"One thing I hate, and I mean hate," Benny said to himself as he sat in the van, in the coffee shop parking lot, "Is GAWD DAMN ROACHES!" His pale freckled face came close to matching his red hair as he raged into the phone.
"Benny, it's only some little roaches," Sighed the female voice on the other end.
"Just. . . Just some roaches? They’re big as FUCKIN’ CHIHUAHUAS!" Benny was now repeatedly smacking his hand against the cracking dash board. He stopped the moment he noticed the caramel pegasus 'Mocha' staring at him; he gave her an awkward smile and a small wave to assure her everything was alright. "Listen Vera; get someone over here to give me back up," Benny snarled, hiding his face from the coffee shop owner.
"No can do, Bunny boy," Vera chuckled. "Everyone else is tied up at the Ol' Neigh place. They've got spiders. . . you want to go help them finish?" She laughed some more, knowing how much Benny hated spiders.
"Jesus, no!" Benny said sliding a hand down his face. "Ah, I'll just pop in and smash some bugs then," he said, hanging up the phone without a goodbye and smiling again at his favorite coffee shop owner as he stepped out of the van, standing at an ‘imposing’ 5’2”.
"Are more coming?" Mocha questioned, fluttering over to Benny with worry in her eyes.
"I wis- I mean; pssh, there’s only a few, Ma’am. I'll have them cleared out in two shakes of a la- your tail," Benny said as he folded his arms, and grinned outwardly at his own joke. On the inside, he was crying - oh how he hated roaches; not as badly as rats, though. Benny shuffled his feet a bit as he moved around to the back of the van. "Hmm, I think..." He said to himself as he moved canisters of poison out of the way of his main tools. "I think I'll use the 9 iron," he grinned to himself slipping on his 'bite' mask, a busted and cracked hockey mask attached to a batting helmet with bailing wire, crazy glue, and plenty of duct tape, assembled himself. He marched past Mocha, and up to the door of the shop, and scanned what was soon to be his battlefield.
Before he had a job of his own, he’d helped Mocha fix the place up; before she had hooves. He needed the money, and, well, she needed the help. He and a few others had replaced the worn out benches with new tables, broken counters with smooth creamy counter tops. It had been hell replacing the cracked floor tiles, and he was still happy it had turned out so well, considering what they had had to work with.
"Be careful, Benny!" Mocha yelled from the relative safety of the roof.
"Gawd, I hate Roaches; oh gawd, I hate roaches," Benny muttered as he stepped through the double doors, and there it was; the first of his prey. Walking along the edge of the creamy, marble-like counter top, oblivious to the short, red-haired intruder. "Easy there, Benny boy, easy," Benny said to himself creeping up slowly to the roach on the counter. He fought the urge to squeal and nearly lost as something scuttled across his foot.
"DIE, AHH!" Benny yelled, slamming the nine iron expertly into the back of the bug; but roaches don't die so easily, and the mutated, oversized insect flipped over a stool as it scurried for cover, Benny slamming face-first into the floor as one impacted against his back.
"GAH!" he cried out as he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. "Time for you to quit bugging me!" He flipped over onto his back, crushing the bug, but still not managing to kill it before another launched itself into the air and made a beeline for his face. His helmet protected him from the bug long enough for him to spring to his feet, slamming a rib into a table as he recovered quickly as possible.
"How the fuck did they get in here, anyway?" he yelled at nobody in particular, swatting another attacking bug out of the air with the golf club. He grabbed a chair, and hopped into the air, slamming the bottom of the chair's leg on top of a roach with all his weight, killing it. He kicked the bug pinned under the chair leg to make utterly sure it was dead, and then turned his attention back to the two wounded ones, smirking. Too hurt to move, the bugs had all but given up attacking, and were seeking cover - he would have none of that! Benny quickly finished one off with a stomp from his heel, and raised the golf club overhead, bringing it down with enough force to crush the bug and chip a tile. As he pulled back the club, the handle slipped from his grasp and flew over his shoulder, shattering a stack of coffee mugs.
"Oh shit, hope she didn't see that." He turned around, and facepalmed as he saw her staring at him through the large windows. "Dammit."
*~*~*
It was only proper that he help stay, and clean up some of the mess he caused. . . it had the dual purpose of keeping him the hell away from the Ol' Neigh place as well.
"It's all right, really," Mocha assured, as she swept up the glass into one pile. Benny had already bagged the bugs, and tossed them into the van.
"No, it's still my fault; I shouldn't have done that last bit. Should have stomped him, but I had to go all action hero on it," Benny sighed, slicking back his hair.
"It's all right; besides, no one got really hurt, and mugs can be replaced," Mocha said, before visibly brightening. "Hey, I have something new I've been wanting to try out. it's a new blend of coffee - let me make you some, it's guaranteed to make that bite feel better," she said excitedly, quickly launching herself over the counter; Benny paid her no attention as he dumped the glass into a bin.
"Here - I know it'll just change your life, after drinking this," she said, bowing her head forward, a cup of coffee balanced on her head. Benny took the cup gratefully.
'Mocha's coffee is a helluva lot better than Bert's,’ He thought to himself taking in the deep rich aroma of hazelnut, and. . . grape? His eyes widened a bit, but he did his best to stay calm. 'No, god, no - please, please don't let Mocha be involved with them!' He thought.
"Mocha - I'm real sorry and all, but I gotta get to the Ol' neigh place; spiders are serious business," he excused himself, stepping away from the counter and heading towards the door.
"Oh, no, you can't - not till you at least try my new flavor," she said, moving quickly to block the door. "I promise you, it'll change your mind about a lot of things, Benny. A. Lot. Of. Things." she said, a malevolent grin forming on her face as she stepped forward.
"Oh, alright," Benny said, pretending to take a sip and rubbing his belly. "You’re right; this is really good, Mocha!" He gave an awkward, sheepish grin. "Now I REALLY have to go."
"No! Not until you try the coffee!" She yelled stomping towards him.
"Mocha, I - I really got to go, and I did try it!" Benny said, eyes shifting nervously.
"No, no! You just pretended to!" she accused, tears welling in her eyes. "Is it because you don't like me Benny? Is that why you wouldn't go to the bureau with me?" she asked, trying to corner Benny. "Please, drink it!"
"I, I really can't right now,Mocha," Benny said, reaching into his coveralls and resting a hand on the handle of his .22 revolver, ‘Marie’. "I'll just take some with me... and may- maybe a second for Bert?" Benny suggested, with a forced smile on his face. ’Fuck! Gotta get the hell away from Mocha, she’s going to be on me like a pink pony on a cupcake.’ Benny thought inwardly to himself. ‘I can’t even bring myself to hurt Mocha; I don’t even think little Marie would be enough if I could.’
"You can take some to Bert, he probably needs it more than you... just try some first, okay? Please, try some," Mocha said, still moving closer to Benny who now had his back pressed against the wall.
"Well, I... Ah- uh," Benny stammered, before drawing out Marie and firing three shots at the plate glass window. It shattered before he leaped through, and sprinted for his van.
"Come back!" She shrieked, taking off like a missile and streaking towards Benny.
*~*~*
“Yeaup, that’s one helluva dead cow, Mikey,” Terry remarked, poking at the still form with a shock rod.
The sound of a ringtone came from Terry’s pocket, a tune punctuated by the phone announcing two words. “Bunny boy.”
“Hey, check it - call from Bunny boy,” Mikey said poking at the cow with the tip of his boots. “Wanna answer it?”
“Nah; he’s probably just got some sort of excuse for why he ain’t comin’,” Terry sighed, hefting the nozzle of a homemade flamethrower.
“Yeah, but it’s usually an interestin’ excuse!” Mikey exclaimed, even as he examined the fang marks on the cow, and the silky cocoon that now mostly wrapped it. “Go on, answer it!”
With a sigh, Terry fished the phone out of his pocket, and answered. “Yeah? Uh huh... that little mare from the coffee shop is chasing you...? Sure... no, I can’t come help you; we got bigger problems than you sleeping on the job.” Terry held the receiver away from him for a moment, as cuss words blazed from the small speaker. “Um... sure, bye?” Terry said, hanging up and scratching his head awkwardly with the end of the cellphone.
“...Sooo?” Mikey asked, as he pried open one of the wounds with his gloved fingers. “What’d he have to say?”
“Some made up story about that sweet lil’ Mare from the Coffee shop, out for his blood or some such.” Terry yawned putting the phone away. “You know, Benny trying to get out of work again.”
“Well tell him to get here then; he’s got enough gas on his truck to knock out a nest of spiders, and we’re going to need it!” Mikey said turning suddenly to a nearby bush. “There Terry, now! Hit it now!” he yelled, pointing at the bush.
Terry turned the jury-rigged acetylene torch nozzle towards the bush, and let a gout of propane-tank-fuelled flame loose. A blazing spider about the size of a young filly came staggering out, crumpling as the flames snuffed out its life quickly enough.
“God damn; that was a baby!” Terry said, rushing forward to stomp on the smoldering corpse. “When there’s a baby, there’s almost always a nest; and when there’s a nest there’s always a mother...” Terry lowered his makeshift weapon, turning to face Mikey, who had resumed checking the cow for marks. “Did I ever mention I hate this job, sometimes?”
*~*~*
“Gah! Can’t this thing go any faster?!” Benny yelled, hammering on the steering wheel, as the sounds of hooves scraping against the roof came to his attention. He yelped as mocha peered over the top edge of his dirty windshield at him.
“STOP RIGHT NOW!” Mocha yelled, staying on even as Benny swerved every-which-way trying to throw her off.
“Never!” Benny yelled, canisters, and tools flying all over the place in the back of his van as he took a sharp turn down an alleyway. He saw the dead end ahead, and slammed on the brakes, flinging Mocha from the van, and into the wall.
The van came to a skidding halt as the brakes locked, front bumper just a few feet from Mocha’s crumpled form. Benny sat there for a moment breathing heavily, but sighed in relief as he spotted Mocha's chest rising and falling. He sat there, listening to his own heartbeat for a while, until he slowly regained his nerve and backed out of the alleyway carefully. He gunned the engine, and sped away, off to his brother Bert’s establishment.
*~*~*
Bert’s ‘Establishment’, one of the only bars around still run by a human. People of all types came here - not just humans and ponies. No, there were diamond dogs playing poker, and being swindled by a fast talking Cajun. There was a griffin, with numerous HLF grunts laughing around her as they exchanged stories... mostly about bashing in heads. There were also a few zebras, the odd sheep, and one or two Buffalo. They were rarely ever at the bar; but when they were, they mainly kept to themselves, causing little to no trouble.
Today, though, there was an undercurrent of silence and unease in the air.
‘Why’s everyone being all quiet?’ Benny asked himself as he strolled in.
Benny had parked the van under tree cover, far enough away that Mocha might miss it when she came too. He had been coerced into helping fix up the old burnt out building... mostly by constant invocations of family obligations. Together, he and a handful of men had made it great. Wood paneled walls, and polished wooden tables made up to look like antiques... Bert’s prized possessions... and they had made a lot of friends and enemies along the way. Two men were lying there, passed out on the floor, and Benny realized the normal festivities were over.
“What the hell happened to you?” Benny asked, stepping over one of the men on the floor.
“Ben-Benny?” asked one of the men, clutching his gut. “Out there, Benny he- he’s out there.” He tried to point a shaking hand towards the back room. “They just went nuts!”
“Who just went nuts, what the hell happened to you two, and why is no one helping you guys? You hurt, need any help right now?” Benny asked.
"Them... ask them... we're OK for now," he said, pointing at a table weakly.
“Damn - you sure? I mean, what happened? You look burnt!” Benny scolded.
“That’s Joe’s damn fault,” the man grimaced.
“Like hell it was, Phil - you asked me to turn it on!” Joe groaned back at him.
“Like hell it was - why the hell were you wearing the damned thing anyways?!”
“Oh, I don’t know... ‘cause there were like, three of them!”
“Good thing you carry that thing around right? Never backfires... oh wait. Yes it did!”
“Not my fault! They had one of them damned boxes!” Joe retorted.
“...Yeah... I’m gonna leave you guys to it... just stay there... and try not to hurt each other any more...” Benny said, backing away from the now fully alert men.
*~*~*
Benny glanced at the table full of irritated Diamond Dogs, and the Cajun man with the cheshire smile. Benny never did like him much, he always seemed... off.
“Hey!” Benny said striding over to the man, wary of the Dogs glaring looks at him, as they all covered their hands of cards. “What the hell happened, and where’s Bert?” Benny asked, leaning on the table. “Those two over there won’t stop bickering enough to tell me what’s what.”
“Oh hello Missur - how ar ve doin’ this fin’ day?” The Cajun grinned as he set his cards face down, hands in his lap. Benny just glared at the black haired man in the checker suit.
“My brother, asshole - where is my brother?” Benny said, threateningly.
“Why you interrupt game, loud one?” One of the dogs said turning his head quizzically.
“Your asshole? But missur - ar you not competent enough to fin’ it your self?” He sat propping his head on his hands, leaning forward with false interest.
“We playing right now! Goes away, small one!” another Diamond Dog started.
“He must be looking to get’s hurt!” a third dog chimed in.
“No, My brother! My brother! Where the hell is he?” Benny demanded, mentally calculating how the diamond dogs would react if he were to shoot the man in the foot with Marie.
“You’re a bother, you’re a bother?” The Cajun replied with a raised eyebrow and a grin that was still far too wide. “Why, you ar quite one, thank you fo’ admitting tha’. Now please go away, I have more winnings to take.”
“Go away loud one,” One of the canines said clearly uninterested. “Leave or we make you leave!” The dogs snarled as Benny leaned in close enough to whisper to the Cajun.
“How ‘bout... I tell your poker partners about them cards up your sleeve? I do wonder how well you’d do in a fight against four diamond dogs...” Benny whispered, trailing off and leaving the threat hanging.
“Oh, oh! Your brother Mo chagren,” The man gulped. “He and three other gentlemen wen’ out back to... settle their differences,” The Cajun man said, the grin finally fading away. “I heard gunshots earlier, an’ Bert is... he has not returned Missurh!”
“Thanks,” Benny said, leaving the table and running for the back lot, but turned and stopped at the door, drawing Marie, and waving it to the Cajun. “Hey, always a good idea to keep a card up your sleeve right? But you’d know all about that, now, wouldn’t ya?” Benny laughed as he moved out the back way.
“What he mean by that's?” One of the dogs questioned the Cajun, who grinned nervously cussing Benny silently under his breath. He smiled at the dogs “A joke between friens, dogies.”
“Are you cheating us?!”
“Alors pas, my doggi friens, I woul never do tha!” he protested, covering his heart, as he gave an exaggerated gasp of shock.
*~*~*
The back lot hardly ever had a lot of cars and such; most people walked to the bar. However, there were five or so cars, perpetually parked there; an old flatbed, broke down after moving new furnishings to the bar... Benny couldn’t help but stare as it caused old memories of the day a long time ago. He, Bert, Sasha, and a few men decided to split. The thing had plenty of old battle wounds; it was a wonder they had even made it to the highway, let alone here, considering how many bullet holes it had in it! Benny smiled inwardly to himself as he gazed at one of the more major gouges in the side... they had even shot them with a harpoon at one point; now that was some real road warrior shit!
An old green truck, courtesy of the HLF - it still ran like a champ, but looked worse for wear after driving through those protests; he grinned at that, the hundreds of dings and dents from any weapons the crowd could scrounge up added ‘character’ to it. “Heh, good times.” The other three trucks belonged to several of the Grunts inside; each were in various states of disrepair, but all miraculously ran.
As Benny rounded the corner, he saw Bert and three other men fighting. Benny watched as one swung for Bert's head with a bat, and received a hard right jab to the jaw for the effort. The man dropped as a spray of blood erupted from his now broken jaw. Benny raised Marie into the air, and fired once.
"THIS FIGHT’S OVER!" He yelled in his most authoritative voice, taking a wide stance. To his surprise the men kept fighting, oblivious to the gun’s report. "Hey, are you deaf?!" Benny yelled at the three men. He grimaced as Bert spat one of their ears back into their faces. "Goddamit, Stop!" Benny pleaded as Bert slammed one of the men bodily into the side of an old, beat up white pickup. Taking the chance, one of the men managed to grab Bert from behind letting the other man a chance to stagger back to his feet. Benny took aim with the .22 revolver, and fired. The man released Bert as red blossomed from the wound in his shoulder.
"Got dammit, Benny! Watch where you shoot that, you almost hit me!" Bert yelled back before giving a cross, and a jab to the man he'd smashed into the van. Bert pulled back to avoid a blow, tripping over the prone form of the man who had been shot by Benny. Bert rolled to the left to avoid a boot coming down where his head was a second ago. "Shoot the fucker!" Bert yelled as he grabbed the man's leg and with a hard yank, sent the man down hard; his head colliding with the truck as he fell, and putting him out of commission. Bert staggered to his feet as the man drifted off into unconsciousness.
"Dammit Bert, I can't hit 'em if you knock them down like that... now, why the hell did these fuckers want to fight?" Benny said, trying to help Bert stand, but was just brushed away as Bert hauled himself up.
"Ain't you supposed to be workin’ right now?" Bert said dusting himself off, he looked at the ground for a moment, before picking up a pair of sunglasses with cracked lens up. "Damn," he muttered to himself, inspecting his favorite pair.
"Yeah, I sorta was... hey... you haven't seen Mocha earlier today, have you?" Benny asked, scratching the back of his neck. “Also, why the hell you worrying about my job? You just bit someone’s ear off, you need to wash your mouth out.”
"No, but I saw her yesterday, she was looking for you. Come to think of it, said she had something wonderful to show you," Bert said, ignoring Benny as he picked up a small silver cigarette pack sized device that one of the men had dropped, then frowned as one of the men groaned in protest. he delivered a sharp kick to the man's ribs, and the groaning stopped. "That'll learn ya," he muttered, so only the now unconscious grunt could hear.
"Sorry, just had to ask... she been acting weird?" Benny asked, moving in a bit closer to Bert should he start to fall. "... and what the fuck happened, why was there a fight?!"
"I'll explain after I take somethin’ for my achin’ head." Bert grimaced as Benny held open the back door to the bar. He stumbled a bit, a bit of blood running from his nose now, almost as if for dramatic effect. Bert walked into the bar, causing heads to turn as they looked at him, some with even a bit of worry in their eyes. "Well, I know who I can count on in a fight now..." Bert said, walking up to the men on the floor, poking at them with a foot to see if they were still breathing. "Hey... hey, get up... you can get up right?" Bert said scratching the back of his neck, before looking surprised as both men rolled onto their stomachs and tried to stand.
"Yeah... I think we're going to be fine. You all right, Joe?" He said, standing up shakily and dusting off the filth of the bar floor from his pants and 'leather' jacket.
"’Side's gettin the shit knocked out of me by my own power glove backfiring... I'd say damn fine," Joe said, as he glanced at the charred looking mess of wires and slagged metal that vaguely resembled a glove. "Fuckers had a silver box on 'em. Damn thing caused this lil darn thing’s kinetic force generator to feed back into itself.”
“... Or, you just crossed another damn wire set, or hard-grounded it,“ Phil snickered.
“You guys check 'em to see what they had on them?" Joe said as he dunked his burnt arm into a pitcher of water on the bar with a grimace.
"Joe... there's a damn reason they stopped making those things. I think it was because it was... I don't know... like strapping a bomb to your arm when they get wet and short out; not if, but when!” Phil screamed at Joe, causing patrons to stare, and others still to turn away. "The damn thing nearly took me out, too!"
"Sorry to interrupt - but what the hell's a silver box?" Benny asked the two men, and they looked at him like he was two years old as he came around the counter, handing Bert a few aspirin, who tossed them into his mouth and then proceeded to chew them, dry. ”You know... not exactly tech savvy here.”
"Ya know, it's the shit they gave security guards to stop grab, and goes with tasers or stun rods... don't ever use a stun rod near one, by the way; you won't be alive for too long after the power cell blows.” Joe made a hand motion expressing how big a boom it’d make exactly. ”They work by causing a nasty little feedback between the wielder and the gadget they’re using... also, microwaves don't want to work near um’; or three vee’s, come to think of it... just about all modern day do-hickey's go nuts around 'em; ain't sure how it's relevant, but I still haven't a clue why that type of shit happens near um'." Joe explained, setting the pitcher of water on another chair so he could lay his head down. "Hey, ah could you get me a few of them aspirins...? Thanks."
"So who were those goons anyway?" Benny asked the men.
"Those Lantern Light loons; came back again, said we can't serve any liquor on Wednesdays, Sundays, Mondays, or Tuesdays. I told them to go fuck themselves... so they tried to be stupid, flicked that box on, Joe's glove blew up, and I think it shorted out Phil's implant.” Bert said tapping the side of his head.
"Whoa, how the hell you'd know that?" Phil asked still clutching his head.
"You’re clutching your head, and there was a flash coming out of your earpiece when it happened... I'd go to a doctor pronto," Bert said adjusting his glasses. "So all in all, a more or less normal day." Bert said with a grin, and turned back to Benny "So. . . Benny, why you askin’ bout' your saddle pal?"
"Gottdammit! We’re friends, just friends... I mean damn, you guys are insufferable," Benny said, acting offended.
"Well, here's your chance to ask her. Here she comes." Bert turned to face Benny again, but was surprised when he saw no one there. "What's this all about?" He murmured to himself as a disgruntled Mocha trotted up to the counter, setting a cup of coffee on the bar.
"Have you seen Benny around lately?" Mocha asked, with large questioning eyes.
"Ahnope!" He said, as his eyes followed Benny’s movements, and the short red-head crawled underneath table to table, heading towards the back exit. "Why, you need him?"
"I have something for him, I know he'll love it; it's a very special blend of coffee I made myself, it took me so long to get the ingredients. Freshest coffee you’ll ever have!" She said smiling at Bert who did his best to not look as Benny slipped out the back
"Aww, hell, why not - maybe it'll help clear this headache a bit," Bert said grabbing the container and taking a big gulp heedless of the hot liquid. He stepped back gasping, as he felt something that wasn’t coffee in his throat. "Mocha. . . why?" He asked, vigorously rubbing his now hot, raw-feeling throat as it swelled, before slumping heavily against the bar. Several HLF grunts, Diamond Dogs, and ponies looked on in horror as Bert smashed a glass pitcher with his face as he slammed into the bar, before hitting the ground hard.
"Bert? BERT?! ARE YOU OK, BERT?!" Mocha cried, rushing behind the bar.
*~*~*
"Proper protocol stat-" Terry began to drone before being cut short again by Mikey.
"Fuck proper protocol - run, damnit!" Mikey yelled as they dashed through the woods, barely ahead of the wrath of the eight legged menaces.
"I'm running, damnit! Who in their right mind wouldn't?" Terry shouted, aggravated by Mikey's apparent ease at moving through briar patches that caught his clothes, and the hoses to his home made flamethrower. "The point I was trying to make was we should have just burnt this whole damn place down DAMMIT!" Terry yelled again, now considering ditching his only effective weapon to keep pace.
"Yeah why couldn't you say that before?!" Mikey shot back.
"Cause you were too damn busy fucking with that cow!" Terry said, huffing and puffing from exertion. “At least I didn't have the bright idea of hitting their momma with a fucking ROCK!" he roared, as he hopped a creek.
"Come on, there's a building up ahead... we can hold them off there!" Mikey yelled, sprinting forward with ease, thanks to his much lighter load.
"We gotta get back to the van!" Terry cried out, now gasping for breath.
"No we need some heavy firepower!" Mikey yelled, as he reached the building first, and began struggling with the lock. "It’s locked! There’s no way through! Game over, man, game over!"
"Coming... THROUGH!" Terry shouted, finding the strength to throw all his weight against the door in one barreling charge, crashing through the door and falling into the old slaughterhouse. Mikey impacted on the floor heavily, having been caught between Terry and the door. "That’s how we do it where I’m from!" He said, grinning like a fool even as Mikey scrambled up, and rushed to brace the door.
"Think they can get us in here?" Mikey asked as Terry doubled over, trying to catch his breath from his vigorous charge.
"No clue. Can you look through that slot?" He huffed, pointing at the doors little view slot.
"Hmm, that's odd. . ." Mikey commented peering through the slot.
"What is it?" Terry asked setting down some of his gear to get a better grip on the flame thrower.
"They’re... they’re not coming any closer... they’re just standing there, chittering," Mikey said moving every which way trying to get a better view of the thirty or so spiders outside, next to their mother.
Terry surveyed the old place they’d elected to hide in; they were in the entrance, a rusted table sat at the side of the small room. He began to wander around a bit after setting some of his gear on the a table in the office. He pushed through the room next to the office, into a small changing room which was connected to a bathroom.
"Hmm, what's this?" He mumbled moving towards a pile of rags on the floor stained with old blood. "Someone didn't do too good a job, a’ housekeeping in this place," he mused, poking at more rags with a foot. He looked up as he heard the sounds of scraping from the next room. "Heh, going to go with the horror movie cliché here, and check it out." he reached a hand for the knob, struggling to get it to twist, with a grunt of effort the door opened. Terry was immediately engulfed with the scent of copper and old blood from the slaughter room floor and old drains. He looked at the meat hooks, and yelled out to Mikey. "Hey, check this out. it's spoo-ooky~!" He chortled.
"Heh, this place is kinda spooky, huh,” Mikey said, stepping quickly into the room. “Be kinda of a cool set up for a Halloween haunted house though... hey check it out, all them rusty hooks, and such." Mikey said moving deeper into the room examining every thing he saw, before stopping. "Well...that looks familiar," He said, using his stun rod to prod at the corpse of a very familiar-looking cow.
Terry sighed. "I'm going to try an get a hold of Benny again. We still need help with those damn spiders; only matter of time before they get in," Terry growled, flicking out his cell. "Pick up this time dammit!"
*~*~*
Benny had just managed to get back to his van, and buckle his seatbelt when he received the call. He opened out the cell with a flick, and happily answered. "Hello?"
"Benny, you listen to me, and you listen good. Get your ass down here right now; you get those canisters of poisons set up, cause you’re going to be hosin’ down around thirty spiders, and their ma. You understandin’ me, BOY?!" Terry rasped, ignoring Mikey's attempt to get his attention.
"I'll be killed!" Benny retorted, "I need more help."
"I promise you; if I get out of this slaughterhouse, I'm going to kill you myself, if you DON'T. SHOW. UP!"
"Terry, check it out!" Mikey said, abuzz with energy, and curiosity. "What the hell do you think that is?"
"Hold on,” Terry said, distractedly. “I'll have to call you back... MIKEY, DON'T TOUCH IT!" Terry yelled.
"Hmm, guess I have to head over to the Ol' Neigh place, then," Benny said to no one in particular, as he let the van warm up, before speeding past the bar, a terrible ruckus going on inside. “Oh shit, slaughterhouse, where the hell is he talking about?” Benny fumbled with the phone, trying his damnedest to get in touch again, but apparently Terry was now very preoccupied, and wouldn’t answer. “...Damn, guess I have to go hunt them down,” he mused, as he drove down the road. With a sigh, he dialed a new number, and called his lest liked person in the world - Vera.