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After lurking for several months, reading the FAQs, reading the New Writer FAQs and the many of the stories posted on line, and e-mailing some of the other writers, I have decided to post Parlor City Stories for your enjoyment.
All characters my own creations with some inspiration from the people around me. Standard legal stuff (if you want to interact with my characters ask me first) applies. The city of Binghamton and its surroundings are real although specific places have been omitted or modified.
Special thanks goes to Kylinn@aol.com, another lurker here, who dragged H^H^H^H^H^H^H^ introduced me to The Wolves Glen Pub (rec.games.frp.storyteller) and alt.devilbunnies newsgroups. Big thanks goes out to "Benjamin Hatchet" for interacting with my Pub character "Pearl" and encouraging me to post.
Comments, barbs, cases of money or chocolate are welcome; just e-mail me. I'll be the woman with the big target on her shirt.
~Malada2@aol.com
Spring 2000
Private Les Pathways drew in a breath and knocked on the battered office door. "Come in," a gravely voice said. In the office sat an old man, his 75 years starkly visible on his wrinkled face and sagging gut. Yet his eyes were bright and his movements were that of a man much younger. He gave Les a smile and motioned towards a stout wooden chair.
"Sit down son, I hear you want to talk to me."
Les frowned. He hated being called son. He couldn't help the fact that his facial hair was minimal and he was slight of build. At his full height he just barely 5' 6" and weighed a mere 125 lbs. His blond hair and big blue eyes did little to help everyone's impression that he was 18 and not 28. He cleared his throat as he sat. "I'd like to thank you Colonel Mulvey, and everybody else at the First Utica Defence Division Fudd who've helped me in the past year."
"You mean like pulling you out of the gutter as you babbled drunkenly about talking rabbits?" he spread his hands. "All part of the job. That's why we keep an agent up at the hospital."
"But I feel that I cannot stay here any longer."
"Oh hell, son," the man replied, "you've been one of the best things that's every come down the track at F.U.D.D. in years," and he smiled broadly, showing off his fine teeth. "And I'm not just talking about your skills in battle."
"But this is too close to where it happened," Les said softly. "Utica, Syracuse, this part of New York state, even Albany is too close." He shut his eyes tightly but could still see the horror, the horror.
"Look Les," the old man leaned forward, "we've all lost folks to the thumpers and we've all faced setbacks. But you can't give up the fight. Even at my age I'm still at it."
"I'm not giving up," Les replied, "I just want to move away from here. I've got school loans to pay off and I can't do that on what F.U.D.D. is paying me."
The colonel grunted at the old joke.
Les continued. "I've received a job offering in Endicott and I've decided to take it."
"Endicott? Where's Endicott?"
"It's near Binghamton."
The colonel swiveled his chair towards an old map of New York State, his chair squeaking loudly. "Binghamton? That burned out industrial town? Why, there's nothing there. Even the fluffers abandoned that place years ago."
"Maybe not," Les replied unfolding a piece of newspaper from his pocket. "This was in yesterday's newspaper."
The old man took it and put on his reading glasses. "Huh. Binghamton hospital sees a rash of toe injuries.'" The colonel looked up from the article and let it float down onto his desk. "Pretty slim evidence, soldier."
"Someone should at least check it out."
"Not our jurisdiction," he continued. "The Southern Tier is MFD territory," he said with a frown. "Mixed Fudds Division. They're a crazy bunch with no concept of military training, organization and discipline. Call themselves Operators or Agents. Have all sorts of secret code names and other such nonsense." His nose wrinkled. "Civilians," he said with a sneer.
"Which is what I am as soon as I leave this building," Les replied and he rose to depart.
The other man sighed. "All right, Les. You never did fit in with the troops; you're too independent minded. I'll contact the MFD commander, Phong. Last I heard he was in Ithaca or thereabouts. He's an oven baked weirdo but he's a good man." The commander stood and gripped Les's small shoulders. "Be careful. If you don't find anything, or you change your mind, just remember that there's a place for you here in Utica."
"Thank you, sir. I'll keep in touch."
The old commander watched the young man leave and sat back down in his chair. It complained loudly as he pivoted around to study the map again. "Well fluffers," he said with a smirk, "if you're there, you'd best beware, for the Grease Man cometh."
Colonel Mulvey checked the time once more then activated the transceiver. He adjusted the controls on the machine and typed in the code words. Then he waited for the response from the other end.
***CONTACT MADE****
***TIGHTBEAM FROM PHONG***
***BUNNYSTUMPER ENGAGED***
***AUDIO ONLY***
"Phong here," came a tinny voice over the speaker, "I expect you to have a reason for this conversation, my old friend."
Colonel Mulvey scowled, "We are not old friends. I wanted to hear your voice and know that you were really there. I don't trust text only messages."
"Ah, you are becoming suspicious and paranoid in your old age," Phong replied a hint of his oriental accent leaking through. "That is good."
"I'm also very concerned about the matter I related to you earlier," he rumbled.
"The one who dresses like he's from the movie the Matrix," Phong answered. "Yes. He came from a very tragic situation."
"And he's got a problem," Mulvey said as he shifted in his chair. "Revenge."
"I would not blame him, but I will look out for him. If he lets his anger control him he will be doomed."
"Well, he's in your hands now Phong," Mulvay said, "you take good care of him." Then he leaned closer in to the microphone, "Or else I'm going to come down there with the AoF and get a real army started again. Binghamton would make a nice little training base."
"Your kind is not wanted here," Phong replied to the implied threat. "The AoF were defeated by their own foolishness which you are the heir to. We have kept the bunnies at bay by our own methods..."
"Which are secret and blah blah blah," snorted the colonel. "You keep on eye on that boy, if you can actually see anything through that old straw hat of yours."
"Oh come now colonel," Phong voice chided him, "I have myself a new straw hat!"
"This I gotta see," Mulvay with a sneer. "You should come up here sometime so I can see it."
"What?" Phong sounded surprised, "but I was up there just last week. I came up to see you."
Mulvay's eyebrows went up. "Really? Then how come I didn't see you?"
"Good question, since I saw you."
The colonel felt a coldness creep up his spine. "You did?"
"You should buy yourself some new socks, my old friend. Those old black socks of your must have many holes in them. Phong out."
***CONTACT BROKEN***
Colonel Mulvay switched off the transceiver and looked down at his black and often darned socks. "You sneaky bastard, how'd you know?" he muttered to himself.
The sun was close to setting as Les Pathways drove south down I-81 into Binghamton. He was glad to be away from Utica, away from Syracuse; away from the past. Here, just a short distance from the Pennsylvania border he hoped to make a fresh start.
And kill some devilbunnies.
He maneuvered his car carefully around the big turn in the roadway that all the truckers called Kamikazi Curve. Cut deep into the side of the hill, it was the junction of several highways. With cars merging at high speeds it could be hazardous even in dry weather. But the view was stunning. Summer was almost upon the area and the trees flourished in the lawns and on the rolling hillsides. With only a handful of buildings over three stories tall Binghamtom was no urban hub. Instead, it sprawled along the confluence of the Chenango and Susquehanna rivers, running into the growing towns and villages of Johnson City, Endicott and Vestal. Driving along the high hillside he could see an expanse of homes and a smattering of empty industrial buildings. Above them all rose the golden domes of the local Greek Orthodox churches which gleamed in the setting sun. It didn't look scarred or burned out, merely, residential.
A sign brought him out of his revere. "Welcome to Binghamton - Carousel Capital" it said under a gaudy painting of a merry-go-round horse. To his Fudd trained eye it held the taint of ky00t.
Or he was just imagining things.
He took the turn-off and headed into downtown. The older buildings showed signs of recent renovation and there were several places where new construction was evident. But there were also several pretty carousel horses on parade on the wide sidewalks of this brief downtown area, and a glitzy department store rose incongruently among stately turn of the century office buildings. Something was going on here he thought to himself.
He parked the car in one of the parking ramps. As he got out of the car he went through the checklist:
Rabbit hunting permits, check.
Contact instructions, check.
Steel toe work boots, check.
CO2 cartridges, check.
Trenchcoat, check.
Grease Gun, check.
Bag of candy, check.
Sunglasses, check.
Beware bunnies, he said to himself, the Grease Man is here.
As he walked away from his rusty Chevy Cavalier he remembered the parting works of the Utica commander, "Son, vengeance can drive a man far, but you can't live for it. It'll swallow ya whole and spit out your bones, sucked clean of their marrow. So watch yourself."
He had nodded in return but they would be hard instructions to follow.
"And take off those dab-blame sunglasses at night! This ain't a movie!"
Les quickly removed his mirrored shades and placed them back in his pocket. With a sigh he went forward to search for the Evil That Fluffs.
Les examined the local newspaper as he sat in the diner and sipped his orange juice. There were no further reports of toe injuries but he thought he might find other signs of ky00t contamination. In the two days he'd been in the area he'd ridden all six of the carousels in the "Carousel Capital." They were located in parks, and both carousels and parks were gifts from a long dead industrialist who wanted his workers to have a place to relax after slaving in his shoe factories. Some of the merry-go-rounds were restored to the old glory, some needed more than a touch of paint here and there, but all of them were operational and all could be ridden free of charge. They may have been cute, even ky00t a long time ago, but now they were merely ... nice.
As he scanned through the pages an ad captured his attention. The shop's name was "The Pleasures of Plushies" and the cutesy ad with its hearts and bunnies made him suspicious. The shop was not far away on Main Street in Johnson City, a village that had grown into Binghamton years ago.
If the advertisement had made him suspicious, the shop itself made him cringe. As he stepped in the door, a bouncy melody went off from a hidden set of electric chimes. Inside, shelves of stuffed animals looked lovingly at him. A rack of saccharin greeting cards of the brightest colors glowed in the sunlight streaming in from sparkling clear windows. A memory bubbled up unwanted about another place filled with stuffed animals and his hands clenched. "Keep it together," he whispered, "keep it together."
Out from a back room romped a woman in her fifties. She had on a flouncy dress of pastel pink and wore sparkley makeup. Her graying blond hair was dyed with steaks of rainbow colors. She smiled brightly at him. "Oh, hello! Can I help you with something?"
"I'm not sure," he mumbled.
"Oh, I'll bet you're looking for something for your prom date!" she said with a twinkle in her eye. "Does your girlfriend love stuffies?"
He twitched as the recollection loomed larger in his mind. "No... no. I'm not going to the prom," he stammered out.
She looked astonished. "A cute boy like you not going?" Then she gave him a knowing smile. "Oh, I think I know. A little problem of parental disapproval, am I right?"
"You could say," he replied, recovering.
"Then all the more important to send a special stuffie," and she reached to the shelf and pulled out a stuffed bear with hearts for eyes. "How about a little beary-weary?"
"Ah, no," he said pushing back the memory.
"A duck!" she proclaimed and pushed a large duck plushie towards him, "not everyone has a huggie duckie. Or a turtle!" and she held up a large representation of a sea turtle that had 'HUG ME' printed in large curly letters on its shell. "It's washable!"
Les took a step back, overwhelmed internally and externally. He held up his hands trying to shield himself from the assault.
"You're really upset aren't you?" the woman said softly, her face showing alarm. "Here, maybe you should sit down for a moment," and she pulled out a chair from behind the counter and vanished into the back.
Les collapsed onto the chair. It had been over 18 months since it happened but the memories lingered. He drew a deep breath and centered himself. Yes, it had happened. But now it was payback time. His head cleared and he recovered his composure just in time to see the woman come back with a glass of water... and an enormous, lifelike stuffed bunny.
"Here now," she said soothingly, "a little drink a quick cuddle will make you feel all better."
The horror, the horror. It drove him out of the chair and sent him flying out the door.
The surprised woman looked at the plushie. "I think that boy needs a break from his studies," she said.
Les ran out the "Pleasures of Plushies" and stood on the sidewalk, gasping for breath. All those stuffed animals, all that ky00t in one place had resurrected the memory what haunted him and drove him into the arms of the Fudds. It had been in Syracuse a little more than a year ago...
He'd been watching the apartment for several hours. He'd knocked several times on the door but there was no answer. Yet, if he called on the phone his sister would answer and assure everyone that she was fine, just a bit under the weather. She'd said some friends were taking care of her but was rather vague on who these friends were. Les promised their parents he'd find out.
A beer truck came to stop at the apartment on Bear Street, and a man began to unload a case of Snapple(tm) and several bags of carrots. As the man went into the building Les carefully shadowed him through the front door and down the stairs to the basement apartment. He heard the man rap twice, then twice again and there came the squeak of the door opening. Les jumped the last few steps and ran quickly down the hallway, slipping past the startled delivery man and entered the darkened room.
"Okay Heather," he called out, "what's going on?"
The sudden impact of three heavy balls of fur knocked him to the ground. Bunnies, bunnies with fangs glared at him. "Die Fudd scum!" one of the bunnies spat.
"NO!" his sister's voice rang out, "no! He's my brother! Let him up, please!"
The bunnies scampered off him and he jumped to his feet. The drapes had been drawn but a little sunlight still filtered into the room. He could see his sister's collection of stuffed animals lining the shelves, spilling over onto chairs and arranged in cute little piles on the floor. Barely visible were the anime posters and her framed copy of the Care Bears movie poster. The apartment had a sweet, sickly smell to it like cherry cream soda. A shadow appeared in a doorway. "Les," the shadow said, "I know everyone is worried about me but I'm fine, I really am. My friends told me the first few weeks might be hard and they were, but I'm getting much better."
"Friends?" he howled, "talking rabbits?"
"He knows too much," one of the bunnies said, "we should Spam him."
"No!" disagreed the other, "look at him, he's so cute trying to act the hero. He's adorable!"
"Some call us Devilbunnies," the third said to him and wiggled in a way that almost made him forget the death threat.
"And they're helping me," his sister continued, moving toward him in an odd, hopping motion.
"Helping you?" he stammered out.
"I am... becoming."
Then she stepped up closer, close enough for him to see the horror, the horror.
He'd run out the door, knocking over the delivery man who'd been sneaking up on him. For days his only friend was the bottle and he'd ended up in the hospital mumbling about bunnies that could talk and a sister with long ears. Even now, in the streets of Johnson City, the memory of that terrible place made him shaky and sick. But he caught his breath and calmness returned. The time to run had ended. It was time to erase the what they'd done to his little sister, erase it with blood.
He reached into his trenchcoat and pulled out a sourball from his bag of candy. Savoring the tart taste he walked away, eager for revenge.
Les sat in the bleachers of the Endicott High School football field and watched with little interest the girl's field hockey team practice. His attention was focused on the river which flowed not a 100 meters from the stands. He popped another sourball in his mouth and checked his notes. With few connections to the medical community he had to piece together the exact circumstances of the toe "injuries" from what little he could find in the newspapers. After studying maps of the area, he quickly realized that all the assaults were around or near the river. For two days he tramped along the riverside looking the tunnel entrances used by devil- bunnies. Now the sun was setting, giving him little time left to search today. He'd been in Binghamton almost 5 days without solid proof of fluffer activity and he began to wonder if the old colonel was right. Perhaps the devilbunnies had abandoned this place years ago and the occasional ky00tnesses were merely coincidence.
A scream caught his attention. From the river side of the field a student came hobbling, her sandals in her hands. "It bit me!" she wailed, "it bit my toes! The damn bunny bit my toes!"
Les shot up and saw a brief flicker of motion heading towards the river. Down and across the bleachers he bounded, his heavy boots thundering on the wooden seats. He leaped onto the field and continued his sprint, his trenchcoat flapping wildly behind him. Out of sight of the students he pulled out the Grease Gun. From a distance it looked much like the tool used in any auto repair place to lubricate cars. But this device, with a its short barrel and extra trigger had a much different use. With his free hand he reached into his pocket, extracted a CO2 cartridge and slammed it into a slot in the back of the tube making it a true weapon of war. The Grease Man cometh!
Down to the riverbank he pounded, his steel toe boots making deep tracks in the soft soil. He paused for a moment to scan the ground and was rewarded with fresh paw prints. Gotcha! He quickly followed them away from the field to a place beneath a highway bridge. Above him he could hear cars pass overhead, echoing in the shadows. The tracks vanished near a clump of bushes. Les readied his weapon and carefully approached the bush.
He turned sharply just as a bunny leaped from another bush. He fired, splotch! and out of the barrel spat a blob of sticky, messy goo propelled by compressed CO2. The goo caught the devilbunny in midair and arrested its flight. It fell to the ground struggling to escape the tarry liquid.
"Where's your buddies?" Les snapped but he didn't have to wait for an answer.
"Where's your buddies?" Les snapped but he didn't have to wait for an answer.
Another bun came charging out of the brush and made a dive for his toes. It howled in pain as its teeth hit metal. "Curse you, Fudd," it spat.
Les kicked it viciously and pasted it to the ground with shot from the Grease Gun. A third jumped high, but only got a nip of his trenchcoat. "Time for a little music," he said between his teeth and pressed the extra trigger on his weapon. From the tube came the most horrifying, fear inducing sound known to modern man: the whine of a dentist's drill. The third bunny hopped back, stunned at the sonic assault while the others writhed in pain. He felt his face tighten into an evil grin as he reached into his boot and pulled out a hunting knife. Although the saying went that revenge is a dish best eaten cold, he was looking forward to some revenge piping hot and fresh out of the oven.
"PUT IT DOWN!" commanded a voice behind him. Les turned and saw two devilbunnies in full armor and ear protectors hop towards him. They'd positioned themselves with their backs to the sunset, and their rock throwers were loaded and steadily aimed. Les licked his lips. It was a Mexican standoff, three against one and that wasn't good odds. If they all jumped him at the same time he was bound to go down. He'd jumped into combat without backup and was about to pay a high price for his rash behavior. He'd have to make a run back to the playing field and hope they wouldn't follow him, or catch him before he'd reach witnesses. Not good odds at all.
Then he saw someone outlined in the sunset, coming up from behind the bunnies and waving a hockey stick. "I-YE-YE-YE-YE!" the young woman screamed and came upon the armored bunnies like a dark haired Joan of Arc or a warrior woman out of a bad TV show. She swung the stick -WHACK! and it struck the first armored bunny and sent it hard against the concrete base of the bridge. Les stood in awestruck wonderment as her return stroke struck the other, sending it sailing through the air to land with a splash in the river. It bobbed for the briefest of moments then vanished underneath the waters.
The third bunny sprinted towards the bushes but Les splotched him. The fluffer raged at him. "Look what you've done to my fur!" and screamed and bared its fangs at him.
The young woman paused, her stick at the ready. "They talk?" she asked in astonishment.
"Yeah, and they come in large numbers," Les said, coming down from the initial adrenalin rush. "We'd better split before reinforcements come but first," he bent down over to the bunny that was the least gooed and waved his knife. "You tell your Masters that there will be no more toe harvesting, got that?"
"We're not afraid of you, Fudd," it hissed back, "you're history."
With a flash the knife descended. "Let's get out of here," Les said, stuffing the powder puff tail into his pocket.
Les paced outside the hospital. "Your friend was lucky," he said, "she only lost two toes." He stopped and pulled out his bag of candy. "Sourball?"
"Yeah, sure," the young woman said and popped it one her mouth. "So they're called devilbunnies. Won't have believed it if I hadn't seen it," she said and she stuck out her hand. "My name's Gina."
"Les," he said took her hand. She had a nice firm grip.
"So what school do you go to?" she asked.
Les sighed. "I've been out of school a while. I'm older than I look."
"So what's our next move?"
"OUR next move?" He looked at her thoughtfully. "Okay, you're in. We contact Phong, the local coordinator." He pulled out the fluffy tail and his voice became distant. "And then we kill us some bunnies."
"Speaking of killing, what the heck is that thing you got in that big coat of yours?"
"Ah," Les beamed, "the Grease Gun. Looks sort of like one, hence the name. Designed it myself to immobilize the bunnies and capture them, or dispatch them." He puffed up a little. "Up in Utica they call me The Grease Man."
"And that god-awful racket it made?" Gina inquired.
"It's the whiney part of an old dentist's drill," he replied and grinned evilly. "The fluffers can't stand certain sounds. The two armored ones had ear protectors on but it sure messed up the others." He rolled the candy around in his mouth. "I have to thank you for coming when you did, if they all jumped me I wouldn't have survived."
"Hey," Gina said with a wave, "they attacked my friend. I had to go after them." Her brow became creased. "I wonder what's happening to the three you left behind?"
Beneath the hills of that lined the city, "Bouncy" Donnie Coniglio hopped into the interrogation room. He was flanked by two of his henchbuns and looked every bit the alpha of Northside Parlor City Warren. Inside the room security bucks were holding three naked buns, that is, buns without any fur. One prisioner was missing its tail. At the far end of the room was a large box the size of a refrigerator laid out lengthwise. Electrical wires ran out of it and were connected to CD player. The prisoners fell on their faces at the entrance of the alpha.
"Sir," one prisoner quivered, "please sir, <scared wiggle> I was only following the orders of a superior <ears flat>."
"Bouncy" held up a regal paw. "You don't have to explain," he said softly. "I understand such things. After all <poofle>, we must follow the chain of command <certainty wiggle>. However, you all knew that this activity was banned. Let me see the contraband."
A plastic baggie was produced containing two human toes. "Ah, fresh off the foot," he said holding the baggie aloft. "Quite a delicacy, if I may say so myself. Worth quite a lot, too." He turned to one of his henchbuns. "Burn it <stomp!>," and passed the baggie to him. "As for you three <stomp!>, some might have pity on you since you had to be shaved to get that sticky mess <ickpoofle> off you. I don't. This foolishness not only cost the lives of two buns and ruined two suits of armor, but now the Fudds are back. But I will be lenient and spare your lives. You will spend six months in solitary confinement..."
"Nooo...!" one wailed, shaking, "not alone! Please, Frith, not alone in the darkness."
"...and you will all have to spend an hour in... The Box."
The three prisoners shrieked and dug their paws into the ground but they were all pushed into the large box. The heavily insulated doors were closed and one of the henchbuns turned on the CD player. "What'll it be, Boss?"
"Bouncy" waved a paw. "I have a taste for the classics today. You know the one."
The henchbun gulped but nodded. He pushed the buttons that applied power to speakers built within the heavily insulated container. A moment latter the muffled sounds of Alice Cooper's "School's Out" could be faintly heard coming out of The Box. The container rocked as the bunnies within tried desperately to get out. The alpha smiled slightly.
"Er <nervous wiggle>, Boss," asked the henchbun, "could we go now?"
"Oh, does that sound bother you?" Coniglio asked with an airy poofle.
"Yeah, it does. It does a lot."
"Good," and he left the room.
"Are you sure he'll be here?" Gina asked as she scanned the shoppers as they walked in and out of the shopping mall. She looked somber in her black tee shirt and jeans.
Les shrugged. "He said he would be here. He was upset when I told him you were coming, but he calmed down after I told him you saved my butt." Les looked again at the button he'd pinned to his dark trenchcoat. The button came with the contact instructions and he was supposed to wear it at the first meeting.
An old man carrying a shopping bag and wearing a straw hat came out of the Mall and wandered up to them. "Please excuse me," he murmured politely, "but do you know where the bathrooms are?"
Les shook his head but Gina gave him directions.
"Ah, thank you," he murmured. "Are there loons in the ponds?" he asked in a vague oriental accent.
Les looked startled at the statement. "Ah, only when the moon goes dark."
"Ah, then I am on the right planet," he replied.
"I'm booting," Les replied and tapped the button.
The man in the straw hat smiled at them. "So these are my new recruits. I'm Phong. Let's walk."
As they walked into the parking lot Les said, "This is the young woman I told you about..."
"No names!" Phong hissed and he glanced around. "Know that we are greatly out numbered so our main weapons are secrecy and deceit. In the field and in any communications you must use code names. You are Matrix."
"Hey wait a minute," Les protested in a low tone of voice, "I'm the Grease Man!"
Phong smiled. "No. The Grease Man is in Utica. Remember, deception," and he raised his eyebrows. "Do you understand, Young Matrix?"
Les threw up his hands. "Fine."
Phong turned to Gina. "And you are..."
"Stick," Gina said firmly.
Phong looked at Matrix who chuckled, "It's a very appropriate name. It's what she fights with," and he quietly related the battle.
Phong nodded. "I see I must trust your judgement on this, young Matrix. So tell me, how was your training?"
"F.U.D.D. really came through for me," then he sighed. "But they're just a bunch of old men, reliving old glories. New recruits either lose interest or their lives."
Phong nodded. "Yes. There once was an AoF division here, many years ago. But they were proud and arrogant, like F.U.D.D. is. The bunnies and their symps took them down." He shook his head. "A terrible thing. But the bunnies made their own errors and the forces of nature conspired against them. There is still a warren here, a secret one which I have watched for many years. Your arrival is fortuitous since I have sensed a stirring in the burrows."
He stopped and gave them the shopping bag. "We have only one tight beam transceiver so we must use more mundane ways of communicating. Plug this laptop computer into any phone line and you can dial into my system. Any messages will automatically be PGP encrypted. Type in your code name at the sign on screen and you will be able to read about the local history and what I expect of you."
He stopped at a car and pointed to the shoppers milling in and out of the mall. "See those people? They know not about the Evil that Fluffs. Their world would fly to pieces if they truly knew the horror which we fight." He fixed Matrix with a steady gaze. "Remember that we fight for them, not to for ourselves. Our mission; to Rend and Defend. Are you ready to take up the job, Agent Matrix? Agent Stick?"
"Yes sir," they chorused quietly.
He smiled. "Good. Now go. You have much to study."
"Wait," Matrix said and pulled out the bunny tail. "You wanted this?"
"Ah, you remembered," Phong smiled and nodded happily as he took it. "It will aid in my research of devilbunny genetics." He gave Matrix a quizical look. "How do you feel about taking battlefield... mementoes?"
He made a face. "I think it's disgusting."
Phong smiled. "Good. Now go, go on!" and he fumbled with his car keys.
Stick and Matrix walked away. "Well, that went okay," Matrix said.
"Yeah, but lets get back to your place," Stick said, "and see what's on the computer."
The beer truck rolled up to the top of the hill and stopped. The driver jumped out and openned the back door. A ramp came down and out hopped two bunnies. The larger one fluffed as it came out. "Sid, you may take a Snapple (tm) break if you like."
The driver grinned. "Thank you, sir. I will."
"He's a good symp," the larger bunny said. "I'll think I'll keep him. Now Aaron, stand up and tell me what you see."
The smaller bunny, cream colored and shiny of fur stood on his hind legs and looked at the city below them. "I see a burned out industrial town," Aaron said.
The other rabbit sighed. "Years ago, they called this place the Parlor City. It was ritzy back then; a thriving industrial city. And devilbunnies were there, Aaron. They had symps in some high and unlikely places. Not only did they have beer trucks, but they had their own beer company. They routed the naiscent Fudd movement nearly fifty years ago. But somehow it all went wrong. The symps abandoned the cause and massive flooding in the 1960s collasped a great many tunnels. But the greatest ill fortune was yet to come. You see that ribbon of highway cutting through the valley? That's Route 17. Somehow, it was built on top of a major section of the warren. Dissension grew and the warren split into three factions...."
"You mean to tell me there's a warren still here?" the other bun said derisively.
"Actually, there are three now. Parlor City Southside, Parlor City Riverside and Parlor City Northside. They are all very different from each other."
"I've never seen any reports of about this warren," Aaron said. "The records declared it inactive. You haven't been hiding anything have you White Paw?"
"No I haven't <indignant fluff>. But the area still has some important industries that we need."
"Really? Tell me, White Paws, what is still here?"
"A computer company with three letters," White Paws said, "you're the mentat, you figure it out."
Aaron wiggled excitedly. "Yes! I remember now! <proud poofle> A new computer system is being built here, in Endicott."
"And that new mainframe will be powerful enough to run the next generation of BUNIX," White Paws replied. "So we must contact these three warrens, reunite them and get this place under our thumb again."
They both stood on their hind legs to view the tree lined streets and the golden church domes. "Come Aaron, we have a lot of work to do."
(Announcer's voice: What lies in store for the sleepy city of Binghamton? Will Les come to grips with his dark past? Will the bunnies succeed in uniting the warrens? Stay tuned for the next season of Parlor City Stories! Brought to you by Pennsylvania Blue Coal.)
Originally published on alt.devilbunnies between November 22 and November 29, 2000.