Drunken Baby — When an Unstoppable Force meets a Fat Baby

Read Part Two: A Villain’s Begin­ning!

Chicago — The Met­ro­pol­itan Cor­rec­tional Cen­ter, 8.15PM

The sun is set­ting on another day in Chicago. It throws away shad­ows of the city­scape as it drops, like a man return­ing from the store and empty­ing his pock­ets of receipts. It’s a shot that will look great in the movie. The Met­ro­pol­itan Cor­rec­tional Cen­ter is on lock­down. There are lights and alarms. WHINE! FLASH! Like that.

Why the hell did they even send him here? Wash­ing­ton can take care of its own damn problems!”

Ours is not to reason why, gov­ernor,” says the slim­mer man. He doesn’t have a title but he looks like he’s edu­cated. That’s why he quotes poetry, and so that the slightly bet­ter read mem­bers of the audi­ence can get what he’s refer­ring to and feel smart even though it’s a really com­mon poem.

The two men walk down the cor­ridor of the high secur­ity area. It’s painted on the wall. “HIGH SECURITY.” Guards huddle on the floor cry­ing or shak­ing them­selves. They reach a cell with the door open and look inside. There’s a hole in the wall. Wind whistles through it.

Twelve stor­ies up and he just rolled right out,” says the governor.

People on the ground say he landed on a truck full of baby carriers.”

Son-of-a-bitch.”

We’ve got people scout­ing the city already. He’s one fat baby, sir.”

People are run­ning and scream­ing from a shop­ping mall.

All units hold back! God knows what he’s doing in there!”

The police have sur­roun­ded the mall and are block­ing off the exits. People stream out. They keep an eye out for a baby car­rier but none appears.

What’s that smell?” says one cop, pis­tol drawn and lean­ing over the bon­net of his car, facing the main entrance of the shop­ping complex.

Smells like… no, do you think it could be him?” says the cop kneel­ing on the ground next to him and peer­ing around the front of the car. They turn and see a baby carrier.

Drunken baby! Thank God you’re here!”

The baby in the car­rier dribbles a little puke down his chin.

Just the one that we know about. He’s mean though. People say he’s the fat­test baby they’ve ever seen. God knows what par­ents birthed one like that.”

A bubble pops in the sicky-drool.

The city wouldn’t be the same without you, drunken baby. I wish more babies were will­ing to stand up and help like you do.”

The two cops turn back to face the door, aim­ing their guns once again. “What do you think makes him keep going?” says the one kneel­ing. “The shit he’s seen would break anyone.”

I don’t pre­tend to know, son,” says the other, “I just pray to God every night and thank the Lord that he’s still here.”

Cheery music plays inside the mall. It echoes through the empty cor­ridors and is only inter­rup­ted by recor­ded adverts com­ing out of shops. Shop­ping bags lie aban­doned on the floor. Food kiosks have half served or eaten meals lying by them. A spilt cup of cof­fee on a walk­way drips between the gaps in a rail­ing and into a puddle on the floor below. Splish. Splish. Splish. Like that.

In the centre of it all sits a baby car­rier, plump baby legs hanging over the front. Fat baby is in it. The smell of vomit begins to waft through the main hall, and fat baby turns his head.

To his right is another baby car­rier, stained in places with bile. Some fresh chunks stick to the sides. A bubble pops on drunken baby’s lips.

Fat baby gurgles.

Drunken baby remains silent.

Fat baby kicks his legs.

Drunken baby vomits a little bit.

Fat baby waves his arms up and down.

Out­side, the cops wait.

I don’t hear any­thing. What do you think’s happened? You think he met his match?”

If he has then I don’t know what the fuck we do next.”

Half the force must be here.”

More than half.”

It’s been an hour. We should send some­body in.”

The tech team is work­ing on the CCTV already.”

And have we heard any­thing about what’s hap­pen­ing yet? No. They’re use­less. We need some eyes in there.”

Two blocks from the mall sits a CPD van with a satel­lite dish stuck on its roof. “SURVEILLANCE” is prin­ted on the side. In the back, three people are crowded around a mon­itor, star­ing at it.

What the hell do you see?” yells the governor’s voice from a speaker on the wall.

The screen shows the inside of the shop­ping mall. Two empty baby car­ri­ers lie in the middle, one stained with vomit, the other show­ing imprints of chubby limbs.

They were broth­ers, sir,” says one of the techs. “They were god­damn brothers.”

The End?

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