Left beaten, bloodied and bruised in a ditch somewhere, @MadMikeMarsbergen lost the Pot 1 Finals of SmackDown: The Second Coming to @torontojim (who later ended up winning the Grand Finals, too). Now he's back to get some revenge on all you competit...
Night. Always a time to be alive. The stars twinkling. The crickets chirping. Every man, woman and child tucked away in bed, fast asleep.
The perfect time to work the boneyards.
She had a system. It was efficient. Perfect, really. Because no one expected a woman to go pilfering through piles of bones. A man, maybe—men were sick; it was expected of them. But women? No. And if they caught her, she could easily play all innocent. Bat her eyelashes and shoot them a smile. It always worked. She'd done it before. She'd do it again.
Her bag was full of femurs, skulls, shoulder blades. And all kinds of little ones, too: full toes and fingers, individual knuckles.
If someone were to take a peek inside they'd be horrified by what they saw. Because there was something else in there. Something nobody would want to see.
And she'd have to take care of them if they caught on. She'd done that before, too.
She was digging out a sweet-looking pelvis when a spotlight lit her up. She hissed through her teeth and turned to see someone headed her way—couldn't tell much, because the light had them backlit. They were just a shadow.
She realized what had happened here. She'd gotten too cocky. "Fuck you, Mad Mike Marsbergen," she muttered to herself and prepared for war.
Marsbergen was stumbling clumsily through the yard, knocking over piles of bones and disturbing headstones as he went. He was naked as always, looking like a fat Richard Hatch from the first season of Survivor, and his pendulous member scraped the dirt as he walked leaving a long deep trench in his wake.
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She dashed into the shadows, her dirty bare feet sinking deep into the loam, her toes gripping the earth like tiny pale fingers. She threw herself into the nearest open grave, praying to the Mole Gods that Marsbergen hadn't seen her. She clutched the sack of bones to her emaciated ribcage and calmed her breathing, pressing her back to the cold dirt.
Mad Mike stopped and cocked his head. He sniffed the air like a dog and his huge phallus twitched in anticipation. For minutes he just stood there, testing the air and listening with his oversized fleshy ears.
She didn't move... didn't dare breath into the silence that stretched out around them like a taught rubber band threatening to snap back at any moment. She imagined he could hear the soft wet blink of her eyes or the tiny sound her hair made as it grew. She remembered huddling like this as child with her mother when the Tax Gangs would come into the forests to take their payments in skin. Her mother had taught her to hide, and then to fashion the bones of their ancestors into weapons to fight the Tax Gangs and they had finally won. Then came Mad Mike Marsbergen and all the little Mars-bergens. Their space ships landed at the remnants of the human airports, out on the old runways. Most of humanity had left the over populated earth, bound for the promised land of Mars. Little did they know that Mars wasn't a lifeless planet... on the contrary it was full of Mars-bergens and Mad Mike was their supreme leader. Once he had eradicated the invading humans, he set his sights on their home planet and now only a few hundred men, women and children remained.
