Sorry for taking longer on this one. I was just hellbent on updating Hellwalkers because I'd left it hanging for about three months. Maybe more, I'm not sure.
I hope you enjoy my rendition of Unhappy Campers!
Helluva Dad
Season 2
Volume 6: Unhappy Campers
I hope you enjoy my rendition of Unhappy Campers!
One week later, Striker was as good as new. As such, he showed up to the office on Monday. On the way there, Jake and Mortifera took a slight detour and met him back at the building.
"I just went to return Alice a book she borrowed me, and she gave me the next installment," he said when his father asked him about it.
"How's she doin'?"
"Well, she'll be on summer break next week. We might see her 'round in Wrath when she goes to... You know."
"Gustav's hacienda, I know. Ye can say it, kiddo."
At the office, they were greeted by Moxxie and Millie. Unsurprisingly, Blitzo was yet to arrive, which meant Striker was in charge until he came. As usual, the first thing he did was check this month's job requests with Moxxie and Millie while Jake started reading the next book in the series.
"He has been spending much time with that girl," Moxxie commented.
Striker sighed. "Can ye blame him? He's never had any friends, let alone a cousin his age."
"I like Alice; she's a nice girl," Millie added.
"Yeah. It's hard to believe she's got Gustav's DNA."
"If you think about it, so does Jake. I mean, if your wife was Gustav's daughter..." Moxxie trailed off as his co-worker shot him a severe look.
"Maybe, but my boy has never been near Gustav, so he wasn't tainted by his toxic influence."
"Wow, is he such an asshole?"
"Ye have no idea, Mildred."
The office door creaked open. A sinner with an aquatic look to him came in. Striker guessed he must have drowned.
"I.M.P?"
Striker tipped his hat. "Ye got someone who fucked ya and wanna take revenge? Ye're at the right place."
"Well... that might be the case."
"What do ye mean might?"
The client approached the desk. "See, I worked as a counselor at a summer camp—"
SLAM!
Blitzo walked into the office. Striker noticed he was covered in bush leaves, bruises, and dirt, along with a sour look on his face."
"Hey, Blitz, a client here wants to..."
Blitzo paid him no heed. He walked past them, entered his office, and slammed the door shut. Whatever he'd been doing must have left him in a bad mood.
Millie laughed nervously. "You were saying?"
"Well, it's just that I'm sure one of the other camp counselors killed me. I'm just not sure which one..."
"How could you not know?" Moxxie inquires skeptically.
"I was out on the lake when my boat started to sink. Someone had drilled holes in it. The counselors are the only ones with keys to the boathouse, and they're the only ones who knew I couldn't swim. It had to be them."
"Look, pal; the thing is, we're an assassination business, not private investigators..." Strike rubbed his chin. Then again, they haven't had a well-paid job in a while, and the rent payment is due next week. "...We'll check with the boss."
Striker gestured for Moxxie to do so. The thespian peeked into Blitzo's office. He wasn't sure what they talked about, but when Moxxie finally returned, he looked thrilled.
"We'll take the case!" he said with a wide grin. "And I'll be handling this investigation personally."
"Honey, are you sure? What about Blitzo?" Millie inquired.
"What exactly did he say?" Striker added.
"Guys, guys, please." Moxxie puffed out his chest proudly. "Blitzo put me in charge this time."
Millie and Striker shared a quick, disbelieving glance. "He did?" they asked simultaneously. Moxxie seemed to notice their tone, to which Millie quickly said. "I mean, he... he did!" she elbowed Striker.
"Right, right," he said awkwardly.
"Right!" Moxxie's enthusiasm returned. "And this will be the cleanest, most well-prepped, most surgical hit we've ever had! Don't worry, sir! We'll find your killer and give him what's coming to him... or her... or they..."
Striker rubbed his temple. "We'll take care of it, sir," he said simply and curtly.
Once the client left, Moxxie put up an entire investigation board with photos and information on the camp, its staff, and surroundings—all provided by the client—complete with red strings. Jake casually looked up from his book and noticed the new 'decoration.'
"What's that?" he inquired.
"Weren't ye listenin', kiddo? Turns out we're working as PIs now." Striker murmured sourly.
Jake glanced at Moxxie as he examined each photo meticulously. "Blitzo agreed to take that job?"
"Blitzo was... busy with something, so he left Mox in charge," Millie explained.
"He did? Doesn't he usually put Dad in charge...?" Striker motioned Jake to stop. "... Okay, but isn't the board a little too much?"
"It's a first lead, Jake. It has to be perfect. Now, in front of you, you'll find a comprehensive guide to your cover personas." Moxxie slammed a hand on the board. "We've got a lot of work to do."
Striker frowned as he read through his 'persona.' "A camp counselor? Seriously?"
"No offense, Striker, but you don't exactly have a... camper vibe..." Moxxie toyed with his bowtie. Striker raised an eyebrow. "I-I mean, they must be around sixteen-eighteen, and you're..."
Jake swore Moxxie would piss his pants as his father narrowed his eyes.
"Did ya just call me old?"
"No, no, no! I'm just...!"
Thankfully, Millie interceded before Striker could strangle Moxxie.
"Moxxie means to say that we will need eyes and ears on all sides. You'd have no problem fitting in with the counselors, and you're experienced in dealing with kids!" she said hurriedly.
Striker still looked like he wanted to strangle Moxxie. At last, he muttered. "...Ye're lucky ye're gonna be a father, Mox."
The entrance to Ivannakummore Camp was just a few more steps ahead. Wooden cabins and picnic tables occupied by children were scattered around the place.
Striker looked down at his disguise distastefully. The counselor uniform consisted of a green shirt, short brown pants with matching shoes, and a cap with the camp's logo.
"I look like a nerd..." he murmured under his breath.
"Ye don't look that bad, dad," Jake assured. He'd changed into casual summer clothing with a cap facing backward to hide his horns.
"Okay, everyone, one last time for safety." Moxxie made the last finishing touches to his tube top. "I'm Moxxine, the hottest, most popular girl at my school."
Disguised as a boy in sportswear, Millie spoke in a gruff voice. "I'm your brother Millerd. I like sports and fuckin' bitches!"
"Ye know, 'Millerd,' ye might want to omit that last part. Those brats must be 'round Jake's age." Striker gestured to some kids playing with water guns, confirming his claim.
"Check!"
"Guys, let's get back on track. Striker, who are you?"
The cowboy sighed. "I'm Daryl. I'm here to replace the missing counselor, and I love kids," he said monotonously.
"I'm Rick! I love zombie movies and playing pranks on people!" Jake said in a more genuinely cheerful tone. The impling noticed a person leaving one of the cabins. "Guys, there's a shady lookin' fella over there."
Striker pulled out a pair of binoculars and took a peek at the spot Jake pointed to.
"Ahem, Jake... I hardly think pointing out the first guy you see is a proper way to conduct a—"
"That must be our guy." Strike interrupted.
"Didn't you hear what I just—?"
"He's got a bag full of cash and drugs. That's a pretty strong motive."
Jake grabbed the binoculars. "And he's got a drill one would use to poke holes in a boat."
"But-But- but that's all circumstantial at best!" Moxxie insisted, voice faltering a bit. "We need to methodically—"
"Now he's gone into the locked boathouse the client mentioned." Striker narrowed his eyes. For the briefest moment, he thought he saw a different eye peeking through the door, probably to ensure no one had followed the human. "That'd be the perfect place to—" an elbow on the side from Jake interrupted him. Millie was gesturing toward Moxxie. The thespian looked somewhat downcast. Striker sighed, tail rattling. "Fine. We'll do it yer way, Mox."
Moxxie's face lit up again. "With my sleuthing skills, Millie's killer eye, and your natural charisma, we should have this wrapped up in no time! Now, we have to find the kids with the most influence." he scanned the campgrounds until he spotted three girls speaking at a table. "Target acquired. Let's split up, guys. Striker, you talk with the counselors. Jake, Millie, and I will mingle around the campers."
"Leaving Moxxie in charge..." Striker murmured under his breath as he walked away.
He headed to the volleyball court in search of a counselor he could talk to. He found one in the lifeguard chair, watching the kids play volleyball. Striker cleared his throat to call his attention.
"Ah, you must be the replacement! What was your name again?"
"Daryl."
"Well, Daryl, welcome to Camp Ivannakumore! Do you have any experience dealing with kids?"
"Yeah, I have a son—"
"That's good; then I can leave you with these little monsters while I take a break." The human jumped off the high chair. "Just make sure they stay out of the water. Nobody's allowed into the lake."
"Why not?"
The lifeguard hesitated. "...Nothing you need to worry about, just precaution."
Striker raised an eyebrow as he was left alone with the kids. That guy seemed to suspect what had happened to their missing counselor, but he didn't seem to be hiding something.
He glanced at the boathouse, recalling the guy from before. Perhaps he should take a look—
"I got it!"
His attention returned to the court. Millie had joined the match and leaped and struck the ball so hard in a show of spectacular prowess that Striker heard a loud crunch when it hit another kid's face. Not only that, but he slammed into the ground with such force that it made a crater.
Everyone around gathered to see what had happened. The kid was unresponsive. Thinking quickly, Striker checked on him. He was still alive, just with a few broken bones.
"That was..." he looked up at Millie, smiling. "The best spike I've ever seen."
The previously tense atmosphere changed as Millie was excitedly lifted by the other campers and carried off between cheers and happy yells. Striker sighed in relief.
"Please, I need medical attention." Oh, right. The kid was still alive.
"Ye're not dyin'; it's just a scratch."
Figuring Millie could take it from there, Striker decided to take a look at the boathouse. Sorry for Moxxie, but he won't waste his time playing Sherlock Holmes.
Silently, he managed to pick the lock of the door. It was dark inside, but it's never been an issue for Imps. Everything looked normal at first glance. There were no signs of that counselor—or his accomplice if his eyes hadn't played a trick on him. Still, Striker took a look around. The human had been carrying a bag filled with cash and drugs. It couldn't have just vanished without a trace.
Striker's examination led him to the boat. It was probably very old, judging by the smell of... Wait, this scent was familiar. It was... sweet. For a moment, it reminded him of the Sloth ring's atmosphere. But that couldn't be. How would...?
White powder on the bottom of the boat caught his eye. Striker grabbed a pinch to taste it, then spat it out immediately. Heroin. This definitely gave that human a motive.
Creak
Striker reacted just in time to catch a wooden pole aimed at his head. The perpetrator was a tan woman with dark brown hair tied into pigtails, white markings on her arms, and red eyes—the same he'd seen earlier.
"Don't ye know this place is restricted?"
"Look who's talking, shithead!"
Striker found himself brawling against the human, but she was unlike anyone he'd encountered. For starters, she had no problem in blocking and countering his attacks. He even got a punch in the stomach. Her fighting style almost reminded him of Blitzo, at least to some extent.
Neither noticed they'd gotten too close to the edge of the wooden platform. As he tackled her, they fell into the water. Panicking, the human squirmed violently and forced him to let go, knocking his hat from his head. Striker had to cover his eyes as his opponent was enveloped by cackling light. When it subsided, his eyes shot open in shock.
The 'human' was an Imp. She, too, seemed equally shocked to realize he was like her.
They remembered they were still underwater when they started running out of air. The two Imps swam up to the surface, gasping for air.
"You're an Imp?!" they asked simultaneously.
"How in Satan's name did you come to Earth?!" she yelled.
"I could be askin' the same thing!" Striker retorted before looking around warily. "How about we take this discussion to shore before someone gets curious?"
They swam toward a hidden spot near some pine trees. While catching their breath, Striker took a look at the imp. She was tall and slim with black curled horns, yellow sclera, and black claw-like fingers. She retained the white markings on her arms, but additionally, there was a big white X on her forehead, crossing out another symbol.
There was something about her that felt... familiar. Maybe he'd seen her somewhere, but... where?
"Ye didn't answer my question, miss." The she-Imp showed him a wristwatch with a pentagram. "Is that...?"
"Yeah, it's an Asmodean crystal. And thanks to you, my disguise it's busted!"
Striker arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me? Who was the one who attacked me from behind in the first place?" he asked, incensed.
"Maybe I wouldn't have attacked you if you hadn't snooped around!"
"What? Ye owe the place or somethin'? Last time I checked, 'counselors' are free to go anywhere in this camp, including the boathouse."
"Oh, that's nice. Why don't you take those words and shove them right between your pussy— COME ON, YOU PIECE OF ROCK!"
Striker startled back as the she-Imp began shaking her wrist and tapping on the watch, cursing when the artifact refused to work. How did she get one of those anyway? Only succubi and incubi are given these crystals by Asmodeus himself. Did she work for him? It wouldn't be the first time he's employed Imps...
More importantly, what is she guarding in that boathouse? The drugs, maybe. Yeah, that's another option. Pharmaceutics in Sloth sometimes acquired drugs from the Living World whenever there's a shortage. That human worked with her? Guess he'd have to ask her. But to do that, he had to win her trust somehow.
Striker watched as she kept cursing at her watch.
"...I can give ye a hand with that."
Her reaction was as he expected.
"Stay the fuck away, dipshit!" she snapped, pulling her wrist away and stepping back from him.
Striker lifted his arms defensively. "Chill out, miss. Just sayin' I can fix yer crystal, at least to open up a portal to Hell so ye can have it properly repaired." his companion scoffed.
"So you can run off with it the moment I hand it over? No, thank you."
"Ye don't have to take it off; I can fix it on yer wrist under yer... supervision. Or ye'd rather spend the night here without yer disguise and risk being busted? I bet that wouldn't be good for yer work—whatever it is—would it?"
She seemed to think it over for a few seconds. Eventually, she sighed in defeat.
"Try anything and I'll drown you in this fucking lake, you hear?"
"Got it."
Striker warily approached and gently took her hand to look at the watch. Other than the pink glass—the Asmodean crystal—it looked like a regular wristwatch. The crown probably acted as a button to open the portal back to Hell, though he wasn't sure how the disguise worked. He'd never seen an Asmodean crystal this close, after all, let alone learn how they worked.
But he could see why the portal wasn't opening up.
"Looks like some water filtered into the watch, and the gear ain't workin' properly because of it. We just need to get it out..." Striker carefully lifted the glass and leaned the wrist leftwards. A little squirt scurried out of the watch. Once he was sure no more water was left, he closed the device again. "There, the portal should open up. Now"
The she-Imp pressed the crown button. This time, a glistening portal opened up, apparently into the ring of Sloth. She stared at it in surprise... before leaping right into it, the portal closing behind her.
Striker stood there, dumbfounded. Did she just ditch him?
"... You're welcome," he murmured under his breath.
Following the... surprise encounter, Striker went to the meeting point behind the cabin. Moxxie and Jake were already there, the former with an annoyed expression and crossed arms. On the other hand, Jake was watching something on his phone.
"Dad! Ya won't believe this! Millie broke the record on the obstacle course! People are even posting videos of her online!" he told him excitedly, showing his father the clip of Millie's earlier prowess with his hellphone.
While Striker wasn't knowledgeable about social media, all those floating hearts probably mean it's got lots of likes.
"Mildred certainly outdid herself this time." he chuckled. "Did ya see that, Mox?"
"Mhmm. I saw." Striker didn't miss the annoyed tone in Moxxie's voice.
"I thought ye'd be happy for yer wife."
"He's just a bit jealous," Jake commented.
"I'm not!" Moxxie snapped back.
Millie showed up seconds later. Striker swore her face was almost glowing as she spun around with a bouquet, undoubtedly from her fans.
"Ooh, guys! That was so much fun! No wonder you sing all the time!"
"Not exactly low profile," Moxxie murmured.
"I know... But it's kinda nice having people cheer for me for once, you know, instead of screaming and pain in horror!" Millie tore the bouquet for emphasis.
Striker patted her head, smiling. "About time ye got some recognition, Mildred."
"You have to teach me those moves, Millie!" Jake added.
Moxxie cleared his throat. "Don't forget what we're here to do, guys."
"We haven't. We're just waiting until you are read." Jake pointed out matter-of-factly.
"Have you guys been able to eliminate any suspects?" Millie inquired.
"No, of course not. I can't get anything about anyone because they're too busy swooning over you. " Moxxie retorted somewhat bitterly.
Jake muttered the word 'jealous,' dissimulating it with a cough.
"Or we could just go off the target right now." Striker twirled his revolvers out of their sheaths. "He's probably alone in the cabin—"
He'd barely taken a step when Moxxie held him back. "No! I have to do this right."
Striker growled and rattled his tail but put his pistols away regardless. Jake sighed, equally annoyed.
"If ye're so desperate to winnin' the crowd over, why don't ya try with somethin' ye're good at? Maybe yer music?" the impling suggested.
"I can even help you since they already love me," Millie added.
"Yeah... YEAH! That might work!
Striker smacked his forehead.
...A few hours later...
The perfect chance arrived later that night as some campers gathered around a bonfire near the lake shore. Striker, of course, was to keep an eye on them and ensure they didn't end up drowning at the lake. He and Jake saw on one of the logs when Millie pulled out a banjo.
"Ya'll wanna hear a song?!" she asked in her 'masculine' voice. The kids cheered in response. "Alright! I know you all like me, but Moxxine is the real deal y'all."
Jake got up and pulled Moxxie off his seat. "Let her tell ya all about it! Mox!"
"Thank you."
Oh, everybody, look at me!
I'm the greatest, it's plain to see
That all you losers wish that you could be like me
But you can't
Cause I'm a work of art
Yeah, I'm a hot shit
So pretty and smart
Oh, everybody, take a look at me!
Striker and Jake shared a stunned glance. That's... not what they had in mind.
The campers seemed to think the same thing. They ditched Moxxie's poor attempt at a campfire song to hear Millie's banjo playing.
Moxxie didn't take it kindly. After realizing he'd been overshadowed by his wife again, he ran off in tears. Striker sighed in dismay.
"I'll check on him."
Finding his co-worker wasn't hard; he just had to follow the echo of Moxxie's sobs from within an old, mossy outhouse. Striker knocked on the door.
"Go away!"
"Why are ye makin' such a big fuss about this? They're just a bunch of preteen brats!"
"Leave me alone!"
Striker cursed under his breath. He was about to bring the door down when Millie and Jake caught up.
Striker looked up. Thank you!
"Moxxie, what's goin' on?"
"Nothing! It's... just my time of the month!"
"Honey... no."
"I just wanna go home."
"We'd already be home if we'd just killed the guy!" Striker growled impatiently. Millie frowned at him. "Ye know what? I'm gonna take a walk."
On his way to the boathouse, the cowboy cursed under his breath. Dammit, Mildred. Her devotion to Moxxie touched him, but she's taking it too far this time. At this rate, they might as well spend all summer in this camp.
Screw this, he's going to finish the job himself.
Striker lit up a cigarette. Rather than entering the boathouse, he hung out outside and waited for the human to come with the drugs. Then he'd take him out quietly and dump his body on the lake.
"Hey there." Striker flinched, startled. The she-imp—wearing her human disguise again—was right next to him, leaning against the wall. When did she arrive?! How come he didn't hear her? She smirked. "Sorry, did I scare you?"
"Of course not! Ye caught me by surprise, that's all." Striker retorted, rail rattling. "Are ye here for yer next drug shipment?"
His companion chuckled. "You figured it out just from just one look around the place? Impressive."
"What can I say? I've dealt with that kind of job at least once." Striker exhaled from his cigarette. "Glad to see yer disguise is workin' again," he murmured.
"Oh, right. Sorry about that. I wasn't sure how long the portal would last, and I didn't wanna risk it closing." To his surprise, the girl pulled out a couple of beer bottles and held one to him. "But I don't forget favors."
Striker gladly accepted the beer. "Name's Striker, by the way."
"Barbie Wire, but my friends call me Barb."
The cowboy engaged in a more-or-less pleasant conversation with his newfound companion. As he'd suspected, she was a drug smuggler from Sloth, and the target was the supplier. She was supposed to get this week's worth of cocaine to the pharmaceutical company she worked for. They were the ones who provided her with the Asmodean crystal to carry out the deals and transport the merchandise back to Hell.
Not long after, they were joined by none other than the target with the latest cocaine shipment. With nothing better to do, Striker figured he might as well lend Barbie a hand with her drugs.
"Okay, your turn. How did you get out of Hell without a crystal?" she asked after a while.
"It's a long story. The company I work for carries out assassinations here on Earth on behalf of sinners who got fucked up while alive. My boss has a... deal with Stolas of the Ars Goetia, but I'd rather not give out the details." Striker some sweat off his brow after placing a load of drugs on the boat. "The point is he lends us his grimoire to access the Livin' World."
"That one?"
"Ye know Stolas?"
"Not personally, but he was on the news last week. He's been the talk of town for a while now. Seems like he has an awful taste with sex partners." Striker swore he saw a flash of bitterness in Barbie's face. "So, a Sinner sent you to kill a camper?"
Striker sighed. He figured it was best if he told her. "Not a camper... Your supplier."
Barbie spat a mouthful of beer. "The fuck did you just say?!"
"Apparently, Jimmy here killed our client, and now our client wants to kill him back."
Barbie glared at the counselor. "You fucking what?"
"He found out about your drugs."
"I don't wanna hear it, kid!" Then she turned to Striker. "Look, you're not killing my supplier!"
"Ya know, I could have done so already, but since my 'supervisor,'" Striker bitterly emphasized. "insists on doin' things his way, I'm not authorized to lay a hand on Jimmy over there. Not sure how long it'll take, but hopefully long enough for ya to ship all yer drugs."
His response seemed to surprise Barbie genuinely. "...That's... a bit too nice on your part." she narrowed her eyes. "What's the catch?"
Striker shrugged. "Nothin'. I'm kinda bored."
"Man, that 'supervisor' of yours must really suck if you're going around doing as you please."
"Ye have no idea," Striker muttered. "How did ye end up workin' with a camp counselor, anyway?"
"Do you have any idea how easy teenage humans are to manipulate?"
"Hey! No, I'm not!" Jimmy protested.
Barbie put on a cute face and lifted her butt. "Oh, Jimmy-wimmy, can you pwease keep loading up deez druggie-wuggies for me?"
Much to Striker's surprise, the human fell for it. "Heh. Sure, Barb, whatever you say."
She's good.
A week went by. A long, frustrating week in which Moxxie insisted on 'investigating' the suspect. Striker swore that if he weren't busy helping Barbie with her drug shipments, he'd have pummeled Moxxie for wasting so much of their time. Thankfully, he convinced Loona to set Bombproof and Mortifera free so that they would feed themselves until they returned.
"Geez, no wonder Blitz never puts Moxxie in charge..." Jake murmured and took a sip of his soda.
Striker exhaled smoke from his cigar. "Tell that to me."
"Why did Blitz put him in charge this time, anyway?"
"I got no idea, pup. Guess he had somethin' important... or personal to do."
And judging by the way he'd acted when he returned to the office that day, it must be something serious.
"Guys!" Millie ran towards them with a pamphlet in hand. Her eyes were shining like never before. "They want me to perform on stage tonight for the local news!"
"Really? That's great, Millie!" Jake laughed and twirled around with her. "Ye're really somethin'!"
"Indeed! I'm sure ye'll do great, Mils!" Striker laughed, rubbing Millie's head playfully. "Just remember not to strain yerself too much, ye're still in the first trimester."
"I know, I know. I'll try not to push myself too hard. Do you know where Moxxie is? I can't wait to tell him!"
"I think he's back at his tent."
The three walked over to a secluded spot away. Moxxie had been banished from the girls' cabins, forcing him to set up an improvised camp consisting of a simple tent and a campfire. Adding insult to injury, someone had painted the word BITCH on the former. Moxxie himself looked like he wasn't having a good day.
"Mox! MOX! You'll never believe it! They want me to perform on stage tonight for the local news! Those videos have made me some kind of human celebrity!"
Striker had the feeling that Moxxie was a ticking time bomb for a while now. Unfortunately, the news of his wife being the center of attention yet again seemed to be the detonator.
"All week it's been 'Oh, look at Millerd! Isn't HE great?' 'Oh, look how talented Millerd is!" Millie's face fell as the rant went on. "We have a job to do, and you're off dancing for views! Why does it matter so MUCH how these yokels feel about you?"
Striker and Jake just stared at Moxxie in utter shock. The previous excitement and joy were all but gone from Millie's eyes.
"...It doesn't. It matters how I feel about myself. And for once, I feel like... Like I'm important. Like I'm someone to be proud of..." Tears trickled down Millie's cheeks as she shoved the pamphlet into Moxxie's chest. "And I had hoped that my husband would be there to support me half as much as I've supported him this week!"
Moxxie knew he'd messed up when she turned her back on him. "Millie, I didn't mean—"
"SAVE IT, MOX!" Millie yelled with such volume that Moxxie fell to the ground. "Finish the job; go home if you want to! But I'm gonna have my moment, WITH OR WITHOUT YOU!"
Those were her last words before running off in tears, with a worried Jake going after her.
Moxxie barely had time to process what happened when a fuming Striker picked him off the ground. His tail didn't rattle once or twice. It kept rattling as he flared into Moxxie's eyes.
"The fuck is wrong with ya?!"
"S-Striker, calm down! Somebody might—!"
"I've spent all fuckin' week controllin' myself for Mildred's sake, but now that ya went ahead and fucked up even that, ye will shut yer trap and listen!" Striker took Moxxie's frightened silence as a cue to continue. "The only reason this job hasn't been completed is because ye insisted we do things yer way when we could have simply killed the target from day ONE! I could have completed the job myself, but I didn't! Do ye know why?! Because Mildred wanted us to support ya on yer first time being in charge! She had yer back from the get-go, and what do ya do?! Throw a fuckin' tantrum over not bein' the center of attention for ONCE in yer life!"
Striker panted heavily to regain his breath, but his stern gaze never left Moxxie's teary one. At last, he dropped the thespian right on top of his tent, which fell and wrapped around Moxxie like a taco.
"How sad, Mox. I expected more from you." Striker shook his head, disappointed. "Ya better fix this unless ye want to lose Mildred's faith in ya."
Striker didn't dignify Moxxie with another word. He walked off towards the boathouse, kicking whatever happened to be in his way.
Barbie was smoking outside when he arrived. She was caught off guard as he kicked a squirrel towards the lake, right into the maws of a hungry shark.
"Wow. What did that poor rodent do to you?"
Striker took another deep breath. "Sorry, I was... My supervisor did somethin' stupid, and I needed to vent off."
"That guy sounds like a moron. Why would your boss put him in charge?"
"I'm not sure myself. He seemed to be in the middle of doin' somethin' important. Whatever it was, I think it was a personal matter." Barbie offered him a whiff of her cigarette, which he gladly accepted. "What are ye gonna do once this shipment is complete?"
"I usually wait till they send me somewhere else or go on another pick-up. It kinda depends on the demand in the market."
"Hopefully, we won't get another customer who happens to want revenge on another supplier of yers."
Barbie laughed. "I still can't believe it." She smiled at him, but it wasn't a teasing smirk. It was a genuine smile. "Thanks for letting me finish my shipment."
Striker tipped his cap. "My pleasure, Barb. I'd say I feel bad for Jimmy, but it'd be lying."
"I won't miss that nerd with a tiny dick, either. Once I bring those drugs to Sloth, you can feed him to the shark for all I care."
"Gladly." Striker checked the time on his phone. It's almost time for Millie's performance. He better check on her. "There's somethin' I have to do. I'll lend you a hand once I'm done."
It wasn't hard to find the stage the counselors had set up. He just had to follow the lights and the noise of the hundreds of people—campers, TV reporters, and visitors from afar—who came to see Millie perform.
He found Millie and Jake backstage. She seemed to have calmed down somewhat, but Striker could tell the argument still bothered her.
"Ye okay, Mildred?"
"Y-Yeah, I think so..."
Striker smiled reassuringly. "Ye'll do fine, Mildred. There's nothin' ye can't do once ye set your mind on it." he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Enjoy the spotlight, little lady."
"Yeah, we'll be cheerin' up for ye here, Mills!" Jake added happily.
This seemed to calm Millie down a bit, but she was still visibly anxious as she finally stepped onto the stage. The crowd went completely wild. Striker and Jake left backstage and found a nice spot near the front rows to keep an eye on Millie.
Striker noticed she was scanning around the crowd as if searching for someone... Maybe a particular freckled moron? Looking around, he found no sign of Moxxie. He shook his head, sighing sadly.
Suddenly, the lights turned off. The stage was bathed in white smoke as a figure emerged from a trapdoor. The spotlight turned on, revealing...
"Hey, Dad, isn't that Moxxie? What's he doin'?"
"Nothin' stupid if he values his life," Striker growled. If this were yet another attempt at getting the spotlight, there'd be serious problems.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Are you ready for a SHOW?!" The backlash was almost immediate, with the people insulting and telling Moxxie to get off the stage, amongst other things. This time, however, Moxxie didn't seem to care. "I am very proud to introduce to you..." Moxxie turned to Millie, smiling. "Someone with abilities never before seen on this Earth. Someone with the raw athletic skill of an Olympian..."
The previous tension dissipated. The shine returned to Millie's eyes as Moxxie praised her. Striker smiled...
...until Moxxie knelt before Millie, right on top of the stage. "And a body that... just. Doesn't. Quit."
Striker smacked his forehead. Thankfully, Moxxie realized what he was doing before the crowd 'misinterpreted.'
"The best and most supportive person I've ever known and the love of my life. My wife—brotheeeer... Millerd!"
Striker sighed in relief. That was close!
He saw Jimmy in the corner of his eye, hurrying towards the boathouse while everyone was busy. Oh, right. He must still help Barbie with the final shipment before they can kill the poor bastard.
"Dad, where are ye goin'?" Jake asked him as he walked away.
"There's still somethin' I gotta do, pup. Think ye could record Mildred's performance?"
"Ye don't need to ask!"
Striker ruffled his son's hair and quietly moved away from the stage. It took him a while to get through the crowd, though. He was pushing his way out of the amalgamation of people when he realized Moxxie was heading towards the boathouse himself.
Fuck, of all the times for Moxxie to finally get back on track!
Striker ran towards the boathouse, calling for Moxxie to wait for him. The thespian was moving through some bushes when he suddenly tripped. Panicking, Striker picked up his pace to catch up. Searching through the bushes, he found Moxxie on top of...
"BLITZ?!"
"STRIKER?!" Blitzo threw Moxxie off his back. "What are you doing here?!"
"Trying to finish the job you gave me!" Moxxie retorted.
"Christ on a stick, you're still working on that? It's been like a fucking week!"
"Tell that to me," Striker added bitterly.
Blitzo cursed under his breath, got to his feet, and dusted his coat. "THIS is why Striker is always in charge, Mox. He would have handled this in less than an hour."
"What about ya? What have ye been doin' this entire week, if we may know?"
"And what exactly are you doing here, sir?"
"Apparently, helping finish your botched job..." Blitzo sneaked up to the boathouse door. "But mostly, I'm looking for my sister."
"Yer sister?" Striker's eyes widened when his boss prepared to kick the door open. "Blitz, wait! There's somethin' ye need to—!"
SLAM!
"BARBIE!"
"BLITZO?!"
"Wait, you know her?!" Moxxie and Striker asked simultaneously.
"Do I know her? She's my sister, fuckfaces!"
Striker looked at Barbie, then at Blitzo. So that's why he'd found her familiar. Now that he thought about it, she had an uncanny resemblance to Blitzo.
"What the fuck are you doing here, shithead?"
"I should be asking you the same thing!" Blitzo snapped. "You check yourself out of rehab, no call, no note, and I have to track you down to this shithole with... Who the fuck is this?" he asked, pointing to Jimmy.
"No one, he works for me!" Barbie retorted nonchalantly. "Hey, Striker, who's the little twink over there?" The cowboy sighed in dismay.
"Remember my 'supervisor'?"
Moxxie pointed to Jimmy. "Sir, that guy's the target!"
"Oh, shit, Barb! Looks like your little boy toy got himself into some trouble."
"I already filled her on that." Striker pointed out, to which Blitzo pointed an accusing finger at him.
"How in Satan's name do you know my sister, Striker?!"
Striker smacked it away with a frown. "I've been lendin' her a hand with her job while Moxxie here insisted on playin' detective."
"Hey!"
"Anyhow, that human's her supplier. We should—"
"Oh, fuck... supplier of what?" Blitzo turned to his sister. "You're not back on that H-8, are you?"
"Fuck no! It's just heroin."
Blitzo sighed in relief. "Oh, thank Satan. So, now you're peddling heroin? What's the point? That shit barely gets rid of a headache."
Barbie got in the way before they could get closer to Jimmy and her merchandise. "It's honest work, okay? And I thought it would be sure to keep me as far away from you as possible."
"Oh, but you have no problem telling Striker over here?"
"At least he knows how to listen and respects boundaries!"
Moxxie raised an eyebrow, pointing a knife to Jimmy. "And you teamed up with genius here because...?"
"Turns out teenage humans are easy to manipulate." Striker retorted.
Jimmy, of course, protested, only to be swayed back into compliance by Barbie's 'Jimmy-wimmy' act again. Striker couldn't help but snicker.
"Guys... I've spent a week on this." Moxxie raised a knife. "I'm finishing it, one way or another."
Barbie got in the way, eyes glowing in rage. "Don't you dare!"
An explosion of fireworks from the outside caught their attention. Moxxie, taking advantage of the distraction, tried to stab Jimmy, only for Barbie's tail to grab him by the wrist and throw him into the water.
With that, her disguise vanished, revealing her true self. Now that he saw them together, Striker could see the resemblance more clearly.
"Come on, Blitzo, haven't you fucked my life up enough already?!" she growled at her brother.
It wasn't long before the whole thing escalated into a fight. Moxxie seemed to go completely feral as he tried to kill Jimmy at every turn, with Barbie retaliating and keeping him away from her supplier. Blitzo seemed more concerned about his sister not getting hurt than finishing the job.
Striker felt torn as he watched the fight unfold. He should be helping Moxxie kill the target, but he'd made a promise to Barbie, on the other hand. He eyed the boat and the drugs. Maybe he can still help Barbie with the final shipment.
While they were distracted, Striker began loading the cocaine bricks into the boat. To his surprise, everyone was so invested in the fight that they didn't notice him, even as they almost crashed into him a few times. Once the final brick was on the boat, Striker called out:
"Barbie, the boat's filled up and ready to go!"
Hearing this, Barbie kicked Moxxie in the groin, got to her feet, and jumped onto the boat. Jimmy, fearing for his life, followed suit while she tried to start the motor.
CRASH!
A stray rocket from the performance broke through the window.
"BARBIE, LOOK OUT!"
Striker grabbed Barbie and pulled her off the boat.
BOOM!
The two landed on the wooden dock before the projectile blew the boat into oblivion.
The four Imps got splattered with Jimmy's red blood, but Barbie was more concerned about the particles of her precious shipment now scattered everywhere.
No one said anything for a while.
"SATAN FUCKING DAMMIT!" Barbie got to her feet and shot her brother a deep frown. "Thanks a lot, Blitzo. I'm out of a job! FUCK!"
"Barb, wait!" Blitzo got to his feet and reached out for his sister. "I want to help you—Let me help you, please? You're clean now. Let's... grab dinner, we'll catch up, and we'll talk about—"
"You don't fucking get it?!" Barbie snapped, turning around to glare into his eyes. "Just cause I'm out of rehab doesn't mean I wanna see you! I NEVER wanna see you," she hissed, jabbing a finger at Blitzo's choker. "EVER!"
Striker could only watch as she opened up a portal and stepped in.
"Next time you want to find me, Blitzo, DON'T!"
And with that, she was gone.
Blitzo just... stood there. He looked like he was going to cry at any moment now. Striker had never seen him like this. Ultimately, he decided not to bring out his deal with Barbie, figuring it'd only add more salt to the wound.
He just placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Internet sensation and local celebrity Millerd Realboy caught incesting tonight! Showcasing a sickening display onlookers deemed: too disturbing to look away... and we won't."
Jake turned off the TV. "I'm sorry, Millie."
She just shrugged it off. "Oh, well. It was fun while it lasted."
"Gonna be honest, Moxxie. Not too bad for your first solo mission."
Moxxie gasped in delight. "Really, siiir?"
"No, not really. You're a fucking disgrace. From now on, Striker's the only one who gets to lead solo missions."
The cowboy got to his feet. "I'm gonna make sure the horses have enough water."
Blitzo didn't react as he mentioned Bombproof and Mortifera. He was still affected by his sister's rejection.
Speaking of Barbie... Striker waited until he was in the hallway to slip something out of his pocket: a card with a number. He'd found it on his pants last night when they got home. She must have slipped it into his pocket after he pushed her out of the boat. That girl was really something.
He'd been thinking about telling Blitzo about it, but... From what he'd seen, she wanted nothing to do with her brother—he didn't know why, but whatever the reason, he had no right to judge. She'd trusted Striker enough to give him her phone number. Sorry for Blitzo, but... he couldn't betray that trust.
Sighing, Striker began typing.
Striker: Hey. It's Striker.
Barbie: Finally! What took you so long?
Striker: It's only been a day, ye know. I had to wait till Blitz wasn't around. He's got the tendency to peek into people's phones when messaging.
Barbie: Sounds like him, alright. You didn't give him my number, did you?
Striker: He has no idea. If ye don't want to talk to him, I'll respect it. How are ye doin'? Did ye get fired?
Barbie: The product was destroyed. What do you think?
Striker pondered for a moment.
Striker: I got a contact down in Greed, a weapons dealer. He goes by the name Mikoumori. He runs a weapons shop in the Yakuza's territory. Go see him and tell him I sent ya. He can land ya a new job by the end of the week.
Barbie: Thanks... But why are you helping me?
Striker: What kind of friend would I be if I just leave ya to yer own devices after what we went through?
Barbie: As a friend, I'll give you a bit of advice. Get away from Blitzo before he ends up fucking up your life. That's what he always does.
Well, it looks like Striker has made a new friend... sort of.
Before you guys get your hopes up, though, I'm NOT shipping him with Barbie. While I agree they might make a great couple, I'm not going into that territory. Not all relationships have to end up in romances, after all.
The good thing is that I already know what I'm going to do for 'Oops', so hopefully i won't take that long with that one. See you next time!