《Oneshot - Jack of all Trades: Magical, Mystical, and Miscellaneous Services (Complete)》 Chapter 1 Gambling was a hobby of mine. See when I was younger, before I got out of the game I used to play back alley poker with a bunch of Genies. As it so happened, Texas Hold''em was their game of choice, though sometimes they demanded we play monopoly. Don''t ask me how, and please don''t ask why- instead just be content with the knowledge that some of them do look and act like Robin Williams. I also suspect one of them might have actually been Shaquille O''Neal. Regardless of the circumstances that lead me to become an honorary member of that particular table, or the consequences that seemed to impact my life in an endless string of oddities before finally stepping away and leaving the games behind: I can tell you that I''ve won some pretty weird shit. In my apartment, I''ve got a toaster that just "pops" out grilled cheese sandwiches it''s plugged in: prebuttered and crisped to perfection. In my bathroom I have plunger than can do the dirty work itself, and on my wall I''ve got one of those magic carpets- only it''s too lazy to move most days. I even have a pet tabby cat that can talk, on occasion, when it wants to. Honestly, there are some other weird trinkets I''m forgetting. Bizarre objects I''ve piled high up in the back of my closet, stuffed deep among the boxes with all sorts of other mystic mumbo-jumbo and bits of heeby-jeeby witchcraft. Out of my entire collection though, there is only one possession that truly makes a difference to me. Out of everything I have ever come into contact with, won, lost, or bartered among magic folk and almost all-seeing entities, my car is the crown jewel: The representative Magnum Opus of my past gambling career. When I first drove it home, this baby was a deep metallic green. Legacy station wagon, Subaru 97'' hatchback, roof-rack, and CD player. Mint condition, only slightly used by a Genie from the north country. That unlucky jinn put the car up against a mere fifteen gold bars, and a bag of magic sand that was capable of making you see the universe if you happened to have the cajones to snort some of it under a solar eclipse. For all the mysticism in the world, there were two magic words sealed the deal for me that day, ensuring that I would be driving in style for years to come: Full-House. Next thing I knew, I was the proud owner of a Genie''s automobile. Rare and almost unheard of for a mere mortal, I made extra certion I left on good terms (which is very important when dealing with Genies) and I passed off the bag of sand when we shook on it. There''s no point in being a sore-winner, or pissing off someone who could easily turn me into a talking parrot named Iago. That car was special though. You see, there was a trick to the vehicle: It wasn''t always a 97 hatchback. No Ma''am, no sir, this autmobile was all-purpose, all-seeing, future predicting, filled to the brim with the powerful energy of some far-off and distant parallel plane of existence. It could change, shift to accommodate the day ahead of me. Weather report said snow? Poof: treaded-tires, top tier. Streets flooding over? Snap of the fingers and my car was a raised four by four. But for all the suggestion I might give it, there were some days when the vehicle changed on its own accord- without me even noticing. Like when I had a date I needed badly to impress, it turned into a corvette. And then, when the inevitable break-up came, it turned into a small moped I could hide in my apartment until we were sure she wasn''t coming to give us the ex-girlfriend special. One time it even changed into a crown-vic when I was toggling the radio stations and got me past a speed trap ticket free. Safe to say, unlike the magic toaster or the talking tabby, my car and I had an real understanding. Only the finest oil changes would do, only top-notch gasoline, routine inspections and transmission flushes on the regular. In return I knew it would have my back through anything. Well one Saturday morning I went outside after a brunch of grilled cheese and coffee, same as any Saturday morning. Only instead of my normal car I found a metallic green tank parked right up onto the curb. A huge, thick treaded, armor and cannon-mounted, possibly German engineered, war-machine. "Hey, Human." A deep voice shouted at me. Startled, I almost dropped my sandwich. As many things as it could do, my car couldn''t talk. "Hey, up here." The voice shouted again. From the second floor window of my apartment, I turned and peered up, focusing my attention on the window sill home to several potted plants and a large orange patch of... fur. I squinted to see the orange tabby sitting coolly by the screen, eyes all-but shut against the early afternoon light, passing a half-interested glare in my direction.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. "If you happen to make it home alive human, don''t forget to bring back some tuna." With that ominous warning the tank''s hatch opened, falling back a loud creaking "slam" to announce entry was more than strongly recommended. Somehow I knew it was going to be one hell of a day. .......................................... Chapter 1 "I-95 is reporting a major accident by the twin bridges today-" Bzzzzt "IN other news, President Trump has tweeted that Hillary Clinton is actual a Lizar-" Bzzzzt "HEY there, Billy Fucillo here! This weekend only, we''re having a BunkersRus blowout sale, it''s gonna be HUUUGE-" Bzzzzt "It''s the end of the world as we know it! It''s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fi-" Bzzzzt-click. "Fuck it all." I mumbled as the tank''s radio shut off with a heavy handed click, once again returning me to the ambient noise of gears and heavy engine pulses reverberating in the metal box of the tank''s cabin space. The day was not starting off as grand as I had envisioned. As per usual, it seemed every station on the air was hinting some sort of disaster. I would say that my sixth sense on these things was generally pretty good, so by that logic alone concern was setting in; however slowly. But even if I possessed little in the manner of doubt that the world was teetering on the edge of ruin, I couldn''t find definitive proof today was any worse than usual. The media status-quo happened to be pretty regular when it came to doom and gloom. Just the other day CNN had almost convinced me Seaworld was closing. Seriously. Leaning forward, I peered out the steel enforced slit where ordinarily there might have been a windshield, confirming that we were still heading in the correct direction. It seemed that traffic had adjusted another five feet, but not much more. A dead crawl at best. "Sure is bad out there today. Not tank-worthy bad, but still bad. We''re going to be late." In response to my mumblings the tank seemed to rev slightly, lever slowly shifting forward to approach the rear bumper of what might soon be a compact-SUV. "Don''t you even think about it." I growled thumping the wall with a light slap as my tiny range of vision narrowed dangerously close to a classically-adorable stick figure family. The approach ceased, abruptly stopping just a few inches from the car''s bumper- prompting it to inch forward away from us. "You''re a sick bastard Green, you know that?" The rumble simmered in what almost seemed a chuckle as I checked the fuel gauge. At least I think it was the fuel gauge. Youtube didn''t have as nearly many "How to drive a tank" videos as a person might expect, and 4g coverage was notably spotty beneath solid inches of heavy armor. I checked my notes, flicking pages of my pocket calendar carefully to the bookmarked scribbles. "Alright, so we filled up with about three hundred dollars of diesel today... that gives us another hour or two." The tank inched us forward, prompting another confirmation of the space in front of us. Traffic had moved again, no pancake stickfigures in our immediate future."I was going to spend that on groceries, so this really better not be a joke." I glanced back down. "If we were travelling in motion, google says we''d be getting like a three and a half miles to the gallon. In this..." I gestured grandly to the stand-still. "Well, I can only imagine what we''re making now." Not even a rumble out of green that time. "You know, there are times it would be really helpful if you could talk." Rumble. "Ah whatever, I know- we make do anyways. Seriously though, we left early but think the client is going to be pissed. If you were a moped we could zip on through this traffic like it wasn''t even here." That prompted a louder rumble, this time with a strong sensation of disappointment. I rubbed my temples, leaning back into the seat to take a swig of coffee from my travel-mug. BzzzBzzzBzzz With classic timing, my phone started buzzing, ratting off with an odd echo effect through the cabin space like a bunch of bees stuck in a metal drum. Sighing heavily, I picked up. "Hello, you''ve called Jack of all Trades: Mystical Magical and Miscellaneous Services. This is Jack speaking, how can I help you today?" I fumbled with my pen as I set down the coffee, phone pressed between my ear and shoulder with more than awkward positioning. I needed to get with the century and buy myself a bluetooth head-set already. "Ah, Goblins in the basement? No, no, that''s not a problem. We can deal with that. How many?" I scribbled down the details as the voice on the phone blipped and blurped. "Ah... wow. Two dozen? Any skeletons in the closet?" A slight pause, "Ha! Oh-well, you know that joke never gets old. Hang on just a second." I pulled the phone away, looking out to confirm the slowly approaching exit. "Hey Green, this lady has two dozen Goblins in her basement! Corner of Rosemont and Washington, if we turn here I think we could wrap that up and take Western down the rest of the way. Might be faster." Rumble and shift. Horns began blaring almost at once. For some reason I found the metronome clicking of the right directional far more funny than my own joke. "Yes Ma''am. We''ll be there in fifteen minutes to take care of that for you. No, no- thank you Ma''am. We here at Jack of all Trades put our customers first." I hung up just as we broke free of the blaring traffic, rolling downward towards the city. "Well, this should cover grocery money! Things are looking up Green, I really don''t know what you''re so worried about." An ominous rumble was my only reply before I toggled back the radio. Bzzzt- I hear hurricanes a-blowing I know the end is coming soon I fear rivers over flowing I hear the voice of rage and ruin... Chapter 2
"Now Ma''am, remember to call the locksmith today. If they come back after this, you''re really going to need to contact Immigration services." ... "Yes, that''s right. Portals to the hell open up every now and again, but Goblins still legally need to get a visa before they''re allowed rent from you." ... "Yes Ma''am, I wrote the number down for you." ... "No, thank you Ma''am, and have a wonderful day. If you know anyone who needs Mystical, Magical, or Miscellaneous services- feel free to let them know about us. Our office is always open." The tank''s lid shut with a loud clang overhead as I settled back down into the cabin seat, treads already carrying the vehicle forward without a moments notice. That had all been much easier than I''d expected. Magic related evictions were something of a specialty for me. A fake badge and a small bit of wood that looked like a wizard''s wand was generally all it took. "Just like that we''ve got ourselves another satisfied customer Green, you can consider expenses covered today." I loudly proclaimed my enthusiasm as I took a celebratory swig from the now lukewarm coffee mug. Almost empty as it was, my theory was the last bits of the liquid always had a greater concentration of caffeine. "How are we looking on time... Radio say anything about traffic on Western? The tank seemed to huff, throttling forward along a side street much to the distress of several car-alarms. I actually was very curious how many traffic violations we were currently committing, but I was also relatively optimistic the police might think twice before pulling us over. With all the traffic today, I imagined they probably had bigger fish to fry. Shifting my attention, I checked my phone confirming the time. "Hey Green we''re actually ahead of schedule here, lets stop at the corner store for a second. Tabby wanted some tuna fish, I should pick it up before I forget." If you need to imagine the response I got, it was fitting to a rumble that could grumble. The tank lurched onward, casually running over a curb on the next right turn. Grouchy today; for reasons mostly unclear to me, the cat and the car didn''t get along. "Yeah, yeah, yeah- look he can''t piss on your pillow, but he can sure as shit ruin mine, alright?" Once, I''d asked the tabby once about that while trying to get some answers out of the creature when it was unusually talkative due to being stoned out of its mind by a large doze of nip. It had mumbled something about magical dissonance and undignified mortal servitude before latching onto my belly-scratching hand and clawing the ever-living crap out of me. To be fair, it''s completely possible that the cat just hates everything, but I knew by unfortunate experience that the toaster hated my car car too, as did the carpet when it felt like moving. I guess most magical items seem to try avoid one another, thus my natural aversion to disrupting the cold-war era truce which lurked within my closet. I often likened this phenomena to alike charges when explaining it to those interested and unfamiliar, because it was sort of like magnets. But also because I have very little understanding for how any of these things work. I''m a simple man who happens to be good at poker and monopoly, not a genius. As we pulled into the parking-lot, my efforts to unstick the new version of a car-door were met with failure. "Come on Green. Unlock already, we''re still on a time table here but I''ll bet I can be in and out of there in like two minutes." The radio suddenly cut out, station switching to put an abrupt end to the classic rock.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. "Emergency action notification: The Department of Defense has issues a national Alert. Please stay tuned for further information. Al residents are advised to leave their homes and head to the nearest available shelters. This is not a drill." Hand already on the tank''s lid, I stopped as Green turned the volume louder. "This is not a drill. Current Designation of threat is Dragon level. Repeat: This is not a drill." "Ah... huh." I stopped to listen. "Did that just say Dragon?" The radio volume increased dramatically, emphasizing the point. "This is not a drill. I repeat: This is not a drill." "So I guess this means you''re not going to let me out?" Another grumbling rumble. I took that as a hard "No."
Two Thursdays ago, it seemed the theme everywhere I went was dragons. Like, smoke snorting, wing-flapping, dinosaur looking dragons fucking everywhere; both literally and figuratively. On the telephone poles, in the park, sitting on my roof at 5AM breathing fire and cawing like some over-sized scale-covered roosters. See, they migrate north this time of year. It''s their mating season. Gosh-dang, even elementary school-kids know this stuff; it has nothing at all to do with Caped-baldies. I swear. Anyways, where was I? Right: Dragons. See they''re usually tiny little bastards. Generally no bigger than your ordinary house cat, the largest ones tend to lean towards Golden retriever size if they''re lucky. These winged reptilians are a skittish bunch, mostly leaving people alone besides clawing up parked cars and taking down power-lines while trying to eat squirrels. Back in the day though, before the Government really collected itself and started dealing with them: They used to be massive. See, dragons live a really, really, really long time. Like Ancient elf druid on a distant mountain top long time: And they never stop growing. Those guys, the ones who managed to get enough food and live long enough... Well to make a long story short, Dragons used to roast cities pretty frequently back in the dark-ages: Thus the warning level. How''s that for a history lesson? Regardless of what they used to be though, all the old-age giant dragons are long dead. Surface to air missiles, Apache helicopters and 50-caliber machine guns can make short work out of just about anything. So when I hear an emergency Broadcast that says "Dragon level" I really just interpret it to mean some sort of natural disaster. Like a really bad hurricane, or a prepubescent kid who somehow got their hands on a Genie''s magic boombox and made some really stupid wishes. Man, you would not believe some of the stories that came out of the nineties- this one Genie, who I swear to god was Sha- Right. Sorry, story telling, that''s right. I didn''t think it was an actual dragon. I''m sure there were a few flying around, doing typical dragon-things like getting pulled into jet turbines, and shitting on cars; but Green not wanting to let me out to grab the can a can of tuna-fish was justified. There could be an earthquake, or maybe the river was flooding, or maybe some stupid kid wished for it to rain candy and was giving half the city concussions: It was all up in the air. From the tiny armored window-slot provided by the tank, I wasn''t exactly able to get a very clear picture on the subject. So, after five minutes of idling in the parking-lot of a Stewart''s convenience store, I decided it was time to make some calls. See, I''m a people person. I know people, places, happenstances, and in this case a few deities that sometimes picked up their phones.. "Hey, Rusem The Majestic! How''s it hanging buddy?" ... "No, I know, I know, I should have called! But I''m calling now, you know? I just wanted to catch up a bit- you know us mortals, always losing track of time." Green let out a snort of diesel, more than just amused. "Right, right. So the Etheral realm has been good then? You still playing cards with the guys on Friday Nights at the tavern?" ... "What do you mean Kazaam got married? No shit?" ... "Well you could have polished my lamp, I''d never have thought it." Green moved into a hard stop, smacking my head against the small window gap before I could catch myself. "AGGH you bastard- What? No! No your Majestic-ness, I''m fine. Truly sorry, it must have been a bit of static between the planes of existence." I kicked the wall ruthlessly with my foot, wincing in pain now from both my head and my big toe. "Right, well Rusem good friend, I was just wondering if you know what the deal was with the calamity befalling us mere mortals down here." ... "No, I''m serious." ... "Really, Green and I are sitting in a Stewart''s parking-lot waiting for the world to end. Radio is issuing some Government warning and talking some major threat, but they haven''t told us what." ... "A dragon? No, I think that''s the threat level." ... "Seriously?" ... "Oh... well damn." ... "Yeah, no I really appreciate it Rusem. I owe you one, I''ll give you a call once this all blows over." Click. Beneath me, I felt the engine rev slightly, tank view shifting towards the main road but not yet willing to drive out onto it. It rumbled curiously. "Well Green, let it be known that I''m man enough to admit I was wrong." I said, hand rubbing at my bruising-scalp. "I guess it really is a dragon."
Chapter 3 There''s a long list of important things that everyone running their own business needs to know, study, and respect above all else. A really long list. In tedious detail (given enough time and caffeine) I could go on and on about tax-write offs, money management, budgets and planners. I could ramble on about networking tips, work-ethic, and what brand of coffee really gives you the best bang for your buck, but the most important element of any business is something much more complicated: People. People are the meat, the potatoes, and the added side of gravy with green-bean casserole when you''re running a business. Without people, you''ve got nothing. No contacts, no work, no money. Because of that, the Customer is the single most crucial element. It''s not all about Numero uno Jack: It''s about them. That simple fact took me a lot longer than you might expect to have puzzled out. See, I wasn''t always Jack of the renowned and respected "Jack of all Trades, in the field of mystical-magic-nonsense." Hard as some might find it to believe when setting their eyes upon such a young and successful entrepreneur; once upon a time, long ago in my humble beginnings, I was only Jack. Plain and simple. After my gambling stints I more or less started from scratch, crawling out of the chaos of my wilder-days to plop myself into this peculiar Modern-day niche of specialty work. The business itself formed naturally after that rather odd period of my life, years in which I made numerous terrible decisions- yet somehow skipped right on by a majority of the disasters which followed suit, whistling dixie all the way. But I was still in that daze: A state of complete and utter ignorance to how lucky I was getting. The cards fell the way I wanted them to, the dice rolls went in my favor: Play as the hat, Free-parking, pass go, collect that sweet 200... I mean- it very seriously molded my perspective until long after I was well and truly out of the game. Even as I started switching gears, doing jobs and freelance work, I was in the wrong mindset. It was still all about me: Numero Uno. Then, over one fateful Friday dinner, a good friend sat me down and slapped me back into reality: physically. As in with their hand, their fist, and then followed up by a wooden canoe paddle they ripped of the wall of our local Applebees. The story behind this incident isn''t exactly short either, but in brief summary I can say that some very harsh words were shouted, my ego was bruised (as well as my face) and my hamburger was completely ruined; the likes of its double patty and barbecue paddled off into the distant booth of a soon very unhappy looking couple. It was a humbling life lesson, reality quite literally beaten into me with a side of fries. Making matters worse though, the entire ordeal was complete justified; minus the burger. I had it coming, and to use a selective quote of their own words, I was "Too big for my britches, and going to end up dead." Looking back, I know they were right. Unlike most people, I''d blindly stumbled through the underbelly of the supernatural and survived. Through misadventures and happenstance alone, I''d collected a long list of contacts, a bonafide encyclopedia of shared-knowledge and trivia, and a metaphorical Swiss-army of odd-skills and tricks; the likes most people probably didn''t even suspect were possible. It wasn''t until I took the time to sit down with an ice pack to reflect that I realized how unusual this was. How every step of the way, it hadn''t just been me: It had been the people I knew helping me along- whether I knew it or not. Black eye cresting to a beautiful shade of purple and green, and stomach growling: It was after that I really found myself back on the straight and narrow.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Where was I going with this? You might be asking that by now, and it''s simple really. See, Threat levels, Government warnings, Dragon or not: The business Jack of all trades: Mystical, Magical, and Miscellaneous Services holds its customers above all else. I check my daily planned one last time, crisp notes scribbled almost illegibly with imperfect short-hand. Highlighted in bright yellow and green for the afternoon. Eyes fell to the gauge, confirming that Green still had a mostly full tank of gas, and I saw from the tiny view provided that the roadways were clearing by the second; a loud warning siren now sounding. It seemed that we were still on schedule. By the gods, and on my honor: We were making that appointment.
"Fritz Haarmann! This is Jack, from Jack of all Trades: Mystical, Magical, and Miscellaneous services!" I spoke into the recently apparated megaphone speaker beside the tank radio, rewarded by the echoes that slipped back inside the tank from the window. "Fritz, are you there?" A large Gothic-style home stood quiet and regal with a small, but immaculate, terrace fence. Thick rosebushes, deep green and red in full bloom provided remarkable contrast against the backdrop of flames and smoke to the east behind the home, and as I peered out from the window slot, I could hear to a far-off echoing roar bellowed somewhere distant. Turning my head to listen closer, I could make out and the echo of large-caliber machine guns, and the unmistakable booming of explosions. Property taxes and insurance rates were going to be record-high in the coming years, I could feel it in my bones. This was a definitely good decade to be a renter. In front of me, the Gothic home stood quietly, shoulder to shoulder with its neighbors on the narrow streets of the early suburbs. I leaned back in my seat with the speaker piece once more, trying my best to ignore the nusance of a twirly rubber-cable that trailed after it. "Fritz, this is Jack, from Jack of all Trades." Outside the tank, my voice boomed again. "I''m here in regards to our afternoon appointment-" I stopped as the front doors of the house flew open suddenly, pale-faced man rushing out from the darkness behind them, adorned with thick sunglasses and an unmistakable expression of astonishment as he ran towards property gates. "Vou must be mad Jack! Completely an vutterly mad!" The Fritz shouted, as his pale hands latching onto the gate with an even greater-white knuckled grip. "Vere''s a vucking dragon ravaging the city! Vou must find shelter!" Overhead the hatch wheel spun itself and opened with a loud clang as I set the speaker down, standing on my seat and breathe some much needed fresh air. "Hello again Fritz!" I gave my best smile and practiced wave. "It''s a pleasure to see you on this wonderful afternoon, I apologize for being slightly delayed, but it''s been a busy afternoon!" "Vhat? Delayed?" The pale man stared at me, sunglasses drooping to reveal squinting red eyes. "Well, I''m sure you know how it goes Fritz. There was something of an emergency over on Rosemont. Whole clan of Goblins squatting in the basement, property damage- pipes stolen for copper: The whole nine yards Fritz!" I took out my pen, flipping open my notebook. "Now I know that''s no excuse for being tardy, but in this business we pride ourselves on honesty and integrity." Fritz stared at me, dumbfounded. Seizing my cue, I launched right into the practice mantra. "So, over the phone you mentioned that you''ve been having pest problems. Now I know you mentioned the sure symptoms of the every-day variety Garden Gnome, but as we both know those don''t like living in these parts on account of the winter." My delivery was spot on so far. "Considering that, I checked the property listings of the area last-night and I noticed that you''ve just recently gotten new next-door neighbors..." The death grip on the fence hadn''t improved, but by the look of those blood-red eyes I was certain I had his attention now. The rough drone of helicopters blew past overhead, low enough in altitude to throw wind on my carefully prepared pages. "This is just a hunch Fritz, so bear with me- but as it turns out the new family is registered on the werewolf watch-list. Single mom with two kids aged twelve and fourteen. Now, you know how young pups are these days- and checking google maps I can see they don''t have much of a yard to go digging in-" A terrible roar brought a giant plume of fire straight up into the distant sky, a burning helicopter spinning out of it on full-tilt out of view. I tried my best to ignore the interruption. "Anyways, I was thinking we might go have a chat next-door, and see if we can sort this all out." A distant explosion signified another helicopter going down, this time taking a large portion of what I suspected might have been the capital building with it. It seemed rather silly that after all that political effort to oust the current establishment, people could have just voted for a giant dragon. I glanced down at Fritz, pale brows lifted perhaps as high as they could possibly go. "I think I vould like to veschedule." He said. Before we left, I penciled him in for next Wednesday.
Chapter 4 - End
Bzzzt- "Authorities from the U.N and the Pentagon are reporting that the Great Dragon downed today came from Russian air-space. President Vladimir Putin has denied all such claims, pointing fingers at-" Bzzzt- "It was huge! When the missile hit its head, the thing blew up like a Zepplin with wings and-" Bzzzt- "HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGEEEE-" Bzzzt- "During the choas today, several reports came in about a second monster running mayhem. A Large and unidentified military vehicle destroyed several stop signs and damaged at least fifteen parked vehicles on the streets of-" Bzzzt- "He picks up a bus and he throws it back down!" "As he wades through the buildings toward the center of town." "Oh no, they say he''s got to go-" Click.
By the time we made it home to the apartment it was well past sun-down, not that I anyone could really tell considering half the city was still lit up like torches. Still, in light of everything I was ready to write the day up as a success. We''d done good work, and come out in the green so long as my bank wasn''t aflame when I needed to cash my checks on Monday. Carefully, I extricated myself from Green''s heavily armored shell, jumping down with a heavy "Thump" on the familiar pavement. The soft scent of charcoal was pleasant contrast to the overwhelming aroma of diesel fumes I''d been previously been hotboxed, and I took in a deep breath; content with my lot in life. It had all come together, a little bit of fire and flame, but no real skin off my back. Once again I had returned, safe and sound.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. "Great work today Green." I twirled the keys around my finger passing off with a nod in the vehicle''s direction. "Oil change bright and early tomorrow, you earned it." I hollered over my shoulder as I unlocked the main door, letting it close as I made my way up the stairs to the second floor to my apartment. I made it about a single step inside before I heard a voice call out. "Human." It boomed, deep and filled with displeasure. "You done fucked up." Reaching blindly for the light in a panic, I found I could see nothing but a glowing pair of eyes that seemed to stare deep into my soul. With a mix of fear and relief, I managed to flick the switch, revealing the abnormal and malignant entity which watched me. Sitting atop the counter top, the Tabby cat waited. Our eyes met. "Do I look like a bitch to you?" It asked. "Do I? My blood curdled. "Shit." I managed to mutter, breath catching. "No human, not shit. Tuna." The cat leaned forward, fur bristling. "Where is the mother-fucking tuna?" As it leapt from the counter with claws extended, I was already halfway out the door: Both of my hands pulling it shut behind me in a practiced motion of terror as claws met steel with an awful grinding scratch. "You''ve got twenty minutes. Twenty before I piss on everything up in this joke you call a home human. No more." The deep voice threatened behind me as I ran down the stairs, skipping three at a time as my hands slid along the rails. "Green!" I shouted, opening the apartment door, "Green, we forgot to pick up the-" I stopped, staring at the space a tank had once filled. In its place, a metallic green unicycle lay casually propped up against the curb. "Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding."
The End
Roll credits Written by wercwercwerc/jakethesnakebakecake Directed by James Gunn Cast: Jack: Chris Pratt Fritz: Chris Pratt Background actors: Chris Pratt Tabby voiced by: Samuel L Jackson Green voiced by: German Panzer Music by Blue Oyster Cult, CCR, REM, and Mastodon.