Harper, Archer, Sheriff Callie, and Peter made their way through the deep, dark forest with their weapons at the ready. Harper wielded a 3rd Generation Glock 17, Archer wielded a SIG-Sauer P226R, Callie wielded a Remington 870 Police Magnum with wooden furniture and a mounted flashlight/laser sight as her Colt MK IV Series 80 rested in her holster, and Peter wielded a black Beretta 92FS given to her by Callie, while a hunting knife was tucked in his vest. Harper and Archer remained cautious about the Sheriff giving one of their former "enemies" a firearm, and it surprised them that Peter himself returned the sentiment for two reasons: one, he never was a fighter or soldier to begin with, and two, he was uncomfortable with firearms in general. Callie, however, shot down those concerns that anyone and everyone in her town who could work should work. In short, they needed all hands on deck if they wanted this inflitration mission to proceed smoothly.
Little wonder why such missions rarely work out in reality.
As they walked, Callie left a discreet trail of breadcrumbs so they could easily navigate their way out of the hideout should the plan go south, much to Peter's chagrin.
"You know that's not gonna help, right?"
"It's the thought that counts," Callie protested as she continued, "Also, you seemed pretty petrified at the prospect of prowling back here, so I figured I would lend a helping hand in your escape."
"To me?" Peter cocked his head in confusion, "Why?"
"Why not?" Callie smiled as she shrugged, "You've been cordial and cooperative with us thus far. I figured I would cut you a break at least."
"Oh. Well, thank you."
"It's no problem. So...are we there yet?"
"Just a few more feet."
Peter took the lead this time and carefully led the trio towards the outskirts of the town the Party Crashers have forged themselves following the destruction of the Six Strings. It bore an uncanny and uncomfortable resemblance to Volcano Rock City, if it were far more prone to madness and mayhem and the primary color was switched from red to green. Small two-story cottages were scattered throughout, splattered with and stained by the blood of several different Party Crashers sprinted from one place to another, causing death and destruction as they went.
"Good God..." Callie murmured under her breath as Harper's heart slowed down to a stop and grasped Archer's hand for support.
"Now do you see why I never wanted to return?"
"I do now," Archer maintained a calm and composed face on the outside, even if his inside expressed otherwise.
"We can do this," Harper breathed out after a moment, as if to reassure herself and evade a worser fate, "We just snatch and grab the information."
"And then hightail it out of here," Peter nodded.
"Alright. Let's go," Callie pumped a shell into the chamber of her Remington 870 as she retook the lead, leading the three Trolls down into the danger zone.
Taking a brief moment to survey their surroundings, the four of them made their way down and watched in horror as the Party Crashers got/became physical with each other. Punches were thrown, kicks were flying, and even an unhealthy dose of knifeplay and gunplay were tossed into the unholy mix. A blend of blood, guts, and beaten-up/blown-off body parts ensued, leaving Harper, Archer, and Callie speechless and aghast at the unbridled revelry of violence and bloodshed. Peter could only grimace in disgust, even if he had been long since exposed to more than his helpful dose to the point it became a natural occurence on a daily basis. He shook his head as he reached for a pair of discarded Party Crasher outfits for the females.
"Put these on," Peter handed the outfits to Harper and Callie, "Bash may have gotten smart enough to remobilize his "army" over these past few months, but apparently not smart enough to tell the difference between a fake Party Crasher and a real one."
"But these are practically paper-thin disguises," Harper slipped on the leather vest, "How could he not?"
Opening his mouth only to close it a mere second later, Callie noticed the hesitation Peter projected when he was unable to provide an appropriate answer for the appropriate question.
"Peter...is there something you need to tell us?"
"Y-yeah...but I don't want to. It's complicated."
"Then you can uncomplicate it," Harper approached, "If there's something important you left out, like if we're walking into a trap, then you should tell us now."
Resigning in defeat, Peter nodded, "Do you remember how I said Bash's attitude had significantly progressed downward and he became a psychopath, leading most of the others to follow suit?"
"The memory's crystal as clear," Archer nodded back, "Were you just sugarcoating it?"
"For a good reason," Peter shivered, "That truth's not even the half of it."
Without any further words, Peter led the trio toward a three-story cottage near the upper outskirts of the village, a series of numbered keypads in addition to a metal fence standing between them and inside access. Typing in the codes for each, Peter urged them inside as they watched each other's backs. Spotting a case of beer, liquor, and other alcoholic beverages, Peter made sure everyone entered inside before making his way to casually drink a bottle or two, even hoarding the same amount into his bag for "safekeeping". They all saw an essence of dread that practically grew on his face, causing them to feel a sense of apprehension as they anticipated what horror or horrors awaited them inside the cabin in the woods.
Wanting to save her flashlight mount until it really counted, Callie had Harper and Archer make makeshift torches to light the way as she retook the lead, giving them a lighter to do so. She suspected Peter, as sympathetic and repentant he was, was leading them into a trap, so she prepared herself (both mentally and physically) to make sure the couple made it alive and capable of making it back to Troll Village. Even if she herself would not see the next cold light of day, she preferred a much warmer fate than failure.
"Where are we going, Peter?"
"Just...f-follow me," Peter gulped as he visibly teared up.
That sense of dread could only grow and grow within the group, amplified by the gloomy and violent atmosphere surrounding them up to that point. As the four of them walked down the stairs and taking careful aim at the dark and murky walls closing in on them. Not helping matters was a rather horrid stench that grew more foul and foul with each step down. Eventually, the quartet reached a metal door that Peter hesitated a little longer to open this time before he bit the bullet and slowly but surely worked to get the door open. Not a minute in when they made their way inside and placed down their torches, their eyes widened as they gasped in absolute horror.
"Dear God..."
Mounted on the wall before them were twenty female Party Crashers.
Twenty heavily pregnant Party Crashers.
Ten of them were screaming or heavily breathing as the process of giving birth ensued. Their offspring could only echo those sentiments as they unceremoniously dropped down to the cold, rough ground, their wails of agony echoing as well in the room. The other ten could only bask in their bubble of silence as they stared blankly ahead of the future that awaited them...and it was not pretty in the slightest.
Harper clamped her hands over her mouth to suppress a horrified scream. Archer and Callie did a slightly better job at masking their fear while doing their best to assess the situation now due to being thrown a curveball, but even they were disgusted at the disturbing, dastardly deeds that the Party Crashers would perform just to get themselves ahead of the game and ensure a win.
"Who would do such a thing...?" Harper finally managed to gasp out.
"Who else, sweetheart?"
The blood of Harper and Archer ran cold as they and Callie turned around to find the leader of the Party Crashers standing before them. While one could say he stood before them in all his glory, another could also say he had seen better days and worse ones. Bash's goblin-like appearance only began to show with each passing moment, a clear sign of his diminishing mental state following his loss at the hands of the combined efforts of the Troll Tribes almost a full year ago. His biker outfit also began to show signs of wear-and-tear, not helped by the copious (if not extreme) amount of blood splatters.
Bearing his fangs as his cold frown morphed into a slasher smile, Bash wielded in one hand the Beretta 92FS that was given to Peter...who was behind him apparently bleeding out.
"Peter!" Callie moved to help their ally, but was stopped in his tracks by Bash, who wielded a bloodied knife in the other hand, which made a threatening gesture with. She backed away slowly, but kept her shotgun at the ready.
"Did you actually believe that it was going to be that easy when escaping me?" Bash giggled in amusement.
"Actually, yes," Archer narrowed his eyes into a death glare at his "brother", "Because you made the mistake of exiling me."
"Well, you made the mistake of sympathizing with the enemy!" Bash growled without a hint of irony, "Before leaping into the arms of another!"
"Who said that we were the enemy?" Harper stepped forward, careful to maintaining her distance, "We were just trying to survive!"
"I say, cupcake!" Bash snarled at her now, sending her backing away as Archer grasped her hand for comfort, "You call throwing parties, spreading joy, promoting love, and turning our blood against us survival?! That Pop Queen knows nothing of the sort compared to me..."
Harper maintained a calm and collected exterior, but as her growing tears and slight hyperventilation could attest, her strong interior was severely shaken. She had known the Pop Queen for most of her life, seeing her as something of a big sister figure and vice versa. Even if she would slip up and make a mistake or a serious lapse in judgment, Poppy would understand and do whatever it took to help cheer her up or solve the problem by providing a solution.
It was then she spotted Peter pulling himself towards the torches. Realizing what he was trying to do, an idea began to form.
"So why don't I just remove the problem from the equation right now?" Bash turned his gun on Harper now, prompting Archer to shield her.
"You're wrong," Harper breathed out, "We're not the problem, we're the solution. You are the problem."
Bash grimaced as he cocked the hammer, before Harper continued.
"Yes, we do spread joy and promote love," Harper smiled herself as Peter pulled out the hunting knife, "But you know what that gets us?"
"Pray tell. Friends? Family?"
"Yes."
Before he could process what was happening to him, Bash screamed in agony as the hunting knife was pitched straight into his back, prompting him to turn at his attacker with murderous intent. But even he was stunned what happened next.
Peter spewed a good amount of tequila on Bash's face.
A moment of silence before Bash began to derisively laugh and smirk smugly.
"Honestly, Peter. You were always a fucking idiot."
"No better way."
It was Peter's turn to smugly smirk as he grabbed a torch and hurled it at Bash, who could only gape in horror as he proceeded to catch on fire. Peter pulled himself up as he threw another bottle of tequila at him for good measure.
"Let's go!" Callie grabbed Harper and Archer as they ran past a screaming Bash, Peter hurriedly shoving them back up the stairs as he grabbed back his stolen gun. As they ran out of the cottage, the four ran into a tidal wave of ravenous Party Crashers, who rushed at the group as they fought back. They made their way out of the village, where they spared one more sympathetic glance at the three-story cottage, exchanged a few more glances among each other, and finally began their long journey back to Pop Village.