Mwah StrongNeck, the llama mercenary, sat cross legged with his trusty gun on his shoulder. The gun was incredibly shiny and as white as a person on medication that didn’t allow them to go into the sun. The laser sight that sat atop the gun was a bright saturated red, much like that same person after getting a sunburn. The rest of the weapon looked overly complex, with multiple segments, like it was designed by an artist and not an engineer.

It had only been an hour since he had completed his last job and he was busying himself with counting the spoils. It amounted to two rolls of toilet paper, a practical bounty in an apocalypse, whatever food the village had available, and quite a few corpses.

Mwah knew he should feel guilty for forgetting who hired him in the first place - the villagers that were protecting their farm, or the llamas looking to take over said farm - but he simply didn’t. Given the differences in their shouts when he shot that one freckled kid, his best guess was that the farmers had hired him. Then the llamas were shouting, the people were shouting… It was all too much for him to handle. Eventually, thanks in part to his confusion, both sides had been wiped out and he escaped with little to no injury. Some would say he wasn’t deserving of payment after such a debacle but, in his opinion, one side hired him to wipe out the other, and since everyone was dead, it was mission accomplished.

He also couldn’t remember what payment was offered, so he felt it only fair to take whatever he wanted. Some of the items were quite valuable but, to Mwah, the okra they were growing might as well serve the same purpose as the toilet paper. He leaned back into his new chair, made of the lives lost that day, and took in a deep breath. He believed it was his responsibility to use the dead in some way that gave their corpses purpose, a deep-seated belief that this was somehow less offensive than shoving them in some dirt. Typically, though, he just piled them into chairs, beds, and the occasional picnic table.

He had his eyes closed for only a few minutes before he could hear a string of suspicious noises coming from outside. Whoever it was obviously wanted him to know they were coming, given how much commotion they were making. He would guess one of them was either attempting to cartwheel through the village, or they simply couldn’t see straight, given all the things they were crashing into.

“For the love of God, Ben! Are you aiming for this shit? It’s a good thing I didn’t want to sneak up on him!” Mwah recognized the voice like a punch to the nipple. The second voice was new to him and, since it sounded like someone trying to talk with a mouth full of deli ham, he already hated the person behind it.

“I’m really sorry,” the ham sandwich of a voice answered. “I haven’t been outside very much lately and well, for some reason, I’m having a lot of trouble seeing.”

“Then clean your damn glasses!” the familiar voice shouted back.

“Tommy Tony!” Mwah screamed out from around a corner. He leveled his gun at the men and stepped out. The two figures were standing atop a gore stairway he had made earlier.

Not much seemed to have changed about Tommy Tony. He still wore cargo pants that were bulge-showingly tight, and he was still flexing his muscles for no reason. He had his hands up in surrender, but Mwah swore he was purposely contracting his biceps as he did so.

Behind him was a rather unimpressive looking man in a dirty lab coat. His glasses were as thick as the bottoms of wine bottles and he was holding a black briefcase to his chest as if it were his favorite teddy bear, with a chain attaching it to his wrist.

“State your business, Tommy! You know what this gun can do!” Mwah slapped the side of his gun. Llama slaps looked almost identical to llama punches.

“I’m here to hire you for a job, Mwah. I’m not here for revenge. It’s in the past now. I’ve forgiven you.” Tommy Tony said it sincerely.

“And why should I believe you!? Last time we were together, I remember you pressing a knife to my thorax hard enough to draw blood!” Mwah did not move an inch, sights aimed at the man’s groin. The llama wanted to make sure if he killed him, it would be very painful.

“Mwah, I swear we’ve been over this like a hundred times!" Tommy Tony shouted at the llama. "You’re a mammal! Mammals don’t have thoraxes! And in my defense, the last time we met you happened to throw my plucky child sidekick off a cliff!”

“You knew what you were signing up for when you hired me!” Mwah shouted back.

“Yeah, I did, and that’s specifically why I told you, don’t shoot anyone wearing a red shirt. Then specifically made everyone put on red shirts.” Tommy Tony threw his arms out in frustration.

“She happened to be wearing a red blouse, not a shirt. You are just as much to blame as me.”

“What the hell is the difference between a shirt and a blouse?!” Tommy Tony yelled angrily.

“If there wasn’t a difference between them, why would they have different names?”

Tommy Tony paused. The llama had him pinned with that one.

“Okay, you’ve got me there, but I’m not here about any of that! I have a mission I’m going on, and I don’t think I can do it without your help.”

“And what exactly is in it for me if I agree to help you?” Mwah lowered his gun slightly.

Tommy Tony turned to the scientist and pointed to the man with his chin. Ben Jeremy reached into his left pocket and produced a stylish pair of sunglasses, then cautiously inched forward.

Based on the stories Tommy Tony had told him earlier, he was scared out of his wits. If someone were to look closely, they would see the scientist shaking like a chihuahua left out in the rain. When he was close enough, Ben did an underhanded toss and the sunglasses landed at the llama’s hooves. The ones at the bottom of his legs.

“Are… are these for me?” Mwah bent over to grab the glasses. He picked them up with one hoof, somehow, and began to inspect them.

“Those are the first half of your payment. If you join our mission, I can promise you more where that came from.” Tommy Tony could see the look on the llama’s face and knew he had him.

“It better be good!” The mercenary didn’t look up from the glasses.

“You help me, I'll get you a leather jacket,” Tommy Tony answered.

Mwah’s face grew large with shock. The same shock the chihuahua from earlier would feel when returned to the shelter.

“A leather jacket,” Mwah whispered. As far as he knew, only two or three had survived the apocalypse. If Tommy Tony wasn’t bluffing, he could stand to become both stylish and invincible.

“I’ll even pinky swear on it,” Tommy Tony whispered back.

The llama couldn’t believe his ears. The man must be serious.

“Very well, old friend, you have my attention.” Mwah lowered his gun. “We shall discuss this mission of yours now, mandible to mandible.”

Exasperated, Tommy Tony cried out, “Jesus Christ, Mwah!”