We kept cruising through the neighborhood, the eerie silence surrounding us like a blanket. The Mowtivator hummed steadily as we passed a few more houses. It was like driving through a forgotten world, the remnants of a block party littering the streets. Plastic cups and colorful streamers blew in the wind, clinging to fences and abandoned cars, as if the good times had just up and left without warning.
“Man, this place is... depressing,” I muttered under my breath, eyes scanning the streets. “I never thought I’d be in a situation where this is the best option for a ‘getaway’.”
Rachel didn’t respond. She was staring, the tension in her body making it clear she was still on edge. Her hand rested near the pistol tucked in her waistband, just in case. I couldn’t blame her. We’d already been through a lot, and the weirdness of this place didn’t help.
As we rolled past a particularly rundown house, something caught my eye. A flicker of movement in the front yard—a flash of white fur. I slowed down, eyes narrowing as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. And then I spotted it. A single, fluffy cat. Not just any cat, though. This one was regal-looking. A Persian.
It sat there, perched atop a faded welcome mat, looking like it had seen better days. The luxurious coat, once pristine and shiny, now matted and tangled with dirt. The cat was no longer the high-society pet it must've been. No, this was a scrappy survivor now, its once-grand appearance faded into something more... pitiful.
[Purrrrsian]
Lvl 6
Once a proud and majestic feline, now reduced to a scrappy, territorial mess. It probably once graced the catwalks of prestigious shows, but now? It’s got more claws out than a bargain-bin action figure. This cat's seen some shit and isn't about to let anyone forget it. It’s fiercely protective of what’s left of its territory, and, spoiler alert, you’re not welcome here. Good luck, Florida Man. Hope your mullet gives you the strength you need."
I stared hard at the window behind the cat, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Something shiny—glinting in the light—was moving. I couldn’t make it out clearly, but it wasn’t just a reflection. Whatever it was, it was real, and it was there.
“Do you see that?” I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper. My eyes stayed locked on the window, but the damn cat was still in the way, its eyes never leaving me.
Rachel squinted at the house. “What, the sparkly thing?”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Can’t quite make it out, but something’s in there. Looks like metal or glass... maybe a trap? Or some kind of signal?”
The cat hissed louder, clearly fed up with us not acknowledging its dominance. But I didn’t care. That glint was eating at me, like a neon sign begging me to figure it out. I didn’t want to take my eyes off it, but if I didn’t, I was gonna end up dealing with a very angry, very territorial cat.
“Elmo, you seeing this?” I muttered, still keeping my gaze on the house.
“Oh, I see it,” Elmo responded, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe it’s the world’s shiniest rat trap. But hey, no rush. You’ve got a cat to wrangle first, right?”
I ignored him, still fixated on the glint, wondering if the cat was the least of my problems right now.
The Purrrrsian let out a low growl, a primal warning that I was already too late to heed. It lunged at us in an instant, fur bristling and claws flashing as it aimed straight for my face. I barely had time to react.
“Shit!” I shouted, jerking to the side as the cat swiped at my arm. The sharp claws caught the sleeve of my coveralls, tearing through the fabric. I didn’t hesitate for a second. I jammed the throttle down on the Mowtivator, pulling the steering wheel hard to the left and aiming the claw at the cat.
The massive claw swung forward, swiping at the air just as the cat dove again.
Rachel, who had been watching this unfold like it was some kind of sick reality TV show, snapped to attention as the cat lunged again. With a flick of her wrist, the pistol appeared in her hand, and she aimed it straight at the furball from hell.
I didn’t have time to brace myself. The pop of the gunshot rang out, and my right ear immediately erupted in a burst of deafening static. It felt like someone had shoved a jackhammer into my skull, making my entire world tilt sideways.
“Shit!” I gasped, wincing, trying to push through the pain, but it didn’t matter. The ringing swallowed up everything. The cat—still lunging—ignored the shot completely, not even flinching as Rachel missed by a good foot.
“Oh, come on!” Elmo’s voice cut through the buzzing, almost laughing. “You had one job, Rachel!”
“Elmo, shut up!” I snapped, my voice strained as I tried to focus. Rachel was already re-adjusting, but the cat was too fast, and I wasn’t sure if she was going to get another shot off before it was on us again.
The Persian—looking like a bloated ball of fury—charged toward me, claws bared, mouth open in a savage snarl. I pushed the throttle of the Mowtivator down, jerking the wheel hard to the left, and swung the claw toward the cat’s face.
But my head—my blasted, buzzing head—wasn’t making it easy. My vision blurred on the right side as the noise from my ear drowned out everything but the gnashing sound of claws. I had one shot. One.
I gunned the throttle again, sending the Mowtivator lurching forward, and just as the cat jumped, I swung the claw.
I heard it thunk against the Persian’s side, followed by a sickening yowl of pain. The cat skidded backward, but it wasn’t down yet. Not by a long shot.
“Good job, Blake,” Elmo chimed in, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Finally did something right. Now, if Rachel would just pull her weight—”
“Elmo! I’m a little busy!” Rachel snapped, her voice tight as she steadied the pistol, eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’ll make it count this time.”
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The ringing in my ear was relentless, like the noise of an old TV stuck on static. I couldn't focus properly, my mind spinning with a cocktail of frustration and adrenaline. The Persian hissed at me, its fangs showing, as it darted in for another swipe.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the ringing to stop.
Rachel’s second shot came faster this time. And this time, it landed.
The cat let out a high-pitched screech as Rachel’s bullet found its mark. It staggered back, its fur matted with blood, but it wasn’t done yet. That same fury—savage, primal—was still burning in its eyes.
I didn’t have time to appreciate the fact that Rachel had actually hit something. The cat was still a threat, limping but not down. My ear was still ringing like a damned fire alarm, and my nerves were frayed, but I wasn’t about to let this overgrown rat get the better of me.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, barely hearing the words over the ringing in my head. The cat was charging again, faster now, its mouth open and claws out.
I threw the Mowtivator into gear, my hands shaking but my determination clear. The massive claw swung forward once more, and this time, I wasn’t aiming for anything fancy—I was going for the kill.
“Blake, don't—” Elmo started, but I wasn’t listening.
The Mowtivator surged forward, my foot pressing the gas to the floor, and the claw came down with a sickening crunch, slamming into the Persian's side. The cat let out a strangled yowl, the sound cutting through the air like a knife. It didn’t have time to fight back. The claw’s steel fingers closed around it, pinning it to the ground.
I could feel the vibrations as the claw dragged the cat’s body across the asphalt, and I didn’t stop. I wasn’t about to let this turn into another drawn-out mess.
The Persian struggled, but its movements grew slower, weaker. It twitched once, then twice, before it finally went still.
+160XP
I pulled the Mowtivator to a halt, my heart hammering in my chest, and stared down at the lifeless body. The ringing in my ear was still there, but now it was just background noise. The cat’s blood was staining the pavement, a twisted reminder of just how far this world had fallen.
“You’re welcome,” I muttered under my breath, barely managing to suppress a sigh.
Rachel was staring at the body, her gun still in hand. “What the hell was that thing?” she asked, eyes wide, though I could hear the faint tremor in her voice.
“Elmo?” I said, voice tight as I wiped my hand across my forehead, feeling the sweat trickle down.
“Oh, I’m so glad you asked,” Elmo chimed in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “That little furball was an apex predator... in its own mind. Probably some neighborhood cat that lost its shit after everything went south. And now it’s a lesson in why you should never mess with the Florida Man.”
I didn’t even bother to respond to Elmo’s taunting. Instead, I just put the Mowtivator into reverse, shifting the gear as I started backing up slowly, away from the dead cat.
Rachel glanced at me, her lips curling into a thin line. “Great job,” she said, her voice flat.
I just grunted, keeping my eyes on the road ahead. This wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. Nothing in this twisted world ever stayed quiet for long.
The Mowtivator rumbled to a halt in front of the house. The smell of burnt rubber and cat blood still hung in the air, and I could barely hear anything over the constant ringing in my right ear. I reached up to rub at it, hoping for some relief, but that just made it worse. Elmo was still chuckling in the back of my mind, and I didn’t have the energy to snap at him.
Rachel, on the other hand, didn’t seem too fazed. She stepped off the Mowtivator and looked around, her hand still resting on the grip of her pistol as if the cat was somehow going to reanimate at any moment.
“Are we seriously going inside now?” she asked, eyeing the front door with a look of skepticism.
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I pushed the door open and stepped inside, my mind still buzzing from the encounter. As I moved through the darkened entryway, I immediately spotted something strange through the open door of the garage.
A disco ball hung from the ceiling, its glass reflecting the dim light like it was stuck in some kind of surreal, post-apocalyptic party. It was the only thing in the garage that seemed... out of place.
Not that anything about this situation was remotely normal.
“What the hell?” Rachel said, stepping inside after me and taking in the scene. Her eyes flicked from the disco ball to the rest of the chaos around us.
The garage was filled with random modern appliances, some of them half-assembled, some of them just piled on top of each other. I spotted a blender, a power drill, an air fryer, and a lawnmower engine that looked like it had seen better days. There was even a small stack of neatly folded towels sitting next to an old refrigerator.
"Just another day in paradise," I muttered, my voice sounding muffled to me as I gave my ear another frustrated rub. "Guess we're in the market for something to help us survive."
Rachel glanced at the mess with narrowed eyes, clearly not understanding what the hell any of it was doing here. "So... what are we doing?"
I thought for a second. My mind was still foggy from the cat encounter, but I was starting to focus. The pieces started coming together in my head, and I grinned despite myself.
“Well," I said, my voice taking on a more confident tone, "you need a better weapon. And I think I know how we’re gonna get one."
I started rummaging through the tools, pulling out random bits and pieces, my brain working like a malfunctioning vending machine. The ringing in my ear was still there, but it was starting to fade as I went into autopilot mode. A few wires here, a bit of duct tape there, and I was off to the races.
“You’re seriously gonna build something?” Rachel asked, looking over at me like I’d lost my mind.
I shot her a smirk. “Why not? It’s not like I have a lot of other options. And you could probably use something a little more... effective than a pistol.”
I could already feel the weapon coming together in my hands. A couple of power tools, a pair of garden shears, and a piece of scrap metal I had no idea what it was originally supposed to be. In under five minutes, I had what could only be described as a hybrid of a crossbow, a blender and a disco ball, with some serious “Florida Man” flair.
[Boomstick Deluxe]
[Fires high-energy bolts that slice through anything in their path, using 8 MP per shot. It’s clean, effective, and wildly unpredictable. When you pull the trigger, you’re not just firing a weapon; you're unleashing chaos with the quiet satisfaction of a trailer park mechanic at work.]
I wiped my hands on my coveralls, feeling the odd satisfaction that only comes from improvising when there’s no time to question your sanity. My right ear was still ringing, but at least the construction felt real, even if it was ridiculous.
“Here you go,” I said, holding up the finished product. “Your new weapon.”
Rachel stared at the monstrosity in my hands, her eyes wide. It was probably the ugliest, most overcomplicated thing she’d ever seen, but I wasn’t about to apologize for it.
“What the hell is this?” she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and disbelief.
“It’s a weapon,” I said simply, still feeling the residual buzz in my ear from the gunshot earlier. "It’s got the range of a crossbow, the power of a machete, and it might even make a decent makeshift harpoon if things get really weird. Consider it your new best friend.”
Rachel blinked a few times, then gingerly took the contraption from me, clearly unsure whether to be impressed or terrified.
“If this doesn’t work,” she said, glancing at me with a raised eyebrow, “I’m blaming you.”
I chuckled, though the sound felt foreign coming from me with the ringing still there. “Fair enough,” I replied. “But don’t worry, it’ll work. It’ll either work... or it’ll explode. But hey, that’s the Florida Man guarantee, right?”
Elmo chimed in, as usual, with the perfect amount of snark. "Yeah, good luck with that, Rachel. Blake’s got a knack for making disaster... functional."
I rolled my eyes, but there was no denying it. The ringing in my ear and the chaos around us just made this feel like another day in Florida.