July 13, 2000
No Need For Sasami Cycle 1 and 2 and Oh My Goddess "In Search of a Wish"
at
members.xoom.com/mmcavoy/
Tales of the Four Cabbits of the Apocalypse
"Hit Squad (with apologies to Deadbolt)"
by Michael McAvoy
It's not easy being a Cabbit of the Apocalypse. Yeah, you get
to travel the world, meet interesting people, and then kill them. But
that's just the glamour side of things. Most of the time it's just
sitting in
hotel rooms, sleeping on private jets, or riding out into the middle of
nowhere, hunting down some piece of trash for money.
We all do jobs, the four of us. Sometimes alone, sometimes in
pairs... it's only on special occasions that me, War, Pestilence, and
Death-ohki mount up and ride together. That's damn good mayhem,
though. The kind of thing that made the ancient Greeks write epic
poems.
But, I never liked ancient Greek poetry, so we killed them,
too.
I'm the Famine cabbit of the Apolcalypse. You can see my
ribs, and my fur's all mangy and gaunt... ears so thin, even the mites
can't get a good meal off me. But, that's okay. I'll slip into some
riding
leathers these days, which makes me look a little larger, with this
emaciated furry head sticking up out of a jacket.
Me and War-ohki will hop on our Harley's and head down into
Mexico now and again. Pull through small towns, leave a few dead
people behind along with blighted carrot crops. Most people stay out
of our way, though.
Mexico's a good place to stay for a while after doing a job.
Back in the states, me and War had been paid to kill this singer of a
rock band in Las Vegas. I was up in the rafters with a rifle, while War
had smuggled in a sawed-off shotgun under his jacket, posing as a
roadie.
The lights went down, and we pumped the guy full of lead, people
screaming and running over each other...
War looked around, decided 'what the hell', and did the rest of
the band.
We hopped out of there, and headed for Mexico.
Somewhere between Van Horne, Texas and the border, we
spotted flashing lights in our mirrors. It was the Fuzz-ohki, or as the
Mexicans called them, the Federalis-ohkies. We pulled over our
Harleys, the engines real quiet in the desert evening. This police
cabbit
walks up to us with a drawn gun. I take a paw and pull off my shades,
looking at him. Screaming in terror, he starts to starve right in front
of
us. He gets a shot off before turning into a pile of bones and fur
right
there on the side of the highway, but he misses.
At that point I realize I'm kind of hungry.
So me and War-ohki continue on across the border, looking
for a place to hide out for a while. There's this little town we use.
Not
much to it, dirt streets, shanty houses, stray dogs who look about as
thin
as I do. It's got a little bar near the edge of town we stay at. No
one
bothers us there.
One day, War and me are sitting at a table in the bar. I'm
smoking unfiltered cigarettes, wearing a leather glove so I don't burn
my ratty paw fur with ashes. In walks this beautiful senorita-ohki,
looking right at us. She stops at our table, whips out this little crap
gun,
points it at us and pulls the trigger. It jams.
War pulls out his shotgun and doubles her over. Blows the
back of her spine right out.
Funny thing is, right before she pulled the trigger, she yelled,
"THIS ONE'S FOR ALBERT-OHKI!"
War-ohki's got a bit of her spine, using it to clean his teeth,
and I'm thinking, "Man, I don't *know* any Albert-ohki..."
A few days later, we're both sitting at our table drinking
whiskey and tequila. This cowboy comes up to us, dressed as a waiter.
Me and War have our guns ready under the table. He whips out a small
shotgun, and it... explodes in his paws, blowing them right off.
We killed him right there.
Funny thing is, right before he pulled the trigger, he yelled,
"THIS ONE'S FOR ALBERT-OHKI!"
So I'm thinking to myself, 'Man, I *do* know this Albert.'
Yeah, it was a few years ago. Me and Death-ohki were hired
by the mob to do this little job in the states. It was a torch job,
setting
fire to a restaurant, killing the owner, Albert-ohki. He was selling
carrot soup, cutting into the mob's territory.
His family came after us after that... but they're all gone.
Every last one of them.
Moral of this story... clean your guns before you try to kill
a cabbit of the Apocalypse.
* * *
Michael McAvoy
mmcavoy@ejourney.com
Fanfic with significantly more thought at
members.xoom.com/mmcavoy/
July 13, 2000