The Errant Employee (attn: GB, Roland)

The symphony of insects gave Roland something to listen to. His Spanish wasn't that great in the first place and separating himself from the men outside, even if only inside his head, brought a measure of relief. He imagined that they were all tuning their legs for a perfect biological opus, just for him. Roland scratched at a few itchy spots as he scooted up to the small hole in the door. The slightly less humid version of a fresh breeze wafted to his face.

He could see that there was only one guard. One guard within sight. There could be fifty more behind the box. He doubted it though. He suspected that they were unaware of his genetic status. Keeping them in the dark probably kept Roland alive longer. Or not. One could scarcely grasp the motives of jungle guerrillas. The one that was half watching seemed to be smirking and motioning to someone outside of the current field of vision. Roland found out why as a rifle butt came sailing into view. The reverberation of aluminum and skull was enough to send him back to his delusional slumber. Their chaotic laughs and guffaws vanished and muted in the background.

Roland stood at a podium, dressed in a tailored coat with tails. He found he had a small stick in his hand, like that of a conductor. Before him his orchestra made ready. Mantises on percussion, spiders on strings. Aphids using maracas and a lone mosquito played the tuba. He raised his hands and the cacophony of sounds quietened. He tapped the little stock against the podium and raised his hands in anticipation of the first movement. He was interrupted by a fresh bucket of water.

Coughing and gagging, Roland looked up to see Porky looking down on him, a wide smile on his semi toothless mug. " What, no blindfold?" It was surprising to Roland how scratchy and alien his own voice sounded to him. Porky looked down and chuckled at him. " There are no more need for blindfolds, friend. Today is your day of liberation." Only the naive or the stupid could miss that verbal clue. Gershon was done with him. By the end of the day, he would be dead.

…Slate looked at the man’s foot for a moment; at the large, sharp knife posed near it. Then he slammed down on the gas. The jeep peeled out over dirt, gravel, and empty bullet casings. If the sudden acceleration ended badly for the Gaint’s foot, then so be it. Slate was a healer.

“We are going for a drive into hostile territory,” he explained, quite simply. “One of my employees has been missing for several weeks. It has come to my attention that he is being held nearby, though not for long.” No. Not for long. A rather large tree loomed ahead. Slate swerved; the jeep lurched back out of the undergrowth and onto the dirt road with a jerking clatter of rubber and metal. “We are going to extract him, and quickly. I expect heavy resistance. I wish it dealt with promptly. Do you have any questions?”

…Had the man really marked a tree? In front of him, no less. Now was not the time to address it. Now was the time to move very quickly, and—in all defiance of the laws of nature and probability—not crash the jeep. He could discuss it afterwards. If nothing else, the man needed to know that in a dog pack, it was the alpha who did the marking. Though Slate preferred something more subtle than a scent post.

Nodding slightly as he pulled the knife from the bottom of his boot leaving a small stab wound in his favorite boots. “Well why the bloke go and do a thing like that?” Bacchus asked as he put his knife into his sheath and looked at the passing scenery as Slate was driving over everything in his path or swerving away from it. If Bacchus wasn’t sure he couldn’t survive high speed crashes with only a few scraps he would have buckled up, but Bacchus decided not to and just kick back and feel his stomach swerve left and right as obstacles were avoided.

“I assume,” Bacchus said as he opened he pulled a toothpick from his pocket and placed it in his mouth, “That I can kill seeing as it is hostile territory?” Bacchus was not a fan of the any killing policy that was issued with his upcoming mission. Obstacles from his opinion needed to be snuffed out as soon as possible otherwise they are just in the way later on.

The Trees, Animals, mounds of dirt and other things one would expect to see in a jungle shot by at an alarming speed. From the way Slate was driving this employee must be of some importance to call upon the boss for a rescue, either that or the Slate was a caring boss, but from the way he carried himself Bacchus wasn’t to sure if Slate was the good boss, after all what good is a hammer if it can’t kill a few nails?

It was close to twenty minutes from where they previously we stationed at and the jungle started to block more and more of the sunlight. Bacchus was about to say when he noticed something flash by his head at a fast speed giving a loud whistle sound. The whistling was followed up with a few clinks as bullet dents appeared on the hood of the jeep. “Shit!” Bacchus yelled as he grabbed the wheel and forced Slate and the wheel to go left.

The car shot off of the jungle path and landed straight into a tree, the impact sent Bacchus flying through the windshield. ‘Dropped the ball on that one…’ thought the giant as he said through the air landing on the ground into a prolonged roll into the base of a tree forcing to fall under his weight.

Letting out a small groan as he opened his eyes in the dirt and frowned at his broken Aviators and the broken tooth pick that was fortunate enough to break one the first fall leaving pits of wood inside his mouth which distracted him from the awful taste of dirt. The wonderful taste of dirt, sadly it reminded him slightly of his childhood where his dad used to go on his drunken fits and rub Bacchus’s face in the dirt after he challenged him to a fight. Turns out Dad wasn’t lazy… he was just resting.

Groaning a little more as he felt a swift kick to his side Bacchus lifted his head and let out small chuckle, “Bad mistake Mate…” expanding his hands quickly into the ground Bacchus gave himself a push off of the ground which sent him high into the air. On the way down pulled expanded his arms, which added to the strength the hands already had, aiming them Bacchus landed on top of the man’s shoulder resounding in a loud crunch killing the man instantly.

Now standing on top of the man Bacchus slapped some dirt form his front and shoulders as he looked for the boss man to make sure he was all right. Grinning slightly Bacchus started walking over to the men who were sounded by the boss, “Nothing personal mates…” Bacchus said as he started to grow as Bacchus was drawing their attention so if Slate wanted to he could get away.

Gunshots could be heard as the crashed upon Bacchus’s enlarged chest. Standing at eleven feet tall Bacchus closed in on his targets the bullets continued to clink and clank on his chest as Bacchus felt a burning sensation from each bullet. He didn’t know why but he loved it when he felt the burning sensation on his chest at least to the point where he didn’t feel the need to move out of the way or block the gunfire.

Picking a toothpick out of his pocket Bacchus used his power to make bigger brandishing the giant piece of wood Bacchus launched it like a spear landing directly in the chest of one of the gunman who had been pointing a gun at Slate moments before. Bacchus got his hands on one of the gunman and picked him up like a doll and threw him into a tree only to smash another with a hammer fist. Throwing a palm strike in to the man’s skull Bacchus felt the motions as the back of the skull explodes forcing out the brains and a large amount of blood.

The biggest perk was not only did it look cool in slow motion but it was also a great way to stay clean with a killing strike. The blood and brains shot out from the back of the skull which was perfect for it only splattered small bits in every direction opposed to his nifty decapitation trick he could do with a yo-yo. “You alright Boss?” Ban asked looking to the now smaller slate.

As the dust settled, Roland waited for the opportune moment to take a peek at the new lay of the land. His ears caught the distinct sound of carnage as the remaining guards seemed to meet the new arrivals. Whoever it was , they were large, as the sound of trees cracking and the thunderous footfalls erupted. A voice came from the direction of the event occurring behind brush and foliage. It was certainly not a local one, as the strong accent of Australia pierced the sounds of battle.“Looking for a middle aged man about yay-high. Have you seen him?” An interesting turn of events. Was this the cavalry?

The thief stretched his neck around the corner of the structure just in time to see Senor Porky land , neck first, just a few feet away. His eyes, as they dilated out, stared fixated on Roland. A jarring pain shot through his lower extremities as the communicator was on final approach. He would have to risk a stray bullet because he was not going back in the box. As the Aussie spoke again, making a query of the man's name, Roland rose slowly from his hiding place.

" I believe I am the middle aged man you are seeking." He leaned on the well, his body wracked with shudders of intestinal distress. Sweat dripped freely from rivulets of the salty stuff that flowed from his hair and brow.' I assume you are the cavalry. If not, I'd appreciate a five second head start." If it truly was the cavalry, that meant that there was a young man somewhere behind him in the brush. One who carried a look of something with a bad taste in his mouth constantly. One who would have words for Roland, who had just as much to say himself.

“Middle Aged Seppo, blond hair, blue eyes, slightly taller than the boss. Looks like I am…” Bacchus was cut off as he heard a few loud stretches as the boss approached the called Turpit who was their target. “Shit…” Bacchus continued, as his shirt was forced apart on several locations around his body causing them to snap then fall to the ground in tiny pieces of cloth. Soon following his shirt was his belt, which luckily snapped in half before the flask and the belt would have been brought into the chaos of exploding clothes. “Thank god!” Bacchus said as he looked down at the flask relived that it was still in one piece.

Having so many at the Sanctuary made things easier for him hen one broke but seeing as he only brought two with him. It would be simple enough for him to find a flask or two here seeing as it was Columbia and the stores have yet to try and card him regardless on how big he was at the time. That was one thing that he loved about this country, not only was everything a mess but it was dirt-cheap. The only down side to by a flask here is there was always a chance there was a human tooth in it… luckily for him he had his engraved stainless steel one with him.

Two more loud tears could be heard one from his hat and one from his pants. Instinctively Bacchus’s hands shot up to his hat as he concentrated on keeping his hat in one piece sacrificing his pants in the process. He felt the pants constrict around his body as they began to shrink and then shatter against Bacchus’s thick legs. Shoes and a hat was all that Bacchus was wearing… Correction a hat was all he was wearing seeing as his feet shot through the shoes as the gave off a small exploding effect, “Shit” was all he could muster as lifted the giant hat off his “Thank god the hat is a’ight…” Bacchus sighed as he shrunk down to his seven-foot self and putting his dramatically smaller hat on.

Bending down to pick up his buck knife and his flask he grinned slightly as he tossed the flask to Turpit, “Have a drink mate, you look like you could need one…” looking through his mess of tattered bits and patches of clothes Bacchus sighed, “Lost my machete…”