06-13-2017, 02:52 PM
Mad Bull exhaled loudly, his nostrils flaring like an angry steer.
“Now don't get cross with me Sergeant,” the Chief warned. “This comes from down high.”
Sergeant John Estes snorted and the thick hairs of his wide Burt Reynolds style mustache joined the protest. “Maybe they outta send one of their own 'crackshots’!”
The Chief scowled while puffing on the last half inch of his cigar. “We civvies take orders from the Imperial authorities whether you like it or not, and you take orders from me, so it's settled!” he shouted with finality.
“Why's it gotta be me, huh? You think I ain't got things to do this weekend? Me and Flopsy were gonna paint the town red…” Mad Bull whined.
“Because they're demanding a Prime do it. The Stormtrooper battalion didn't have any, so they asked me. You're the only one in the Precinct, so tada! You're the big winner,” the Chief said with mock congratulations.
“Pardon my French, Chief, but that's a crock-a-shit!” Mad Bull said with grizzled irritation. “I better be makin’ overtime for this…” he muttered.
“Sure, fine!" The Chief conceded with exasperation. He pointed his cigar at Mad Bull and warned, "But I expect results!”
“I'm always good for a collar, Chief!”
“Yeah, but they always seem come back in a bodybag, Mad Bull!" The Chief signed, and continued, "I suspect you'll still be painting the town red, so to speak, but for once I won't mind.”
The Chief smeared the stub of his cigar in a filthy ashtray and continued. “Imperial Intelligence believes a major criminal has entered the event, and they want him eliminated with extreme violence. If you're not the man for that job, I don't know who is.”
“You know me, Chief.” Mad Bull leered with sinister glee.
The next day Mad Bull found himself uncomfortably standing at the registration desk in Tier 1. In one hand he held a clipboard and in the other a pencil that seemed like a tiny twig in his enormous bear paws. His brow furrowed as he focused with intensity at crossing a “T.”
~*SNAP!*~
“Mother-f!@#%*^ cheap penny pinching Imperials!”
Mad Bull tossed the broken pencil into a pile of six others that littered the registration desk. He wiped his sweaty palms on the chest of his blue police uniform
“Can't Her Highness afford any pens in this joint, or do you god-d%#* nancies only write with toothpicks?!” the angry sergeant complained with crescendoing fury.
“Sir!” the attendant chided. “There is no need to get nasty. I'll simply ask you the questions and write your answers for you.”
What is your name?
"Sergeant John Estes. My friends call me Sleepy, but you can call me MAD BULL."
How long have you been in the Omniverse?
"Longer than the hairs on your mother's..."
Where do you live in the Omniverse?
"Tier 5, 34th Precinct."
What is your current job?
"I'm a cop. One day they'll bury me in my dress blues, but until then - I'm a cop."
What was your life like back in your own world?
"Not much different than now, I'd suppose. The Fifth Tier is full of crooks and beggars, but New York City wasn't so different. You don't need a buncha sci-fi storybook rejects prowling the streets for a cop to earn his bread. Every-wheres got creeps, weirdos and pushers… and it don't matter their skin color, a bullet to the head puts ‘em all away."
Why are you joining Dante's Abyss?
"Orders are orders. I'm here to kill a couple o’ crooks, and that's just what I aim to do."
“Now don't get cross with me Sergeant,” the Chief warned. “This comes from down high.”
Sergeant John Estes snorted and the thick hairs of his wide Burt Reynolds style mustache joined the protest. “Maybe they outta send one of their own 'crackshots’!”
The Chief scowled while puffing on the last half inch of his cigar. “We civvies take orders from the Imperial authorities whether you like it or not, and you take orders from me, so it's settled!” he shouted with finality.
“Why's it gotta be me, huh? You think I ain't got things to do this weekend? Me and Flopsy were gonna paint the town red…” Mad Bull whined.
“Because they're demanding a Prime do it. The Stormtrooper battalion didn't have any, so they asked me. You're the only one in the Precinct, so tada! You're the big winner,” the Chief said with mock congratulations.
“Pardon my French, Chief, but that's a crock-a-shit!” Mad Bull said with grizzled irritation. “I better be makin’ overtime for this…” he muttered.
“Sure, fine!" The Chief conceded with exasperation. He pointed his cigar at Mad Bull and warned, "But I expect results!”
“I'm always good for a collar, Chief!”
“Yeah, but they always seem come back in a bodybag, Mad Bull!" The Chief signed, and continued, "I suspect you'll still be painting the town red, so to speak, but for once I won't mind.”
The Chief smeared the stub of his cigar in a filthy ashtray and continued. “Imperial Intelligence believes a major criminal has entered the event, and they want him eliminated with extreme violence. If you're not the man for that job, I don't know who is.”
“You know me, Chief.” Mad Bull leered with sinister glee.
The next day Mad Bull found himself uncomfortably standing at the registration desk in Tier 1. In one hand he held a clipboard and in the other a pencil that seemed like a tiny twig in his enormous bear paws. His brow furrowed as he focused with intensity at crossing a “T.”
~*SNAP!*~
“Mother-f!@#%*^ cheap penny pinching Imperials!”
Mad Bull tossed the broken pencil into a pile of six others that littered the registration desk. He wiped his sweaty palms on the chest of his blue police uniform
“Can't Her Highness afford any pens in this joint, or do you god-d%#* nancies only write with toothpicks?!” the angry sergeant complained with crescendoing fury.
“Sir!” the attendant chided. “There is no need to get nasty. I'll simply ask you the questions and write your answers for you.”
What is your name?
"Sergeant John Estes. My friends call me Sleepy, but you can call me MAD BULL."
How long have you been in the Omniverse?
"Longer than the hairs on your mother's..."
Where do you live in the Omniverse?
"Tier 5, 34th Precinct."
What is your current job?
"I'm a cop. One day they'll bury me in my dress blues, but until then - I'm a cop."
What was your life like back in your own world?
"Not much different than now, I'd suppose. The Fifth Tier is full of crooks and beggars, but New York City wasn't so different. You don't need a buncha sci-fi storybook rejects prowling the streets for a cop to earn his bread. Every-wheres got creeps, weirdos and pushers… and it don't matter their skin color, a bullet to the head puts ‘em all away."
Why are you joining Dante's Abyss?
"Orders are orders. I'm here to kill a couple o’ crooks, and that's just what I aim to do."