A Sunset of Rage

Chapter 10

Lunch break at the FBI. The two top secret agents set out to look for a restaurant. Damien stood at the curb, looking over the crowds of people.
"McDonald's sounds good," he commented, daydreaming about fast food.
He turned around. Frederic was nowhere to be seen. "OH MY GOD!" he screamed, charging down the sidewalk. "HELP, HELP!"
The citizens were staring. "HAS ANYONE SEEN A TALL INTOXICATED BLONDE MAN?! HE HAS THE IQ OF A PUPPY! HE CAN'T SURVIVE BY HIMSELF!" he screeched.
"CHILL!" a police officer hollered in his face.
"Dami, look. Strawberry banana," Frederic chuckled, sipping a DQ smoothie.
Damien shook him by the shoulders. "You fool! Don't ever wander off again!" he disciplined.
"But Dami, I can't just resist a poster of a smoothie," Frederic protested.
Damien wiped sweat from his forehead with a my chemical romance black parade skeleton handkerchief. What a relief. A kind, yet very unintelligent, man like Frederic could not be expected to thrive by himself in this cruel world. It was up to his caretaker, Damien, to caretake him.
"Dami, look. The Walking Dead store," Frederic pointed. That was about the 10th time he'd said "Dami" consecutively. Well, better than "that's sad".
Damien pressed his wrinkled face against the window of the store. What?!!! He didn't know there was a Walking Dead store!!!! "Fool, let's go!" he beckoned.
They walked inside. "Welcome," the unhappy employee mumbled. Damien was getting overexcited. His blood pressure was spiking, like always.
Frederic collapsed into a pile of Negan plushies. Meanwhile, Damien was exploring the shirts. "Ahhhh," he drooled, eyeing a shirt with Glenn on it that said "Never Give Up". How motivational!
"Welcome, sirs. May I interest you in the new Daryl body cologne?" an employee that was a little too happy working there asked, classily holding out the bottle.
"Very," Damien nodded. The employee squirted the fine liquid. Damien inhaled deeply, truly enjoying the aroma of the fine, dirty-smelling fluid.
Frederic chewed on a Lucille. "Frederic, halt! Don't spread germs!" Damien yelled, wiping it with a sanitary wipe. Frederic trotted on all fours to the collection of posters, which he sniffed through. Yes, zoanthropic.
Frederic let out a long, high pitched squeal. He'd found a poster of Negan hugging Lucille, with "I Love You" written in a cursivy pink font above it. He bought it with his FBI credit card that was supposed to be reserved only for cases. Well, Negan was a priority.
Damien scoffed, but resigned himself to a poster of Carl that said "I'll Miss You, Dad". It made him cry a little, but d*mn, was it a good purchase.
The two highly competent agents bought loads of merchandise. How could they not? After an hour of shopping, they headed back to the headquarters, their purchases in hand.
When they walked in, Cristobal was sitting right at the door, his arms crossed. Arnoldo stood behind him, glaring. "HOW THE HOLY F*CK DOES LUNCH TAKE 2 F*CKING HOURS?!" he screamed.
"Forgive us, your highness! We were shopping at the Walking Dead store!" Damien apologized.
Cristobal blinked. "Walking Dead store?" he asked humbly. Without another word he rolled out the door and down the street, ready for shopping.
"UGH!" Damien complained, rolling his eyes. Cristobal was so temperamental.
The agents got to work. They scanned the DNA. Filing crime reports was fun, right? Ha. Lame. Frederic snoozed on his keyboard. His liquor-flavored saliva drooled onto the keys.
Damien banged a pencil sharpener on his head. He did not awake. "FREDERIC!" he hollered in his ear.
Woollen trotted over, licking Frederic's big hand. "Whoa!" the long blonde man exclaimed, falling out of his chair. "Hey Woollen!"
Damien scowled at the brown beast. What was he doing here? This was an FBI-only area. "Leave, fool," he scoffed, gesturing with his large thumb.
Woollen growled threateningly at Damien. This deranged human was getting between him and his master. With a bark, he chased Damien around the office.
"Hey Dami, do you have any tattoos?" Frederic asked curiously.
"NO!" Damien shouted, quickly slapping his right arm.
Frederic wrestled the short emo's jacket off of him. "Unhand me, fool!" he yelled, flailing his stubby limbs. However, the tall blonde was immensely strong. He ripped the jacket off, revealing a jarring purple pentagram tattoo on his arm.
Damien burst into tears, slowly pulling the jacket back on. "Fine, I admit it. I went through a Satanist phase. True, you may have never expected this of me. I'm sorry you had to find out like this," he wept.
"It's okay! I expected it!" Frederic chirped. He got a big kick in the [censored].
Cristobal rolled in with about twenty bags of Walking Dead merchandise. "GET BACK TO WORK!" he hollered, rolling to his desk. He stretched his flabby torso to pin a Daryl poster on the wall. This was only the beginning of the immensely absurd Daryl decorating session.
"Thor's hammer," he said mystically, pulling out a life-sized Lucille.
"That's Lucille, Cristobal," Damien corrected.
Bam. The Lucille was flung across the room, hitting the emo square in the face. He flopped onto the floor. Cristobal rolled over, preparing for murder.
"HEY A**HOLE! WHATEVER ANYTHING IS IS WHATEVER I SAY IT IS! I'M THE HOLY MANAGER OF THE FBI, D*MMIT!" he yelled, shaking Damien back and forth.
"In his defense, I think he was just correcting you," Frederic inputted helpfully.
Cristobal dropped his victim, rolling. "EXCUSE YOU, DRUNKY MCDRUNKPANTS? YOU GOT AN ISSUE WITH THE WAY I BRUTALLY RULE MY SUBJECTS?! IN THAT CASE YOU CAN KISS MY A**, A**HOLE!" he shouted, holding up his big middle finger in Frederic's face.
"Forgive me, your highness. I had no idea how disrespectful I was being," Frederic apologized properly, kissing the manager's hand. The round man was satisfied for now.
"Ugh. I need hot topic," Damien whined, flattened into the floor.
"Dami, I got you something to cheer you up. Look," Frederic smiled, holding out a michael jackson cd.
"MICHAEL JACKSON IS NOT EMO! HOW DARE YOU DEFILE MY CATEGORY OF MUSIC?!" Damien yelled, slapping it out of his hand and onto the ceiling, where it stuck.
"LADIES, THIS ISN'T CATFIGHT TIME!" Cristobal reminded from across the room. He continued plastering the wall with Daryl posters.
Jarringly, he stopped mid-tape. He used his large arms to heave himself onto his desk, where he sat. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!" he screamed into his megaphone, on which he had stuck a sticker of Daryl.
All employees gave the respectful salute. "What is it, sir? New case?" Damien asked enthusiastically.
"Yep! Some a**hole's been uploading illegal videos of tv shows! And he's also a mass murderer! I need two top secret b*tches to sit outside his house and observe him!" Cristobal announced.
"We will, your highness!" Damien saluted.
"D-Dami. I wanted to sit at my cubicle," Frederic whined.
"MISSION: COMMENCE!" Cristobal yelled.