A/n: Done for the "You're with...WHO NOW?" contest over at Providence Playground. Features extreme OOCness. Read with caution.
Quick disclaimer: I do not own Pizza Hut or Generator Rex. Which should be obvious anyway.
Pizza Hut
The buffet style Pizza Hut restaurant was overcome with the thunder of laughter and noisy chitter-chatter.
The other customers looked upon the guilty group with utter distain. When simply staring didn't work, they stood up, asked for their check, then left.
The staff wasn't being very helpful, either. If one was to look out beyond the salad table, they would see a group of scared cashiers and chefs huddled together behind the counter, waiting anxiously for their dreaded guests to take their leave.
Unfortunately, it didn't look like this was going to happen any time soon.
"Do you think it would be too much if I named it?" asked one of the guests in a thick English accent, gesturing to where his hand used to be but was now an inbuilt gun. To anybody else's eyes, it was impossible to tell whether he was joking or not. However, his own henchmen knew him better.
"Certainly not , Mr. Gatelocke sir!" replied Treacherous Trevor, perhaps with a tad too much enthusiasm.
Ballistic Bob rolled his eyes behind his skull-shaped mask. Trevor was such a mommy's boy.
"Hmm, very well then. I think I will name him… The Death Cannon."
The henchmen all applauded loudly, and praised their leader for naming his left gun in a way most appropriate.
Ballistic Bob did the same, though secretly cringing on the inside.
If there was one thing the newest member of the gang was certain of, it was that Gatlocke's mental stability was at the least questionable.
For one, he gave nicknames to all his gang members, and ordered that they be referred to by that name and nothing else. In addition, he also found a sadistic pleasured in blowing things up and pretty much breaking any rule that society could lay out for him. And finally, although Ballistic Bob wasn't exactly sure how true this was, there was a rumor going around that Gatlocke wasn't as quiet as English as he claimed to be.
Without warning, a shriek was heard from Ludicrous Larry as the self-serve soft-serve ice cream machine went haywire. Ice cream, both original vanilla and chocolate, were squirted out from the malfunctioned machine in more directions than imaginable.
Gatlocke's eyes narrowed, and he took a stand.
The gang members, sensing what was about to take place, quickly ducked under the table.
In one simple movement, Gatlocke aimed his gun then fired.
The machine was blown to smithereens, causing whatever customers were left to become covered in the delectable ice cream. The looks on their faces told them they were not impressed.
Somehow, Gatlocke remained unscathed. It was as if he a miraculous for had opened its umbrella over him, preventing him from being rained on by the ice cream.
Ballistic Bob let out a small sigh from his spot under the table. First the McDonalds incident, and now this. Why couldn't his boss host a birthday party for one of his gang members without blowing something up?
"You!" exclaimed Gatlocke, and pointed to Ludicrous Larry. The henchman let out a frightened yelp and staggered back.
Realizing that he had pointed his gun at the unfortunate fellow by mistake, Gatlocke frowned.
"Oopsie daisies, wrong one!" and switched to his actual hand. He then recomposed himself then continued.
"We are anarchists, but we are not animals! Clean up that mess immediately."
"Yes Mr. Gatlocke sir!" and with that, he scurried off in search of a mop.
"Now," said Gatlocke, as he started towards the kitchen, "Where. Is. My. DR. PEPPER?"
The henchmen slowly made their way out from under the table, watching cautiously as their leader walked through into the kitchen out the back.
None of them had the courage to actually tell Gatlocke that they were in America, and, well, America doesn't typically have Dr. Peppers. Correct Gatlocke, and you should prepare for the worst. The mental image of what happened to Petrifying Pete still made them all shiver. It was ironic how some of them joined this group looking from freedom of the rules of society, but instead found themselves in a situation would have them fired – or worse.
"Somebody should keep an eye on him," stated Terrifying Trevor, once the gang had all returned to their seats. Everyone turned to Ballistic Bob. Ballistic Bob stared back blankly – then he figured out what they were implying.
"And risk getting blown up?" replied Ballistic Bob, "No thank you. I'd prefer to live another day."
"You're the newest member," Terrifying Trevor said matter-of-factly, "It's your job."
Ballistic Bob was just about to spit out some witty comeback when another henchman, one which he kept on forgetting the name of, spoke up.
"We're his employees," he said, "but there are things that he keeps from us. Sure, to us he is a madman set on abolishing rules from society, but there must be more to him than that. Let's say, for instance, that his very character, the very thing that makes Gatlocke Gatlocke, was really just a masking covering his true inner self?"
"Just out of curiosity, what exactly was your profession before you joined?"
"Janitor. Why?"
"No reason," replied Ballistic Bob.
And awkward silence ensured this conversation, which was broken by a sigh by Ballistic Bob.
"Fine," he said, and got up from his chair. "I'll go."
"I knew you would come around," replied Terrifying Trevor. Ballistic Bob scowled. If he made it out of this alive, then Trevor was going to be sorry that he ever messed with the likes of him.
Angrily, Ballistic Bob made his way over the kitchen door. He opened it, just enough to peep through the gap. Coast clear. He opened the door fully, slipped on through, and closed the door silently.
Ballistic Bob gave the kitchen another good scope. While it wasn't apparent where his boss was at first, the echo of his voice became a dead giveaway.
"Oh, I have EVO envy."
Instantly, Ballistic Bob got down on his knees and crawled towards the source of the sound. If he kept low, he figured there was less chance he would be spotted by either known to Gatlocke, or one of the staff.
Little known to Ballistic Bob at that moment, the kitchen staff weren't going to be a problem. They all ran for their lives when a gun-wielding maniac came storming through the kitchen demanding a Dr. Pepper. Well, all except one…
Once he had reached a point that he thought was close enough to Gatlocke without being seen, he slowly began to rise to his feet. If Gatlocke was to look at the spice jars lined up on the counter behind him, he would have seen a widened eye staring back at his from between the gaps. But luckily for Ballistic Bob, Gatlocke was far too distracted.
"You are not allowed back here," stated a raspy, and no-so-human voice. Ballistic Bob suppressed a gasp. An Evo!
Skalamander had been working at the fast food chain for awhile now. Sure, he was going behind Van Kleiss' back, but it wasn't like the rest of The Pack didn't have secrets of their own. Biowolf secretly played his Miley Cyrus CD when he thought the other members weren't around. Breach sucked in whole entire towns, turning them into her own person doll houses. Heck, even Circe had had her secrets when she was still in The Pack. Who could forget that obvious crush she had on Providence's not-so-secret weapon?
This was Skalamander's secret – he loved to cook. From Soufflés to spring rolls, he could cook it. Or, if you were going to be more precise, was able to cook it. Cooking had been his life before he had turned EVO. What followed was a dramatic story of love and loss, pain and suspense.
But to the story short, he was now working at Pizza Hut. Which is probably all you need to know. Sure, he was still on clean-up duty. But surely in no time at all he would be promoted to oven duty. Oh, the joy! The EVO could hardly care that he was only getting paid three bucks an hour.
''Why, aren't you a pretty chap?"
Ballistic Bob blinked with disbelief. Did he just say…pretty?
The lizard-like EVO stared back at Gatlocke, also apparently in disbelief.
"What is a stunning EVO like you doing in a place like this?"
"Stunning?" replied the EVO, letting Gatlocke's words hit a nerve. Who did he think he was, mocking him like this. "I am a monster, human. Run before I chose to destroy you!"
Gatlocke threw up his hands, "Monster-shmonster," he replied
"To me," he said, taking a few steps forward so their faces were close together, "You are beautiful."
The EVO was flabbergasted. Never had any human dared get this close to him. Well, with the exception of those who tried to hunt him down on or the children who tried throwing rocks at him – kids could be so mean.
But this human, the one dressed as a wannabe pirate, was different. What was it that made him weak with admiration for the human, what made him look up to his bravery?
"Join us, Evo," whispered Gatlocke. Their faces were closer together than ever, their eyes locked.
Then, suddenly, all that tension was broken by one, single, moment.
"Here's our business card!" replied Gatlocke cheerfully, sticking it right in front of Skalamander's face. The EVO took the card and frowned, obviously bewildered.
Ballistic Bob knew what was about to come next. He made his way back out of the kitchen, haunted by a strange feeling of déjà vu.
Why couldn't his leader resort to more normal recruitment methods?