No,” Trump interrupted, “You failed, Silvio, and you will pay for it.”

Silvio gasped, and what happened next I would have never predicted. From atop Trump’s head, his hair quivered, and suddenly, a long tendril of red hair reached out and wrapped around Silvio. We all watched in shock as Silvio was raised into the air, and the hair tightened around his chest. Within seconds, all the air was squeezed out of his chest and the blood vessels in his eyes started to pop.

Trump’s hair tightened until Silvio was dead, and then a disembodied voice, the gravelly voice we heard from the bug Criss had planted, spat, “You are worthless!”

“You are worthless.” Trump’s normal voice repeated, right before his hair whipped Silvio’s lifeless body around in the air and threw it out the shattered window.

The other guards began to run away, completely ignoring the intruders they were trying to kill moments earlier.

The Gravelly voice growled, “Where do you think you’re going?” as the men sprinted for their lives.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Several more hair tendrils erupted from Trump’s head and grabbed the guards. A few of the tendrils even broke through the doors that guards had stepped through and pulled them out as well. Then, with a single flick of the hair, they went sailing out the window and down to their bloody deaths on the street and roofs below.

My fellow members of Awesomesquad! and I regrouped and stared at Trump, our jaws dropped in shock and confusion, as his hair retracted back into his head. I wasn’t sure how to react to what I had just seen. I practically dropped my polearm as I squinted at Trump, trying hard not to believe what I had just seen was real. Had Trump’s hair really come to life and thrown a bunch of people out the window? I asked myself. Was even thinking that thought enough of a reason to have myself committed? Seriously, what the fuck did I just witness?

Just then, either refuting my insanity or irrevocably confirming it, Trump’s hair shifted again. This time revealed two large, red eyes and a mouth with rows of vicious looking fangs. When the mouth spoke, the gravelly voice came out and said, “And if that’s what I do to people that work for me, just imagine what I’m going to do to you.”

“And if that’s what I do to people that work for me, just imagine what I’m going to do to you.” Trump’s regular mouth repeated.

I still needed some time to process what I was looking at, but unfortunately, Trump wasn’t willing to give me that time. The tendrils shot back out of his head and at us, and the six of us managed to run screaming back to the island. We each dove behind it just as the hair tendril wrapped themselves around various appliances and attempted to bludgeon us with them.

“What in the spiraling shark vortex of fuck is happening right now?!” Lady Caggiano cried as she swung the pot she was clutching at a tendril of hair with a microwave.

“How in the hell should I know,” I yelled back. I quickly grabbed a dish towel and tied it above the cut on my leg before trying to fight of one of Trump’s hair tentacles.

I was on my back, jabbing my pole-arm at the tendril trying to crush me with the refrigerator door. I rolled to my side just as it slammed the side of the door down. As it raised up the door again, I pulled out a throwing knife and threw it at the hair. The knife sliced through the air and Trump’s hair tentacle, and the refrigerator door fell on top of Everett and I. It smacked me in my lip and Everett on the forehead. Trump’s hair let out a high pitched, ear-piercing shriek, which was followed by the monotone wail of Trump’s mouth. The other tendrils of greying red hair dropped their various makeshift weapons on us and then pulled back.

With Everett and me clutching each end of the refrigerator door, we pushed it off of us and against the cabinets of the island. I then pressed the button on my earpiece.

“GMZ!” I yelled, panic ringing in my voice, “What in the flying Hell are we dealing with right now?”

After a second’s pause, he answered, “Wha? Oh, shit. The mission, right.”

“What did you mean by that?!” I screamed at him.

“Well,” he explained, “I had to make it look like I was playing WoW, and I thought the best way to do that would be to actually play it.”

“YOU’RE PLAYING WORLD OF WARCRAFT RIGHT NOW?!?!” I roared.

The other five members of my team barricaded behind the kitchen island looked to me with a look that was equal parts confusion and fury.

“He’s doing what?!” Nut’n Fancy cried.

“At a time like this?” Everett added.

“I’m sorry!” GMZ replied, “I just got really into the quest.”

“I don’t care! Just look at what we’re dealing with right now and help us figure out how to stop it!” I looked to the rest of my team and added, “That little shit.”

The other five members of Awesomesquad! replied with various “yeah’s,” and “what the hell’s.”

“Hey, I heard that!” GMZ replied.

“I know, I meant for you to hear it, now get to work!”

Everett let out a terrified cry and shuffled away from the island as the short piece of hair that I had severed from the rest slowly inched towards him. All of our screams joined in as each of us grabbed anything we could and began beating the possessed lock of hair.

Once Lady Cagginao beat the hair into submission with a frying pan, I picked up the newly limp hair and put it into a bag that Everett was holding open for me.

As he sealed it up and put it into a small plastic container from one of the cabinets, he nervously whispered to me, “Do you think this can hold it?”

“Let’s hope so,” I whispered back, “We need to get it back to the base to study it.”

That’s when I noticed how silent the room was. There was no footsteps, no rustle of clothing, no breathing coming from beyond the island. In fact, the only other noises other than my team’s heavy, panicked breathing, was the distant sound of what I hoped was the Awesomecopter!.

We sat, huddled together like refugees, for a few long seconds of tense silence when I decided to see what was happening. Pressing my raised index finger to my lips, I slowly, silently climbed to my knees and peeked my head above the countertop. Across the room, glaring at me with all four of its eyes was Trump, his hair holding up a large flat screen TV. The face in the hair let out an evil laugh (which was parroted by Trump’s body), and then it threw the TV at me. I ducked back behind the island as the TV soared over our heads and smashed against the wall over the sink.

“What the hell am I looking at right now?” GMZ asked, just as perplexed as we were just before the hair began to attack us.

“We don’t know,” I answered, “That’s why you need to find out for us.”

Trump’s hair let out another scream, and began hurling books from the hallway at us from over the island’s countertop. We all screamed, and Everett and I lifted the heavy refrigerator door over our heads and sheltered the other three from the onslaught of literature.

“Where do you expect me to get that information,” he asked smartly, “Google?”

“You’re the hacker!” I shouted at him as a hardcover copy of “Angels and Demons” smacked me in my already sore and bloody lip, “Go search for it on some secret government Database or something.”

Trump’s hair threw another book at me. I dodged it. I looked at the cover and realized it was Trump’s own, “Time to Get Tough.” I clenched my teeth and nodded to Lady Caggiano, who looked down at the cover and understood. She grabbed the end of the refrigerator door that I was holding, and I pulled out another throwing knife. I jumped to my feet. Books were flying at me from several directions, but I dodged them. I pulled back my throwing arm. Another book flew past my face. I threw my knife. It sliced through the air, and I dropped back to the floor.

After about a second, Trump’s hair shrieked in pain. I peeked my head back out from behind the island and saw my knife lodged in Trump’s leg. Shit, my aim was off. That should’ve gone in his chest.

I dropped back down and said  to my team, “Aim for his body, he can feel the pain that we inflict upon it, and that’s a bigger target than his hair.”

They nodded in understanding. But just before they could pull out their assorted knives, several hair tendrils exploded through the island’s cabinet doors. We all screamed in terror as the hair tentacles flailed at us, blindly wrapping themselves onto whatever they could and pulling it back through the holes.

Damien barely dodged one of these tendrils before he cried, “fuck this!” He then pulled out one of his sticky bombs, and threw it at the window. The deafening boom from the explosion was followed by the clinking sound of the glass hitting the tiled floor. Damien stood up and ran. He sprinted at the window, narrowly dodging the hair tentacles as they rushed at him, and dove out the window. Nut’n Fancy, Criss, Lady Caggiano, and I looked at each other in shock.

“Did that limey bastard just abandon us?” I asked.

“I think he did,” Criss replied as he smacked a lock of Trump’s hair away from his face.

Nut’n Fancy interjected, “Son of a bitch…”

I pulled out my hunting knife and chopped the hair tendril closest to me. I cut the hair, which inched away, and I added as I bludgeoned the lock with a knife block, “If we get out of this alive, I say we track Damien down and beat the hell out of him with socks filled with limes.”

Everyone but Everett agreed, but right at that moment, another hair tendril broke through the door between Everett and me, taking both of us by surprise and knocking us backward.

“Ahhh! Kill it! Kill it with fire!” I screamed.

Everett and I looked at each other, the two of us thinking the same thing: his wrist mounted flame throwers. Not wasting another second, Everett torched the hair tentacle with a fiery blast from his wrist. The other four of us shielded ourselves from the intense heat of the column of fire as it set the hair ablaze. Almost instantly, the hair reeled backward, shrieking in agony. The scent of burnt hair filled the air. It was hard to breathe through the stench from the smoke, but taking the opportunity, I jumped back to my feet, and began rummaging through the cupboards. Lady Caggiano, Criss, Nut’n Fancy, and Everett were now on the offensive. They stood up and provided me with whatever cover they could with their remaining knives and butane. In a drawer, I found one of those long lighters for grilling. I grabbed it and continued my search. Next, I found a half drank bottle of vodka, a washcloth, and some cooking spray.

I stuffed the washcloth into the vodka bottle and flipped it upside down to get the rag wet. I passed the cooking spray to Lady Caggiano, and she lit it with one of the stove’s burners.  I lit the lighter and then the alcohol soaked rag. Trump stepped back to the opposite end of the room. I chucked the bottle.

I held my breath as it flew through the air directly at the multimillionaire and his evil hair. With a single swipe with one of his hair tendrils, Trump managed to smack the Molotov cocktail out of the air. It shattered on the ground, and almost immediately a circle of fire roared up between him and us. The sprinkler system went off, extinguishing the fire and my hopes for getting out of this alive.

Trump stepped forward through the falling water, his hair whipping its wet tendrils around. In its gravelly voice, it said, “You idiots will never defeat The Donald.”

Just as it was about to whip its hair arms at us again, the sound of jet engines roared from outside. Everyone looked to the windows and saw a bald man in a heavily armed jetpack.

“It’s Damien!” Everett exclaimed.

I looked closer. Well, damn. He was right, I guessed I owed him an apology. Damien smirked at us and then took aim at Trump. Then, he squeezed the trigger on the handle.

I couldn’t hear what Damien screamed over the roaring of the rocket thrusters or the machinegun blasts, but if I read his lips correctly, he screamed, “FUUUUUUUUUCK YOUUUUUUUUUUU!”

Bullets shattered the remaining windows as Damien fired at the fleeing Trump. Trump sprinted across the room, his hair lifting his body off the ground and out of the line of fire. Trump’s hair then reached out the window, and before he could dodge it, wrapped around Damien.

With one quick flick of his hair tentacle, Trump’s hair threw Damien back inside the loft and up against the wall.

“My Prototype!” Everett cried.

“Screw your prototype,” I snapped, “What about Damien?!”

“Him too!”

Damien had barely touched the ground before Trump’s hair had begun wrapping around him, winding around his body like a boa constrictor does with its prey. Within seconds, it had wrapped around Damien’s throat and began to squeeze.

Still holding the lighter, I grabbed the cooking spray from Lady Caggiano’s hands and sprinted towards Trump. Trump continued to squeeze. I watched as Damien’s face turned blue. I pressed the spray button and lit the oil. The heat and light came back. I ran at the tentacles between Trump and Damien. The smell of burnt hair returned, as did the hair’s pained howls.

I was about to change my direction and head straight for Trump when one of the locks of hair grabbed me by the waist and lifted me into the air. It whipped me around for a second or two, and then I was soaring out the window.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck!”

Thinking quickly, I pulled my grappling hook from my belt and shot towards the roof. I kept falling. Still falling. I was about to panic when suddenly I stopped falling. I heard a pop in my shoulder, and then felt pain shoot up and down my arm. I screamed and grabbed a hold of the grappling hook gun with my other hand before my injured arm had a chance to let go. I was in so much pain that I didn’t notice the building rushing back at me.

Smack. I hit one of the windows hard. My arm was still racked with a stabbing pain, which was now accompanied by the stings of my face and knees hitting the side of the building. I bounced backward and then back into the window again, but this time with a softer “thud.” My right arm felt like dead weight- I must’ve dislocated it. I let it drop to my side, and then struggled to get my footing on the glass walls of the Trump Tower. I was somewhat dazed by the pain in my shoulder and the collision with the window, but not dazed enough to not notice the people watching me.

I looked through the window to the scene I had witnessed earlier- Beyoncé and Jay-Z sitting on the couch, watching a movie. But this time it was different: the bowl of popcorn had fallen to the floor, neither of them looked relaxed, and both of them were staring directly at me.

I smiled weakly at them, and then, once realizing that they couldn’t see my face, I raised my injured hand and waved. Pangs of stabbing pain shot up and down my arm, so I immediately dropped it. Inside, Jay-Z and Beyoncé mouthed, “The Fuck?” I gave them another apologetic grin that they wouldn’t be able to see from under the hood of my cloak, and then I began to scale the side of the skyscraper again.

With only one arm able to help pull me up, climbing up the building took some time, but I eventually made it around the corner and to the shattered windows of Trump’s penthouse. I peeked in and saw the rest of my team fighting Trump’s hair. Each of them dove and rolled out of the way right as his hair lunged at them, and they each attempted to cut it apart without also getting grabbed.

Holding onto the ledge with my good hand, I raised my right hand to my ear, ignoring the soul piercing pain, and pressed the button in my earpiece. “GMZ,” I whispered, “Do you know what this is yet?”

“No.” he replied regretfully, “It doesn’t seem like our government- or any government for that matter- has any information for possessed hair. The closest thing I could come up with was an old Simpson’s Tree House of Horror episode, and they had to rip the hair off the head and kill it in order to stop it.” “Hey!” he added, “What if you scalp Trump?”

“What?!” I half whispered back as I watched Trump’s hair swing the refrigerator door at Nut’n Fancy.

“You know,” he replied, “like what the Native Americans used to do. Just cut around the scalp and then grab the hair on the sides of his head and yank.”

“I don’t think I can do that,” I breathed, “I think I dislocated my shoulder.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to try.”

He was right. Right now I had the element of surprise, and if I blew it, it could mean the death of me and the rest of my team. Slowly and silently, I rolled over the edge and back onto the tiled floor. Shards of glass sliced the skin on my forearms and cheek as I rolled, but Trump’s hair was too distracted to hear the clinking of the glass. I stood up, and with my knife drawn, I charged.

I jumped onto Trump’s back and dug my knife deep into the side of his head, his hair (and then his body) roared with rage and pain. His hair flailed around, frantically taking swipes at me as I cut along Trump’s hair line. A tendril of his hair wrapped around my ankle and threw me at the wall.

Lady Caggiano ran to me as the other four fought off Trump’s advances. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“My shoulder’s dislocated,” I grunted back at her.

She knelt down beside me, and I saw a kindness in her eyes that calmed me down somehow. In a warm and motherly tone of voice, she stated, “I’ll put it back in its socket on the count of three, OK? One…”

She pulled. My shoulder popped. I cried in pain. Trump’s hair threw his coffee table at us. Lady Caggiano threw herself on top of me and pinned me to the ground. The table smashed into the wall and the broken pieces of high quality wood fell on top of us.

 

“I thought you said three.” I gasped, my arm throbbing.

“You would’ve tensed up,” she answered. You needed to be relaxed.

She helped me to my feet, and we both joined the fight again. The fight continued for several long minutes. His hair would swipe. We would dodge. His hair would lunge. We would roll. We would slash. His hair would whip back. It was like the dangerous fight dance between a cobra and a mongoose. Except, that the mongoose was six people with knives and flame throwers, and the cobra was a rich man with murderous hair tentacles- so it was way more fucked up than a cobra/ mongoose fight, I guess.

Everett blasted Trump right in the face with his wrist mounted flame thrower, and Trump stumbled backward. His hair swatted at the flames and then screamed, “What the Hell do you guys want, anyway?!”

“What the Hell do you guys want, anyway?” Trump’s normal voice repeated.

“We want you to not take over New York City!” I shouted at him. “Also,” I added in a more conversational tone, “It would be nice to know what the hell you are.”

“Me?” His hair asked and normal voice echoed, “I am just an ancient being looking for some room to expand and reproduce, and have been controlling your greatest business owner and billionaire for the past four decades.”

“Please,” Lady Caggiano scoffed, “Everyone knows that Steve Jobs is the greatest business owner and billionaire ever.”

“STEVE JOBS IS A BALD HEADED CULT LEADER OF A BUNCH OF STUPID HIPSTERS!” Trump’s hair roared.

“Steve Jobs is a bald headed cult leader of a bunch of stupid hipsters.”

“Woah,” Everett replied, “Steve Jobs has cancer, you monster.”

“Monster, MONSTER?!” The monster raged, his tentacles whipping into a frenzy again, making each of us dive for cover.

“Monster, monster,” Trump’s human mouth parroted.

“You’re not proving us wrong, dickbag!” I screamed as I dodged a section of the island that Trump’s hair threw at us. It slid to a halt between me and Damien.

“You think I’m the worst celebrity out there?!” Trump’s hair screamed and his body soullessly repeated, “I can name dozens of celebrities who are far worse than I am. Why aren’t you going after them, Huh? Why aren’t you trying to stop Sean Penn and his terrible, leathery face?”

From somewhere behind the overturned couch, I heard Nut’n Fancy’s voice call out, “That’s just what I said!”

Trump’s hair wrapped one of its tendrils around the couch and lifted it into the air, and then slammed it down at Nut’n Fancy. Nut’n Fancy rolled out of the way at the last second. The couch crashed into the floor and broke apart. Trump’s hair then picked up the pieces of the couch and flung them at us until the six of us had rolled and dodged our way into the same spot in front of the fireplace. I quickly glanced out the window as I felt for one of those sticky bombs. I had none. Fuck. They must have fallen out.

“You were foolish to think you could stop me!” Trump’s hair spat has he threw a chair our direction.

“You were foolish to think you could stop me.” Trump’s body repeated.

Criss threw his hand out and to the right, and sent the chair flying out the window.

“I’m the Donald!” he shrieked, “And I wouldn’t be where I am if I let little fucks like you stop each of my plans!”

“I’m the Donald. And I wouldn’t be where I am if I let little fucks like you stop each of my plans.”

Several new hair tendrils stretched out from the back of Trump’s head and raised themselves high into the air, each one pointing at us. Basically, we were fucked.

My team and I braced ourselves for the onslaught that was about to come, each of us clutching to anything that could possibly be used as a weapon, when  Jessie stepped into the room from the hall, carrying a bazooka, and yelled, “Hey Trump, You’re fired!”

 

Jessie fired. Trump turned to attack Jessie, but it was too late. The rocket blasted out of the barrel.  Trump’s hair tendrils went limp and blanketed his body right before the rocket hit him squarely in the chest. Trump flew out the window, both is body and his hair screaming, “NO!”

The Rocket propelled Donald Trump flew out into the night, and his ride climaxed in a brilliant and blinding explosion over the streets of New York City. The six of us jumped and cheered at the giant fireball as it billowed up into the night sky. A jubilant Damien jumped onto Everett’s back, knocking him to the floor. I turned to Lady Caggiano and we high fived.

“Seriously,” she asked me, “Why do you give such weird high fives?”

“I don’t give weird high fives!”

Jessie interrupted our celebration by running towards us, a look of childlike excitement on his face, and exclaimed, “I did it, guys! I saved the day!”

We all stopped. Damien and Everett picked themselves off of the floor, and the six of us glared at Jessie.

“And what the hell were you thinking?!” I shouted.

“Wha-?”

“Why did you think it would be a good fucking idea to leave the Awesomecopter! to come down here?” Lady Caggiano snapped.

“I thought I could help!” Jessie replied quickly, “Plus Derren is watching the Awesomecopter!!”

“YOU LET DERREN WATCH THE AWESOMECOPTER!?!” I roared.

“And where the hell did you get that bazooka from?” Everett asked.

Jessie frowned, his heroics were clearly not going over like he had planned. “I found it and I thought I could-“

“You thought what?” Damien interrupted, “You thought it would be fun to shoot a bloody bazooka in the middle of New York City?!”

Nut’n Fancy added, “And now pieces of shrapnel and Trump body parts are rain’n down on everyone below, you dang idiot!”

“But Criss, didn’t you just cast a chair out the window?” Jessie asked as panic began to creep into his voice.

“Don’t try to change the subject,” Criss spat, “What we’re talking about right now is how you fucked up.”

“But…”

“But nothing.” I said, “Get back upstairs and wait for us at the Awesomecopter!.”

“But…But…”

“Go.” I demanded.

Seeing the furious scowls on all of our faces, Jessie realized his defeat and turned around. He bowed his head, and then sulked his way out of the war-torn living room and into the slightly less war-torn hallway. As soon as we heard the door to the roof click shut, we relaxed our faces.

I turned to the group and asked, “So, I think we all agree that what Jessie did was the greatest thing ever?”

“Absolutely.” Everett answered.

“It was brilliant,” Damien added.

Lady Caggiano noted, “That was probably one of the most badass things I’ve ever seen. He even had that amazing, “You’re fired” line. That just made it perfect.”

We all nodded and murmured in agreement. Then, I added, “Good. Let’s promise to never tell Jessie how incredibly awesome it was.”

“Agreed,” The rest of my team answered in unison.

“Great, Now let’s get out of here.”

“Wait a second, Minigan,” Damien interjected just as I turned away, “Don’t you remember why we planned this in the first place? We need to destroy his plans in case his hair survived the blast.”

“Shit,” I replied, “You’re absolutely right. Let’s destroy that information!”

As a group, we filed out of the living room and into the study, which showed not a hint of destruction. Everett walked up to the computer and sat down. From his right pants pocket, he pulled out GMZ’s flash Drive and plugged it into the computer. The Screen flickered for a second, and then in the password bar, a line of dots formed. After not even a second’s pause, they vanished and were replaced with another line of dots. Then another. Then another. After about a minute of the program’s rapid fire password guessing, it had chosen the correct one and the home screen came up.

As Everett combed through the various word documents and any program that might lead us to Trump’s hair’s plans, the rest of the team walked back through the Penthouse for any evidence of our presence there (other than, you know, the total destruction of the living room, kitchen, and hallway). When we returned, Everett had found the files and was about to delete them.

“Wait! Lady Caggiano cried, “Don’t delete them, save them!”

“What?!” Everett and I replied in unison.

“If we destroy all that information, and Trump’s hair is still alive, then it can start its plans over without anyone knowing,” she explained, “But if we send in the information of what he’s doing to a news site, then it could go viral and the people of New York will know not to sell to him.”

“Plus, if we destroy this evidence and Trump did survive, he can try to get us thrown in prison,” Damien added, “After all, we did break into and then destroy his home.”

Seeing their points, Everett and I agreed, and he downloaded all the information onto a flash drive before wiping it off the computer. We then did one last search of the penthouse for any weapons that could incriminate us if found. We hadn’t missed much on the first time through, so on our second search we only found two throwing knives, the plastic container with the lock of Trump’s hair, and one of Lady Caggiano’s hand gun magazines. With our mission complete, I radioed Jessie and had him start the Awesomecopter!, and then my team and I filed through the corpse lined hallway to the roof access stairway. We rushed up the stairwell, careful to make as little sound as possible in fear that more of Tump’s guards were on their way. They weren’t, and we safely made it to the roof without incident.

I untied the rope I was going to use to rappel down the elevator shaft and the five of us who had left bags on the roof gathered everything back up and stuffed them into the already pretty full Awesomecopter!. Once everything was secured and we made sure we left nothing behind on the roof, we climbed aboard the Awesomecopter! and flew  towards the Peninsula’s rooftop bar to pick up GMZ. We hovered twenty feet or so above the roof, the downwash from the spinning blades kicked dirt and paper into the air, and made the bar patrons flee to the elevators for the second time that night.

With the fuselage door open, I threw the looped end of a rope down to GMZ, who stuck his foot into the loop and then raised himself off the ground. As soon as he was secure, Criss and Damien began pulling the rope back inside the cabin.

“He’s clear!” I called to Jessie, and he banked the Awesomecopter! hard to the right.

Despite my still sore shoulder, I joined Criss and Damien in helping pull GMZ up. Once he had his feet on the landing skid, Damien and Criss pulled him up by the arms, and I grabbed onto him by the straps of his book bag. We pulled him through the door, leaving us in an awkward pile on the floor.

Damien got up, brushed himself off when he let out a startled cry. The rest of Awesomesquad climbed to our feet and looked to see what he had seen. Ahead of us, floating in the spring night, was a great wispy looking sphere with a man’s form attached to the bottom. We flew past it, staring at the floating hair bubble as we did. Trump’s body looked dirty and his clothes burnt, but other than that, in good shape.

His hair, which had spread itself out like a giant afro to catch the wind currents saw us staring at it and shouted, “You will pay for this! YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE LAST OF ME, YOU BASTARDS!”

***

Sorry for how long that was. I even cut out over 1,500 words (I could have cut more, but I really enjoyed ripping on Dan Brown) of stuff that you’ll have to wait for when I finish the novel.  But just imagine how epic that book is going to be.

Alright, go outside and play, kids.

Awesomesquad! Assemble! 1! Revisited! (Part 2)

For those of you wondering just what the flying hell Awesomesquad! is, this post should tell you everything you need to know. Beware, there are spoilers. Since this is Part Two, you should read Part One if you haven’t already done so.

For those of you who have read it, or those of you who don’t feel like reading it (dicks) here is a reminder of what happened in Part One:

Back in May of 2009, Jessie James (our mechanic/ vehicle builder) came to us with the theory that Donald Trump was up to deeds more dastardly than his usual dastardly deeds. Against Damien Walters’s (our fighting/ parkour trainer) wishes, we flew to New York City to run some surveillance on the orange skinned millionaire. We stayed at a hotel the night before we were to carry out the stake out.

And that’s it. Enjoy:

***

When I awoke the next morning, the sun risen from the ocean and painted the sky an orange cream color. Also, Damien’s feet were resting on my face. Frantically I squirmed and smacked them away from my mouth and nose, and I took deep breaths of air not tainted with the smell of feet. I rolled onto my stomach, and rested my chin on the pillow and fully took in the light that shown through the curtain. Even with the curtains drawn and our window not facing the east, the golden morning light flooded the room. As I basked in the sunlight, it dawned on me what day it was- my 21st birthday. Holy shit, 21! I thought as a smile grew on my face, I finally made it! I’m going to get so hammered today. I lifted my head off my pillow and squinted at my sleeping teammates. I knew that Lady Caggiano knew it was my birthday, but I had never mentioned it to the rest of them. I pondered telling them for a few seconds before remembering what just about every action movie from the 1990’s had taught me: that mentioning your upcoming life event right before a potential action scene is a good way to get yourself dramatically offed. For my own health, I promised not to mention my birthday until after we had stopped Trump.

With my eyes fully adjusted to the light, I got up, grabbed the clothes I would be wearing for the stake out, and crept into the bathroom to take a shower before anyone else woke up. I wasted no time in the shower, and changed into my costume. I wore a grey and green plaid button up shirt, navy blue chino pants (which were not woman’s pants as I had believed before purchasing them), and a pair of standard black Chuck Taylor shoes. Obviously, I was meant to be a hipster, and I clearly rocked the look.

By the time I had finished in the bathroom, Damien was up and attempting to readjust his spine from the night sleeping on the chair by lying on the floor, and GMZ was sitting at the desk, typing something onto his laptop. As soon as he noticed I was out, Damien stood up and rushed into the bathroom, making sure to brush into me with his shoulder as he passed. Apparently, his night sleep did not better his feelings towards me or this mission today. As he showered, I woke up the rest of Awesomesquad! and had them start to prepare for the stake out set for later this morning.  I then went down to the continental breakfast to pick up some coffee and food for my group, and when I returned, the hotel room was crowded with my team members trying to get ready.

As my team got ready, we ate and talked about whether or not the Latest Terminator movie was going to flop when it came out in two weeks.

“Just as long as it’s better than the last one” GMZ noted, “But I’m not expecting too much with the movie.”

“Yeah,” Everett stated, “If their big shocker is that what there are robots disguised as people, they’re going to be disappointed to find out that was used in the first three Terminator movies.”

I added sarcastically, “But in this one there’s a robot who thinks he’s people!”

“That’s Sam Worthington’s character, right?” Criss asked, “Because I’m pretty sure that he really is just a robot in a meat husk.”

We all laughed at that, even when Criss added, “I’m being serious.”

The conversation died there, and I stuffed the rest of the blueberry muffin I was eating into my mouth. I looked around the crowded hotel room at everyone in their costumes, putting in their earpieces, and sipping their coffees and eating the assorted breakfast foods when I realized that we were missing a person.

“Where’s Lady Caggiano?” I asked the group.

“Minigan, I’m not wearing this. You can’t make me. It’s too humiliating and degrading.” Lady Caggiano’s voice rang out from inside the bathroom

“I’m sure you look fine in it,” I reassured her through the door.

“Fine? Are you kidding? I look amazing. But that doesn’t make it any less chauvinistic. Plus, I don’t see how I’m supposed to blend in when I’m clearly going to attract all the attention.”

“Well come out here and let me see,” I replied, “It cannot be as dehumanizing as you say.”

She opened the door, but did not step out. She was wearing a pair of polished black shoes with knee high red plaid socks. The socks matched her skirt, which also matched her tie. The tie hung in front of her dress shirt that she jokingly tied into a knot at her lower ribs, revealing her belly button. Over the dress shirt was a red school sweater from an all-female private school named the Bim-Bonia Academy. To top off her look, both figuratively and literally, she wore her light brown hair in two pigtails swayed back and forth as she moved. Honestly, she did look good, but she was right about how it would be too distracting.

I snorted before breaking out into laughter about her dress shirt. However, that laughter was short lived because Lady Caggiano slammed the door shut and locked it.

Confused, I immediately subdued my laughter and said to the locked bathroom door, “C’mon Lady Caggiano. You look fine. Just stop messing around and fix the shirt and come out here; We’re about to leave.”

“I’m sorry, Minigan,” she replied, “But the sound of you being a total douchebag is drowning out your voice.”

“What?!” I shouted.

“Sorry,” she yelled, “But you’re really going to have to scream if you want to be heard over your own douchery!”

“Lady Caggiano,” I commanded at a normal volume, “Come out here now.”

She yelled again, “Still can’t hear you. Maybe you should just go on the mission without me!”

“Fine!” I yelled through the door, “We don’t need you anyway!”

I walked away from the door when GMZ ran up to me and whispered, “Minigan, we totally need her.”

“I know,” I whispered back.

It was true. It was to be Lady Caggiano’s job to plant a bug in Trump’s private elevator as well as in one of the potted plants near the entrances. With her refusing to help, that means that a few of us were going to have to go out of our ways to plant the bugs.

After thinking over the plan for a minute or two, and pacing back and forth in the small amount of free space available to do so, I announced to my group, “OK, slight change of plans. Jessie, we’ll set you up with a wire so that you can catch as much of the conversation as you can. If Trump refuses to let you come up into his loft with him, try to plant the bug on the inside the cuff of his sport coat. If he lets you go up, plant a bug in as many places as you can without looking suspicious.” I then turned to Criss and Everett and continued, “You two will have to plant the bugs near the entrances now, because that CRAZY WOMAN LADY CAGGIANO-“

“Eat shit and die, Minigan!”

“-won’t come out of the bathroom. Also, this leaves a large gap in our stakeout formation that we’ll need to fix, so Nut’n Fancy, you and I will split up. You will browse the shops on the third and fourth floors of the Atrium, and I’ll go up to the second level and hang out at the Starbucks. Jessie, Criss, and Everett, stay on the bottom floor and watch for Trump. Jessie, hang out in the seating area until one of us spot’s Trump’s location and relays it to you. Criss and Everett, you’re supposed to be shooting scenes for Criss’s TV show, so make sure that both Criss and his private elevator door are both in the shot at all times. And Derren, you’ll take the top two floors of the atrium, but keep an eye on what’s going on below. You’ll need to be the one who talks us out of a jam if Jessie screws up.”

“Hey!” Jessie yelled, offended.

“I’m just saying hypothetically.” I reassured him. I then turned to Derren and mouthed the words, “When Jessie screws up.”

I looked down at my watch- It was quarter after seven, which meant that we had forty five minutes to get to the Trump Tower and into our positions before Trump exited the building for his morning workout. Thanks to Jessie being on the Celebrity Apprentice, he had learned and remembered Trump’s daily routine: 7:00 AM- Wake up, 8:00 AM- go workout, 9:00 AM- Go home, shower, take care of awesome hair (Trump’s words, according to Jessie), 10:30 AM- Devise plan to bankrupt another company that he owns (Lady Caggiano’s words from the trip over). Sure, we did have two chances to get to Trump, but I didn’t want to waste either.

Realizing that I still wasn’t wearing my fedora or my thick rimmed glasses with the hidden camera, I reached for my bag and found it to be at least thirty pounds heavier than what it had been before I took my shower. Curious, I opened it to find not my clothing, but a bunch of hoses, metal pipes and rods, and a large gas canister.

Everett smacked my hand away from the bag and snapped, “Get out of my bag!”

“What’s in it?” I asked.

“Not important,” he replied. I pointed out to him that whenever someone says that it’s not important, it usually always is, and he replied to that by saying, “Yeah, but it’s not important for you to know, though.” He then picked up the heavy bag and set it in a corner far away from me.

“Again,” I replied smartly, “If you say something’s not important, it’s a good indication that it is.”

He didn’t answer, but just sat down on top of the bag.

“Whatever,” I replied as I rolled my eyes. I found my actual bag, and my hat and glasses inside it. I then turned to Damien, who was posing as an I.T. specialist, and said, “You can head down now. You need to have downloaded the hacking software into the system before the rest of us carry out with our plan. Good luck.”

“Same to you, mates,” he replied as he passed me, giving me a heavy pat on my shoulder, which I took as a sign that he had finally gotten over being angry with me.

Once Damien shut the door behind him, I turned to Criss and Everett and explained, “You two will be leaving next. Do not take a direct route to The Trump Tower. And try to perform some tricks for people on your way there. Granted, we’re in New York, so everyone’s probably going to be in too much of a rush to even cast a lingering angry look at you, but try anyway. And everyone: remember that we’re going to be in a public place, and nothing is more noticeable than a man talking to himself. So do not use your earpiece to communicate. If you need to get a hold of any of us, call my cellphone. GMZ will have it and will relay your message to the rest of us. Everyone nodded, and after a few minutes Criss and Everett got up to leave. Everett had GMZ sit on the bag to protect it from me, and then he with his video camera, and Criss with his trick cards and whatnot left. A few minutes later, they were followed by Jessie, then Derren, and finally Nut’n Fancy and me.

Before Nut’n Fancy and I left, I kindly called through the bathroom door, “Lady Caggiano, we’re leaving. Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

She didn’t reply.

Shrugging, I said, “Fine.” and Nut’n Fancy and I walked out the door.

As we walked down the hallway, Nut’n Fancy chuckled and said, “You two sure you ain’t married? You sure act like you are.”

I rolled my eyes, “Please. Like lady Caggiano or I would be able to get through a single date before we’d be bickering at each other. Besides, we’re best friends. Dating her would be weird.”

In silence, we boarded the empty elevator and I pressed the button for the lobby. Once the elevator began its descent, Nut’n Fancy added, “It’s prolly for the best Lady Caggiano doesn’t come with us today, anyway. Women ain’t really suited for spy’n or fight’n.”

“OK, I’m going to stop you right there,” I replied before he had a chance to continue, “Even if we ignore the existence of every female soldier before her, Lady Caggiano still managed to sneak up on me, attack me, pin me to the ground, and force me to let her on the team. Underestimating Lady Caggiano’s ability to kick some ass is stupid and dangerous.”

The conversation ended there, as the doors to the elevator opened and we were greeted in the lobby by early bird tourists and business men from out of town leaving for their appointments. Nut’n Fancy and I changed our conversation to topics more touristy in nature, and headed out the door, posing as father and son.

Together, we headed the exact opposite direction of the Trump Tower for two blocks. Nut’n Fancy lead the way while staring at a large map of the city, I was close behind looking towards the ground and with my hand covering my face in embarrassment. By the second block, we crossed 5th Avenue, and doubled back towards Trump Tower.

Confidently, Nut’n Fancy claimed, “Now we’re headed the right direction!”

I rolled my eyes and followed close behind.

Within a few minutes, we were crossing the street and walking towards the colossal monument to Donald Trump’s ego: The Trump Tower. Right above the main entrance hung an American flag that stretched across the windows, and above that were the words “Trump Tower” in polished brass. The Doorman smiled a wide smile as he opened the door, and Nut’n Fancy and I stepped through.

“Woah,” Was the word that came out of both Nut’n Fancy’s and my mouths as we took in our surroundings. Almost every surface was made from polished stone. The walls were covered in a dark burgundy with black and white mixed in, and the floor was tiled with stone that was closer to a cream color. Whatever free space that wasn’t covered in stone was either a window advertisement for a store or a sheet of brass polished to the point that it was a perfect mirror.

We walked passed Criss and Everett, whom had gathered a small crowd around them to watch Criss’s tricks. Neither Nut’n Fancy nor I stopped to watch, but instead made our way through the atrium to the seating area.

The further we walked in, the more we realized how cavernous the Atrium was. Maybe it was because I never was sure about the exact height of a story, but the six floors stretched much farther up than what I was expecting, even after I studied the floor plans. Behind the seating area was a stone waterfall/ lighting fixture that stretched up to the ceiling. Above us was a maze of escalators (each one coated in polished brass as well) that zig-zagged up the each of the floors.

“Well,” Nut’n Fancy said as he slapped me on the back, “I’m gonna go find someth’n nice for your mom for Mother’s day.”

“Great,” I replied dryly, “I’m going to sit at Starbucks.”

We made our way up the first escalator, and then we split up. At the Starbucks counter, I ordered a mocha frappucchino, and once I received it, sat down at a table where I see the elevator. I was sitting there for perhaps a minute when I noticed Derren enter the building. We made eye contact for a brief moment before he walked under the Starbucks seating area, and I turned my focus onto GMZ’s iPhone which he let me borrow, and started to play a game.

Maybe about a minute after that, GMZ’s voice came in through my earpiece. “Alright, everyone is in their positions, and we have about ten minutes before Trump exits the elevator. Be ready to approach him, Jessie.”

Jessie coughed, which meant he understood. I took another sip of my frappuchino, and then looked around the seating area. It wasn’t full by any means; most of the people buying something were leaving right afterward, but there were a few scattered people sitting at tables within earshot.

From one table, I heard the woman say to her husband, “Did you hear that Tila Tequila is dating Ray J?”

“Really,” he said in surprise, “Ray J?”

I immediately stopped listening to them and focused my attention to two young women watching a music video on one of the girl’s laptop. Both girls had their backs to me, so I managed to catch a glimpse of the video. My best guess at the time was that it was about twin Taylor Swifts fighting over some guy.

GMZ’s phone buzzed on the table. It was a text from Damien. It read: Still haven’t reached the Security room yet. Have Jessie stall Trump.

“Jessie,” GMZ’s voice said, apparently getting the same text and me, “Try to keep Trump talking. Damien isn’t ready.

“The new Star Trek movie was amazing!” some guy exclaimed as he walked passed my table with his friend.

His friend replied, “Hell yeah it was! But what was with all those lens flares?”

GMZ’s phone rang. It was Damien. I answered it, but before I had a chance to say “hello,” he said in a hushed tone, “They’re on to me. I had gotten into the elevator with the security guard leading me down when he got a message that the actual I.T. guy arrived. I knocked him unconscious, but the others were alerted.”

“I’ve got Trump!” GMZ said into my earpiece. I looked down and saw the tall 62 year old man and his tuft of greying red hair step out of the elevator, flanked by aggressive looking bodyguards.

In the phone’s background noise, I heard a man’s voice yell, “There he is!”

Jessie’s voice burst in, “Mr. Trump! It’s me, Jessie James! Can I have a quick word with you?”

“Shit.” Damien’s voice muttered from the phone

I stood up, and turned away from the balcony. “Damien, are you close?” I asked not as calmly as I should have, “Do you think you’ll make it?”

I then heard several muffled “pampfs”- the sound of pressurized air shooting a tranquilizer dart.

Trump’s voice replied to Jessie flatly, “I’m sorry, Mr. James, but I’m late for my workout. Good day.”

“But Mr. Trump!”

“Yes, Minigan, I’ll be able to make it there. Just make sure Jessie plants that bug.”

I turned back to the entrance just as Trump and his body guards walked out.

“Too late,” I said.

“Damnit,” Damien replied.

“No,” I said, “Sure, Jessie screwed up just like we thought he would…”

“Hey!” Jessie shouted.

“…But we still have another chance. And now you have an hour to get that program running. Take your time with it.”

“Not that,” Damien said in a hushed voice once again, “There are more security guards coming. I need to go.”

Well, shit.

I crammed the phone back into my tight pants pocket, and sat back down. I took a couple of big gulps of my frappuchino, and then began to stir the whipped cream with the remainder of the frozen coffee. I stared at nothing in particular, my mind racing over various bad scenarios that Damien may be facing down in the security area. I should’ve listened to Damien, I thought, If I would’ve listened to him and slowed this mission down, I could’ve set up a security diversion that would’ve made it easier for Damien to reach the control room and not run into so many security guards.

I took another nervous sip of my drink. I got a second’s worth of cream, and then just the hollow slurping sound from the empty cup. Seeing as though I had an hour to kill before the next opportunity to bug Trump, I ordered another frappuchino. I waited patiently as the two female baristas behind the counter made my drink and talked about whether or not Twilight was going to win at the MTV movie awards (their analysis: yes it would. In every category.)

I got my drink, and sucked a large gulp down as I made my way back to my seat. Looking over the balcony to the ground floor, I watched as a couple of security guards rushed from their positions near the doors and to a hallway marked “Employees Only.” Knowing that they were headed for Damien, I quickly pulled out the phone and texted GMZ, “Have Criss distract the security guards.”

What felt like thirty (but was probably only five) seconds later, GMZ’s voice came through the earpiece and commanded, “Criss, distract those security guards.”

“OK,” Criss announced, “For my next trick, I’m going to need a volunteer.”

Many of the women around Criss raised their hands, but instead, Criss grabbed one of the passing security guards and pulled him in. The guard was short and thin, and despite his best efforts, could not fight off Criss’s grasp.

“Excuse me sir,” Criss said to the flustered man, “But I need your help with something.”

The security guard tried to pull away while saying, “Sorry, but I have a situation that needs to be dealt with-“

“It will only take a minute,” Criss replied, cutting off the end of the guard’s sentence.

Noticing the camera, the guard smiled smirked and said, “Sure.” He made a quick glance over his shoulder to see if his fellow security guards were watching, and once he saw that they were, he puffed out his chest in confidence.

“Good,” Criss said as he raised his right hand up and placed it directly in front of the guard’s forehead. To the crowd, Criss explained, “You see, reality is all about the person perceiving it.” He made a quick glance up at me before he continued, “What seems like a law of nature to one will seem like a crazy hoax to another, but both views are true in the eye of their beholder.” Criss turned to the guard whom he had is hand in front of and asked, “Sir, what is your name?”

“John Mil-“

“And John,” he continued, “how much do you weigh?”

“About 140 lbs”

“One Hundred and forty pounds.” Criss announced to the audience, “This man says he weighs one hundred and forty pounds, and to him I’m sure he does. But to me, he weighs as much as a human shaped, helium filled balloon.”

With that, Criss pulled his hand away from the security guard’s head, flattened it under his mouth as if there were something on it, and blew. The security guard went flying into the air. He screamed, but his voice was no longer mid ranged, but high pitched- as if he had just been breathing helium. The squealing balloon man zoomed up towards the ceiling.

“John!” one of the grounded security officers cried as he jumped up and grabbed the floating man by the ankle. Unfortunately for both security guards, this only slightly slowed John’s ascent, and within seconds, both men were high off the ground and drifting higher up to the ceiling. The crowd that had surrounded Criss erupted with applause, cheers, and laughter.

With a mischievous grin, Criss mimicked the motion of twirling a lasso, and then mimed throwing the lasso at the floating men. Suddenly, as if pulled by an invisible wire, both men stopped their ascent and spun around about John’s wrist. Both men screamed in horror, one high pitched, and one regular, as Criss gently tugged on the invisible cord and bounced them mid-air. The crowd cheered and clapped some more. Then, Criss walked over to the only other Security guard who stopped, and pretended to tie the string around his wrist. Criss walked away, and then the third security guard began to float off the ground. It was only by a couple of inches, but the man frantically kicked his legs in the free space below him and clawed at the nonexistent rope attached to his arm.

As the three men yelled and struggled to find the ground, Criss turned back to the crowd and said, “Remember, just because you’re perceiving something to be real, it doesn’t mean that your perceptions of what’s real are not mislead.”

And with that, the three security guards crashed back down to the polished tile floor. They scrambled to their feet and ran screaming out the door, John’s voice still squeaky and high pitched. The crowd around Criss and Everett went berserk with applause, filling the whole Atrium with the echoes of their laughter and cheers. Criss bowed, cast some fire from his hand, and then grabbed a rose that materialized from within the flames. He handed it to an attractive young blonde woman, who from even where I was sitting, I could tell was blushing.

I turned away from the commotion below, and called GMZ.

Before he could say “hello,” I asked, “Have you heard anything from Damien again? Did the distraction help?”

GMZ sighed, “I haven’t. Judging from everyone’s cameras, Criss’s trick did distract some of the guards- not just the ones he harassed, but I don’t think it was enough- there were still a few that went to see what was going on in the security area.”

I took a nervous sip from my frappuchino. I felt jittery. I wasn’t sure if it was from the sugary coffee drinks I had been guzzling for about h half hour or the fact that Damien could be in trouble and there was nothing I could do about it. With my right leg bouncing on the ball of my foot, I tried to think of something else.

“Has Lady Caggiano come out of the bathroom yet?” I asked GMZ, breaking the silence on my end.

“No,” GMZ replied, “And she really needs to come out soon. I feel like I have the Hoover damn in my bladder.”

“Did you tell her you needed to piss?”

“Yeah! And all she did was open the door enough to hand me a paper cup! And she won’t even take it back now that I’ve filled it up.”

“Ew.”

“I know! You’d think she’d at least want it away from her stuff.”

In the background, I heard Lady Caggiano yell, “Is that Minigan?”

“Yes,” GMZ answered.

“Tell him I said that he can go fuck himself.”

“Only if you let me into the bathroom.”

There was a pause, which I assumed meant that Lady Caggiano was thinking it over. Eventually, she agreed.

I could hear rustling from the other end, and then GMZ’s voice saying, “Lady Caggiano wants you to go fuck yourself, Minigan.”

“Yeah, I heard her.” I spat.

He didn’t reply, but instead put down the phone so that he could pee. It was almost immediately picked up by Lady Caggiano who stated, “You’re a dick.”

“It’s good to hear from you too, Caggiano,” I replied sourly, “I hope you’re planning on saving some of faux feminist rage for later in case someone makes a crack about you spending so much time in the bathroom.”

“You know what, asshole?” She snapped, “You can take this costume and this job and shove it up your…”

She stopped. I checked the phone to make sure we weren’t disconnected. Nope- the call was still going.

“Lady Caggiano?” I asked uncertainly into the phone.

“Hold on a sec, Minigan, something just happened on GMZ computer.” She then pulled the phone away from her face and called, “GMZ, Get in here!” I heard his footsteps over the phone and then her mumble, “Is your computer supposed to be doing that?”

“Lady Caggiano, GMZ what’s going on? What is the computer doing?” I asked, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

“Don’t worry Minigan,” GMZ assured me, “I set my computer to automatically link up with the program that Damien was supposed to be downloading onto the security system. It’s doing it now.”

“So that means-“

“Yep, Damien was able to get into the security control room.”

I let out a sigh of relief and said, “That wonderful limey bastard did it.”

“I’ve got access to the security cameras!”

“Great!”

“Oh shit.” Lady Caggiano and GMZ said simultaneously.

My euphoric feelings of accomplishment and pride in my team vanished and the feelings of panic and dread returned almost instantly, “What’s happening?”

“It turns out there were more security guards  than we thought.”

“Is Damien in trouble?”

“Well, right now they have him trapped in the elevator, so we’ll see,” Lady Caggiano replied.

“Wait,” GMZ added, “He’s climbing out the top of the elevator now.”

“What?!”

“Well,” GMZ replied, “They’re trying to force the doors open, what would you want him to do?”

He had a point. I thought for a few seconds, doing my best to focus through the sugar buzz to figure out how to help Damien. After about a minute, I instructed, “Lady Caggiano, I need you to look up the blue prints and see if you can find Damien another way out of the building. GMZ, if you can access the camera footage, use it to throw the guards off of Damien’s trail.”

“Alright,” GMZ answered, “We’ll keep you posted on what’s happening down there.”

“Ok, thanks.”

We both hung up, and I drank another couple of sips from my drink. For the next few minutes, I stared directly ahead of me, chewing on my straw and worrying about what was happening several floors beneath my feet. After a while (I’m not sure how much time had passed), I had finished my drink and once again was in line for another. The barista eyed me like you would a crack addict when I stepped up to the register and ordered another drink. Thankfully, she didn’t make any comment about me ordering my third frappuchino because my mind was bouncing all over the place too much to come up with a snappy comeback for her. I took my drink and sat back down in my chair near the ledge, promising myself that this would be my last one of these drinks for the day.

The next half hour or so went by without an incident: the most interesting things to happen were me taking the most satisfying pee ever, and overhearing a conversation about how the two worst people on the planet, Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt, had officially gotten married two Saturdays before. I quietly prayed that they would never produce an offspring, for I was certain that that offspring would be the antichrist and bring about the fall of man.

9:00 rolled closer, and Jessie got into his position to intercept Trump. From where I was sitting, I could see one of his hands clenched into fist, which I suspected was actually holding the bug he needed to plant on Trump. Criss and Everett, who had been wandering about the atrium after levitating the security guards, found their way back to their original location. I drummed my fingers on the table to a fast paced song playing in my head when Nut’n Fancy came down from the levels he was supposed to stake out, and sat across from me at the table.

“There’s noth’n on 3 and 4 that’ll do us any good,” he said as he leaned back in his chair. He then looked at me and how obviously tweeked out I was and asked, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” I said so quickly that it sounded suspicious. I explained, “I’ve just had a few of these frappuchinos-maybe three-they’re really good- I’m trying to cut myself off though- after this one.”

I took a long sip of my drink and gave Nut’n Fancy a wide eyed stare from over the dome of the plastic up.

“Shit,” he laughed, “How do you think you hav’n a sugar high’s gonna help us today?”

“I dunno” I replied, “Maybe my sonic energy arms and legs will punch and kick through any security guard that gets in my way. Look, they’re vibrating so fast that you can’t even see them!”

Plainly, Nut’n Fancy replied, “They’re just jigglin’ at your sides.”

I looked down. They were. “Well,” I said, “That doesn’t mean that I won’t be able to fight 100 times better than normal”

“I have a feel’n that’s exactly what that means.”

GMZ’s voice interrupted out conversation with, “Trump’s limo just pulled up. Everyone get ready.”

Reflexively, Nut’n Fancy and I looked down to the doors. Criss and Everett were ready at their location, and Everett looked like he had a clear shot of the elevator doors. Criss had begun to fling playing cards in the air and have them fly circles around him at varying heights and arc sizes. Jessie walked out from under where Nut’n Fancy and I were sitting and stood near Trump’s elevator with his arms crossed and his feet shoulder width apart. I’m guessing that was his, “I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me” stance.

After about ten long seconds, the door man opened the door, and Trump, flanked by his two large, aggressive looking bodyguards, stepped through.

“Mr. James,” Trump said in his forced Brooklyn accent, “I’m sure what you have to say is important, but I really don’t have time for failed contestants on my show to proposition me all day.” The words “failed contestants” had some particular venom behind them that even I felt, and my sugar high had left my face feeling numb. He continued, “Just leave me a voicemail and I’ll get back to you.”

“I know about your plan to develop expensive condos in low income neighborhoods!” Jessie blurted out.

Several passersby looked at the two men and were ushered on by the body guards. One looked up at me, and I immediately looked at Nut’n Fancy and asked, “So, did you hear that Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt got married two weeks ago?”

“Who’s Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt?” Nut’n Fancy asked.

“So, you did know what my plan was after all.” Trump’s voice said through my earpiece, “I guess it was a good thing I fired you.”

“They’re just the worst people ever.” I replied to Nut’n Fancy, doing my best to keep the conversation flowing naturally despite the more important conversation taking place inside my ear.

“Well,” Jessie replied, “I wasn’t sure until I saw the episode on Sunday. You had a map with all the low income districts circled. I’m telling you this because I think it’s a bad idea. It could ruin a lot of people’s lives and possibly your own fortune.”

“How dare you try to claim that one of my development projects will fail!” Trump snapped, “I know what I’m doing, unlike you.”

Nut’n Fancy cleared his throat, also distracted by the conversation going on below us, and then asked, “So, why are these people famous?”

“Mr. Trump,” Jessie pleaded, “You need to understand-“

“I don’t need to understand anything,” Trump interrupted, “You easedropped on my conversation, and now you’re telling me that I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to business? Do you even know who you’re talking to, you overly tattooed rat?”

“Because people love watching shitty human beings being shitty to other human beings,” I said to Nut’n Fancy.

“I’m The Donald. And I don’t need to listen to trash like you.”

Again, Jessie pleaded with Trump. I glanced down and watched as he grabbed Trump’s wrist in an attempt to keep him from entering the elevator and to hopefully plant the bug.

“Hey! Get your filthy mechanic hands off of me!”

In a flash Trump’s body guards had pinned Jessie hard against the wall. Jessie yelled in protest, but it was no use; they weren’t letting him go. I watched as Jessie opened his hand and let the bug drop to the floor, and the elevator doors close.

“He was trying to bug you, sir,” the spray tanned and bald body guard said once he noticed the round object on the ground.

Shit.

“There’s another one in his ear sir,” the other body guard, a black guy who was more “fat” than “built,” added. He pulled it out of Jessie’s ear and threw it on the ground.

Double shit.

Breaking the rule I told everyone earlier, I pressed the button on my earpiece, turning my speaker on and commanded, “Criss, You need to get a bug in that elevator- do it now!”

“And for my final trick…”

The guard raised his foot over the earpiece.

“THIS!”

Criss vanished it a plume of white smoke that erupted out of nowhere. The crowd cheered. The guard stomped down. My earpiece shrieked inside my skull. Everett, Nut’n Fancy, Derren , and I yelled and clutched our ears. The guards noticed. We were fucked.

A couple of security guards dragged Nut’n Fancy and I down from our table at the Starbucks to Trump and the rest of my apprehended team. Up close, Trump looked more artificial than real. His hair was perched upon the top of his head in an unnatural way. His skin, especially the skin on his face, was orange and was wrinkled and yet overly stretched. And I’m pretty sure he was wearing makeup. His eyes were dead, not even the slightest twinkle of light shown through as he stared down at me while I struggled against his body guards. I could tell from those eyes that he saw me as nothing more than an ant- a nuisance in his home that needed to be crushed.

“Who are you?” he said to us, finally.

“We’re here to stop you from making a horrible decision, Trump!” Jessie yelled, his face still pressed against the polished stone tiled wall.”

“Then why does that kid have a camera?” Trump asked as he pointed to the terrified Everett, who was tightly hugging the video camera he had been using all day.

“He was videotaping the magician,” the spray tanned body guard said, “We don’t know where he went to.”

Just then, as if it was waiting for the perfect time to appear, the elevator doors opened. White smoke poured out of the elevator as white doves flew through the open doors and into the atrium, and the horn solo for “The Final Countdown” rang out from the billowing smoke. Criss’s form confidently stepped through the smoke and into the atrium, and he was met with roaring applause from the crowd that had been watching his tricks. He was also met by the thick, meaty arms of the fat security guard.

Criss twisted himself free from the guard’s clutches, turned to Trump, and said, “Trump, listen to what Jessie is saying. Your plan will leave thousands of people without a place to live.” He waved his arms up in the air, and showered Trump with pennies that materialized from nowhere. “Sorry,” Criss apologized, “I got a little too excited.”

If my hands weren’t pinned against my back, I would’ve covered my face from embarrassment.

Trump stood there for a few seconds, staring us all down with his cold, dead eyes, when finally his lips curled into a smile that made blood run cold and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. While wearing that horrible smile, he said to his guards, “Throw them out.”

And that is exactly what they did. The two body guards, assisted by some security guards, dragged us to the doors, and, one at a time, threw us onto the sidewalk. I struggled with the man dragging me the entire trip from the elevator to the door, twisting on the ground and trying to grab anything within reach. I managed to latch onto a large potted bush, and was able to drag it several feet across the floor before my hands lost their grip. Once we were at the door, the fat body guard picked me up by my collar and the waist of my pants and tossed me out onto the sidewalk.

I landed on my face on the cool pavement, and whoever was thrown on top of me, landed on top of me. My knees bounced off the concrete, and a shot of pain traveled up and down my legs.

I heard one of the guards, I wasn’t sure if it was a security guard or one of Trump’s thugs, yell, “And don’t come back!”

Standing up, I groaned and said, “well, that sucked.” I then turned to Criss, and added, “I’m guessing you planted the bug?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” I replied, “that makes up for you shooting pennies at Trump.

Each of us in pain from the beating the pavement gave to us, we marched the block and a half back to our hotel. Back in our room, GMZ was hard at work trying file through all the security footage from the security area, trying to find where Damien went. Immediately, I went into the bathroom and washed up. My right cheek and the tip of my nose were scraped, and my forehead was cut and had a bruise forming. As soon as I was out, I sat down with GMZ and Lady Caggiano to assist them in their search for Damien. Sporadically, I sent text messages and called his phone, but each call went directly to voice mail. GMZ continued to search through the security footage, while I nervously paced in what little room we had.

After a few hours of no success, Criss suggested that we do some spying on Trump. “That is why we’re here, and why I had to plant the bug in the elevator,” he explained, “besides, the fact that we haven’t seen anything dealing with Damien yet means that they haven’t caught him.”

“He’s got a point,” GMZ noted, “I’ve got eyes all over that building now, so at this point, no news is good news.”

Not feeling any less worried, I conceded and said, “Alright, but if he doesn’t show up soon, we’re going to continue the search.”

Everyone agreed, and GMZ  pulled up the security cameras in Trump’s loft. Nothing that Trump did seemed out of the ordinary for him- he mostly just yelled at people, barked orders, and sat and stared at a blank wall. Finding noting of use in his apartment, GMZ decided to play the footage from the elevator along with whatever conversations Criss’s bug picked up.

Almost immediately, we had something.

Right after the body guards threw us out and returned to Trump, the three entered the elevator and Trump began to yell. “What the hell was that about?!” he screamed, “Jessie James thinks he can come in here with his biker gang and threaten me?

“Biker gang?” Jessie asked, bemused.

“And he thinks that he’ll be able to convince me to not move forward with my project? What an idiot.”

“Well, sir,” the spray tanned body guard replied, “none of them are going to be your problem anymore. We dealt with them.”

Trump went quiet for a second. Then he replied, “No. They’ll be back. Did you see the scowl on that young hipster one’s face? They’re not going to give up so easily.”

“What do you want to do then, sir?” the fat body guard asked.

“Get my private security up to my apartment,” Trump demanded, “And make sure they’re packing heat. If anyone tries to break in here tonight, I want them to be filled with so many holes that I could use their skull as a colander.”

The two body guards looked at each other uneasily.

“NOW!” Trump barked. The men jumped backwards. They stopped the elevator at its current floor, and rushed out the door. The doors closed behind them. Once the elevator started moving again, and with his head turned away from the camera, Trump muttered to himself in a voice unnaturally gravelly for him, “It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I let the host of Monster Garage ruin my plans.”

Then, even more bizarrely (if that’s possible), Trump repeated the phrase in his normal voice.

Jessie exclaimed, “That’s the voice I heard! The voice that was planning the whole thing! Holy crap, Trump has a split personality!”

Just then, Damien burst through the door, breathing as if he had been running for several miles. Droplets of sweat had formed on his bald head and were running down his face onto his I.T. uniform which was covered with dirt, oil, and dust. Even from where I was standing, I could smell various awful smells coming from him, one of which I swear was food grease.

“What happened to you?” Everett asked, “Have you been crawling around in the air ducts?”

“Yes, I have,” Damien replied, “And I have a story to tell all of you.”

***

To continue reading this story, follow this link to part three.

Awesomesquad! Assemble! 1! Revisited!

Ok, so this is only the first part of what I wanted to post, but this is long enough already. There will be two more parts after this (This Awesomesquad! Assemble going to be pretty damn epic). Also, just as some background information, this section takes place back in May of 2009. Enjoy.

“If you could fuck any celebrity, which one would you choose?” Jibbles asked, peering at me through squinted eyes as if my reputation depended on choosing the right one.

“Jibbles,” of course, is only my nickname for him. For his and his family’s safety, that’s what I can tell you. Sorry. What I can tell you is that Jibbles was one of my two best friends (the other being Lady Caggiano). Quite frankly, he didn’t look like he belonged in this century. With his light brown mutton chops, grey cabbie hat, and the build of a linebacker, Jibbles looked more like he belonged in an underground bareknuckle boxing  den in late 19th century London than in a college campus cafeteria. His black Jolly Roger t-shirt, jeans, and wallet chain balanced the old timey appearance of the mutton chops, but he still looked mismatched. But not nearly as mismatched as how he looks compared to his music tastes. For a man who looks like he could easily break your arm if given enough provocation, he certainly does love pop music. He refuses to tell me why.

“Well?” he said to me, jogging me from my thoughts. He took a massive bite from his sandwich and hurredly washed it down with two large gulps of Coke.

“I’m thinking I’m thinking,” I replied. I sat across from him at the table, picking at my cafeteria food and pondered. After some serious deliberation, I answered, “Hayden Panettiere.”

“The chick from Heroes?!” Jibbles replied, “Sure she’s hot, but the show’s terrible!”

“The first season was good!” I shouted maybe a little too loudly, as some of the other students in the cafeteria stopped their conversations to look at us.

“What?” I snapped at a nearby couple, “How about you cram your heads up your asses so that you can mind your business for once.”

Ignoring the couple who promptly cleaned up their trays and hurried off, Jibbles added, “I would have guessed you would have said Olivia Wilde.”

“That was my first choice,” I replied after I swallowed the last of my greasy and over-seasoned fries, “But she’s so attractive that I’m afraid I’d just ruin her. I’m mean, would you mouth fuck the Mona Lisa?”

“I guess that makes sense,” he noted as he stuffed the rest of his turkey club into his mouth. But once he swallowed, he asked, “But have you ever tried?”

“What? Mouth fucking the Mona Lisa?! I don’t think you can even get that close to it.”

“No!” he laughed, “Fantasizing about Olivia Wilde.”

“Of course I’ve tried!” I snapped at him, “But every time I only get part of the way in before I insist that I take her someplace nice and buy her something.”

“Oh, I understand now,” he replied, “That’s happened to me a few times when I fantasize about her too.”

“Who’s your number one pick?” I asked.

“Miley Cyrus. I would let her sit on my face for sure. Hell, my ultimate fantasy is have a three-way with her and Hannah Montana.”

“You do know that Miley Cyrus and Hannah Montana are the same person, right?”

Jibbles grin melted into a look of disgust, and he spat, “Don’t ruin my sex fantasies with your logic, asshole.”

I let out a loud laugh, which the other students were smart enough now to pretend to ignore, when my phone started vibrating. Jibbles turned his attention to his pile of fries and I pulled my phone from my pocket. I had received a text message from Lady Caggiano. It read:

Awesomesquad! Assemble- Urgent.

There were five levels of Awesomesquad! Assemble alerts. The first one is Request, which is the only one where the members have the option of not showing up. It’s usually for a mundane task or activity where no one is required to show up, but it’s better for them if they do. This one usually has a meeting time attached.The last time we used this, it was so that each of us could pick out our rooms in the Awesomebase!. The second is Mandatory-Group, which means that everyone is required to be there, obviously. This one also comes with a time that we’re supposed to meet. As does the third one, Mandatory- Single. This one is just like the previous one, except that the text only goes out to the person/ people that need to come in. This one is more like a reminder, because the date and time is usually agreed upon in advance. The fourth is the one I received: Urgent. This one means that everyone is required to show up as soon as they finish whatever it is that they’re doing. Since Lady Caggiano, GMZ, and myself are all still in college, that means it could take several hours before some of us would arrive at the Awesomebase!. The fifth and highest alert is Immediate, or as it is sometimes texted, Fucking Now! With this one, we have to stop whatever it is we are doing, and head directly to the Awesomebase!. It doesn’t matter what it is that we are doing- whether it be sitting in class, working out, or even bathing, we stop what we’re doing and head directly to base. This one has only been used once, mostly because it’s usually signifies an emergency or a disaster that we need to deal with right away. The only time it was sent out, GMZ had sent it because there were no more of Lady Caggiano’s baked goods left in the dining lounge. It took a large amount of personal fortitude from all of us to keep ourselves from beating the baked goods out of him with rolling pins.

I looked from my phone back up to Jibbles and back down to my phone again. Urgent. I was supposed to hang out with Jibbles tonight. Since Awesomesquad! had been taking up most of my free time, and other than our occasional lunch, we barely got to see each other, but this was clearly serious. And it could take a while. Sure, by this point we had only roughed up Chris Brown for beating up Rihanna, but we still have had a lot of work to do with finishing the interior of the Awesomebase! but even if it was just a construction emergency, it would still take us well into the night before we finished whatever it is. But I still wanted to go see X-Men Origins: Wolverine with Jibbles tonight.

Hoping that whatever the urgent call was wouldn’t take too long, I sighed, scarfed down what was left of my mediocre hamburger, stood up, and said to Jibbles, “Sorry man, I need to go. Lady Caggiano needs my help with something.”

“Sure thing,” he replied, “You still on for the movie tonight?

“I’m not sure yet,” I replied apologetically, “This might take a while.”

Jibbles sighed and said, “Forget about it then. I’ll just go hang out with my sister. She’ll want to see it with me, at least.”

Jibbles’s sister, whom I like to call Phlegm, had recently graduated from college with a Master’s degree in Psychology, which I took note of because Lady Caggiano tried to claim that she could do what a therapist does when she coerced me into letting her be a part of Awesomesquad!. I had been meaning to get her number from Jibbles to try and recruit her. Now, however, was clearly not the time to do so.

“I’m really sorry, Jibbles, but this sounds like it is an emergency.”

“Go,” he commanded with a half smirk. I could still tell that he was annoyed.

I thanked him, grabbed my bookbag and rushed out of the cafeteria.

From behind me, I heard Jibbles call, “Tell Lady Caggiano that she better give you head for this!”

I exited the cafeteria and then the building laughing at the thought of saying that to Lady Caggiano and how she would absolutely punch me in the face for even suggesting it.

I spent most of the time driving to the secluded Awesomebase! thinking up ways that I was going to make it up to Jibbles for ditching him again. I eventually decided that I would get him a couple of butterfly knives for his birthday. He already had an extensive collection of weapons, but he always appreciates a good knife.

Feeling a little better about cancelling our plans, I turned onto the gravel path that lead through the woods to the Awesomebase!’s main gate. This wasn’t supposed to be the member’s entrance, but more of a utility or delivery entrance. However, since the secret corridors were sealed shut so that the construction crew didn’t know about them, they would be sealed from us until construction was finished, which was still going to be another month.

I pulled into an empty parking spot near the outer wall, and then quickly and stealthily wrapped myself in my white gown. Then, while looking in my rearview mirror, I drew an eye on the center of my forehead with green face paint. I put on a large and clearly forced smile, and stepped out of the car. I walked slowly towards the entrance, doing my best to look like I’m gliding across the gravel, and made my way into the main entrance of the Awesomebase!

Right inside, there were two Latino construction workers talking to each other. I believe their names were Pablo and José. I grinned my large and unnatural grin at them and proclaimed, “Praise the intergalactic Gate Keeper who allowed me safe passage to the den of His glory!” I tilted my head slightly to the left and then asked them, “Have either of you been told the ultimate truths of the universe?”

Both men threw up their hands and began speaking in a very fast paced Spanish as they backed away from me and hurried through the door to the Great Room. Damn, did Lady Caggiano’s idea work perfectly.

See, since Awesomesquad! is supposed to be a secret group of vigilantes, we both need a high-tech base of operations, something that would be impossible to build on our own, and for our secret to remain intact. Those two needs contradict each other-hard. With the architects, the engineers, the safety inspectors, the construction workers, electricians, plumbers, carpenters, truck drivers, roofers, and other assorted personel, there have been hundreds of different people, strangers, on the Awesomebase!, getting used to know the floor plan, and potentially becoming suspicious as to why a group of people need such an impenetrable fortress, we needed a way to keep them from connecting the dots. And since the only other person to do anything remotely similar to this was Batman, and he never revealed how he did it (Alfred probably murdered every person who worked on the Batcave and buried them somewhere on the Wayne property), we had to figure out our own way to keep the workers in the dark about what this building was actually going to be used for.

That’s when Lady Caggiano cleverly came up with the idea that we pose as a cult. She theorized that, with us being a cult, none of the workers would ask any us any questions about why the Awesomebase! would need to be built this way, because they would assume that we would try to get them to join. And as long as we acted weird enough, they would want to avoid us as much as possible. To my amazement, the ruse worked perfectly. The first person to ask why a gymnasium had to be underground but also have a retractable roof (We had them build the AwesomeHangar! as a gymnasium to throw them off and we would replace the flooring once construction was finished), got an earful about the Great Intergalactic Gate Keeper, how our calisthenics were a metaphor for lowly mortal beings trying to achieve the physique of The Great One, and how this was where the spaceship was supposed to land to take us to paradise. No more questions were asked after that.

I made my way across the Great room, and then down the sloped hallway to the briefing room, or as we called it when the builders were around, the “Praise Chamber.” Inside the briefing room was my team, each dressed in white, except for Derren who was wearing a gold lined blue gown, which signified him as the leader. Everyone, wore the same grin that I had on. I quietly stepped inside, and we all chanted in unison, “All hail the Intergalactic Gate Keeper: the Avatar of Truth, The Great One, The Protector of the Chosen.”

As soon as the door was shut, I asked without relaxing my face, “Why was the meeting called, and why was it so urgent?”

“Nice to see you too, Minigan,” Lady Caggiano quipped smartly at me without letting her oversized grin falter, “Jessie, of all people-”

“Hey!” Jessie James shouted, offended, but still grinning.

“Jessie, of all people,” Lady Caggiano continued in a slightly annoyed tone, “has come up with a lead on a potential threat.”

“Really?” I grinned, “Who?”

“Someone Donald Trump is in league with. Possibly even Trump himself,” he answered, “I first realized that something was up when I was a contestant on his show, ‘The Celebrity Apprentice.’ I was one of the final three, when I overheard a conversation between Trump, and two other men. One had a really raspy voice. Anyway, what they were talking about was buying up all the real estate for sale in poor neighborhoods of cities. Then they would build huge high-end apartment complexes to drive up property values and force all the remaining people to sell their homes.”

“This is Bullcrap!” Nut’n Fancy shouted, “Why is it that we’re going after a good, hardworking American, when Sean Penn is out there, actively trying to ruin America.”

“Shut up, Nut’n Fancy!” I shout-smiled, “Yes, Sean Penn is a horrible leather faced monster, but until he does something really awful, and not just act douchey, we’ll focus on this twat waffle.

Everyone murmured in agreement, and I distinctly heard Damien say, “His face does look like someone wrapped a skull in skin from an old man’s scrotum.”

Nut’n Fancy sat back down in a huff, impressively, still grinning, and glared at me with his eyes. I looked to Jessie and he continued.

“Once they found out that I heard this, Trump fired me.”

“So why are you telling us this now? The episode where you get fired was on last night,” Lady Caggiano asked.

“Plus,” I added, “rich people do that all the time. That’s what happened with the East Village in New York City.”

“That’s true,” Jessie replied, “But then I watched the episode last night. In the background of one of the shots, you can see a map of New York City with all of the poorer neighborhoods circled in red. I think he’s planning on driving the lower class out of the city.”

The rest of the group glanced at one another, but before I could respond, a knock came on the glass window. Everyone turned their heads towards the door slowly, still keeping up with our cult facade. It was one of the workers, a Mexican named Raul. Unlike the rest of the workers who usually tried their best to avoid us unless it was absolutely necessary, Raul seemed to be more amused our fake religious beliefs than creeped out by them. Of course, this meant that we tried extra hard at creeping him the hell out.

Derren stood up and ushered Raul with his hand. As soon as he opened the door, we said in unison, “Greetings, Brother Raul!”

Supressing a smirk, he replied, “Hello.  We are done-“

“Don’t stand there in the doorway, Raul!” Derren urged, “That’s a transitional space. It’s impossible to tell which way you want to go. Come into the room- with the rest of us.”

“Yes, the rest of us,” the other members of Awesomesquad! said perfectly in sync, just like we practiced. We were really going at it hard to try and make him uncomfortable. He smiled back at us and stepped inside. Damn, this man was difficult.

I shot up from my chair and proclaimed, “I give my chair up to our guest to the Praise Chamber!” Then, I awkwardly pushed my chair around the table up to Raul, making sure that I got it stuck on Criss’s on my way up. It took me about thirty long, silent seconds to get my chair the five feet from me to Raul. “Here you go!” I exclaimed to him, making sure I sounded slightly winded.

“Thank you,” he said, “but I just came down here to say that-“

“If Brother Raul refuses to sit, then so do I,” Lady Caggiano announced as she lifted herself from her chair. The remaining six members of Awesomesquad! followed suit, and with the clacking of  chair legs, everyone in the room was standing and grinning at Raul.

“We are done for the day,” Raul announced, totally relaxed, “See you all tomorrow morning.”

“You’re leaving?!” Derren cried (which was followed by a chorus of disappointed ‘oh’s’ from the rest of us), “Well, we should see you out!”

The rest of Awesomesquad chattered in excited agreement, and without pushing our chairs in, we awkwardly made our way to the door.

“No, that’s OK,” Raul insisted, but it was already too late- we were forcing him through the doorway.

Everyone in the fake cult formed a tight circle around Derren, as per custom, and we made our way to the main entrance, stopping at every doorway to ask “The Intergalactic Gate Keeper for safe passage through the transitional space.” Raul politely waited as each of us fell to our knees and pleaded to The Great One. I admit, by this point, our cult wasn’t giving off a creepy vibe as much as we were just being weird and annoying, but Raul continued to wait patiently for us to finish our bizarre rituals.

I kept close watch of Raul from my position to the right of Derren, doing my best to see the side of his face and catch a glimpse of any telling facial expression. Don’t take it the wrong way- I liked the guy. He was friendly, hardworking, and willing to listen to our peculiar building preferences, like a room made out of concrete walls that juts out from the ceiling of the Great Room that’s only accessible from a catwalk, or heavy, armor plated doors for each of the member’s private quarters. But his comfort with a group of cultists that regularly tried to coerce him and his coworkers to join made me particularly unsettled. Every time he suppressed a chuckle, it made me suspect that he actually knew what we were up to.

Eventually, the group of us plus Raul were on the opposite side of the Great Room, through the doors leading to the Entrance Hall, and were praying for safe passage through the transitional space that lead outside. At this doorway (being one that separates the indoors from the outdoors) we broke into a choreographed dance in which we would make our way through the door one at a time. No music was to be played while we did this. “It would ruin the beauty and sanctity of the dance,” we claimed.

With the last of us out of the door and back in formation, we waved to Raul as he walked across the parking lot to his blue Taurus. Inside were four of the other construction workers, two of which I recognized as the ones I accosted earlier. Once they spotted us, they immediately averted their gaze, as if staring at us too long would turn them into stone. Raul waved back to us, got into his car, and drove through the open concrete sliding gate. The gate shut behind them once they were through, and once the gate was closed completely, we let our faces relax.

“That was damn near unbearable this time!” Nut’n Fancy cried as he massaged his cheeks with his fingertips. The rest of us followed his lead, and began to rub our cheeks as well.

In between stretching and relaxing her jaw, Lady Caggiano asked, “Am I the only one who thinks that Raul might be on to us?”

“No,’ I replied, “I was wondering the same thing.”

“What should we do about it?” Everett asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” I answered as I turned around and headed back inside, “But we’ll figure that out once we finish dealing with the Trump situation.”

“What Trump’s doing doesn’t sound to be nearly as pressing as this, Minigan,” Damien noted.

I turned to Damien and replied, “If what Jessie said was true, then we will need to act now in order to stop him.”

“But what he’s doing isn’t uncommon! You said so yourself!” he reminded me.

“Yes, but then he mentioned how he was doing that with every poor neighborhood. Do you have any idea what kind of repurcussions that would have?”

Everyone stared at me. Apparently, they didn’t.

I rolled my eyes and explained, “OK, so if all the poor neighborhoods get replaced by high rise apartment buildings for the upper class, then were are the poor going to go? They won’t be able to move to other neighborhoods in the city because those neighborhoods will still be too expensive for them to live in. So disenfranchising the poor is the first part. Secondly, the poor will eventually move into the suburbs where they’ll find affordable housing.”

“But that doesn’t sound so bad,” Criss noted, “I mean it sucks for the lower class, but this doesn’t sound like that serious of a situation for the rest of us.”

“Well,” I replied, “that will cause the poorer suburb neighborhoods to both boom in population and in size, neither of which are good. And then there’s the fact that most of the displaced lower class people don’t have cars to drive to work, and now you’re forcing them to find their way into the city from the suburbs. And then you have to think about how that influx of people will affect the neighboring towns where the influxes will occur.  And then, of course there’s the issue of who’s going to buy the new apartments.”

“Rich people will,” Everett noted.

“Ok,” I then asked, “Then what happens to their old places? They will be left vacant. And they will still cost too much for anyone in the middle or lower classes to buy, so eventually, either half the city will be a ghost town, or all the rich people will start buying multiple apartments to make their places even bigger. And that’s still at the cost of the poor who were forced out of their homes in the first place.”

“Alright,” Damien admitted, “But that still doesn’t require us to go and fight him.”

‘No, we’re talking about Trump here. He’ll try to sue you if you tell him what he doesn’t want to hear.” Lady Caggiano noted.

“But that doesn’t mean we have to ruff him up!” Damien shouted, his voice echoing off the walls of the empty great room. “Plus, all we have is an overheard conversation from months ago and an image of a map with circles on it, most criminal investigators build up weeks’ worth of evidence before that haul someone in for questioning! And they usually get their information from more reliable sources.”

Damien (as well as the rest of us) glanced over to Jessie, who cried, “Hey, I’m very reliable!”

Ignoring him, I asked Damien, “Well, what do you suggest we do?”

“Seriously guys, I am reliable.”

“I say we do some reconnaissance before we make any kind of move. Bug his phone, his office, his loft. Just try to get more of an idea of what he’s up to and if there is a nonviolent way to stop it.”

“C’mon!” Jessie cried, “You trusted me to drive you to and back from LA when we beat up Chris Brown, but you don’t trust me when it comes to finding information on bad guys?”

“No!” the rest of us cried back in unison.

Then, I added, “Now be quiet; the adults are talking.” I looked to the rest of the group and announced, “Alright, it looks like we’re going to be going on couple day stake-out in New York City. Everyone except GMZ and Derren, pack your incognito city costumes.”

“Please no, Minigan, not the city costumes!” Lady Caggiano begged, “Mine’s terrible!”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“EVERYTHING! Can I please have, literally any other costume that we have?”

“Like what?” I replied  sarcastically, “The costumes we have are the only ones I could find at the time. We’re lucky that we’ll blend in in New York with them.”

She glared at me, and then left in a huff to her room to pack. I turned to everyone else and continued, “Derren, I need you to book three rooms at a hotel near the Trump Tower.”

“Five… For tonight… In New York City? Are you high?” he replied, “How the hell do you expect me to pull that miracle off? I’m not Criss.”

“I swear, I only preform magic tricks. Where did you get the idea that I can perform miracles?”

Ignoring Criss, I replied, “Well, standing here debating it with me isn’t going to get us them, so how about you try calling them. We need two for the eight of us, and one for Lady Caggiano.”

Derren rolled his eyes and began to walk away. From over his shoulder, he called, “I’ll be lucky if I get one!”

I called back, “Use your mentalist abilities to get us three! That’s why I hired you in the first place, remember!”

“Wait, so I’m going too?!” GMZ said as his eyes lighted up behind his thick framed classes.

“Is the Watch Tower completed and set up yet?” I asked. We all looked up to the looming concrete box in the center of the Great Room ceiling. A single doorway was cut into the box, like a jet black rectangle drawn onto a heather grey cube. There was nothing but open air on the outside of the doorway.

“No,” he affirmed.

“Then yes. If we’re going to be spying on a celebrity millionaire, then we’ll need a hacker to get into their security cameras.”

He wooted and punched the air, and then ran off to his own room to grab his gear. I turned to the rest of the group and commanded, “Get your stuff ready, both recon mission and battle gear, just in case. Trump’s going to have guards that we’ll need to subdue. Jessie, once you get your stuff, send the flight itinerary to LaGuardia Airport. We’ll need a place to keep the Awesomecopter! while we stay overnight. Then begin fueling it up.” He nodded, we walked down the one hallway and into our rooms.

Within five minutes, I was packed and pacing back and forth in my room, mentally drawing up our plans for the reconnaissance part of the mission. The Atrium at the base of the Trump Tower in New York was six stories high, with shops, dining areas, a Starbucks and several sets of escalators and walkways. That was the public area, and a place that would be hard to cover even with triple our man power. Doing the best I could with the information given, I wrote up the plan, stuffed the paper into my bag, and headed down to the armory.

Unfortunately, since the Awesomebase! was still partially under construction, we had to keep all of our weapons locked in fireproof crates in the Armory. We told the construction workers that they were filled with religious relics that were to be placed about the compound once the construction was finished, and were not to be touched by hands not first cleansed with a mixture of sea water, sassafras leaves, and the oil from a piranha. Of course, they tended to avoid the armory anyway, since we told them that that room was going to be our chapel. I casually mentioned that that would be where most of our sacrifices would occur when they didn’t look too put off by Derren calling it the Chapel. That did the trick.

I began unlocking the crates, looking for my cloak and pole arm, but I left them unlocked if I found any of the weapons or gear that would be useful on this trip. Mostly they were Everett’s tools or failed prototypes. Eventually, after searching through crates of knives, crates of guns, and for some reason, a crate of all our explosives (because in one accidentally goes off, the others will just cancel out that explosion, apperantly), and found my cloak and pole arm tucked into the bottom of  the crate with our protective vests, pants, and goggles.  Opening my duffle bag, I rolled my cloak into a ball and stuffed it into the least empty corner.

As I carried my bag and pole arm off to one side, echoes of footsteps bounced down the hallway, through the open door and across the empty armory to me. A sullen looking Lady Caggiano walked in, followed by the other seven members of Awesomesquad! Derren and GMZ each had excited grins plastered onto their faces, both of which reminded me of the smiles we were supposed to wear around the construction crews.

Once he saw me, GMZ raced up and began to talk at me so fast that I barely understood him. I managed to get, “Thanks for bringing me along!” and “I promise I’ll do everything I can to make this mission run smoothly.” The rest of what he said was a rambling gibberish to me. He could’ve been saying that my mother is such a whore that she shoots babies out of her vagina like a machine gun, and I would’ve just to continue to smile and nod like I was doing.

Once he finished saying whatever the hell he was saying, I said nothing to him, but instead paused for a second and asked everyone who was just then walking up to me, “Is everyone ready, clothing wise?”

“Yes,” they all answered in almost perfect unison- Lady Caggiano drew hers out to make it more of an annoyed groan.

“Good,” I replied, only glancing briefly in Lady Caggiano’s direction, “Then all we need to do is gather up the weapons we’ll need-“

“If, on the very rare chance we cannot reason with Trump and we need to fight him and his bodyguards,” Damien added over me.

“We’ll be able to reason with’em,” Nut’n Fancy assured us, “Trump is a standup guy who wouldn’t intentionally ruin the poor’s lives. He’ll understand.”

“Yeah?” Lady Caggiano added, “Well, he also seems like the kind of person who would sue you if you said he wasn’t as rich as he wanted to hear, so I say we be prepared for anything.”

“Ok,” I said before anyone else could add anything, “Let’s pick out our weapons and get ready to go.” As Lady Caggiano, Everett, Criss, Damien, and Nut’n Fancy went to rummage through the crates, I turned to Jessie and asked, “Is the Awesomecopter! ready?”

“Sure is!” he exclaimed, “All we need to do is get our stuff packed into it, and we’ll be ready to go!”

No shit.

“Good, I replied before turning to GMZ and asking, “We’ll need to keep in contact with you at all times, and you’ll need to hack into Trump Tower’s security cameras, and possibly his computer, so what will you need for that?”

He had calmed down by this point, so I was able to understand him when he replied, “If we just do reconnaissance, then we’ll each need ear pieces, some spy cameras, and I’ll need someone to get to security and download a driver onto their mainframe that will let me in- they’re security will be pretty tight, so I won’t be able to do that from the hotel room without them finding out. If we do have to fight him, then you’ll need the wrist communicators, and we’ll probably have to delete the files off of his computer.”

“So,” I asked, “A virus?”

“No, a virus is too destructive and would find its way onto other computers. You’ll have to get on his computer and wipe his hard drive, and maybe a backup flash drive, but that’s it.”

GMZ strode over to one of the small crates at the far end of the room, rummaged through it for a bit, and then returned with a thumb drive of his own.

“This,” he said with a smirk, “Is a password cracker. Just plug it into a locked computer and it will run through the combinations until it finds the correct one. You can also use the program on it to get into private accounts and encrypted files.” His smile became mischievous when he added, “It’s how I hacked into Obama’s and Britney Spears’s Twitter accounts earlier this year.”

“I really think a virus would be simpler, but if you insist doing it this way is best, we’ll try it. But this means that if he doesn’t change his mind, we’ll have to break into his loft. And Damien clearly doesn’t want us to do that.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, GMZ replied as he walked away, “Fine, be a little pussy about it and let Trump control half of the properties in New York.”

Falling for his taunt, I called after him, “You’ll need to get me the floor plan to his place if you want us to break into it. You know that, right?” He raised his index finger into the air, which I took as that he understood, and he went back to the small crate, closed it, and carried it out of the armory.

I sighed to myself as I thought about what GMZ said. I was completely behind the idea of breaking into Trump’s apartment and forcing him to stop his plans, but there was no way Damien would ever be up for it. I grimaced at the thought of having to try to convince Damien, the man whom I hired partially to train us all in hand to hand combat, that we may need to use force, especially since he should be the one most willing to fight. And somehow, I was going to have to not only convince him that we would probably need to break into Trump’s apartment, but that he was going to be the one to break into security, probably fight some of the guards without drawing too much attention to himself, then download the driver GMZ was talking about, and get back out. And judging by the floor plan of the Trump Tower, he was going to have to sneak in through the service entrance in the Atrium and make his way through a maze of hallways and service elevators just to reach the room where the guards watch the cameras.  I gritted my teeth, knowing that he was going to fight me on this, and walked up to the crate he was half-heartedly poking through.

“Damien, When we get into the Trump Tower, I have a special assignment for you.”

“Oh, really? What is it?” he replied without looking up at me. Despite how long he had been looking through that crate, he had only pulled out one handgun and two magazines.

I replied to him, “You’re going to be breaking into The Trump Tower’s security area so that GMZ can tap the cameras. The route to the room where the security cameras relay to is pretty long. You’re gonna have to pose as a maintenance man, but if they find you out, you’re going to need to fight your way out.”

“Why can’t GMZ just hack into the security system remotely?”

“He said that they’ll find out if he does,” I answered. “All you’ll have to do is download a program onto one of their computers and open it. GMZ will do the rest of the work.”

“Except that that won’t be, ‘all I have to do.’” He snapped as he stood up to face me. Damien glared at me and continued, “I’ll probably have to fight a load of security guards both on my way in and out of the bloody place, yet still try to be inconspicuous. How in the bloody hell is that even going to be possible? Are there cameras lining those halls to security?”

I gritted my teeth. “Yes,” I said.

“So you want me to beat the piss out of a bunch of people while on camera and then walk into the room where they watch the cameras?! What drugs are you on, Minigan, because they must be powerful if you think this is going to work.”

Even though he was slightly shorter than me, Damien still had about fifteen pounds on me, and it showed. And somehow, despite his size, he still managed to tower over me.  This intimidated me a little, but I masked my intimidation by shouting at him, “Well, this is what you wanted Damien! I was perfectly fine with just forcing him to stop, but you wanted us to do reconnaissance first!”

“No!” He shouted back, “I didn’t want any part of this! And I especially didn’t want us to jump into this right away like we are doing! Sure, taking the reactionary approach was fine when we bloodied up Chris Brown, but Donald Trump is a powerful man! And we’re going after him with just an overheard conversation and a bloody screenshot from his show! What we should be doing is at least a month’s worth of digging into this lead before we storm the Trump Tower like we’re an invading army! Why do you think this will play out any other way than us blowing our covers and ruining this entire mission? Hell, we’ll probably screw up so much that if Trump is actually plotting what Jessie says he is, then he’ll bump up security and the secrecy of his plan, making it virtually impossible to stop him!”

I clenched my fists and pressed my nails into the palm of my hand. It was the only thing keeping me from punching Damien in the face. If I did, not only would he kick my ass, but he would also quit Awesomesquad!, and despite how much of a pain in the ass he was sometimes, I knew that he was the best at what he does- or at least, the best that I could get.

I took a deep breath, took a moment to make sure my voice was going to be steady and not come out as a scream, and said, “Fine. You can choose. If you don’t want to join us, then stay here and watch the base. Lady Caggiano claims to have ninja skills anyway, so I bet she’d be happy to do your job and not wear her costume. If you do want to come, take some normal weapons IN CASE we have to fight Trump’s security, but also bring nonlethal weapons. A tranquilizer gun with extra rounds and a hand-held stun gun in case someone grabs you should be fine. Also, bring any kind of equipment you would need for sneaking down to the security room.”

With that, I grabbed my bags- one with my clothes, and one with my weapons and gear, and exited the Armory. As I left, I noticed everyone staring at either me or Damien. I ignored them. I stormed out of the Armory and into the hallway where our private rooms were located. I was about to kick my door open when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Lady Caggiano. I could see that mine and Damien’s argument had gotten her hopes up, but she was kind enough to hide it as much as she could.

“Yes,” I said to her, annoyed, “I meant that if Damien backs out, you can take his place breaking into security. You’ll need a Taser, a tranquilizer gun, and extra rounds. Plus whatever other nonlethal and stealth equipment you think you’ll need.” “Excuse me,” I added, “But I need to print out the floor plans for the security area.”

I stepped into my room and shut the door behind me before she could say anything. Immediately, I was at my computer, pulling up the files that GMZ and Jessie had sent me. I opened up the folders with the schematics and floor plans, printed them, and then drew a red circle where each of the security guards and cameras should be. Then, with a blue pen, I drew a path through the corridors to the elevator, and then to the security room. Folding the stack of papers I had just printed in half, I stormed back over to my door and swung it open. It was my plan to find Lady Caggiano and give her the papers, but instead she was waiting for me. The look of triumph that she discretely wore before was wiped clean from her face and was replaced a look of slight disappointment.

I thrusted the folded stack of papers at her, but she refused and said, “Damien plans to go. Give those to him.”

The anger from before had still left my blood hot, so  without another word, I headed back to the armory.

From behind me, she called, “I hope this means that I still don’t have to wear that horrible costume?!”

“That’s exactly what that means, Lady Caggiano,” I called back.

Right as I crossed the threshold into the armory, Lady Caggiano yelled back at me, “Go suck a million and a half dicks, Minigan!”

I didn’t react to her outburst, but instead headed right for Damien who was packing a black dufflebag with rope and extra grappling hooks. He saw me enter, and stood to face me. I could tell his clenched jaw muscles and the redness of his face that he was just as angry at me as I was with him.

Once I got close enough, I shoved the papers into his free hand and stated, “Here’s the floor plan and the path you should take. I’ve also marked where the security guards are stationed along the route and anywhere one could spot you.”

“Thanks.”

I was about to walk away and grab my bags, but I stopped myself and turned to say, “You know, it’s not like I didn’t just hear about this too.”

“That’s exactly what makes it so bad!” he cried, “You’re just rushing into a job that you don’t even know if it’s real or not. Bloody Hell, you don’t even know what Trump’s motivation is behind all of this! You just want a fight for the hell of it!”

I had nothing to say to this. Which I hated. I knew that he was right about everything up until the fighting part. Which I hated more. And I especially hated him for pointing all of this out to me. Instead of continuing to argue, I grabbed my bags from the corner where I had left them, locked up any remaining crates and headed back out of the armory. Unfortunately for me (as well as Damien, I guess) he had finished packing and was heading to the Awesomecopter! as well. Both of us, being the stubborn bastards that we are,  refused to either slow down or speed up in order to break away from the other, so we ended up walking through the hallway, into and then out of Great Room, into lobby, out the front doors, and around to the back of the building.

At the far end of the back yard, a section of the compound wall was swung open, revealing  a woodchip laden pathway into the woods. Together, we walked through the gap in the wall and pulled the gate shut, leaving the wall that surrounds the Awesomebase! yard unbroken once again. Still side by side, we walked along the path through the woods, refusing to say a word to each other.

After about a minute, we passed a large wooden sign that read: “Have you donated all of your belongings/ extra bodily fluids to benefit The Great One?”

I should probably explain. Since we’ve had the Awesomecopter! before the Awesomebase!, and particularly, the Awesomehangar! hasn’t been finished yet, we’ve had to hide the Awesomecopter! in a nearby clearing. To keep the construction workers off of the trail and away from the clearing, we told them that that path was for spiritual and sexual walk-abouts. We figured that that would scare off most of the workers, but on the chance that it didn’t, we put up signs along the path in order to discourage anyone from walking any farther.  We tried to make the signs as sexually disturbing as possible in order really make the intruder uncomfortable. Along the way, we also have an altar area covered in fake blood. This all must work, because after we watched the first curious come sprinting out of the woods shouting a lot of Spanish obscenities and looking like he was about to throw up. None of the construction workers even looked in the direction of the pathway after that.

After a few minutes of silence between Damien and myself, we passed a second sign. This one had the sentence, “Open your eyes, your hearts, and your rectums to receive The Intergalactic Gatekeeper’s majesty.”

After about another minute or so, we came upon a set of three signs. The first one said, “Have you fucked a goat lately? Why not?”

The second sign had the phrase, “I mean, it’s not like it’ll kill you.”

And finally, the last sign read, “You know what? Turn around right now, and bring back a goat to fuck.”

If you turned around at this point, you would then see on the back of the “It’s not like it’ll kill you” sign another sign that read, “Make sure it’s a virgin goat, and bring the sacrificial blade with you.”

Once we passed the final sign which read, “The Intergalactic Gatekeeper watches you masturbate- And he likes what he sees” (A work of Lady Caggiano’s genius), I knew that were coming up on the fake altar area.

Damien and I rounded a corner in the darkened woods, and came upon the altar area.  The tree canopy provided cover for the trampled earth below, with the exception of a small area in the center, which directly below it sat the fire pit. Behind the fire pit stood the altar, which was more like two tall piles of rocks holding up a slab of concrete. Obviously, it wasn’t stable enough for me to confident to place an empty beer bottle on, so we never did anything more than pour a bucket of red paint on it to look like it was covered with fresh blood. We also painted bloody hand prints on the trunks of the surrounding trees and on the smaller rocks that line the fire circle. Everett and Nut’n Fancy then nailed various goat bones to the trees and stuck two goat skulls on sticks at the entrance of the circle. Which we then slapped some paint colored blood onto as well. Basically, it looked like a massacre occurred there. I could understand why the man was so freaked out- with all the red, the area was noticeable immediately, and if you believed that that was all blood, it looked as though we had slaughtered twenty goats, coated ourselves with the blood, and began rubbing our bodies on everything. Honestly, I don’t know how we never managed to scare the construction workers into calling the cops or at least refusing to come back.  Clearly, Latin Americans (or possibly construction workers in general) are a n incredibly resilient people.

When we reached the fire circle in the center of the altar area, Damien and I split up, and walked aound the opposite side of the fire ring from each other. We reached the other side at the same time (damn) and headed for a large bush directly behind the altar. Damien lifted the side of the bush to reveal another path, and ushered me through with his hand. I wasn’t sure if he was doing it sarcastically or not, but I stepped passed anyway and then held the bush for him. I’m not sure why, that seemed to remove a lot of the tension between us, and I at least eased up on hoping he would just stop and look at a fucking rock for five seconds so that I could walk a head of him.

Within thirty or so seconds, we had reached the edge of the clearing and were approaching the Awesomecopter, which was being packed by the rest of the group. They saw us coming, and quickly averted their gaze back to trying to fit all the equipment and clothes into the Awesomecopter!, while still leaving room for the nine of us. Miraculously, we managed to stuff all the baggage into the helicopter with just enough room for us to sit down.

The Awesomecopter! was heavy, but Jessie managed to get it off the ground, and within seconds we were darting over the Awesomebase! and flying towards the setting spring sun. Most of the trip was uneventful. We changed out of our cult clothes and wiped the painted eyes off of our foreheads. Then, I explained to everyone the course of action for the recon mission, and GMZ interjected with any of the technical information that he had. I also explained to the group what Damien was going to be doing at the time. He barely said a word, still clearly irritated by the whole situation, but at least he didn’t try to argue with me about it. Well, since we were on our way to New York City, I guess there wasn’t much for him to say at that point.

After I finished briefing them, we decided to do what we did on our last mission: Play a single song on repeat for the entire length of the trip. I was about to play the Offspring’s Shit Is Fucked Up, when Lady Caggiano stopped me.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked me as I thumbed through the communal iPod.

“Looking for the song Shit Is Fucked Up. What does it look like I’m doing?”

“No,” She stated, “We’re listening to The Fame by Lady Gaga.”

“That crazy chick that wears bubble dresses and Kermit the Frog corpse outfits?” I asked, “Why the hell would we listen to her?”

“Yeah, she seems like a sexual deviant to me,” Everett added.

Many of the other members nodded in agreement, and GMZ added, “I heard she’s a dude!”

“Well, I don’t care if you think she’s weird, I like her and her music, so that’s who we’re listening to, not some band that was big thirteen years ago.”

“I swear,” GMZ interjected again, “She supposed to have a full dong!”

“Why do you think you get to choose?” I said to Lady Caggiano.

“Because you’re making me wear that stupid costume!” she cried, “Clearly I have it worst today, and I deserve to choose the song we listen to on repeat.”

Damien snorted. Lady Caggiano casted him a dark stare, before turning back around to me and daring me to challenge her claim.

“Since Damien is the one who’s being forced along on this mission,” Everett said, “Maybe he should be the one to choose.”

“I think that sounds fair,” Criss added.

“Me too,” came from Jessie, Derren, Nut’n Fancy, and Criss.

GMZ added once again,“I’m tellin’ you. Lady Gaga’s a dude.”

“Fine,” I said, “Let’s have Damien decide.”

Lady Caggiano growled at me, and if she weren’t strapped into her seat, I’m pretty sure she would have lunged at me with a knife.

“Well, if it were up to me,” Damien said slowly as he scratched his chin, “I’m gonna have to say that I feel like I’m in a Lady Gaga kind of mood right now.”

That bastard. He looked directly at me when he said it, and I could tell by the look in his eyes and the smirk on his stupid British face that he was only doing it to piss me off. Lady Caggiano, on the other hand, was delighted, and she and Damien shared in a high five.

“Did you see that, Minigan?” she asked as she lowered her hand back down to her side, “Damien actually knows how to give a proper high five’s.”

“So do I!” I yelled at her.

“No you don’t,” she retorted with venom in her voice, “Yours are always weird and static. Now play The Fame.”

I obliged, and for the remainder of the trip everyone was subject to Lady Caggiano singing over Lady Gaga.

“I love her so much!” she cried at one point, “Gaga is such a strong, independent woman!” She then continued to sing, “Isn’t it a shame, shame, baby? A shame, shame/ In it for the fame, fame, baby, the fame, fame…”

What felt like weeks later, we arrived in La Guardia airport, and poured out of the cramped Awesomecopter! and into the cool evening air. Derren, brilliantly, had called ahead and had two taxi vans waiting for us right outside the tarmac. The nine of us packed the vans full with our bags and then everyone but Jessie, who had to stay behind and do pilot things with the Awesomecopter!, piled into the now cramped vehicles for what was likely to be an awful journey to our hotel.

In about a half hour, we had reached the Peninsula Hotel of Fifth Avenue, the closest hotel to the Trump Tower. With the help of a bell hop, who, judging by the subtle holes in his face left from piercings, probably dressed up in emo clothes when he wasn’t at work, we were able to cart every one of our twenty or so bags into the main Lobby. As soon as I stepped inside the lobby, I was bludgeoned over the head with extravagance. The floor, the walls, and the ceiling were all covered in white stone tile, a giant  chandelier with tens of thousands of clear crystals hung down right above where the leaf print carpeted stairs split. On either side of the first  set of steps before the split, sat two brown marble columns with large vases filled with fragrant pink and purple flowers.

Confidently, Derren lead us directly to the right and up to the front desk. Behind it was a short and thin middle aged man, wearing an all-white uniform and a pencil mustache.

The man seemed somewhat bothered by the amount of us and our luggage, but he smiled anyway and greeted us in a stiff formal tone, “Welcome to The Peninsula Hotel. Under what name is your room registered?”

“Derren Brown,” Derren answered.

The man typed the name into his computer and then said, “Ah, yes. Mr. Brown, your request was last minute, but we did manage to find a suitable room for you and your, well,” he glanced at the rest of us, “party. Fortunately, we did have a room with the amenities your requested become available at the last second, so you will have a room facing Central Park with two queen sized beds. That is what you requested, correct?”

“Yes” Derren answered with a smile, “That’s perfect. But can we please have an extra cot brought up to the room if it isn’t too much trouble?”

The man looked taken aback by this request, which is understandable given how nice this hotel is, but the man smiled once again and replied, ‘Certainly. One will be up shortly. But Nathan here,” he waved his hand at the bell hop, “will show you to your room.”

The man handed Derren the envelope with the key cards, and Derren accepted them and thanked him. And that was it. Derren and the rest of the group followed the bell hop Nathan back across the lobby and into a lounge area where the elevators were.  When the first elevator door opened, The bell hop, Lady Caggiano, GMZ, Everett, Criss, Nut’n Fancy stepped in. There was room for about one more person, so I let Damien go in and I said that Derren and I would meet them on our floor.

As soon as Derren and I were in our own elevator and traveling up, I yelled at him, “Only one room?!?! Where’s everyone going to sleep?!”

“Excuse me,” Derren snapped back, “but I told you that was going to be impossible. Especially in New York, and especially in this Area of New York. Shit we were lucky enough to get a room facing the Trump Tower. What the hell more do you want from me?”

“But where is everyone going to sleep?” I cried.

“I have them bringing up the cot, so Lady Caggiano can use that. Then we’ll just have three people squeeze onto the beds, one person can take the chair, and one can take the floor. May I suggest that  Jessie, Nut’n Fancy, and I take the beds since we’re the oldest, as well as Everett and GMZ since they are the smaller of the young men. You, Damien, and Criss can fight it out for the last spot on the bed.”

I sighed, and said, “I guess that works. But you can choose who’s getting the last spot on the bed, and I’ll just take the floor. I don’t need to give me any more reason to want to fight me today.”

“I know,” Derren added, “Do you really disagree with him on how quickly we’re moving on this, or do you just not see a problem?”

I was about to answer with a strong and admittedly telling, “fuck you,” but the elevator pinged and the doors opened to reveal the rest of our group. Nathan lead us down the hall to our room,  and then helped us unstack our luggage once we were inside. Derren tipped the young man and closed the door behind him before he left.

The next hour or so was a mess of trying to get everything organized while also leaving enough space on the floor for us to move around and for me to sleep. After a while, Jessie knocked on the door, and he was followed shortly thereafter by the cot. By then, the stress of the trip and everything else from the day had worn us down, and we were all ready for bed. Derren gave the extra spot on the bed to Criss, who ended up sharing the bed with Everett and Nut’n Fancy. I stole a blanket and a pillow from one of the beds, found the biggest empty spot on the floor, and collapsed into a pile there. Despite the discomfort of the floor, my eyes immediately became heavy, and I was asleep within what felt like seconds.

Sorry for how little (zero) action there was in this post. I promise that the next two are going to be chalk full of it. Also, due to how long it took me to write, I did very little editing to this. Sorry about that too.

Until then,

Peace

P.S. To continue reading this story here is part 2

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