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Dirk spent a few precious seconds wondering how it had ever come to this.
The nightmare of the Condesce, the downfall of the final barricades, the last stand of the roBro legion, it was all ancient history now. He had always tried to be, fundamentally, a person with his two feet firmly planted on the right side of the line marked “barking batshit crazy town.” Dirk had never invited situations he couldn't handle, had never let his mouth write a cheque his ass couldn't cash.
And yet, here he was. Here they both were.
The afternoon was blazing, the heat was crippling. The sand was shimmering, and whatever comfort that had once existed was packing it's bags and emigrating some fucking where else. The plasterboard walls of the Casa Rojo were pocked and riddled with bulletholes and the characteristic slashes of a katana. The interior was a dark soft brown, sepia air splintered with the shearing beams of light where the Tijuana sun shot through the gaps. Underfoot was a treacherous sea of spilled tequila, blood and glass shards. It looked like not one glass bottle in the place had survived unmolested. Dirk stood in the middle of the room and tried to find his calm centre.
He saw Tijon and Little Copal slumped over a poker table, poor bastards never got to finish their hand. He was pretty sure that Jesus, the barman, was in more then one piece somewhere behind the bar. Dirk found a rare unsmashed shot glass and knocked back a hit of something that made him feel altogether less fucked up about the entire situation.
He heard something behind him and span, blade in hand. The fight had been an explosion of plaster dust and cordite, he might have taken down some of the hooters, he might not have done, but up until that moment he had thought himself alone in the carnage.
“Hey Dirk-ie,”
It was him.
Dirk adjusted his shades minutely. “Sup.”
“Want to play a game?”
He slouched into view around the bullet-pocked doorway of the bar, he was holding a smoking pistol that was almost contemptuously aimed at the floor. Dirk still couldn't get over the overall bullshit going on with those horns, and the outfit was as garishly obtuse as ever, but there was no mistaking that smirk.
“Hey, you.” Dirk skilfully pronounced it as a single letter 'U'
“I thought it might be nicer if we were on our own. For the game. It's better that way.”
“Some of those guys were,” Dirk couldn't bring himself to say friends, he had watched Little Copal choke down a tequila worm and Tijon smelled like an ass would if it had no standards at all, “people I had met. No need to fuckin' ice everyone.”
“Yeah but, you see, I enjoyed it. Don't tell me the little workout didn't get your human vascular pumping array going.”
Dirk shifted position slightly, casually adjusting the grip on his sword. There wasn't much chance, but maybe- if he could shift position so that the troll was caught in a beam of light then throw it- maybe.
“So. More shitty games huh?”
“That's right, human.”
“With shitty twists, too?”
“The shittiest of twists! Every twist twisting off into an even greater twist! A panoply of twisting shit!”
“Sounds like a party,” Dirk took a deep breath, “so what's the rules?”
“The rules? Simple really. I get everything I want, and you get to enjoy the crippling horror of the sickening depravity which will gradually tear your pathetic human mind like a nooksheet.”
“The fuck is one of those?”
“You don't have them?”
“Nope.”
For once the troll looked nonplussed, “savages!”
Dirk span and windmilled, and his sword sliced through the air like a big fucking sliver of sharpened metal. He didn't even wait to see how well his aim hit home before he was off and running. The sword span and impacted in the doorframe- but the troll had to twist and barely got out of the way in time, buying Dirk precious seconds. The staircase went up the back wall of the bar and led to an upper floor corridor lined with rooms where the whores would take drunk Mexicans and leave behind only sober regrets. And sexually transmitted diseases. Some of those rooms had balconies, and though it was a nasty drop he might just be able to get to a vehicle outside, and then? Then he could think about what to do next. Dirk kicked open the first door he came to and cursed his rapidly diminishing luck- a tiny window, and that only. No chance. He span and ran out again, but it was too late and he almost ran headlong into the troll. The guy was shorter, but denser and they were as a whole stronger then they looked. Dirk found himself tossed casually backwards onto the bed with a deafening rush of air punched out of him.
Dirk barely had time to gasp out a “fuck you” before he felt a weight crumple onto his thighs as the troll pounced and straddled him easily. He stared up into the barrel of a colt army single action revolver. He saw the barrel rotate into position with treacle slowness, he saw the dim reflection of his own face reflected in the dull round heads of each bullet nestled in its' chamber.
“Ready to play, human?”
“Dumbass. This is the part where you're all, like, game over.”
“Oh this game is only just beginning. This game hasn't even begun. In fact this is only the diabolical preamble, the horrifying prelude to the-”
“O-KAY! I'm ready for the bullet now, I'm not even fuckin' kidding.”
“Not so fast. Here-”
Dirk swallowed and looked up. The troll reached into his breast pocket and extracted a small white envelope which he held out confidently. Dirk took it and, after a nudge in the belly from the revolver, shakily pulled the envelope open to reveal a small, square greeting card. On the front was a picture of a kitten looking confused as it emerged from a basket of yarn balls.
“Read it, fucker!”
Dirk opened the card slowly and swallowed.
“Uh.”
“Read!”
“It.. it says, ah, I Think You’re Just Purr-Fect.”
“Yeah that's right. That shit's fucking adorable. Look at that purr-beast representing a generalised non-threatening embodiment of pleasantness. Look at the little paws.”
“I see the little paws.”
“And the tiny pink nose. Look at it!”
“I see it! Fuck are we done?”
“Not even close, human! This is merely the first act of the beginning chapter of the opening montage of-”
“Fuck!”
This went on.
Dirk woke up with a cry. He found his wrists were bound, once again, to the headboard with cloth scavenged from shredded pillowcases and sheets. Similarly his ankles were fastened to the posts of the bed. He tried to crane his neck and steal a glance at the window but it was no good, he could see a sliver of sky from his position and no more. From the position of the light on the wall he estimated that another day had passed, perhaps more. Had it been a week? His head felt fuzzy, and he couldn't concentrate easily. The game had been going on without pause, interrupted only when he slumped into unconsciousness from sheer exhaustion. The troll was obsessed with his games, it was more then obsession. Dirk was starting to feel like the game had no end at all, the players were trapped forever in this horrible room in a terrible bar outside of Tijuana. His captor seemed to want nothing more from life then to perpetuate this madness.
“Time to awaken, you piece of shit!” The voice sang out merrily from the corridor, and when he emerged into the room Dirk saw the troll was carrying an elaborate porcelain breakfast service on a silver tray. Where the fuck would he even get such a thing around here? Dirk left such questions to the ages.
“F-fuck you,” Dirk croaked. His voice was dry and stuck in his throat.
“I brought you,” he paused for dramatic effect, “a lovely breakfast!”
Dirk's head hit the pillow with a groan. Not the lovely breakfast again. Dirk found a strong hand cupping and raising his head, and a glass of orange juice was placed at his lips gently.
“Drink it,” he was commanded, “enjoy that freshly squeezed goodness, you filthy bitch!”
Dirk drank, his cheeks flushing with anger. An entire week this had been going on.
“I brought you some toast and eggs, with bacon!” His tormentor was especially gleeful this morning, “I made that shit with affection and loving care! Look at that toast, that's some lovingly crafted shit right there.”
“Please,” Dirk groaned, “just... just kill me man. Or fuck it, roll me over and root my ass, I don't even care. I want you to do it, just go nuts. Take a fucking picture. Just get it over with. Oil me up and ride me like a fucking Honda.”
That earned him a rebuking slap across the face and he grunted.
“Stop with that revolting human nonsense,” sharp teeth pulled into a snarl, black lips twisted, “this torture will not be interrupted with any merciful human mating ridiculousness.”
Dirk sighed weakly, “maybe a little bacon,”
“Yes! That's right! You love this shit you filthy slut! I got syrup and everything! This shit is primo comforting!”
“Whatever,” Dirk nibbled a little of the food as it was offered to him.
Dirk cracked an eye open. The square of light crawling across the wall was ruddy and dim, the afternoon was drawing to a close. He had been woken by a sound and he caught it again, a rustle of taffeta. Dirk nearly swallowed his tongue when, without the slightest warning, a vision in red and orange sashayed into the room. A troll in a flamenco dress, low cut around his skinny shoulders, ruffled right up his flat chest. He leapt up on the bed, standing over Dirk and flourishing the pistol dramatically.
“Look at me! You fuck!”
“What the fuck, man?”
“Look how pretty I am!”
“Eat shit!”
The pillow beside Dirk's head exploded in a shower of goose down as the pistol flared into life, Dirk thought he might have popped an eardrum and screamed.
“Look at my pretty human dress!”
“Fuck! It's pretty! It's pretty you fuckin' mentalist!”
“Tell me how pretty I look!”
“Y-you look so fuckin' pretty, I can't even!”
“Tell me I'm a pretty human princess!”
“You're all the princesses, you're the motherfucking fairest of that shit!”
He cocked the pistol again and shot the bed, right between Dirk's thighs. The human felt heat on his groin, so close had the bullet passed.
“Tell me you want to human marry me and have several human offspring bearing my genetic lineage!”
“All that shit! Picket fence! Big car! I'll get a fuckin' job and you can look after the house!”
The troll screamed and cocked the pistol again, “respect my choices in life! Treat me as an emotional equal not defined by monetary standing!”
“You're, you're the best fuckin' wife, I respect the shit out of your wife ass!”
He seemed to like that. “That's right, you sickening little shitgrub, you love that don't you? That's respectful right there. That's affectionate.”
“What do you fucking want?” Dirk screamed, “I will suck your fucking, whatever you got down there! I will take a face full of that alien wing-wang, do you even get that? Just get this shit over with!”
“Not even close, human. This game ends with a twist that will dominate your world. Prepare to lose what remains of your sanity!”
Dirk began to sob gently.
Midnight. Had it been a month? A year? Or a day? Dirk had lost all sense of time. The room was cool and blue in the light of the Mexican moon. Dirk shifted and realised that his hands were now bound together in front of him, at the wrists and elbows, in a praying position. He had been rolled onto his side after his feet were similarly bound.
He felt something pressing up against him, and realised he wasn't alone. Furthermore, his senses were informing him most reliably that he was now entirely naked. He came to full alertness in an instant and tried to squirm but it was useless. The dark shade of a grey limb snaked around to caress his chest gently and he felt and heard a voice purring against his ear.
“Here's the twist. You get to be the human little spoon!”
Dirk screamed.
“Yes-s-s-s, that's right. Shit's tenderrrr.”