Toying Around

Maurice sure had interesting targets sometimes. Quincey had never even heard of this athlete, but apparently he was a bigshot who was really, really good at pole vaulting. The mere idea seemed like a dream -- he could get to so many places like that -- but it was also a ridiculous sport. Quincey couldn’t help but laugh when Maurice gave him the information.

“And you want this guy because?”

“I need a fit specimen,” Maurice said, as if that was obvious. “And Guy fits the bill.”

“Wait. His name is Guy? Literally Guy?” Quincey couldn’t help but crack up again at the absurd name. He slapped the side of his knee this time, mimicking a wheezing sound.

“Stop laughing, Quincey. I’m giving you a job here.” 

Quincey hadn’t stopped laughing, so Maurice had literally booted him out of the house instead of giving him a ride. Thankfully, it wasn’t a long walk, even for him. Guy Noramun lived in a mansion about twenty minutes away from their house -- an hour away by walking on his short stubby legs and hiding on the bus.

He knew what to do: get in, get Guy, get out. He had been modified so that he could drag a dead human relatively easily, but if this person was as fit as Maurice had said, maybe he would have to get some help. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

When Quincey arrived at Guy’s mansion, he balked. A massive iron gate stood in his way, blocking the easiest possible entrance -- oh. There were gaps in between the bars. Quincey scoffed. At least his short stature was finally good for something. He double-checked to make sure he had his knife. Once he felt the handle, he moved in. 

It was easy to slip through the spaces in between the iron spikes. Quincey’s pointed knee got caught, sure, but that was only a minor inconvenience. The biggest problem was the walk to the actual mansion. The path there was on a hill, winding and twisting to a five-car garage. At least, Quincey assumed it was a five-car garage. It was definitely big enough. 

He grumbled to himself as he made the hike, cursing his stubby little legs and the dirt that was getting caught in his chassis. Quincey would have to get cleaned out once he got back. Hopefully this wouldn’t get in the way of his work, but ... hey, he was an expert. He could make this work. 

The tricky part would be wiggling his way into the mansion. Quincey hummed to himself, deep in thought, as he continued to move. He wasn’t strong enough to open a window, nor could he really ... wait, hold on. There was someone here. Quincey froze, immediately flopping down onto the ground in his usual disguise: a discarded toy. 

Quincey couldn’t see much from his current angle, but he did see the worker -- a mechanic? -- turn around to see the toy on the ground. He blinked, walked over, and picked him up. Quincey wanted to stab the guy for daring to touch him, but he willed himself to remain perfectly still. 

“Huh. Must have been left behind by his kid.” 

Oh, great. The mechanic knew Guy pretty well ... or at least did a lot of work for him. Quincey internally groaned. While he was being brought into the house, that problem was replaced by another problem: he’d probably have to kill two people today. If Guy caught onto what was happening, he was as good as scrap. 

“Hey, Guy!” the mechanic called out. “I found one of Bella’s toys!”

“Ah, crap. Again?” 

Quincey wanted to move so badly. He wanted to lift his head to see what, exactly, Guy looked like, and why Maurice wanted him so badly as a specimen. Unfortunately, his back was to Guy. While he could hear the footsteps, all he could see was the hand that gently took him.

That fixed itself quickly.

The moment he was flipped around, Quincey understood. Guy was ripped beyond belief and in excellent shape; that much was clear even with his limited vantage point. He handled Quincey with care, turning him over a few times. 

At this rate, Quincey was going to get sick -- wait. He couldn’t get sick anymore. Awesome. 

“I don’t recognize it,” Guy said in an annoyingly brusque tone. “But I guess I’ll put it in her room. Maybe her mom got it for her.”

Yes! This was his chance! ‘Get the hell outside,’ he willed to the mechanic. If he could be alone with Guy, then he’d only have to kill him! And this was the perfect opportunity! All Quincey had to do was get him before he got into his daughter’s room. 

The front door shut as Guy ascended the stairs, and Quincey nearly cheered. He managed to remain limp and still as Guy rounded a corner that led to at least three hallways. How big was this place? Quincey wanted to scout, but there was no way to. All he could do was wait. And wait he could. 

Eventually, Guy reached a few rooms at the end of an obscure hall. He opened the door, tossed Quincey into a garishly pink room, then simply walked away. Quincey didn’t bother looking around; it was most likely just a typical girly-girl room for a brat, and he didn’t have time to examine things. He had to act quickly.

Luckily, Guy was stupid enough to not close the door. Quincey jumped up and rushed forwards, peering through the crack in the door. Guy had just walked into another room, and -- ah, crap. He shut it. Now he’d just have to wait for his target to ... maybe get some food or something? Or have someone interrupt him again. 

Quincey wanted to scream out of boredom about five minutes in. He had to stay perfectly still to not arouse suspicion or put Guy on edge, and that was so damn boring. Stakeouts usually were, but being stuck in a girl’s room was just the icing on the cake. If nothing else, it gave him time to plan on how to get this guy with minimal damage.

Small blessings.

It seemed like an eternity before the door opened. Quincey perked up immediately and rushed ahead, knife drawn and ready to slash. Guy managed to look down at his little toy robot frame and get out a ‘what the’ -- then, he let out a cry of unbelievable pain.

Taking out the Achilles heel was the surefire way to make sure that he couldn’t run. Guy fell like a rock to the ground, writhing in agony. That made it hard to slit his throat, and Quincey growled in agitation when Guy began to jerk around. He had cut too much and left a few marks on the pristine specimen. 

Quincey avoided all the blood that had spilled onto the carpeted hall as he hopped off of Guy’s back. Eventually, his target stopped moving and went slack. The toy robot laughed to himself, then tapped his communicator. 

“Hey, Maurice. Got ‘im. Might wanna send someone to collect him, though -- discreetly. He’s too heavy for me. Back hallway, with all the blood. You can’t miss it.”

“You’re useless.”

“A ‘thank you’ would be nice.”

In the meantime, he had to hide out in the little girl’s room. Again. How demeaning. But at least he got the job done -- and now he could move on to a more fun target. Or maybe just take today off. He’d earned it.