Where the Burgers Went

Chapter Two - Wrathful Entities of Life-Changing Epiphanies

That's enough of the zombie guy. I'm sick of him. I'd rather write a story about anyone other than him. Thankfully, I mentioned someone else in "INTRODUCTION.". Yes, YES. We're talking about the clown guy. What has he been up to this whole time?

       Steve is the owner of Bigtop Burger, which happens to be Zomburger's rival food truck. He was checking out the other trucks littered around the food truck convention. He was by himself, his employees dipped to get some brunch. Steve had begun to get frustrated, he was trying to find a taco food truck, he had business with the owner of it. Fortunately for taco guy, Steve was completely lost. He couldn't find any maps, or even a damn brochure, AND he has no clue how big this convention is. Steve knows what he must do. He must gain height! He decided to find the biggest food truck and scale it.

      Wait. No, better idea. That hotel, smack dab in what seems to be the middle of the convention. Hm, it's going to be quite the toilsome building to scale. Steve will have to get creative... of course!

      Quickly, Steve. Get in the food truck, and begin to accelerate! 'Round and 'round Steve went around the convention, almost hitting multiple people. This might be a little illegal, but it doesn't matter. Steve has business, serious business. Finally, when his tires were scorching blue with fire, he went straight for the hotel. Every person in the convention was shocked, assuming the clown truck was attempting to kill all those in the hundred-stories tall hotel. They were even more perplexed when the truck began to ascend the sides of the hotel. It climbed and climbed, until it reached the very rooftop of the hotel. Steve was now in the clouds. This was a BIG hotel.

      Steve stared down from above, using his natural clown-guaranteed enhanced vision to scope the convention. Dang, it's pretty big. There's that dreaded taco truck. Steve prepared to leap down the hotel and precisely, aggressively, yet gracefully land atop of the truck... until he heard another set of paw steps on the roof.

      Reasonably confused on how the police caught up with Steve so quickly, he turned around to make out the figure. Clouds blurred his vision, but this officer was frail. He could take him on with ease... oh, that's not a police officer. That's his greatest nemesis!

CESARE.

       It only makes sense that the only other supernatural entity in this entire convention would be able to chase him down so quickly.
       "What do you want, fiend?!" Steve spat out, to Cesare's slight disgust.
       "Don't act like you don't know why I'm here," he responded, with a nasty scowl on his face, "I know you blew up my truck."
       "What? That is absolutely preposterous!" Steve gasped, what is this man even TALKING about? "I would never blow up your frivolous zombie truck!"
       "Act oblivious all you want, Steven," Cesare snarled, "you will pay the price for your small-minded stunt.". Those are the most clear fighting words ever. He wants a barbarous fight? Then Steve will serve a barbarous flight on a silver platter.

       Steve began to channel his inner wolf and clown rage, of which he has a delicious surplus of. He can feel his rainbow heart beat faster, pumping out piping hot blood. Despite being so high up in the air, Steve only feels the icy fire of hate. All these years, emotions he had internalized and ignored for the betterment of his business and employees, he's finally letting it all out. Cesare will feel the truth, with a SUCKER PUNCH!

       Cesare fumbled backwards. Oh yes, this will be fun. Cesare began to feel his (metaphorical) blood boil, holding his cheek where Steve had just walloped him. Staring into his little eyes, Cesare only wanted one thing from Steve. His rainbow blood on his paws. With a smirk, Cesare summoned a mallet from thin air. He charges, ready to whoop some clown butt. Steve, with his notorious instinct, dodged Cesare's swing. Steve whipped out his authentic katana and backflipped to the other side of the hotel roof.

       They quickly come to an acquiesce, without speaking a single word. That was just the warm-up.

       Both men brace themselves for an intense battle, Steve glancing at his food truck, worrying for its safety. Cesare has no food truck to concern himself with, which usually is the case, but right now? He's ready to slaughter out of sheer spite. The air is thick with tension, such tension makes this moment of preparation seem like centuries of anticipation. Staring straight into each other's souls, seeing everything that makes both wolves thoroughly understand why they hate each other so. Why they want to brawl to the death, why they desire nothing past carnage, why they're here right now. It's so... vigorous, yet so still. They had continued to stare, fully aware that this may be their last moments on this planet. And yet they stared in an oxymoronic fashion, confident that will not be the case. They stared... and stared... and... stared.

       Despite all of the unbridled bloodlust Steve felt, glaring at his long-time rival, he sweated a bit. One drop of sweat, it hit the floor. If someone were to be observing from a distance, they'd assume he's beginning to feel the tension weigh in. He's beginning to understand the dangerous circumstances he has found himself in. But... in reality, the sweat is a physical manifestation of new feeling Steve is now experiencing. Just the slightest shred of doubt. That he's going to survive? No. That he may have underestimated his opponent? No... it's the doubt that he really hates this corpse as much he always thought he did. It's worse than realizing Cesare is (probably) capable of wielding weights that might weigh tons. It's worse than suddenly feeling his boiling with rage blood go cold as he gazed into the eyes of death's successor, his heart ceasing the productive flow of fury. Wait. No... could it be that his heart rate hadn't quickened because of how much loathed his enemy... but for the polar opposite? No. There's no way... oh god.

       Steve assumed he was completely alone, that his rather-amorous feeling wasn't mutual in slightest bit. But he's wrong. DEAD wrong, for the corpse on the other side of the roof top is having a similar realization. Cesare is a little worse at handling it, though.
       "God DAMN IT!" Cesare, in a fit confused rage, throws his mallet thousands of yards away. Steve eases up a bit, lost as to why Cesare would ever do that. Cesare angrily toddles over to Bigtop Burger, punching it. Steve gasps.

       Cesare, covering his giant head with one paw, mumbles to himself like a madman. Then he begins... crying?! He dramatically falls to his back stifle joints, overwhelmed with defeat. Steve lowers his katana, still completely stunned about the sudden change in pace.
       "My greatest foe," Steve begins, "what are you doing?"
       "Oh brother, is it not obvious enough?" Cesare groans, "I'm experiencing a thousand different levels of grief."
       "Oh no," Steve sheaths his katana, "Did somebody... die?"
       "Yeah, my dignity." Cesare sits on a ground like a tiny pile angst. Steve nods, and walks into his food truck. He comes out with a king-sized bed, and throws it in front of Cesare.
       "Would you like to talk about it?"

       Cesare stares at the bed, somewhat unsettled. He stands up, squinting at Steve with suspicion in his eyes, as he ever so slowly climbs on top of the bed. Finally, glaring, he says: "Suuuuuuuuuuure."
       Steve sits down next to Cesare, who is still glaring at Steve. Noticing the remaining hostility, Steve pulls out two burritos from under his beanie. He offers one to Cesare. Still uneasy, he takes it.
       "I can't eat food." He scoffs, looking down at the beans, corn, beef, chicken, pork, rice, lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, salsa, pico de gallo, guacamole, and crema.
       "I know," Steve said, taking the first bite out of his burrito, "I just thought you'd like to look at one."
        Cesare sighs, he really does love looking at Mexican food. Although, he does wonder how Steve knows that. Finally, he begins talking, "So, my job is to capture freak-a-zoids like you and put you into a jail in the underworld."

And thus commenced an intense half hour of bro bonding, in which both wolves confess their love for each other. It went something a little like "its crayz how i am attracted to yu!!!!" "i know this i sterribel..........." "mmm this burrito sure is delicicous..." "uh huh" It was hella romantic.