Malcolm tried to process what was happening right now. The Bag Man was now in the process of shaping a bone he found in a pile to make it look like a lightning bolt. He was also making the lightning bolt bone dull.
“To make it last longer.” He had explained to him.
That did not make Malcolm any happier about his current situation.
There were only two solutions Malcolm could think of, pull out something from his fourth dimensional underwear, or try to run away.
He opened his menu to check what his chances were.
Chances of escaping this battle are: One to One Million. Do you still wish to try?
“God damn!” Malcolm threw up his hands. With his right hand, he plunged his hand deeper in his underwear, reaching for hope.
For destiny!
He pulled out the first thing his hand grabbed.
It was a bone that was specifically shaped like a lighting bolt. The Bag Man dropped the one he was working on and plopped it out of Malcolm’s grip.
“Thank you my dear man.”
“I didn’t make that for you.” Malcolm felt the tears pushing through the veil of his eyes. “Can we just not fight?”
The Bag Man gave him a look, pointing his lightning bolt bone at him. “I think not. You see, Malcolm, Eira sent me to bring you back to her, but I don’t think I can do that.”
“What?”
“You see, my contract specifically says I must do what she says. It’s a very iron clad contract. The things she will do to me if I kill you.” He shuddered in joy. “I cannot wait to taste that.”
“That has nothing to do with me!”
“She is a perfect being. She will give my masochist side the fix it needs. But there is a problem here. I peered over her shoulder and saw a photo of a shirtless you used as a bookmark. You see, she has the hots for you.”
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Eira…has the hots for me?” Malcolm snorted. “That photo she has is used for curses. Behind it is my signature written in blood.”
“Then why did she want you saved?”
“Because I owe here ten favors,” Malcolm said, rubbing his beard wistfully. “In my youth, I was strong. So strong that even the Milk Man would fear me.”
“The Milk Man?” The Bag Man guffawed. “Now that is an over exaggeration. But I digress, you were quite a stallion back in a couple of years ago.”
Malcolm narrowed his eyes. “Do we know each other?”
“We do,” the Bag Man said. “From work, if I have not made myself clear enough.” He stopped dulling the knife and looked up to admire it. “This is perfect. It’s as dull as you. After all, you are not the sharpest tool in the shed.”
“Well, maybe I just don’t remember you because you never made a strong impression.” Malcolm snapped back.
“Do you remember anyone that has crossed your path?” The Bag Man asked. “Do you know the full name of the young man that just left?”
“I do. He’s my subordinate after all. His name is Dalton….” He didn’t remember his last name. He was sure he had never heard it too. So, he just put his favorite beer brand in. “…Attewater?”
“…Wow.”
“Was that right?”
“Yes, but you still didn’t know it. You just got lucky. Still doesn’t mean you get to live, so hurry and play your turn. Nothing you can do will even work. I can see you want to run away. Go ahead. It’s one in a million. And when you’re done with your futile effort, the first thing I am going to do, is stick this jagged lightning bolt bone up your ass.”
Malcolm reached into his underwear again.
“Hurry up! I am getting tired of waiting here. I want my Queen to stick this bone in a place where the sun does not shine.”
“Well, I can wait here all day,” Malcolm said. His fingers touched at something a cold square object that he would never mistake.
“Don’t be a dick. Be a man and let me stick this bone in you. I have things I want to do. You can just be reincarnated into the village drunk or something.”
“There’s no way I would pop the butt cherry that to be a village drunk! The price is high for it, I would at least be a King!”
“A drunk king.”
“All kings are drunk, but they’re rich drunks!”
“Alright, let me shove this in your bum and you’ll be a king.”
Malcolm thought about it for a moment. Not about being popped, but if killing himself was an option. If he died, his contract with the company allowed him to be reincarnated, but it was limited in scope. He would not be born a prince to a powerful king, at the highest, maybe he would be born as the son of priest, but if he had to guess he would be born as the son of a poor merchant family.
He tapped his head with a filled cartridge of bullets that he pulled from his underwear.
If only he had some bullets, then he might would just break the rules and kill this guy.
“…”
“…”
The two of them stared at the cartridge in his hand.
The Bag Man carefully spoke. “Now, Malcolm, breaking the rules is bad. If you break the rules, then they send an assassin. Do you really want to be killed by an assassin?”
Malcolm loaded the cartridge in his assault rifle and sniffed. “At least they won’t stick things up my butt.”
#
SIGNAL SENT FOR ASSASSINATION REQUEST.
TARGET: MALCOLM HOLLAND
VIOLATION: RULE BREAKER
ASSASSINATION ACCEPTED.
PAYMENT WIRED.
ASSIGNED TO: BLOODY HOLE PIKER