Chapter I: The Passing

Once upon a time, a meaty man named Bob lived in a dingy two-bedroom apartment. But, he was not only fat; he was part fat, part assassin. It was a Monday night that set him on the path of professional killing. 

Warning sounds escaped the steep stairs as he thumped downward, the noise reminiscent of the subsequent crackles of thunder outside. While he rested his hands and stomach on his knees, he exhaled several shaky breaths. Bob slapped his right cankle and moved again to brave the path to the kitchen through the crinkled double-pounder wrappers and sweat-stained socks. When the bag of potato chips on the counter saw him, it deflated instantaneously. He licked his cracked lips. The bag slipped out of his greasy, salty fingers several times before he popped them open. They cried out with a squeak.  

Hobbling over to the couch, he sat down to watch some TV. A resounding crunch widened his drooping eyes, but he had already eaten all the potato chips. Odd, he thought. A loud, gargling fart vibrated in the stagnant air. “Excuse me. I passed gas.” 

His salivated tongue curled to the side of his parted mouth, and the curtains of his vision closed to black. He planned to watch the next episode of the show tomorrow. 

A series of knocks rattled the door with the oomph of a punch rather than the tap of a knuckle.  “Hello?” a strong voice called out. 

A bead of cold sweat ran down his neckbeard, and he lifted his eyelids from a deep sleep to look around. He noticed a half-empty pickle jar among the clutter strewn across the table: indicative of a thief. “Must have been my roommate.” Beefy sausage fingers slipped into the thick fabric of his pants pocket and retrieved his phone. The time read eleven in the morning. Clash of Villages said his Chieftain Hall level thirteen upgrade was ready, so he immediately rushed the process with premium currency. Bob nestled his back rolls into the sofa and gazed at the ceiling. "My last alliance will regret kicking me out."

Bang, bang, bang. “Open up! This is officer Horace with the police department.” 

A flash of lightning illuminated the room in a blue hue. Did the landlady finally get the nerve to evict him? No, that old lady could only bark. “Hold on.” He swallowed his tongue. “I’m coming.” 

He unlocked the rusty deadbolt and faced a gleaming badge as he opened the door. The reflected light from the chintzy overhang beamed into his eyes. Pickle juice swam up the canal of his throat, and he craned his neck upward with a squint. 

Looking Bob up and down, the man in blue's superhero jawline dropped to give a clear view of the back of his throat. Then, a poorly contained smirk wandered across his visage. "We, uh, received a complaint about"--Horace coughed--"a smell coming from your apartment." 

"Oh yeah? How do you know it's coming from here?" Bob massaged his smooth belly with his index finger. 

The short-sleeve, navy blue uniform revealed two arms crossed, both sprouting black hair like patches of wild grass. His pudgy eyebrows traveled up his forehead.  

"Can't you see I'm busy?" A tidal wave of heat washed against the banks of his head despite the unwavering breeze of the corridor. He leaned against the hard open door with a creak. Shiny black boots clomped past him.

"It'll only be a..." The steps slowed. A hairy hand swiftly grasped the radio on the left side of his torso. "I need another officer down here." Radio static resounded before a woman replied.

"10-4. A second unit is on its way."

"Get on the ground!" He turned on his heel and brandished a taser. "And put your hands behind your back!" 

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