Interim – the Food Fight
Johannes Arzt, glad to travel freely for the first time in many years, without arrest warrants and bounty hunters on his head, arrived at Headquarters (or Base) within the week. Feeling rather peckish, he made his way to the cafeteria, where he investigated the sandwich-making station. He carefully chose a Kaiser roll and harvest-ground mustard. As he was deliberating over black forest ham or chicken breast, a bass voice behind him said,
"Are you going to be taking all day vit the sandvich?"
Johannes looked to the side – and then looked up. The biggest man he'd ever met was standing there, his bald pate glinting in the fluorescent light, and he was scowling down at Johannes. Johannes blinked up at him. "Pardon me, mein herr, but I am not yet done vit my sandvich."
"Don't you Mein herr me!"
"I see you are a Russian," Johannes said calmly.
"And vat does dat mean?" the Russian growled.
"It means that I am not yet done vit my sandvich and that you will not get a sandvich any faster by growling at me."
"I haff been breaking all my bones on dat fighting field since de break of day and I vant a sandvich and you are taking all day vit the mustard and the roll and the meat! Just pick something!"
"I'll pick something, sure, but at the end I need something to cut my sandvich with." Johannes reached into his pack and pulled out his bone saw. "Does this look good enough?"
"Ah, so you vant a fight, eh?"
"Fighting vould be nice, yes!"
Johannes crammed the roll and mustard into his mouth and readied his weapon. The heavy guy threw the plate he'd been holding aside – it crashed through the window – and readied his fists. With a roar, he tore into Johannes – or tried to.
About five minutes into the fight Johnny, his rocket launcher slung over his back, came in and demanded an armistice at once, whereupon Johannes and Ivan looked at each other and instantly joined forces against him, pausing only to attack each other again. Sean came roaring into the fray, throwing pears and apples haphazardly into the mêlée. Before anyone knew it, Shane had reworked the coffee machine into a gun, and added a few touches here and there as it sprayed the fighters with boiling hot coffee. Then, from a perch high above, Ian began shooting into the fight to see if anyone would notice. They did – especially when Ian was shoved from the balcony by an invisible figure, who took out his butterfly knife and leapt gracefully into the brawl. Then "J," the Pyromaniac, with an inaudible roar (which may have been, "Food fight!"), raced in, branding everything in sight with a modified toaster oven.
By the time that Mirage arrived, the cafeteria was barely recognizable. She knew what she had do to.
Mirage stood up a little straighter, unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, and cleared her throat. This had an astounding effect: every single man froze and turned to look at her. Even the Pyro, noticing the lull, turned off the toaster oven.
"Well," she said slowly, allowing herself an amused smile, "It looks like we won't get anything eaten here… who wants to go out for lunch?"
This chapter is showing up a little early as an apology. I may even post the rest of the story before the week is out, but for now, enjoy this silly little snippet. The next chapter is probably my favorite, so look forward to that, and thank you for reading!