Mudge was a rather ordinary hippopotamus. She was of a dull purple, a color which her dark black eyes nicely accented. Her large black eyes shone brightly at the sheer prospect of food—especially tasty appetizers. Mudge, like all hippopotamuses on the Smaller, Not-Quite-As-Big-Star star, measured life’s richness by how much food she could consume in any given day; the more the more better. Like many hippopotamuses, she had an affinity for hardboiled socks, especially gym socks which offered a unique flavor that only tasty dress socks could challenge, which she was also partial toward. Unlike any hippopotamus however, Mudge was partial to a rather non-hippopotamus-type food—Qualupace. Qualupace was an extremely controversial plate of the Smaller, Not-Quite-As-Big-Star star. Moreover, it was an extremely controversial human plate. Mudge however, felt as if enough Qualupace could not possibly exist to properly settle her appetite. So it is only fitting that Mudge’s thoughts were on Qualupace as she walked down Shilviny Lane with Hiemleck, on that warm wintry-laden day. They were strolling about the small urban community just outside the Epic Village of Bob, along one of their favorite paths which gently weaved through the large shilviny trees. Hiemleck was distracted as usual, and Mudge took advantage of the moment by quietly slipping away so as to explore the countryside in search of food, of course. She left the path and walked through the groves of trees, admiring the large limbs above. A small group of woosii were playing above, balancing elegantly as they attempted to knock their companions off the limbs.
The trees seemed to race past Horace the Henchman as he sprinted past them, gasping for air. His body was virtuously large, and in addition to this reality, he was packing more than the clothes on his back, making running in such a fashion only more difficult. He stopped and ducked behind a large shilviny tree, allowing his team to catch up. Scanning the area quickly in search of angry chasers, he found it suitable to lay down his large weapon and slump against the large tree, if only for a moment. Gasping, he peered curiously at the large object which he still clutched tightly, for security purposes. It was a large steel canister, holding in essence the blueprints for the Count’s dastardly plan. These plans were the last necessary pieces of the Count’s plan, and thus Horace and the best of the thieves were sent to ‘retrieve’ them, immediately after the exciting meeting the afternoon before. Horace remembered how Count Berker fashionably assassinated the Prime Under-Secretary of the N.A.Q.; with his bright yellow shoe, nonetheless. As the Count had stepped lightly into his deadly shoe, he took advantage of the confusing happenings, and landed himself a fleet of new henchmen, all of whom were confused and scared for their own lives, and thus hurriedly swore an oath of loyalty in sheer terror. “All in the righteous gain of evil,” Berker had said coolly as he addressed his elite in the main armory that very afternoon. As his men armed themselves with large guns and sharp swords, Berker calmly paced the room, inspecting the various weapons he had designed, picking up the occasional project awkwardly, due to sheer weight. A muffled snort erupted from the back corner, and a shot of annoyance visibly manifested itself as Berker raised one of his eyebrows.
Horace, recalling this happening now as he sat slumped against the tree, still clutching the cylinder, saw now how ill-advised this action was. He closed his eyes, picturing in his head the next scene which was seemingly burned into his memory:
Picking up one of the lighter hand-blasters daintily with his fingers, Berker drew a stifled giggle from one of his larger men, a brute name Larry. The Count looked up in annoyance, and before the large henchman could explain himself, the Count, in essence, handed the man a notice of termination. Turning to the men behind him with a look of disgust and a sharp blow on the top of his blaster’s smoking barrel, he uttered. “Now then, you are all, infallibly clear on what you are about to carry out?” The men, peeling their eyes hurriedly off of the pile of ashes which occupied the portion of space where Larry had occupied, nodded frantically. “Good. I will expect a proper showing,” Berker said imperturbably, allowing them to examine Larry’s remains. “Well, then, I think I shall have a bath. Mmm, yes, my ducks aren’t going to play with themselves. Chow.” And with that the Count strut out of the room, stepping over the pile of ashes with a look of disgust. “Oh, and have Neviel clean that up before you go. It is messing up the gleam of my tile.” Horace remembered how the men stood in silence, none quite at ease, until a short and round, armor-clad, teary-eyed man named Gary broke the silence, “Larry made the best guacamole.” The men nodded, and in perfect silence, they shouldered their equipment and trudged heavily down to the loading dock, mourning the loss of their most prestigious guacamole maker.
Horace sighed sadly as he recalled these happenings. Focusing on the time being, he looked down at the heavy cylinder in his hands, and allowed curiosity to fill his mind. He looked all about him, and found that he was still alone. He examined the cylinder again, this time holding it up to the light. The cylinder was smooth and silver, and there was a faint crease near the top, where Horace guessed was where the lid and body of the case met in one crisp fitting. He took a deep breath, and attempted to open the cylinder, gasping after a few seconds of attempting to turn it counterclockwise. He looked at it again, and after a minute, decided he would try his luck turning it clockwise. He took a deep breath again, and upon trying, found that the lid came off easily. How odd, he thought, slightly perplexed. He laid down the lid and peered cautiously into the cylinder. Inside, rolled up crisply, was a single sheet of paper. Horace pulled it out, struggling mightily to fit his large hand into the canister. Grabbing an end of it, he pulled it out and gently set down the canister. Returning his gaze to the sheet of paper, he realized that it was gone.
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