The heifer chewed her cud. It was thicker than yesterday’s. Oh, what was that? There was something crunchy in her mouth. Cud wasn’t supposed to crunch. Had she eaten something unusual? The heifer couldn’t remember.
In the burning depths of Hades, Cyborg George massaged his seething soul, already plotting revenge.
THE END
(Or is it?)
Whirring, spinning, and hissing, Cyborg George advanced towards the unimpressed heifer, who stood at the fence chewing her cud.
“This ends NOW!” cried George, cocking the shotgun mounted on his arm. He raised his metallic arm high. “NOW!”
As if on cue, a bolt of lightning burst from the sky.
“Evan,” said Timothy Thicke, “do you think these crazy spy games will ever end? Will we ever be free to walk openly in the streets? Will I ever be able to start a family?”
Evan Edgelow thought for a minute. “Yes to the first two questions. No to the third.”
Twelve ravens watched as the door of the farmhouse opened and a grime-smeared figure emerged.
His left leg was steel and pistons; steam whiffed out of the joints as he moved. A shotgun was mounted along his handless right forearm.
“Death, death, raawk!” croaked the ravens.
Cyborg George laughed aloud.
“Bad Nogard!” cried Cliven. “Bad!”
The Veterinary Cleric writhed on the ground, clutching his charred intestines.
Perching in the shattered window frame, the little dragon licked its lips with a serpentine tongue, flames hissing through its dilated nostrils.
Cliven wagged his finger. “Do you want me to get the muzzle?”
They stood back to back, gripping their handguns nervously, surrounded by a leering ring of well-armed henchmen.
“We’re so going to die!” Thicke sputtered, his eyes clouding with tears.
“Hush!” commanded Evan Edgelow. “No one is dying tonight!”
He paused, looked around, then grinned eagerly. “Ok, I take that back.”
George slaved beside a roaring fire, a wild look in his eyes.
“Fool me once, shame on you,” he mumbled, dripping sweat as he steadied the anvil.
“Fool me twice, shame on me!” he cried, swinging the hammer above his head.
He held his creations high. “WHO’S THE FOOL NOW!?”
After evading terrorist capture, two men checked into a backwater motel using pseudonyms.
“Are you married?” Timothy Thicke asked Evan Edgelow.
“No,” said Edgelow. “Everyone I get close to ends up dead.”
Thicke thought about this. “You wouldn’t call us… friends, would you?”
“Not really.”
“Thank goodness,” said Timothy Thicke.
“It’s time you learned to defend yourself,” Evan Edgelow said to Timothy Thicke.
“Great!” said Thicke. “Can I learn muay thai?”
“Muay thai is an advanced–”
“Just like Tony Jaa!” said Thicke, swinging an elbow.
Edgelow caught Thicke’s arm and slammed him to the ground.
“Sorry,” he said. “Reflexes.”
“I won’t let you kill my dragon!” cried Cliven.
“He’ll become a zombie!” insisted the Veterinary Cleric. “Hundreds could die!”
“I don’t care!”
Nogard shuddered in Cliven’s arms. His eyes rolled backwards, and all his muscles went slack.
“No!” Cliven screamed. “Is he dead!?”
“Well,” said the Cleric, “kind of.”