Budd sitting in his car
From Infictive
Budd is sitting behind the wheel of his parked car, His hands slide all over the wheel and his mouth spurts flecks of spit as he makes the noises of high impact driveing. His suitcase for of top secret info lays forgotten in the backseat beside his .22 handgun and a now car temperature bottle of food. He is supposed to be driveing to the Lodge, should have been there already in fact, instead he plays at driveing with a mad gleam in his good eye. A astro van drives up, the passenger window is rolled down. The rider raises up a cross bow loaded with a syringe, he gazes down the site and he squeezes the trigger. The bolt speeds accross the spaces between and it lodges into Budd's arm with a short wet sound, the venom emptys into his blood stream. Budd falls onto the now blareing horn as everything goes black. "Got em!", The passenger sings with glee. "Cha-Ching", Chuck , driver makes a cash register sound. Bart Gleads made a trumpet fanfare sound with his ass. The two men hurry out, open the side door and drag Budd out of his car and into they're van. As Chuck drove the speed limit and played a medley of Holy Fist, hard-core gangsta rap and Queen songs as preformed by DMX, his pardner was in the back of the van prepping Budd Kaiser. Budd was barely awake, but he couldn't move, he couldn't use his mind beyond adjusting a few near-by molecules. He sent a feeble distress signal to Connie Sativa, the only person he knew of who could save him now. Connie soared far away on a cloud of milk, the stars shimmering in they're paths. Do her eyes hear something? Something wrong somewhere? Bart strapped the restraints onto Budd's arms and legs. He got out the air drilling tool and he handed Chuck the power end to plug it into the cigerette lighter. Somewhere deep inside, Budd was struggling to awaken.
