Fat Whack Read online

  Like so many times before, he would check it out, but he doubted that this lead would lead him any closer to finding his master’s killer. He took one last glance at the sad girl, waved an unseen goodbye, and then headed out. He would search out any and every site that had ever been connected to Imunotech laboratories. He would do it with a pill in one hand and hope in the other.

  Everyone flips out when I tell them I like to pour milk on my popcorn and eat it like cereal. Even though the Indians and the pilgrims did it like forever ago, people act like it’s some new gross thing that I just made up. The first comment is always about how the popcorn would get soggy. To that I say, “If you eat it fast it doesn’t.” But I get it—it’s too crazy for some minds to accept. Here’s an idea: Cracker Jacks! Pour a box of Cracker Jacks in a cereal bowl and then add the milk. The caramel coating acts like a caramel raincoat, keeping the sogginess at bay. You’re welcome!

  Ninja Note: February 1, 1993

  The Great Prison Blimp Explosion

  San Francisco is a great place to enjoy some San Francisco treats. While doing so, I happened to overhear a woman crying. She was talking to someone about her son’s jury trial. He had recently been on trial for burglarizing a home, and he was found guilty on all counts. She explained that he was a good kid, but he had started hanging out with the wrong crowd. They had convinced him into being their getaway driver. His sentence was two years aboard the infamous San Francisco Blimp Penitentiary. It was one of the five floating blimp prisons that the great state of California had created to further separate the trash of society from its law-abiding citizens.

  Building and implementing the flying fortresses was a controversial decision to say the least. The majority of people did not approve. Over the years, the San Francisco blimp had gained a reputation for being the most violent and corrupt of the five prisons. This lady’s eighteen-year-old baby boy had just been sent there—a lamb to the slaughter. She seemed to understand that he was guilty and needed to pay for his crimes, but she was upset that it would be aboard the worst of the blimps.

  Normally, severely punishing criminals would not bother me in the least, but what was taking place in this prison was far too evil to ignore. The locals called it the hell in the heavens. Beyond the typical mental and physical torture that takes place at all facilities such as these, at this particular prison, one inmate per month was being randomly selected and then thrown out of the blimp to his or her death. Word around town was that the best vantage point to view this atrocity was on the east sidewalk of the Golden Gate Bridge. It happened at sunrise on the first day of every month like clockwork; an inmate’s body would hit the body of water below. The blimp’s warden, Alcot Harden, had previously stated in various video interviews that this was being done as a crime deterrent. The truth was that the man had lost touch with reality. He had spent too much time separated from and above everyone else—everyone except his criminals.

  Upon arrival at the Golden Gate Bridge, I saw that a large crowd had already gathered. Tensions were high. Half of the group were there to drink beer and see a show, and the other half were there in protest.

  “Hurry up and throw somebody out of the blimp already!” a man yelled.

  Boos erupted from the other side of the crowd. They waved homemade signs at the man. One sign read, “Let he without sin cast the first inmate!”

  Finding an unseen way onto the blimp was hard, but not impossible. Once inside the airship, I infiltrated the master control room and released the inmates. I then set off a chain of events that would cause the airship to blow sky-high. When it exploded, cheers erupted from both sides of the crowd for completely different reasons.

  Instead of just one, every inmate in the prison was forced to jump that day, and the guards too. Only this time it was from a much lower altitude and with floatation devices. Unfortunately, Warden Harden went down with the ship. Afterwards, law enforcement undertook the monumental task of fishing all of the inmates out of the water. Amazingly, only one convict managed to escape. Between you and me, the escapee might have had a little help. However, after the boy has finished hugging his mother, I will make sure the authorities find him passed out on the shore. It will be obvious to all that he was still recovering from a disorienting prison blimp explosion.

  The Devil’s Ark

  The county was littered with run-down and abandoned laboratories. They had become havens for the homeless or hip hangouts for youngsters. The few Imunotech laboratories that were still in operation seemed to be reputable. Ninja #5 was now arriving at the last place on his long list. It was an industrial plant that had been listed in the company’s database as rented space for equipment storage. Looking at it now, the place was massive. Multiple smokestacks protruded from it. Dark smoke billowed out of them. Pipes that were thick with green mold slowly dripped chemicals into a polluted river below. It certainly looked like a place nefarious characters would be drawn to, and the armed guards patrolling the platforms only added to the ominous atmosphere. They were definitely not your usual security guards; they looked ready for war.

  From the underside of his hang glider, Ninja #5 took in the scene. With perfect timing, he released his grip and fell like a bat that had died of a heart attack. Passing through a tower of smoke, he landed on one of the platforms. Wasting no time, he incapacitated the nearest guard. He quickly dragged the man and himself into the shadows. Half an hour later, every guard was knocked out, hog-tied, and pushed over the rails of the lowest level. They dangled from ropes like worms on a hook just above the water.

  Making his way into the guts of the facility, he descended staircase after staircase. Screams ascended the stairs as he descended them. A putrid smell like rotting meat invaded his nostrils. Reaching the lowest level, he walked down a long corridor filled with doors. Each door resembled something that you would find on a battleship or submarine. They looked heavy, and they were grey with a rounded porthole in the center. Looking through the portholes proved useless—each had been painted over with black or red paint from the inside.

  A loud noise filled the corridor. Ninja #5 jumped up and planted himself against the ceiling. His back and butt touched it. One arm and one leg pushed firmly against the uppermost part of both walls. One of the doors behind him screeched loudly as it was pushed open. A man in a yellow hazmat suit exited. Flies and gnats exited with him. The door slammed shut behind him, but not before Ninja #5 prevented the door’s locking mechanism from engaging by placing a throwing star in just the right spot. He remained motionless as the yellow figure passed underneath him. The tip of the man’s hazmat suit almost scraped his abs. For a brief moment that felt like an eternity, the man paused directly underneath him. The ninja’s arms ached, and his legs burned. The yellow suit swatted at a fly on the wall to its right, and bug blood splattered as three flies died with one blow. The man in the hazmat suit then continued on his way, disappearing at the end of the corridor.

  Ninja #5 opened the door and caught the throwing star before it hit the floor. Once inside, he walked down a short hallway that opened up into a massive room. It was like a cave of cages. Each cage was stacked on top of another. Bolts held them securely to the walls. The containers each held a different species of animal, and the animals all made noises like they were scared and in pain. Two lions roared in agony to the ninja’s right. A couple of not-so-happy hippos bellowed to his left. He could even see two giraffes at the far end of the room. It seemed like if a species of animal existed, then two of its kind were caged here—like a demented Noah’s Ark.

  Light flooded the place, and a loud hum filled the air. The overhead lights were so bright that the animals retreated into the corners of their cages and buried their faces. From behind the brightness an accented voiced spoke.

  “Welcome, Ninja #5. We have been expecting you.” The man stepped into view. He was standing on a catwalk high above the room. His skin was pale and his eyes dark. He looked
like a Hot Topic employee with a lab coat on. Under the white coat was a graphic t-shirt and skinny black jeans with safety pins clipped all over. Jelly bracelets hung in abundance from his wrist, and his fingernails were long and painted black. His face was flat. His nose was stuck up. Red blood spatter decorated his white lab coat.

  The ninja was both annoyed and exhilarated. This thing had called him Ninja #5. Very few knew him by that designation, and all of those people were from a lifetime ago. That meant that this creature had been in contact with someone from the old days, from his Fat Whacking days.

  The wannabe Dracula picked up a device of some kind and began to laugh. Ninja #5 allowed himself a small laugh as well. The vampire scientist laughed because he thought he had trapped a ninja. The ninja laughed because he was about to trap a vampire.

  Paging Dr. Dracula

  There was a time when your average Joe would be called a lunatic for believing in the supernatural. Within the last decade, the tables had turned. Nowadays, you are considered a lunatic if you still claim there is no such thing as monsters that go bump in the night. Werewolves, zombies, vampires, Bigfoot—all of these and more are real and are known by the general public to exist. What is not known to the general public is the fact that a ninja is the one holding back the monstrous tide. Ninja #5 had recently put down a pack of werewolves that had been eating children by means of a legit babysitting service. He had also brought an end to the terror that had gripped the nation when the Girl Scouts of America had been turned into flesh-eating zombies. After the incident, cookie sales had gone through the roof.

  The culprit behind the turning of the adolescents into the walking dead was a vampire scientist now known as Fredrick the Dead. This made vampire hunting a top priority to those who believed. Vampire hunters, nicknamed “buffys,” came out of the woodwork. In response, the vampire community wisely revealed themselves to the world in an attempt to put their best fangs forward.

  By order of the vampire high council, another vampire scientist created a vaccine that cured and protected against further zombie infections. This helped to turn the tide of popular opinion concerning vamps. When they had first been revealed to the world, vampires had quickly replaced ninjas as the things to fear. After the cure, they had just as quickly been taken off the enemy list and then rose to the height of popularity. But even with their newfound fame and acceptance, there was one type of vampire that still caused massive amounts of debate—vampire scientists.

  Statistically speaking, one out of every three vampire scientists went mad. For every two that cured a disease or invented some revolutionary technology, one would use its intellect to cause mass destruction and murder.

  In their literal eternal wisdom, the vampire high council, along with the US government, signed a law into effect that banned vampires from practicing any type of science without first going through a stringent vetting process and acquiring a license. Even after obtaining a license to practice, all vampire scientists had to submit to random lab searches. They were under the closest of scrutiny. This made vampire scientists without proper licensing game for any “buffy” to kill. Killing vampires scientists who had not obtained a license to practice was actually encouraged by the government as long as you passed a test and paid for a vampire hunting license. The licensing process cost seventy-five dollars. If you wished to obtain one, it could be easily accomplished at your local DMV. All vampires who were crazy or foolish enough to continue practicing science without authorization after the law went into effect were henceforth nicknamed “Dr. Draculas.”

  On The Pill

  The Dr. Dracula held what looked like a massive garage door opener in his hand. A long finger hovered just above one of three buttons on the device.

  “You took too long. The Fat Master can’t be stopped now!” he yelled.

  Ninja #5’s heart skipped a beat—could this “Fat Master” be the killer he had been looking for all these years? He raised his sword towards the vampire but did not attack in hopes that it would keep talking. It worked.

  “I have fulfilled his order! The pills are out for delivery! He will be pleased because I have done all that he asked and more. I think he will be even more pleased when I bring him your corpse.”

  The vampire pushed a button on his remote, and a sound like rain on a tin roof permeated the room. A sprinkler system of sorts activated, and thousands of red and blue pills rained down and bounced off the concrete floor. The ninja held out his hand and caught a pill. It had a label on it that read “Imuno 88.” Other than a different number, this pill was identical to the one he had found earlier.

  A large amount of the pills had landed inside the animal cages, and the animals were gobbling them up as if they were candy. A few moments later, #5 had to shake his head in disbelief. The animals were transforming. Muscles on the caged creatures began to grow larger. Scales and horns grew along their spines and foreheads in ways that Mother Nature never intended. Every animal in every cage transformed into something horrific. They roared and clawed at their confinements, wanting to break free.

  The vampire scientist pushed a second button, and one of the cages opened. Two enormous hippopotamuses charged out. Foam poured from their massive mouths. Where normal hippos usually have an obese quality about them, these two looked like a brown bag of biceps on top of four legs. The ninja barely had enough time to roll out of the way before one of the charging beasts smashed headfirst into a cage of mutated monkeys. The cage burst open, and the monkeys that hadn’t been squished to a paste under the hippo’s large frame poured out. Their tails had grown longer than normal, and they were using them like a whip to lash out at anything within striking distance.

  A few began attacking the hippo, while a few more were busy being eaten alive by it. The second hippo charged, its mouth wide open. The ninja jumped and twisted in mid-air. He used his sword to slice open the hippo’s back like it was the world’s largest baked potato. He desperately wished there was another way—he hated animal cruelty—but in this moment, he had run out of options. Hopefully, the pain would cause the hippo to retreat into its cage, and there would be no more need for bloodshed, at least no animal bloodshed. The hippo did start to walk back towards its cage, until the monkeys attacked. They began yanking and ripping at the injury on the hippo. They bit and chewed at exposed flesh and muscle. One of them actually clawed its way inside the wound, and a muffled howl could be heard from the hippo’s innards.

  Ninja #5 tried to knock the monkeys off of the poor beast, but it was too late. It wailed in agony. He was thinking about putting it out of its misery when he saw a group of security guards run into the room, guns raised. If the remaining hippo or the mutated monkeys didn’t kill him, the guards would finish the job.

  A monkey jumped onto his chest and forced him to the ground, its awkward weight heavy upon his torso. The primate beat at his face with two paws, pounding him over and over again with clenched fists. Between swings, he quickly placed his sword in front of his face. When the monkey tried hitting him again, its hands detached from its arms. One paw landed on each side of the ninja’s head. Loud footfalls approached. He rolled just in time to get out of the way of the remaining hippo. A few more monkeys jumped off of the hippo’s back and started attacking him with their tails.

  The situation had become overwhelming. He had to end this. Grabbing both of the severed monkey paws from the floor, he threw them at the watching vampire above. The vampire caught the first monkey paw with his right hand and the second with his left, causing him to drop the remote. Ninja #5 jumped off of the hippo’s back and caught the remote in mid-air. The guards started firing their weapons at him. He hid behind the hippo and pushed buttons as fast as he could. Hundreds of loud clinks sounded as all of the remaining cages opened. The guards turned their attention to the animals and began firing immediately.

  The animals attacked the guards like it was what they had been created to d
o. The badly injured hippo’s massive jaw opened and closed on a man. Two giraffes were using their long necks and newly grown horns to beat a guard into the ground. The guards managed to take down a few of the unfortunate creations, but they were too outnumbered to kill them all. From behind cover, Ninja #5 watched as a clan of gerbils took down a guard as he shot his weapon in vain at the ground. It was scary. In their mutated forms, they each looked like Scrappy-Doo from the live action Scooby-Doo movie.

  Taking advantage of the chaos, he turned his attention to Dr. Dracula. Climbing the now-empty cages, he was able to jump up and grab onto the edge of the catwalk the vampire was on. Dangling by one hand, he risked a quick look down and saw that all the guards had disappeared, either in the bellies or under the feet of the animals they had helped abuse. He pulled himself up and ran after the mad scientist. The vampire was leaping from section to section of the hanging sidewalk in order to avoid capture. He was able to get close enough to grab a handful of the vampire’s long black hair. He yanked hard and pulled him to the floor. Then he swung him over the edge of the walkway.

  “Talk, or I’ll feed you to your hungry hungry hippo. Who is the Fat Master? Where is he?”

  The vampire kicked his feet and scratched at the ninja’s hands with his long nails. “I’ll never talk!” he screamed.

  Ninja #5 let go of a few strands of hair. The vampire fell a few inches and stopped with a jerk.

  “All right, all right. I’ll talk! I don’t know who he is, but I know where he is. I have to send shipments to some backwater town called Myakka City all the time. He’s in Florida!”