If a burger and a marathon runner’s underwear were microwaved so long it became a sentient life-form, and that life-form was born with diarrhea, which was also microwaved, it would be the only explanation for the smell of the colony Tommy Tony was in.

Sadly enough, it smelled like home.

He had come after he received a letter begging him to return but wasn’t exactly pleased to relive the memories that came with the place.

It had been a long, hard journey. A journey causing new scars, lost blood, lost loves, and the decimation of a llama army or two. In fact, if someone decided to write a book about that journey, they would have written the greatest, most thrilling novel ever to be printed.

Still, the note begged him to make his way to one of the scientists found in his former home. At least he could use the opportunity to rest and pick up more ammo if the meeting seemed to be a bust. After his last battle, he was left with only eight bullets, two in the chamber and seven in his camo pants pocket.

He had also sustained a puncture wound from an old syringe a llama found in a gutter. He could use a few hours off after something like that. Though he might want to pull it out at some point.

As he walked the grimy streets, he was assaulted left and right by beggars, starving children, and many an ugly old hag. He realized he couldn't think of a word for old, ugly men like hag was for women. There was the term hermit, but that didn’t sound like an insult. It maybe seemed mildly sexist to the man. Soon after kicking away a begging child, he found another distracting thought.

He had given up trying to figure out if the thing in front of him was technically a person, since it looked like its mother had mated with a bear consumed with mange. He simply tried his best to determine why it didn’t just jump in a fire and end it all, given the horror it must feel every day when catching its reflection. He had to know how something that looked that way could ever believe in a loving god, aware that it had birthed them with a face like a Christmas ham partially stuck in a cheese grater.

Needless to say, he was relieved when his walk had finished and he found himself in a dark alley, away from all the people.

The door into the scientist’s lab was an unremarkable, industrial green with several layers of old caution tape strewn about it.

Tommy Tony didn’t think much of science. He felt the time these people wasted spitting on molecules, or whatever it was they did, would be better spent shooting llamas in the crotch.

Yet he had to come after reading the message in its entirety. The scientist claimed he needed a bodyguard, work Tommy Tony would normally consider beneath him, but with what this white coat was promising, Tommy Tony was compelled to hear more. He was guaranteed a weapon. No, not just any weapon. Not one that could kill a llama or two, but one that could wipe out their entire fucking race.

As he sat outside the door, he could hear the man yelling, having a conversation with himself. His voice was muffled, beyond just being heard through a metal door. He spoke in low, condescending tones, and his inflection sounded like he was speaking through a pair of butt cheeks.

Tommy Tony burst through the door with much more force than was needed. He threw his hands wide as he entered, trying to sell that he did so on purpose. Ultimately, he just didn’t want to look like an ass who was too stupid to gently open a door.

Ben Jeremy heard the door slam into the wall and was relieved to know he wasn’t the only one to struggle with that door. It was rather light.

“Tommy Tony is it? I’m happy that messenger was able to find you before being shot!” Ben Jeremy’s voice was a little clearer now, but Tommy Tony still thought it sounded like a fart with letters in it. Not looking up from his microscope while speaking also gave him a smug aura.

“He still got shot. He just handed me the note first.” Tommy Tony leaned against some weird lab equipment, noticing that it stopped blinking when his shoulder hit it. He began meticulously scraping dirt from underneath his nails, showing almost no concern for the dead messenger.

“All the more reason why my invention is needed. Those llamas seem to kill us with no remorse. Not even an ounce of compassion.” Ben Jeremy refused to make eye contact. A lesser man would have thought him an asshole, but Tommy Tony started to think he was simply too nervous to do so. The microscope just happened to be a good excuse.

“Huh? Oh no, I accidentally shot him,” Tommy Tony said, briefly looking up from his nails. “There weren’t even any llamas around.”