monster who had been quietly sleeping next to her. He awoke, seeming like he was not done napping. But hungry as always he would gladly break up his down time for some TCB and a bit of light exercise. She rubbed his wet nose on her nose and purred at him. OKAY, BOY. GO EAT NOW. With that she pressed a button opening a decent sized dumbwaiter contraption that CUJO sauntered over to casually. His stride deep with steps that sought to shake his sleep, he prepared his chop to dine. CUJO put all of his weight in the box and it clicked, opening a small compartment on the bottom right corner where a portion of cool fresh water appeared for him to enjoy. A proper amuse-bouche before the sun would constrict his doggie’s pupils into pinpoints searching for meaty calves of screaming men who didn’t put on pants one leg at a time that day expecting all of this. A bulkhead hatch sprung up on the far side of the station and CUJO stepped silently off the pad, his pure white fur gleaming in the sun. He was a mutt of too many varieties to ever discern, but was every bit of 150 pounds of muscle and mind that simply loved his people, the DARTS and a solid meal after a good nap. The remaining men looked at each other from their hiding places. The crackle of the burning and still vibrant conflagration that was quite actively barbecuing the fallen into HUMANO BARBACOA was a little disconcerting and made hearing the dog impossible. CUJO snuck up behind the first man and closed his windpipe with his mouth, gently letting him go to sleep forever. He was taught to smell and not see. But CUJO loved to see the look of the men when he made them know he was the one who would be escorting them to the other side of the great river of death. The next man could quite plainly see the dog approach but had lost his weapon in his haste to escape the MUSTARD GAS DEATH GARDEN. He tried quite pitifully in vain to ward off CUJO’s amorous advances with a fully extended right hand. But CUJO latched onto it and drove the man’s head directly into his back, breaking his arm out of the socket and ripping it clean off. CUJO had been trained in a brutal form of DOG TAI CHI that allowed him to BREAK things using weight against the anatomical structure of the THING he chomped onto. This was not something that any HUMAN could show or teach. The many who begat him were of a certain bloodline that believe in devotion and brutality. Dogs in the pecking order slide in different directions, but will ultimately stand to man’s side always. His blood knew that this was only a matter of contextual dominance. By credo, they would only serve a just master who acted in a purer manner than their predecessor. CUJO was ready to just start chewing the arm in his mouth but knew the JOB was not yet done. The third man had made a run for the hills and now looked like a wide receiver charging downfield desperately hoping fate and skill would collide in glory. This really pissed off CUJO. He was not in the mood to go for a run at all but knew it would only make the meat more tasty as he enjoyed it. With that, he dropped the dripping man arm and let out a tiny sniff of desert dust. His weight and girth galloped with haste consuming the yards between him and the last man who was panting for breath and struggling to run full sprint while unholstering his GLOCK. CUJO’s eyes blazed as fountains of saliva splashed on the sand. His mass pounded forward at the weaker and slower critter who was rapidly losing the tiny shred of space that separated them from the inevitable. CUJO liked to get really close and let the prey feel him ready to chomp, but not so near they actually slow down out of pure fear. The man began to shit and piss himself violently. This only made CUJO more angry as he was never in the mood for shitty piss-soaked food. So he latched onto the ACHILLES of the man with his lower jaw. He flipped him like a rag doll before barrel rolling (as he had been taught) while bringing down his own weight, crushing the man’s body as they spinned over several times, creating a rapid sound like bags of shells being smashed with a heavy iron hammer. CUJO let go and left the bloody broken sack of human meat for the coyotes and buzzards to enjoy. They prefer meat to be coated in fear and feces. CUJO cooly rolled himself in bloody sand until he felt clean of his defeated foe’s plasma and poo. He gave himself a stern shake and could see the man and the girl standing by the service station. A wrecker and roll-out dumpster slowly crept across the plain toward them to remove the smoldering remnant of the ZETAS who came to play. 1.26.24V 9:59: AUX MORTEM AB CHAO REGES ANTIQUI IN SANGUINE FUDERUNT FOLLOW FOR MORE — IG: @UZIEGO | TUMBLR: @SAVAGESNEVERSLEEPNYC PHOTO BY ROSA JAY No. 131
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