"Ballaroos' jumpin' somethin' fierce tonight!" I say, spyin' clumps of all kinds standin' in line for a sip o' liquor. It looks pretty hopeless ta find a clear spot on the dance floor too, 'less you was fine invitin' anything with hips ta grind up on yer behind.
"Pretty diverse crowd," s'how Sola 'scribes it after peekin' in from the front door. Maylin whistles her agreement, Mona hums her approval, and the nutter Marcelina squeals in delight.
"It's pronounced Ballarouse, you ignorant imp!" is Ronica's snooty reply. I swear, if one of the enforcers wuzzin' friskin' me, I'da gut the stuck up cunt quick as a light flickers.
"Innit?" hollers Dotson over the ear-blastin' thumps of club music. After his men finish checkin' our gear, he tips his cowboy hat at me witta wink, and steps aside ta let us girls in. I give him a wicked eye as I pass. If him 'n his goons was paid ta watch the door, it was mo' obvious than a missin' roof somethin' heavy was happenin' here.
"Alright, ladies! Start moving into position," directs the beautiful blond bombshell, Belladonna, over our headsets. "I'll track down and interrogate our lead, but if he refuses to cooperate and tries to run—"
"Knab 'em!" I yell, feelin' energized by the loud dance music. She turns to me 'n pats me on the head. I can't help grinnin' up at her like a dolt as my belly fills with wigglin' butterflies.
"Geez, sis! Why do you always have to talk to us like we're a bunch of rookies?" asks Marcelina. I do my best ta bite back a growl. The nerve of her, interruptin' my moment. "This mission's a breeze. It's not like we're having any realfun, like killing everyone in here."
The psycho makes a face I can imagine is the same as when she's lickin' blood from her chainsaw blades. Wisely leavin' the kook without a response, our leader separates from the pack ta disappear into the sea of writhin' bodies, but not before addin', "Don't forget to look like you're having fun!"
I sing back my usual, "Yes'm, boss lady!" And that's exactly what we was doin' an hour later. Sola, the lucky platinum-muffed albino, left ta lock herself in a potty stall 'n monitor her fancy surveillance equipment. Our leader lady went who-knows-where, prob'ly torturin' some poor soul into talkin' somthin' useful 'bout our target. Mommy Mona's busy babysittin' the psychotic Marcelina out on the dance floor, which leaves me stuck at the bar with grouchy-pants Ronica 'n Maylin the mute.
"Hey! Kid!" someone hollers from my left. I turn ta see a shady-lookin' snake in a black zipper motionin' me with a head nod ta come over 'n talk. I grab my bottle of bourbon off the bar top 'n saunter over ta sort out whatever mess this is gonna lead to.
"I ain't no kid, scale-face," I growl as I approach, but she either can't hear me, or ignores my irritation. Leanin' down so me 'n her are almost bumpin' noses, she licks her lips, kinda hungry-beast like, and glares at me like I'mma meal.
"You wanna hit of Bliss, hun? It'll send you to euphoria." She grins toothlessly, and after my eyes scan the club, quickly takin' notice of all the blissed-out expressions, I flash her one back. Takin' my smile as interest, she reaches into one of the zippers ta pull out a tiny, clear bottle of toxic, sanity-slayin' yellow eye drops. "Whatta ya say, darling? First drip's free!" she sings, shakin' the bottle enticingly.
"I say you oughta peddle that poison elsewhere, bitch. I'll stick ta lettin' liquor rot my brain." I take a hard swig of my bottle, hopin' the burn in my throat'll cork the bile and hatred risin' in my gut. "Also, might lose a hand if ya ain't careful who ya wave that shit in front of. Or worse." I lift the bottom of my scarlet skirt ta show her the pistol clipped on my panties. She instantly turns pale, and I'm proud ta admit I let her scuttle away unharmed.
Finished takin' care of business, I return to the bar, jus' in time ta hear the ever-bitchin' princess complain, "This is worse than warm piss!" She spits what whiskey she fails ta swallow back into the glass 'n wipes her tongue clean witta purple handkerchief. "How in Hades does anyone gulp this garbage-water down?"
"All that amphibian blood ya put in yaself must'a ruined yer tongue for good booze!" I shout loud enough for surroundin' party-goers ta hear, and they sound their drunken agreement with cheers and applause.
"What?" she shrieks, outraged. I don't bother ta hide my cheeky smirk. "I'd never dilute my pure, divine pulchritude by splicing any animal DNA. Especially not something gross like a toad. It's blasphemous just joking about ruining perfection like this." The prude wrinkles her nose in disgust at the very thought, 'til she notices the miffed frog-morph sittin' next ta her with crossed arms. "What are you looking at, wart face?"
"I wuzzin speakin' bout yer veins, princess," I slur. I was certainly sloshed, but the hell did that matter? I'd be pissin' Miss Prissy-Pants off for fun's sake sober. "Buh-hic-sides, we all know what ya like stuffin' in yer smelly cooter." The mortified look on Ronica's face has me cheesin' hard, and the frog-morph hootin' lika hyena.
"Why you little bitch! At least it takes more than just a pinkie finger to fill me up, dwarf!" I consider muhself a pretty thick-skinned person, but wisecracks 'bout my height was somethin' I never tolerated, even as a kid. So she shouldn'ta been surprised when I draw my lil buddy 'n aim it right between her evil, witch eyes.
"I dare ya ta say somethin' like that again. Tempt me ta pop a hole in yer ugly mug, Moronica!" I feel her gun tappin' my temple as she leans in close, 'til finally we was eye ta eye, pistol ta uzi. Just like I like it.
"Are you challenging me, moppet? We both know I best you every time we clash. I'll have no trouble dropping your tiny ass in a grave after this mission. I won't even need to dig too deep for you to fit." Her eyes are golden flames. Its easy ta sense how bad she's itchin' ta cap me right here. With all the booze 'n rage in my system, I prob'ly could set her on fire witta belch. Ha! That'll jus' be me livin' up ta my name!
Maylin had been watchin' our friendly disagreement with no mo' interest than usual, starin' at us two with a bored expression. The moment weapons was drawn, the silent little psycho had blades at both of our throats. The sharp edges of her knives have me questionin' my drunken actions.
I still was considerin' takin' my chances when the cunt withdraws her gun from my face, sayin', "Alright. I'll refrain from blowing the midget's brains out tonight. You can stand down, May."
She tries hidin' it, but I can see the intimidation in her eyes. Maylin hesitates takin' the knife away from her neck, but when she does, all eyes was on me ta make a move. "Aw, hell! Things was jus' startin' ta get interestin'. Fine, ya pansies! 'spose I'll back off too. No fun if the coward don't fight back."
"Next time you won't be so lucky, shrimp!" she claims while I stuff my gun back into the safety of my panties. I s'fully aware of still scrunchin' my face in the maniacal grin that says I was lookin' forward ta guttin' her later. Her nod tells me she accepts the challenge.
Maylin re-pockets her toys with a similar grin, flippin' her soot-colored hair out of her squinty eyes. The action reminds me of the loathsome red wig I'm required ta wear for work. The boss wants his dolls ta come in all different shades and sizes. Displeasin' the boss means death.
Good thing the boss wuzzin' here. Takin' advantage of that fact, I relieve my head of the constantly itchy yarn. I glare at the cherry-colored curls that are my false identity while scratchin' the naturally brown, short, spiky strands on my head. Once I quelch the itch, I slam back another shot before catchin' both girls starin'. If either feels some type a way 'bout it, neither says shit ta my face.
We s'actin' like buddies again now that the pent up tension between us was put ta rest for the night. Ronica was actually one of the mo' decent girls in the group, when she wuzzin' busy whinin' 'bout somethin'. She wuzzin' swell, but she hadn't driven me crazy enough ta put a slug in her flesh yet, though that's the best compliment I can pay her. Marcelina, on the other hand, still ain't trustin' me 'round her while I'm shootin'.
"The deal is done ladies," informs Belladonna through the headset. "Our recently departed friend Mr. Corale just kindly offered me the information we came for. The man we're hunting is named—"
"Sorry to interrupt you, boss lady," Sola cuts in, "But it seems we'll be having some unhappy company joining us soon."
"Really? And what is their ETA?" As soon as she asks the question, the club s'hit with somethin' heavy enough ta knock out the power.
"Very soon?" is Sola's sheepish reply.
When the lights went out, people was screamin' and hittin' the floor while me 'n the girls leap up, ready for action.
"Do you know who are enemy is?" asks our leader.
"Who cares, sis?" insists the obnoxious Marcelina. "More baddies to slay means more rewards for us!"
"From what I can tell," answers Sola, wisely ignorin' the previous speaker, "They're nothing but a bunch of hired guns. Still, they are packing some serious artillery. So be cautious if you plan on engaging them."
"So, Bella?" enters the deep voice of Mona to the conversation.
"Yeah," I chime in, "Are we wastin' these scumbags or what, boss lady? I've been itchin' ta see some blood spill all night." She chuckles at my enthusiasm in that cute little way she does.
"Of course," she answers immediately; her tone rivalin' my own risin' blood-lust. "Exterminate these vermin. But do it quickly, ladies. The boss is surely waiting on us to complete our primary objective." She might as well have unleashed the hounds the way we all howl. None louder than Marcelina, the loon of us. I see her don that disturbin' metal cat mask, and the first sound of combat is the VRIN-VRIN-VRIN of her chainsaw.
A plenty of 'em spill through the entrance, armored up 'n armed better than soldiers led by Aries 'imself. Where they ever got their mitts on a flamethrower or grenade launcher is beyond me. Shootin' these punks anywhere but in their goggle-covered eyes was useless. Maylin seems ta make progress slittin' jugulars though. Marcelina's a blur of whirlin' blades 'n bloodshed. Mona, our demolition expert, fights fire with fire by tossin' bottles of booze at the bastards blazin' Ballaroos down. Resurveyin' the scene, I'm the only one strugglin'. My little peashooter s'not packin' enough firepower in this fight. Even when I manage ta drop one, four more spring up in his place. These cunts was like cockroaches.
The whole place s'torched in napalm, baptized in blood 'n bullet shells. No one still up 'n movin' cares for the well-bein' of the innocents caught in the crossfire. Ronica, the heartless bitch, holds the same terrified frog-morph from earlier like a meat-shield, blastin' her uzi non-stop with the other hand. Hell, if they wuzzin' smart enough ta duck down, then fuck 'em.
Eventually I hear less gunfire than explosions. Someone had given the order ta retreat a while back. Now I was alone, bein' bombed by bastards, surrounded by a sea of flames. The liquor s'only roastin' the place faster. I retreat to the dance floor, still littered with bodies, jus' a lot less lively now.
"Sola, where is Spit Fire?" I hear the leader lady ask.
"Still fightin', boss," I cough through the growin' smoke.
"Evacuate. Now!" she commands. The panic I hear in her voice is no doubt a stress-induced hallucination. Nothin' flusters my fearless leader.
"C-cain't do dat!" I sputter, gaspin' in the scarce source of breathable air. "All the exits is blocked. Unless... I'll try cuttin' through the pisser with Sola!"
"I don't care what you do. Just get here immediately. Do you understand?" The passion in her voice is so... visceral.
I can feel my cheeks flush as I reply, "Yes'm, boss lady!"
The fumes fillin' my lungs make breathin' difficult 'n seein' nigh impossible. I still manage ta navigate my way to the bathroom. My empty hand lands on the searin' metal handle as I fire blindly behind me ta keep 'em ever advancin' bastards at bay. I muscle through the pain 'n twist open the knob, push my way through the doorway, and am blasted backwards through the threshold.
I crash onto my spine, what little wind my body holds s'knocked free, already blackin' out from oxygen deprivation, agony, and blood loss. Hell, I was probably goin' into shock. Heh, I was a ragged, bleedin', soon-to-be cooked slab of meat on her deathbed; I was under no illusion I'd survive my grim fate.
I believe in no God, so there is nothin' worth prayin' to ta spare me. I wouldn'ta anyways; a part of me was lookin' forward ta seein' the other side. Still, I cling ta life long enough ta hear my killer say, "Nighty night, short-stack," and see her stuff her platinum hair inside a helmet and goggles.