We're not talking about any ordinary prisoner, Hoffman! We are talking about evil on two legs.
With the armed guards down for the count, Sheri and Deadblood scrambled over the books and fallen men after Biggie. They could hear him not far ahead, his lumbering footsteps sounding like an elephant stampede.
“That fat fuck can’t possibly keep this up for much longer,” Sheri huffed, as another cadre of armed guards emerged from the hall. With a quick mental shove, she sent the front line tumbling, shoving them back onto their fellow guards. Chaos ensued, and shots rang out, with several of them meeting their unintended targets. What guards escaped the friendly fire soon found them selves cut down by Deadblood.
“The only question is what will run out first, his hired guns or his breath?” Deadblood replied, and they climbed over the bodies of the latest wave. They could hear Biggie cursing thunderously ahead, so close they could almost smell the grease wafting off his bloated body.
“No telling. It sounds to me like he is one wheeze away from a coronary though. Listen to him, he sounds like one of those weird new age whale song compilations.” Sheri remarked. Deadblood had to admit his resemblence to a whale was uncanny, both in sound as well as appearance.
The whale calls were emanating from behind and ornate, closed office door. Deadblood began firing through the door, only to find his bullets merely embedding deep in the thick material.
“Bullet-proof. Should have guessed...” Sheri glanced at him and then back at the door. She gave a hard mental tug and push, wincing a little as the door rocked abit in the frame before ripping off the hinges.
Ahead, bent over his desk wheezing uncontrollably was the subject of their whale hunt.
“Ya’ll muhfuggahs..... Ya’ll just done fucked up naw, ya hear?! No one... NO ONE.... fucks wi’ Bigge Mac... and gets away with it!”
