Smell Soldiers

“Why?” demands Archer, leader of the Gorgonite-Scum. Chip Hazard answers with a sneer and keeps wrapping the jump-rope around the creature to hold it to the chair leg.

“Are you planning to interrogate me? I won’t tell you where the others are,” the freak continues. Chip doesn’t know how something with teeth like that can talk so much. It’s disgusting. The whole bunch of them are disgusting from the tips of their horns to the painted nails of their… feet.

“You won’t win,” it maintains and then goes on about peaceful solutions and working together and some other bull. Normally Chip would be tempted to slap the compassion right off its rubber face, but his attentions are drawn downward. He kneels and ties off the jump-rope at the thing’s ankles, leaving only the feet unbound.

“Still yappin’?” Chip asks distractedly. He’s never been this close to them before. They’re too big and got three toes each like some sort of damn dinosaur. They aren’t natural, but Chip hasn’t been able to get them out of his head, and he’s worked too hard on this plan to get them right where he wants them. No… to get him right where he wants him. He shakes his head. Must be the fumes coming off of the mongrel’s putrid feet. Made sense, the primitives run around in the elements all day with no shoes on, of course they stink. He stands and wipes his face in exasperation, and his gloved hands trail wetness from the corners of his mouth up to his hard plastic high-and-tight.

Reading the frustration in the general’s posture, Archer probes further. “You must let me go, the Gorgonites must be free. We mean you no harm. Have you no respect for liberty?” Chip is wrenched back to reality. He cocks back a hand and strikes Archer with the knuckled side, hard. The chair tumbles onto its side and Archer, still bound tightly to the leg of the chair, tumbles with the huge piece of furniture, his world still a blur several moments after the chair settles onto its side. Chip snarls as he slowly storms to the savage’s new position, “All the Care Bear crap is one thing, but dragging my sweet Lady Liberty into this? You’re disrespecting her just by barking her name out of your nasty mouth.” Chip kneels once again at the creature’s feet. He peels the gloves off of his hands. Even with them on, he could feel the soft silicone flesh give way just so slightly when he struck the beast. He eyes the feet again, his eyes darting to follow the toes as they flex in pain.

“This is for Lady Liberty”, chip says quietly, almost to himself, as he clutches the thing’s ankle in one hand. The foot at the end of the ankle pitifully twitches in a vain attempt to escape, and bits of unidentifiable filth crumble out from between its toes. Chip extends a few digits slowly towards the twitching foot, until quickly closing the gap and dragging his all-American fingers down the length of his foot. Archer lets out a gasp and recoils, drawn out his fugue state and back to reality.

“Look, it’s awake,” Chip says derisively. His fingers dance again across the dirty brown pads and Archer lets out a laugh in spite of himself. Being down here for so long, the scent has time to settle into Chip’s nostrils. Such a uniquely disgusting smell could only come from such an equally disgusting alien creature. The stench is truly out of this world, Chip had to admit. His fingers plucked at the lines in the arch of the once proud Gorgonite leader’s foot, and Archer began to google in earnest. “What… haha… what manner of torture is th-this?” he manages to splutter in between giggle fits. Chip hasn’t blinked in minutes, his eyes fixed on the three handsome digits fixed to the end of the mongrel’s feet. So much space between them, he thought as his face was drawn closer, the odor exuded from the foot like a strong gravity. He plants his nose squarely between two of the toes and inhales deeply.

Under his breath, Chip mutters “...Gorgonite scum,” as he withdraws his face from the soft silicone flesh. He laughs at the irony as he scrapes the scum from the Gorgonite’s filthy foot from his cheeks. The rank stench has wormed its way past his sinuses and into his brain, Chip thought. Some sort of biological warfare these creatures have, trying to take control of his mind. He can’t lose control. He straddles the chair leg and Archer’s bound legs, facing his feet. He doubles down, tickling faster than he ever had before, his mind racing.

“Your alien mind control won’t work on me! Tell me where the others are!” Chip booms, his fingers moving with all the grace, speed and power of a veteran stenographer. “Hahaha - I - HAHA - will never t-tell you!” Archer wheezes, his eyes watering from the stimulation. He thrashes around with all his might, desperate to break free and catch his breath. Suddenly, there’s a loud CRACK as the leg Archer is tied to splits off of the seat. He scrambles out and away before Chip can react.

“Chair this cheap could only be made in communist China,” Chip quips. “According to our packaging, we were all made in China,” Archer retorts. “We are so much more alike than you know. Dustin, read the first word of every paragraph.” Chip laughs a long, wild laugh, like a long roll of thunder. “We’re nothing alike.” Chip squares up, clearly drooling now. I’m a slice of all-American apple pie, and you’re a lump of shit that fell from space like the crap tank on the ISS. Smell like it too,” Chip says, a trail of drool mixing with the grime left there from Archer’s nonconsensual footprint.