Every Prompt Everywhere All at Once

"Come in Butt plug, Anvil. This is Goldhammer. Roof status? Over."

"Take it off. Take it off," Anvil, also known as Ted, says.

I shake my head because the beautiful medal with two rifles crossed over a wreath belongs to me now. I took the medal from Ted and pinned it to my chest because I have good aim and he does not.

Ted swings his fist at me again. But I am not there. Again.

"That is strike two," I say, but only to Ted and not into my walkie talkie. That is so it can be a private word joke between two companion friends.

Ted does not laugh, so I swing my fist twice in the air to help him understand.

"Come in Anvil. Over." Our walkie talkies crackle together.

"I swear to God, Buddy. If you don't—"

"Come in Butt Plug. Status report. Over." Goldhammer interrupts because he cannot see that Ted and I are bonding on the rooftop.

"I shot 27 Lord Sagan pigeons, Goldhammer. Anvil also called Ted only shot two. Over."

"Anvil, just Anvil. Use call signs. Over."

Ted makes a little choking noise in his throat then presses his walkie talkie. "That's a dirty lie, Goldhammer. I shot more than two birds."

There is silence from the walkie talkie, but the rooftop is not quiet.

There is the wind. There is Ted out of breath. There is a pigeon, one of the measly two that Ted shot, flapping a wing, but it is not going anywhere.

"You must say 'over'," I remind Ted, then puff out my chest to see how my new medal looks.

Ted throws his walkie talkie down and runs at me.

I see his fat fist move like a lazy moon floating down from the sky.

And I could just stab stab stab, but I do not because Ted is my first companion friend.

So I push Ted instead.

It is only a little push.

But Ted still falls off the roof.

Ted does everything slow, so he does not have time to scream before he smashes against the street.

"Come in Anvil. Over."

I look over the ledge and see five Yellow Jackets moving in to investigate. One of them looks up and points.

Bits of the ledge shatter, then the air is filled with cracks. The Yellow Jackets are shooting, but they have bad aim. Like Ted.

"Anvil, do you copy? Over."

I do not want the team to blame me for Ted. What would Ted say if he got shot?

"Ouch!" I say that into the walkie talkie that belonged to Ted, then toss it off the building.

"Ted is dead. Over," I say that into my own walkie talkie.

The Yellow Jackets are still shooting.

I have only one grenade, but Goldhammer gave Ted two. I toss my grenade off the roof, and it lands on Ted and his two grenades because I have good aim.

Boo-boom.

"MacLady, I need eyes on that street. Over," Goldhammer says.

"Three squirters. Will engage. Over," says MacLady.

Crack crack crack crack.

I look back down at the street. My one grenade killed two Yellow Jackets and the four shots from MacLady have killed two more, but there is still one Yellow Jacket running back across the street to the shopping mall that belongs to Lord Sagan.

I lean out far over the ledge and aim my pigeon gun at the Yellow Jacket because I do not want MacLady to say that she has good aim and try to take my medal from me.

Pop

The Yellow Jacket stumbles, falls, and does not move.

Crack crack

That is MacLady wasting two bullets.

"Status? Over."

"I killed three Yellow Jackets, Goldhammer. MacLady only shot two. Over."

"Goddamn, Butt Plug, you nailed that squirter with a suppressed 22 subsonic!"

I decide that MacLady is a better companion friend than Ted because she knows her place.

"Don't congratulate him. He was supposed to have Anvil's six." That is Goldhammer talking even though MacLady did not say "over."

"You must say 'over.' Over," I remind both of them.

"Do not test me, Butt Plug. Do not test me. You know what? Half your cut's going to Anvil's family. That's 20K. No arguments. Over."

I do not understand why I would pay the family of Ted when I was able to kill him for free. I do not want Goldhammer to know that I do not understand, so I say, "Yes, that math is good. Over."

Goldhammer is saying more, but I do not listen because there is a smell in the air like burning entrails, which means danger.

I look back across the street and see more Yellow Jackets swarming out of the shopping mall.

Pop pop crack pop crack

Three more Yellow Jackets fall, but I am not happy because I do not know if I killed more than MacLady this time.

Many more cracks come back my way and shards of stone from the ledge fly at my face.

But that is fine. I am already wearing googles for eye protection.

I crawl across the rooftop to look at the street from the other corner. Most of the Yellow Jackets are running toward my building. That is also fine.

"Come in MacLady. Over."

"Go ahead Goldhammer. Over."

"Disengage, MacLady. I repeat. Disengage."

A small sun bursts against the edge of the building that faces the street, but I am already back near the rooftop entrance.

I brace myself for more Yellow Jacket rockets, but no more come. That is silly to have only one rocket.

"Come in Butt… Buddy. Do you copy, Buddy? Over," says MacLady.

"Copy. Over." I straighten my googles, then load more rounds into my pigeon gun.

"Goldhammer, he's still alive up there."

"Negative, MacLady. Disengage, or forfeit your cut. Stick to the plan. Maintain radio silence until zero three seventeen. Butt Plug, you're on your own. Goldhammer out."

"This is bullshit. I'm sorry, Buddy. MacLady out."

"Butt Plug out," I say, then check my double edged blade for stabbing.

My ears belong to me now, so I pull my headphones from my jacket and prepare myself with the sounds of Elvis. I turn the volume up as high as it will go.

The Yellow Jackets are coming, but I do not need to hear them as I am quite sure they will smell strongly of Lord Sagan.

They will also have many stairs to climb, so there is time.

I have only two Elvis songs on repeat, but they are his best songs: Rubberneckin' and A Little Less Conversation.

I tried to get Goldhammer to listen to those Elvis songs after he said I had good aim and that I could be part of the Lord Sagan job.

But Goldhammer told me Elvis was crap.

I told him that Elvis is the King of Rock and Roll.

And Goldhammer said that Elvis was a fat slob who died on the toilet.

Then he called me Butt Plug instead of Buddy, but I do not mind that name.

A butt plug is better than a gold hammer because gold is a very soft metal and cannot be used to hammer anything. And Ted showed me a picture of a butt plug once, so I know that it is short, thick, and powerful. Like me.

So I do not mind Butt Plug, but I do not like how Goldhammer said that Elvis is not the King of Rock and Roll.

I do not like that at all.

Goldhammer thinks he is the leader, but he is not. He knows nothing about Rock and Roll.

He thinks he is the man with the plan to take down Lord Sagan, but he is not.

There are no plans with Cancroides like Lord Sagan.

So, here is what I will do:

I will stab stab stab.

I will pop pop pop.

And then I will rip out the eyes of Lord Sagan.

That is what I will do.

A new group of pigeons arrives on the roof, but I do not pop them with my pigeon gun. They are not Lord Sagan pigeons and there are only nine of them, but they are good birds that know their place.

I point to the roof entrance door so that the birds will know what to do.

I can smell the first Yellow Jacket coming. He smells like burned pickles. And that makes me furious.

Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy

Elvis is the one who says that in my headphones, and it is good advice, so I crouch down behind the pigeons to the side of the door.

When the Yellow Jacket opens the roof door all the way, the pigeons fly up, which makes him throw his hands up, which makes me jump up and…

Stab stab stab!

The Yellow Jacket cannot scream because of how I stabbed him in the throat.

I take his jacket.

There is a lot of blood inside the jacket, and that is good because I will smell like just another Yellow Jacket to Lord Sagan until I am very close.

I feel the walkie talkie crackle in my pocket.

At first I ignore it because I do not want to talk to Goldhammer. He will tell me to do something stupid like give my new jacket to the family of the Yellow Jacket.

Then I realize the crackling walkie talkie is in the pocket of my new jacket. I take my headphones off.

"Come in Murphy. Roof report? Over." It is a deep voice.

"I am on the roof and it is all clear. Over," I saw into my new walkie talkie.

"Who is this?"

"You must say 'over.' Over," I remind the voice.

"Don't damage his face. I want to rip out his eyes." That is a new voice, but I know right away that it is Lord Sagan speaking because my right eye twitches.

"No, I will rip out your eyes," I say, but I am so mad that I forget to press the talk button.

"Can you hear me young one? I'm coming to take your eyes. You'll see. But not for long," Lord Sagan says.

That scares me. Not the Cancroides word joke or the part about eyes, but the contractions.

I am. Iam. You will. Youwill. Yowll.

I cannot use contractions, but Lord Sagan can.

"Aye aye," I say to show Lord Sagan that I, too, at least know how to make word jokes, but then I realize that it only sounds like "eye eye." I should have said "aye aye, captain." Is it too late?

"I'll take your left eye first, and I'll show it to your—"

Yes, it is too late. Lord Sagan is already using more contractions.

I put my headphones back on to cover my shame.

A little less conversation, a little more action, please

All this aggravation ain't satisfactioning me

Yes, you are right, Elvis. It does not matter what I say. Action, the ripping out of eyes, is more important.

I step over the body of the one they call Murphy and shoo the pigeons down the stairwell. The birds hop and flutter down the stairs as quietly as they can.

The first pigeon to return pecks my boot three times. That is a good number.

"Grenade," I shout and throw my Yellow Jacket walkie talkie down the stairwell.

I run down the stairs and past the door where I can smell the Yellow Jackets waiting for my fake grenade to explode.

I stop one flight below the door.

The door above opens and one Yellow Jacket pokes his head out.

Come on, come on (come on, come on)

Don't procrastinate, don't articulate

Girl, it's getting late—

Pop pop pop

I run back up the stairs and stab stab stab because I made a bad shot and hit one of the Yellow Jackets in the neck instead of in the head. I am glad that MacLady was not here to see that.

The stairwell door opens again, and I see a fourth Yellow Jacket standing there with a shotgun.

POW

This Yellow Jacket has even worse aim than Ted because she only shoots my chest near my shoulder.

The blast spins me around, but I am already on her before she can pump another shell to shoot.

I am still slamming her head in the door when the next pigeon flutters up the stairs.

Pigeons are not perfect with numbers, but this one pecks my boot many times. It is not a good number.

I check my chest. Oh, that is very bad—no, wait it is okay: My shiny medal for good aim is still there.

I just did not see my medal at first because of all the blood and torn flesh. Yes, my medal just has a small dent, so I wipe it clean then pin it to the other side of my chest.

Then I take the suppressor and rifle stock off my pigeon gun. Now it is my pigeon pistol. Then I take the shotgun because it has a strap. Now it is my shotgun. Then I pick the biggest Yellow Jacket off the ground and hold him upright from behind. Now he is my Yellow Jacket.

I walk my Yellow Jacket all the way down the stairs to the ground floor.

I did not need pigeon pecks to know there is a swarm of Yellow Jackets in the lobby. The aroma down here is like a thick cloud of pickled cigar smoke.

I brace my Yellow Jacket against the stairwell wall so that I can open the door.

"Ouch! I am shot," I say from behind my Yellow Jacket. "Oh oh, ouch!" I say again so that the swarm will feel even more compassion.

Then I poke my pigeon pistol out from under the armpit of my Yellow Jacket.

PopPopPopPopPopPop

The swarm shoots back. My Yellow Jacket is falling apart so I push him into the swarm.

POW smash stab, but many more times than that.

I do not have time to reload when I run out of bullets, so I stab a Yellow Jacket deep in the back and take his gun.

When my new gun has no more bullets, there are still seven more Yellow Jackets, but I will not be able to stab them all in time.

Crack crack crack crack crack crack

That is MacLady. She has come back like a true companion friend who knows her place.

I have enough time to load one shotgun shell, but that is all I need.

POW

The face of the last Yellow Jacket explodes in red mist, blown to bits like my face would have been if not for MacLady.

I see my companion friend is slumped against the check-in counter. I walk over to her.

She is moving her mouth, so I remove my headphones

"… the bastard… he used… it was all…"

And I feel words clawing to get out of my throat. It hurts me to say them, but I do.

"You have good aim, MacLady."

Her head slumps to the side, but her eyes are still open wide.

And her eyes are staring up at my shiny medal.

Am I supposed to give my good aim medal to her family?

No, I will not.

Before I go to the shopping mall across the street to rip out the eyes of Lord Sagan, I must reload my shotgun and my pigeon pistol.

But my hands start to shake when the stench of dominance hits me.

Lord Sagan is already in the street.

So is Goldhammer.

And he is magnificent. Not Goldhammer, but Lord Sagan.

He is bright yellow from head to toe and wears a full-face helmet covered in spikes.

I gnash my teeth. Why do I not have a helmet covered in spikes?

Goldhammer only has a flamethrower that does not stab or rip.

Lord Sagan lifts a manhole cover from the street while Goldhammer spits flames and blocks his own line of sight.

The manhole cover cuts through the fire and knocks Goldhammer over. He slips free from his flamethrower backpack before it catches fire.

When he stands back up, he is holding a sledgehammer. Goldhammer knows nothing about Rock and Roll, and he knows nothing about Cancroides.

Lord Sagan does not try to dodge the sledgehammer. He absorbs the blow then pulls Goldhammer in close, lifts him high in the air, and crushes him against his bright yellow chest.

That is when I load the last bullet into my pigeon pistol and step out into the street.

"Goldhammer! Who's the King of Rock and Roll?"

Goldhammer is flailing to stay above the helmet spikes below his chin, but he turns to look at me.

Wait… Who is. Whois. Who's!

"Who's the King?"

Goldhammer does not—doesn't!—answer because he has impaled himself on a helmet spike.

Lord Sagan rages when he smells me for what I really am, but I have the advantage of not having a large man hanging by his chin from my head.

I pop and stab to work my way into his helmet.

And when the hole is big enough, I stick my shotgun inside.

POW POW POW

I do not get to rip out Lord Sagan's eyes because they are already hanging loose. But when I find the eye with the little black Cancroides inside, I take my time tearing off Lord Sagan's tiny claws and inhaling his panic perfume.

I've decided that I won't take Lord Sagan's spiked helmet, but I will take his shopping mall.

And how the pigeons and companion friends will flock to me.

I have found my place.

I put my headphones back on.

Elvis is in my ears and I'm in my eye and I—

Like what I see, I see what I like and it gives me such a glow, hey hey hey