Jayson and Mortimer run through the collapsing factory, passing corpses and burning equipment, and turning their torn clothes into masks in a feeble attempt to block the fumes. The factory groans and snaps around them, large chunks of the stone ceiling crashing down, taking catwalks and wiring with it.

  The pair weave through the destruction, following the direction of the smoke. They find a gaping hole in the wall and run through it, yanking off their masks and dropping to their knees, both coughing and wheezing.

  “Good God almighty, my lungs hurt,” wheezes Mortimer, grabbing Jayson’s shoulder for support.

  “Mine too,” coughs Jayson.

  He throws his tattered jacket and shirt off, exposing his dirty and blood covered white fur, and the pink scratches on it. Mortimer takes another lungful of air, and then looks at Jayson, sneering.

  “Oh, what the hell?” says Mortimer.

  “What?” says Jayson.

  “You!” Mortimer waves to Jayson’s skin-and-bones body. “You’re a toothpick! A bean stalk has more weight than you, and yet you have been the biggest pain in my ass since my ex!”

  Jayson inspects himself and then glares at Mortimer defensively. “What? I’m wiry.”

  “It’s not fair!” Mortimer grabs his face, groaning and flopping on his back, ignoring the fiery smoke pouring from the giant hole nearby. “All my life I wanted to be good at something. I wanted to be on the t-ball team. Didn’t make it. I wanted to be a good swimmer. Couldn’t cut it. I tried basketball. Nothing. I went to magic school to be a magician and a damn ice cream machine blew up in my face, disfiguring me! I couldn’t even kill myself right! And the biggest task given to me by the one person who saw something in me went up in flames because of an anorexic hobo bunny!”

  “Hobo Warrior Bunny,” says Jayson, finishing with a smile and a click of his tongue.

  Mortimer roars furiously and lunges at Jayson. Their bodies collide and crash to the wet grass, unknowingly rolling in massive footprints.

  "I’m gonna skin you alive, hobo!" Mortimer yells, landing a solid punch to Jayson's jaw.

  "You couldn’t skin an orange, wannabe assassin!" Jayson retorts, kneeing Mortimer in the gut.

  “That’s because you don’t skin oranges!” Mortimer punches Jayson in the face and tugs him back up to punch him again. “You peel them! Like how I’m going to peel your freakin’ eyes!”

  They continue their scuffle, rolling through dirt and grass, each landing harsh blows to each other. Neither notices the approaching figures until a shotgun blast tears through the air above their heads.

  "ENOUGH!" yells Nermal.

  Jayson and Mortimer freeze mid-grapple, Jayson's fist pulled back and Mortimer's fingers wrapped around Jayson's throat. They look up to see Nermal, Peter, Owen, and Chipper standing over them, all covered in soot, their clothes singed and torn. Each breathes heavily, coughing sharply occasionally from the chemical fumes they've inhaled.

  Behind them, the safe house drops beneath the earth, pushing out clouds of fire and colorful smoke and dust into the air. Jayson and Mortimer stare wide eyed at the plume of smoke, and Nermal’s group turns around, too, their eyes also popping wide.

  “Well, damn,” says Chipper.

  “Your stuff was in there, right?” says Jayson.

  “Yeah,” says Mortimer.

  “All of it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sucks for you.”

  Mortimer growls, but before he can do anything else, Peter snaps around and aims his pistol at Mortimer’s head.

  “Alright, now that we’re done sightseeing, why don’t you give me a good reason not to put a bullet in your head?” says Peter.

  “Hey! Stand down!” barks Nermal.

  “I will not.”

  “Who the hell are you?” says Mortimer, releasing Jayson and standing up to glare down at Peter. As he glares at Peter, he notices the large footprints, and his brow quirks as he follows it with his eyes to the broken trees. He only looks away when Peter speaks again.

  “You really don’t remember me? You bloodied me in my shop and tossed a bunch of money on top of me. It covered a quarter of the medical bills,” says Peter.

  “Oh yeah. Now I remember,” says Mortimer. “I was looking for Claribel and then beat you up because you were a pill. Which reminds me.”

  Mortimer turns to walk towards the broken branches and large footprints in the forest, but Owen gets in his way and aims a rifle at him.

  “You destroyed my arcade,” says Owen.

  “Wow. That sucks,” says Mortimer.

  Mortimer attempts to sidestep Owen, but he follows him and slips the safety off his rifle while Peter cocks his pistol.

  “Stand down, both of you!” yells Nermal.

  “Why?” says Peter.

  “We can use him for information about Mama Bear,” says Chipper.

  “Yeah? So were the thirty guys we killed in there. You didn't seem to mind us shooting them,” says Peter.

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  “Alright, everyone chill!” says Jayson, his hands raised and putting himself between Mortimer and Peter. “I’m sorry, Mortimer, but I have to release your secret.”

  Mortimer arches a brow, and Jayson takes a deep breath.

  “Mortimer is not a bad guy. He just got caught up in some bad people when Mama Bear debt trapped him over his medical bills. He was forced to be a Fixer to payback a loan. Without the loan, the doctors would have killed him with legal fees and collections,” says Jayson.

  The group looks at Mortimer, and his arched brow relaxes. His lips spread to a toothy grin and he raises his hands.

  “Yeah, I'm just a poor schmuck. Spare me your wraths, officers of the law,” says Mortimer.

  “So he went to find help from a crazed crime lord to pay off medical bills? Jayson, that’s a bad guy,” says Owen.

  “He’s a guy who made bad choices,” says Jayson firmly, now looking at Owen.

  “Bullshit,” growls Peter. “Millions live in poverty and go through the shit of high bills and medical debt. Yet they don’t go around being Mama Bear’s stooge!”

  “Well, my dad always said I was retarded and my mom never loved me, so bad choices is kinda my thing,” says Mortimer.

  “Smart ass,” sneers Peter.

  “I heard that a lot, too. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to rescue my girlfriend.”

  “You're either going in a ditch or in a sewer, but you're not going to be leaving here alive,” says Peter.

  “Alright chill out. Nobody's executing anybody,” says Chipper.

  “Oh, so we can shoot dozens of people in a factory, but suddenly get a conscious when we chit chat with a worthless waste of life!” shouts Peter.

  An electric storm erupts from Mortimer, knocking the rabbits off their feet. Jayson lands flat on his back, gasping for air and his ears ringing. He turns on his side, wincing as smoke rises from him, and through his hazy vision, he sees sparks erupting erratically from Mortimer.

  The ground around the fox is burnt, as are portions of his tattered clothes.

  Jayson winces again and rolls on his hands and knees, the new burning pain tearing at his flesh. His heart is still erratic, and he holds his hand out to Mortimer as he marches past Jayson.

  “Hey, Mortimer, relax! He’s just being a dick!” says Jayson.

  Chipper, Nermal, and Owen groan and shift on the ground. Jayson sees Owen grabbing his rifle, and he grabs his cosmic wood sword and releases a pulse of blue energy, dragging time to a near standstill as he rushes Owen and disarms him. Then he runs to Nermal and Chipper and disarms them, too.

  When the aura disappears, the ballistic weapons fly away, leaving the three older rabbits confused, and Jayson rubs his racing heart. It doesn’t hurt like it normally does when he performs intense time dilation, but there is still a faint throb.

  Then Jayson sees Mortimer grab Peter by his mouth and pull him upright.

  “Mortimer, stop!” yells Jayson, running to the fox.

  At first Peter thrashes in Mortimer’s grip, his muffled voice raging with defiance, but he stops when he realizes that the fire burning in those brown eyes is not for show. The intensity is incinerating his very soul.

  “Let me clear something up for you, Peter,” starts Mortimer, his voice rumbling, fur bristling, and his claws digging into Peter's cheeks, drawing blood. “I beat the shit out of you last time because you didn't help me find Claribel. Now, you're actively interfering. I could make you my second kill right now and not lose a wink of sleep. Or you can piss off with your friends and go play bingo or whatever you old shitheads play.”

  Mortimer looks at Jayson, flashes a toothy grin, and throws Peter to the ground.

  “Okay, I’m done. Let’s save our girls,” says Mortimer. He looks at the rest of the group. “The rest of you get out of here. Unless you want to die. Me and the Hobo have a mad ram to kill.”

  Mortimer resumes walking to the forest, and Jayson looks between him and Nermal’s group, at a loss for words. He only runs after Mortimer when Nermal nods.

  As Jayson trails Mortimer, the rest of the group packs up and leaves.

  “So you were pulling my leg when you said your kills were in the triple digits,” says Jayson.

  Mortimer sighs and rolls his eyes. “No, I wasn’t. The National Paintball League counts striking an opponent as a kill.”

  “Paintball doesn’t count.”

  “Then Ramsey will be my second kill.”

  “Who was your first, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Mortimer stops abruptly and glares at Jayson. “That creepy ass ram you guys brought in to watch me when you kidnapped me and threatened to kill Claribel if I didn’t tell you stuff. I slit his artery and dropped that big metal door on him.”

  Jayson looks at Mortimer, eyes wide, lips sealed, and ears drooped. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Mortimer that Trafford cannot die.

  Seconds of awkward silence later, Mortimer turns sharply and continues walking. Jayson follows him, staying quiet. As they walk, Jayson looks down, right, left, up, ahead, down, right left, up, ahead, and rubs his neck.

  “So, not to be intrusive or anything, but how did you become a Fixer with those gloves if you never killed anybody before Trafford?” asks Jayson.

  Mortimer is silent, his steps increase, and his eyes focus on the footprints in the ground.

  “Come on, you can tell me. It’s not like you’re employed by Mama Bear anymore,” says Jayson.

  “No thanks to you,” says Mortimer. His steps increasing to a jog, and Jayson easily following him. “And for the record, I ran my targets out of town. I just told Mama Bear I killed them by taking pictures of their ‘corpses’. After they paid me.”

  Jayson furrows his brow, and the two break into a run.

  “I took photography class and worked in the makeup department for a local theater. Both of those fell through,” says Mortimer, his voice bobbing with his steps.

  A distant roar echoes through the trees, followed by gunfire. The pair exchange glances before zooming through the forest, pushing through the foliage with renewed urgency.

  Jayson's heart pounds against his ribs as they race toward the sounds of gunshots and trees breakings. The PLOT ARMOR serum has given him strength and healed his wounds, but fear for Lexia still grips him like a vise. Images of Ramsey's tentacles wrapping around her flash through his mind, driving him forward with desperate speed.

  The sounds of battle grow louder, punctuated by inhuman screams and the crack of gunfire.

  The scene that greets them as they burst through the tree line freezes them in their tracks. Derrick is pressed against a tree by large claws, his wings limp and body bloodied. The trees and ground around them are destroyed, and Mortimer and Jayson’s eyes bulge at what they are seeing holding Derrick.

  Ramsey’s mutation has progressed further, his body now a writhing mass of tentacles and pulsing flesh. One arm is missing, replaced by a nest of writhing appendages.

  Ramsey’s face is barely recognizable, one eye socket populated with smaller, wiggling tentacles, and the other, larger tentacles twisting and snapping around, feeling the air. The blue light from the cracked sky gives Ramsey a cold glow, and his red eye is focused on Derrick.

  “Let’s get him!” yells Mortimer.

  He charges forward before Jayson can say anything, so he follows him, gripping his wooden weapon tight.

  Electricity arcs between the fingers of Mortimer’s damaged glove, battery pack, and orange fur. When he reaches Ramsey, he screams and slams his palm against Ramsey’s side, unleashing an electric hellstorm that surges through the beast, burning his flesh and fur.

  Ramsey howls in pain, and Mortimer slides out of the way as Jayson surges forward and strikes the beast, sending him flying away from Derrick and crashing into a tree across the way.

  Branches and loose leaves fall around Ramsey, and Derrick slumps to the ground, wheezing and blood oozing from his wounds. He presses his trembling hand against his wounded chest, and he lifts his eyes, his weak smile shifting to an annoyed sneer, which Jayson is hoping is fake.

  “About time you showed up,” gurgles Derrick.

  Mortimer ignores Derrick, keeping his glare focused on Ramsey, his gloves sparking bright.

  “Sorry,” says Jayson, rubbing his chest. “Dingus here tried to kill me. And failed. Again.”

  “I’m really not in the mood for your snide remarks, Hobo,” says Mortimer. “Let’s just kill Ramsey so me and Claribel can get out of here. He violated my girl and Mama Bear is gonna want our heads on pikes for what happened here. So, after today, we aren’t seeing each other ever again.”

  “Fine by me.”

  “I HATE ALL OF YOU!” yells Ramsey.

  Ramsey roars, and his back splits open, sprouting dozens of tentacles, and the Hobo Warrior Bunny and Mortimer’s eyes widen before narrowing and forced smiles stretching on their busted lips.

  “Well, this is going to suck,” says Jayson.