Fat Whack Read online

  “Keep talking, and maybe I’ll let you live,” the ninja growled.

  “His base is in the woods. I’ve been there once, but you’ll never be able to get near it! He has his ninjas everywhere!”

  “What is he doing in the woods?” Ninja #5 asked.

  “I don’t know!” the vampire answered.

  He let go of a few more strands of hair.

  “Okay, okay. He kidnaps fat kids! He tricks them into thinking they are joining a club or something. Makes them do some kind of obstacle course.”

  “Obstacle courses and ninjas,” Ninja #5 said to himself. “He’s using a perverted version of the Fat Whack way. Why is he kidnapping kids? Why only fat ones? And what are the pills for?”

  “I don’t know. I swear!” the vampire answered. “He wants certain results, and I get him those results! But I do know who he hates, and you are at the top of the list! He knows you’re coming. Now that’s all I know, I swear! Please don’t kill me!”

  Ninja #5 pulled the Dr. Dracula up higher so their eyes would meet. Anger boiled within him. “I believe this Fat Master killed my Master. He hired you to run tests on these poor animals. And now you’re telling me he’s using my Master’s methods to kidnap kids. Are these kids being tested on?”

  “Anything is acceptable if done in the name of science!” the vampire answered with conviction in his voice.

  “Ok then, I won’t kill you. Scientifically speaking, you’re already dead.” He let go of the last few strands of hair within his grasp. He watched as the Dr. Dracula fell kicking and screaming into a hell he had unknowingly fashioned for himself. A feeding frenzy of epic proportions took place, and Ninja #5 forced himself to watch until the vampire was nothing but blood for the animals to lick off the floor.

  For a while, the ninja just sat there, staring into the abyss. He tried to process what he had just learned. Eventually, he stood to leave. That’s when he noticed something new—the mutants had started to revert to their natural forms. It looked freakish and painful, but also somehow beautiful, like blood being wiped off a newborn baby. Somehow, after all they had been through, the animals recovered. Seeing this gave him hope. He walked up to a console and found a button labeled “Bay doors.” He pushed the button, and two massive doors opened. Sunshine poured in. The animals moved out into the crisp morning air. Ninja #5 followed them, wondering if he might catch a glimpse of a rainbow.

  A Long Time Ago In A Dojo Far Away

  Part 1

  Pop! Smack! Pow! A twisted wet rag connected with another bully’s butt. The old man had somehow made a moist cloth look more menacing than the sword hanging on the wall just a few feet away. He twisted the rag tighter. A few drops of water dripped from it. Four kids circled the man, showing no respect for their elder.

  “We’re gonna kill you, old man!” the leader of the misfit gang yelled.

  “No one will come looking for a dead old Jap and two dead kids in this part of town,” another kid yelled.

  The boy lowered his shoulders and charged. The wet rag twisted around the kid’s neck as the man stepped out of his path. Using his momentum against him, the man made the boy spin around in a circle and crash into one of his friends. Two more juveniles charged in a similar fashion. An old foot connected with a young face. A damp rag connected with another. The man walked over to a wall full of weapons and placed his hand on the hilt of a sword. He did not remove the sword from the wall; he simply let his hand rest upon it. The group got up and ran for their lives. They ran out of the front door and didn’t look back. When the bullies had left, the man got down on his hands and knees and started cleaning the floor like nothing had happened.

  “That was incredible!” Chap said. “How can we ever repay you?”

  The man threw the rag at the boy. “Finish cleaning the floor. Where little brother stands, clean two times. Then you leave my dojo.”

  Chap dropped down and started cleaning right away.

  Master Takanashi left the boys alone to clean. He walked into a back room where he lived. The door slammed shut behind him. The room was small and dirty. A single light bulb hung out of a ceiling fan that slowly spun in wobbly circles. Cracks crawled up and down the walls, and bugs crawled in and out of them. A dingy bed lay in the corner of the room, and a toilet sat beside it. The room resembled a jail cell more than living quarters, and to Takanashi it felt like a jail cell. The Takanashi Dojo had been a point of pride in his family for generations. When he had moved to America as the last living member of the Takanashi lineage, he had brought along high hopes of taking his family’s traditions in a new, bold direction. He wanted to teach judo to families in America and make big American money while doing it, but it wasn’t all about the money. He imagined his family’s dojo full of people, full of laughter, and full of smiles. He wanted families to train together. His father had taught him that families stayed together when they trained together. He no longer had family of his own, but it would do his heart good to see other people’s families training under the Takanashi banner.

  This was a dream that had not come true, and Takanashi’s heart was not doing well. He had sunk every penny he owned into this place, and he couldn’t even afford to turn on the lights most days of the week. It was long past time to call it quits. Over a century of pride and Takanashi tradition would end with him. He had wanted to be an exclamation point in his family’s story, but now he would be a period—the final period.

  Grabbing a mostly empty bottle of whiskey, he plopped down on his bed and wished he could just go to sleep and never wake up.

  A whispering voice woke him from a barely-entered slumber. “This is not how your story ends! Get up! Stop drinking yourself to death. Go out there and train those kids!” the voice said.

  Takanashi sat up and stared at a spot in the center of the room. This was far from the first time he had heard this voice. When he had first heard it, he thought perhaps it was his conscience speaking to him. Later, he had decided that he was going crazy. Nowadays, the voice was so commonplace that he accepted it without a second thought. Sometimes he could even see it, like a transparent aura floating in the air. The craziest thing was that he had started speaking back to it. It had become his friend, and as far as friends go, it was a good one. The specter constantly encouraged him. It told him things like not to give up on the dojo and to stop drinking so much. It had even stopped him from committing suicide once on a particularly lonely and drunken night.

  “You always tell me to stop drinking. Why should I?” Takanashi spat at his floating friend. “I’ve brought dishonor to my family. I lost my wife and my child. This dojo will die with me! Now leave, and let me die in peace!” He practically licked the last few drops of whiskey out of the bottle, then threw it at the floating phantom. The bottle passed through it and shattered next to a picture frame on the wall.

  “I will leave,” the spirit said, “but know this—family is not always blood. You say you don’t have an heir, but I see two kids on the other side of that door. Something tells me they will soon be in need of family just as desperately as you.” The ghost disappeared.

  Takanashi wiped tears from his eyes. His friend had spoken the truth—those boys did look like they could use some guidance. Martial arts training would definitely help them lose weight and gain some much-needed confidence. They also needed to learn to stand up for themselves; old men like himself wouldn’t always be around to fight their battles for them.

  He walked over to the door, opened it, and saw the boys diligently scrubbing the mats clean. Not long ago they were almost killed, and now they were happy scrubbing the floors of an old run-down dojo. He could tell that they weren’t just brothers; they were friends. The teacher suppressed a smile at the thought. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like smiling.

  “My name is Takanashi,” he announced. The boys looked up at him, startled. “Training starts in the mo
rning. New students are always welcome.”

  With that said, he gently shut the door, and hopefully opened a new one. One that would lead to a better life.

  Dinner or dessert? Dessert or dinner? Why not a dinner of dessert! This is what you’ll need: breadcrumbs, oregano, salt, parsley, parmesan cheese, milk, and eggs. Mix all of the ingredients in a bowl until they are well combined. The next step is to add in the meat. I like to use ground beef, ground pork, and some ground Italian sausage. Now throw in some chocolate chips! I know it sounds bonkers, but trust me. Use your hands to gently massage it all together. Roll it all into big round balls, and then place them onto a greased sheet pan. Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Bake for about twenty minutes. I swear that they will be some of the best meatballs you’ve ever eaten. If you want, drizzle a little caramel or chocolate sauce on top. Just like that you have a dinner of dessert.

  Ninja Note: November 30, 1999

  Hidden Fortress

  “Florida! It’s not all beaches.” That should be on a postcard. Admittedly, a place that is often referred to as “The Sunshine State” is not the ideal location for ninja activity. Even so, the November air feels crisp and wonderful. These woods are a vast uncharted playground for criminal activity. The search for the Fat Master’s hideout is taking longer than I expected. It is hard to believe just how many secret organizations are operating in the Floridian wild. Having lived in the great state of Alabama for many years, I have met my fair share of rednecks. They are usually kind and generous. They are nothing at all like the movies make them out to be, but out here in these dense woods I have encountered some movie-level redneckery. It’s like The Hills Have Eyes got it on with Deliverance and made a dirty little redneck baby that grew up to start a cult.

  I have taken care of a few of these groups, and I will return to take down the rest of them as soon as possible, but for now, I must focus on the mission at hand. I search all day and most of the night. I am about to give up, when I smell smoke. I follow my nose until I see the smoke. It is rising into the air from behind the walls of a massive wooden structure. I’m able to approach within one hundred yards of the structure. It’s in the middle of a clearing that appears to be man-made. The walls are erected out of tied-together tree trunks, most likely the trees cut down to create this very clearing. From my vantage point I cannot see much of what is inside, but I can see the flames of an enormous fire licking at the night sky. It almost sounds as if a celebration is taking place inside.

  I desperately want to get closer. I need to know the layout of this place. Most of all, I need to see the Fat Master with my own eyes. Once I know for a fact that this is his operation, and once I know what he is doing with the kidnapped teenagers, I can begin planning how to take the place down. My current conundrum is that the only way to gather the necessary details to accomplish my task is to sneak inside, but that is an impossibility, even for someone as skilled as me. Security is too tight. Ninjas fill the trees all around me.

  While I am still contemplating on how to infiltrate the fortress, a massive sliding gate entrance slowly starts moving. Chains pull the wooden door aside, revealing an opening large enough that an elephant could walk through. Two obese teenagers emerge from a path in the woods and walk straight into the fortress. They have awe on their faces like they are entering the pearly gates of heaven. Through the massive opening, I can now see at least one hundred obese teenagers dancing around a fire. This confirms the story that the Dr. Dracula told me. I can also see multiple obstacle courses set up throughout the facility. This also confirms his story.

  Looking through the flames, I can see an enormous man staring straight back at me. He wears a mask, but his eyes burn as bright as the fire. There is something familiar in those eyes. The staring contest ends when the door slams shut. Cheers erupt from the occupants within. Are they welcoming new recruits? Had I truly seen such a massive man behind the flames? Did he really see me? It all seemed impossible, as impossible as sneaking into this fortress. I suppose I could just walk right up and reveal myself. I could demand to speak with the Fat Master, but that would be gambling with my decade-long mission. It would also endanger the lives of the kidnapped adolescents inside. An idea hits me like a car crash in my brain. It’s an awful idea, but it’s my only idea, and it could work. It also has the potential to go terribly wrong. I need help. I hate asking for help, but this conversation has been a long time coming. I think I’m more scared of it than the monster waiting for me on the other side of those walls.

  Fat Suited For Success

  It felt awkward. Ninja #5 sat on a fluffy couch inside an apartment located in Hoover, Alabama. His ninja mask lay on the couch beside him. His freshly-shaved head was exposed and shiny. He waited; he was willingly going to let himself be seen. Technically, he was also breaking and entering. This felt very awkward. In order to save innocent lives, he had unmasked before, but it felt weird every time.

  He was staring at his reflection on the screen of a television, mostly to avoid looking at the picture of the girl’s father hanging on the wall. The television had a Nintendo Entertainment System hooked up to it. Two controllers lay on the floor with wires all tangled together.

  The sound of keys jingled on the other side of the apartment’s door. His muscles tensed as the door opened. A Hispanic girl wearing gym clothes and a jacket walked into the apartment. When she saw the man sitting on her couch, she let out a blood-curdling scream. He had anticipated this. She attacked him. This he had not expected.

  She threw her keys at him, and he caught them in his left hand. That same hand blocked a strong right cross, immediately followed by a left uppercut, and then two lightning-quick jabs. Last but not least, the girl performed a perfect roundhouse kick. He dodged each attack easily but was impressed at the girl’s speed and power. She wisely backed away, creating some distance. Her feet kept moving as she lightly hopped from one foot to the other. Her fists were raised in front of her face, and her elbows were pulled in tight.

  “Your training has paid off. Good. It will help, Carina.”

  The words hit her harder than if the intruder had attacked her physically.

  “How do you know my name?” she yelled. Deciding to not wait for an answer, she attacked again.

  “I’m sorry for the intrusion,” he said as he blocked her punches and dodged her kicks. “Ten years ago you experienced the worse night of your life. There is more to the story if you want to hear it.”

  She froze in place. Her clenched fists raised in the air. The ninja’s heart beat hard within his chest, imagining the pain she must be experiencing. He tried to give her a comforting smile, but it came across more creepy than comforting. She punched him smack in the face. For a moment, he wondered if he had let her punch him, but she had landed that punch all on her own. The girl shook her hand like it hurt.

  “Now start talking. You have sixty seconds to convince me you’re telling the truth, or I’m calling the cops.”

  He started talking. He talked more than he had talked in years. He told her everything, leaving out no detail. She listened intently. She obviously wanted to know the truth. Her eyes watered, but only one tear was shed by the time the story had come to an end. One lonely tear, ten years in the making.

  “Carina,” he said, “the people who died that night, including your father, haunt me like the ghosts of Halloween past. I have spent the last decade trying to make up for my failure. I’ve been looking for the real killer. I believe I’ve finally found him. He calls himself the Fat Master. If I am to clear my Master’s name, and make up for my past sins, I need your help.”

  “My help?” she questioned. “Why on earth would you need my help?”

  “He has a sort of fortress hidden in the woods. He has kidnapped a bunch of teenagers; their lives are in danger. I plan to save the kids and kill the Fat Master.”

  “You need me to get kidnapped, don’t you?”


  “Well . . . yes. The place is crawling with ninjas; I can’t sneak in. The kids go in willingly, then they never leave. He’s tricking them somehow, enticing them. I need you to find out what the Fat Master is doing with these kids. Learn the layout of his base, then sneak out and report back to me. Is this something you would . . .”

  “I’m in!” she answered abruptly.

  “Okay. Okay. It will be dangerous, you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “And one more thing,” he added. “You’re twenty, but you look young and still fit the victim profile, except for one thing. All the kidnapped kids are overweight, and you . . .” he trailed off.

  “I’m a personal trainer, and a good one,” she said.

  “Exactly. So my point is, you will have to do it all while wearing a fat suit.”

  Carina looked at him for a moment with her mouth open. “Okay. Admittedly, that’s a little weird . . . but it’s not a deal breaker.”

  “Please think about it before you agree. I probably shouldn’t even have asked you. It’s just . . .” he trailed off, deciding not to finish the thought.

  “What, what were you going to say?” she asked. “Was it something about me?”

  “It’s just . . . I’ve been checking in on you at least once a year for the last ten years. You look more depressed every year. I thought that maybe you needed this like I do. Sorry if that offends you.”

  “First,” she said, “it’s totally creepy to spy on a young girl for ten years, even if you are a ninja. Second, no offense taken. You are totally right about me needing this. I was never as clueless as you clearly thought.”

  Carina pulled off her jacket. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt and a tattoo was visible on her shoulder. It looked fresh. The image was that of a phoenix rising out of a bowl of soup with chopsticks crossing in the background.