Another cantaloupe smashed into the line of grocery carts serving as a temporary barricade.  “Would you quit that?!” Indiana shouted, picking a moist seed from his eyebrow.  The response came in the form of an incomprehensible slur, followed shortly by a tomato that sailed gracefully over its mark before landing in a bin of discount sausages.  “Damn it, Jack, I don’t have time for this kind of crap!” 

            “It’s not my fault it’s made of gold!”  The source of the retort came not from the pirate’s produce-based fort, but several isles in the opposite direction.  “And that’s Captain Jack to you!”  Dr. Jones scrambled to his feet, rushing to follow the sound.  It was true, the artifact carried by the madman was priceless by any standards, but all the more reason it should belong to everyone.  Recovering such a tangible legacy safely, however, was proving to be more than challenging.  Following the echoes of boots sliding over tile, Indiana ran past rows of breakfast cereal.  It wouldn’t be long before he caught up with Jack again; not while he was weighed down with his current cargo.

            Launching from the breakfast isle, Jones surveyed his surroundings.  Most of the merchandise was as yet untouched by the quarrel between the two men, making it much easier to find traces of Jack’s passing.  Following rumpled piles of clothing littering the ground, he drew closer to the sound of panicked footsteps, finally catching sight of the pirate’s coat disappearing behind a register.  They were almost outside; he had to hurry.  Reaching for his whip, Indiana crept towards the checkout lane, careful to muffle his footsteps.  It was unclear whether or not Jack was keen to Jones’ presence, but if given the chance, the professor would prefer to hold the element of surprise.

            “Watch it!”  The shout was as unexpected as it was loud, accompanying a significantly inebriated Sparrow as he vaulted across the checkout kiosk, tumbling awkwardly into a nearby shopping cart.  Still clutching the solid gold relic, his momentum had caused the cart to begin rolling gradually towards the exit.  “Look out!” he shouted again, sitting up and cupping his hands around his mouth, “That magnificent man is getting away with all the plunderings!”  The wide grin dominating his face quickly contorted itself, however, once his adversary began to pursue his sluggish escape craft.  In a flash, Jack leaped out of the cart, and with only a brief stumble, pushed his prize towards freedom as quickly as his legs could carry him. 

            “No!” shouted Jones, straining to reach the pirate before the two were in open air once more.  “You can’t take it outside now!”  His pleas fell on deaf ears, the loose wheels of the cart doing more to slow the thief than his labored shouts.  All other avenues of action explored, Indiana tensed his muscles in preparation for his last resort.  In a mixed blur of muddy brown color and a sharp crack, a worn bullwhip wrapped itself around Jack’s ankle, pulling the vagrant off his feet almost before he felt the coil.  Even as the egotistical captain hit the linoleum, however, Indiana knew he was too late.  The cart, unrestrained, sailed through the automatic doors, stopping only when it came into contact with an illegally parked truck.

            Jack only grunted as he lifted his head to see the golden slab shimmer in the sunlight, reflecting the calm blue skies as it rested in the cart.  Jones was running towards the cart, intending to pull it back into the shelter of the supermarket, but the damage had been done.  Even as it passed back into the shadows, the immaculate blue skies still danced on the treasure’s surface, spreading to the underside of the artifact.  The cold floor supporting Jack turned warm and soft as blades of grass materialized beneath him, melting the tiles into a dull brown soil.  The ceiling exploded in a shower of leaves, revealing a canopy of dense vegetation where moments there were only shingles.  Gumball machines and soda dispensers were consumed by vines and twigs, and the ambient music playing throughout the store was quickly overpowered with exotic bird calls.  “Great,” whispered Jones, brushing his fingers over the once again dormant artifact.  “That’s just GREAT.”

            “Well,” Jack muttered, his eyes crawling over the newest change of venue, “I suppose we can go halfsies on it.”

            “We need more heat, Chuck!”  Chuck nodded quickly, turning the knob on the oversized stove as he continued to stir the equally massive pot.  Head chef Wang knew his profession well; there was little doubt about that.  How he went about his business, however, could use some improvement.  It wasn’t that he was especially rude or impatient, irritable or cantankerous.  He was simply contradictory.  Nearly half a dozen times that evening, he had commented on the stove’s flames being too high or too low.  Every time it had been his edict alone that had determined their length, yet every time he insisted they had been set incorrectly.  Even Chuck’s stirring implement had been exchanged several times. 

            “Can we PLEASE take the fillets out of the oven yet?” pleaded one of the newer members of Wang’s Catering Services.  Chuck watched quietly as Wang scolded the novice, effortlessly dismissing any objections to his methods.  This was, in fact, a fairly regular sight; new hires rarely lasted long under the head chef’s constant criticism for tasks he himself had set them to.  Those that presumed to know the culinary arts better than he, however, rarely lasted the day.  “We can’t leave them in longer,” continued the foolhardy aide, “It already smells like smoke in here!”

            The kitchen went silent as all attention turned to Wang.  His face had already contorted with rage as a strange gurgling sound began to fill the quiet air.  Some of the more seasoned employees slowly inched away from the object of their employer’s anger as he glared at the insolent underling.  “How dare you,” whispered Wang, “How dare you show me such disrespect?  I, your elder.  Your teacher.  Your master!”  Turning abruptly, the aged chef slammed his fists down on a nearby counter, rattling the various utensils lined neatly on the polished metal.  Flinching at the abrupt act, the young cook scanned the room, pleading for mercy from those that could not grant it.  “Get out,” Wang hissed, moving to inspect a few of the dishes that had been completed.  All eyes immediately went back to their work, inspecting every detail of the simplest dish rather that observe the woeful pleas of the freshly unemployed worker.

            As Chuck focused once again on the large pot he had been idly stirring, a slow, lurching motion in the corner of his eye demanded his attention in a much more urgent and far more literal manner.  “Hey!  Hey!  Hey tiny!”  Turning to face the source of the grumbling voice, Chuck did his best to prevent a small tremor from shaking his frame.  The mammoth creatures that roamed the dining halls tonight didn’t like to be looked in the eye, and forced to keep his eyes on their torso as he was, Chuck could do little to forget their prodigious girth.  The fact that he didn’t have to look down to avoid eye contact was no comfort, either.  “We’ve been waiting for this stew for ages!  Aren’t you finished yet?”

            “Y-yes sir.  Sorry, sir.  It should be ready shortly, just let me-“  Before he could finish the sentence, and long before he could summon his mentor, the beast before him reached for the pot.  Enormous, discolored fingers reached past the cook’s shoulder, wrapping around the vessel, producing a sharp hissing sound and the scent of burning flesh.  Chuck stumbled backwards, rushing to avoid the scorching metal as it was pulled off the burner.  “Wait!  Sir!  It’s not ready!  At least let us put it into a bowl for you!”

            The disgruntled client turned, lumbering off with the pot under his arm.  “Nah, fergettit.  It’s fine the way it is.  We’re not picky, anyway.”  Chuck could only watch as the behemoth’s clumsy stride spilled more and more of the stew as he went along.  The metal pot itself seared through the creature’s bizarre clothing quickly, threatening to melt flesh before its bearer even left the kitchen.  Chuck couldn’t even bring himself to blink until a hand came down hard on his back.

            “Chuck…how do we end up with clients like this?”  He hadn’t heard Wang approach, and the hard slap to the back was entirely unexpected, but Chuck found the head chef’s words immediately reassuring.  “They’re rude, they never tip well…maybe we should just stop advertising in the Makai.”

            “Would that really fix things?” laughed Chuck, reaching over to turn off the now vacant burner.  “Rudeness is hardly unique to this place.”  Wang smiled quietly, shaking his head slowly before answering.

            “I know…but just you wait until we have to get the pot back.”

            Warm air caressed Reece’s face, reminding him summer was coming.  Spring had been unseasonably cold, and even as the people brushed by, he could hear them whisper about how nice summer would be.  Reece could only glare at them as they passed.  He had always preferred the colder climates, having grown up farther away from the equator.  Living in the remote village had been a necessary adjustment; it was far from being a comfortable one.  Larger banks of snow and civilization alike had been his scenery of choice for years, having come of age in a busy city that was often blisteringly cold.  Instead, he had moved to a simple village setting:  woefully under populated and far too warm for his comfort.  Still, he was never there for the comfort.

            Checking his watch again, Reece frowned.  Still three minutes to go.  “Why’s he got to be so damn punctual?” he asked no one in particular.  The meeting time itself had been odd to begin with.  Most people made arrangements on the hour, or half hour.  Sometimes, they’d even go so far as to employ fifteen minute intervals.  To arrange a parlay at 9:28 P.M. exactly was just unheard of.  However, the time was by no means the most enigmatic aspect of the impending encounter, a fact Reece considered as he watched the seconds tick away. 

            A loud crash drew his eyes away from his timepiece and to the street beyond.  For a brief moment, he thought there had been a collision, yet there was no vehicle in sight.  Instead, there was only a broken mass of concrete heaped in the middle of the four-way intersection.  Reece inched forward, trying to get an idea what could have caused the damage while remaining on the safety of the sidewalk.  The answer came abruptly as a pale fist smashed through the asphalt, breaking it apart violently and widening the pile of debris.  Traffic came to a halt as an unseen figure pummeled the streets from and impossible angle, slowly but gradually ripping a hole wide enough for a person to slip through.  Then, someone did.

            Struggling to push aside sand and rubble, a solitary figure rose from beneath the road.  His figure and clothing seemed to have a muted color to them, forming a mostly grey silhouette in the middle of the well-lit intersection.  Long hair and tattered clothing alike were matted with mud, the deep brown of the moist earth the only real color on his frame.  As soon as he had emerged, excited shouts flew from the crowds that formed along the sidewalks, Reece himself getting swallowed in a flood of excited civilians.  Even surrounded by the screaming populace, however, the strange figure located him almost immediately.  “You!” he shouted, pointing an accusing finger.  All others rushed away from Reece, screaming even louder out of excitement.  “You’re late!”

            “What?!” responded Reece, furious.  “I’ve been here for half an hour!  At the very least, I was here before you showed up!”  The pale man only chuckled and shrugged.

            “Hey, man.  I’m early by at least a minute.  If I’m early, that can only mean you’re late.” 

“That’s…that makes no sense, Max!” exclaimed Reece, glaring at the wide smirk displayed by the other man.  It slowly shrank, a slightly more serious expression replacing it.

“Sir Maximillion Shtotlhiem IV to you.  You know I prefer to be called by my full name.” 

Reece only shook his head.  “Max,” he said, “You’ve never been knighted, so you’re not a ‘sir.’  You’re also the first in your family with that name, not the fourth.  Furthermore, you’re dead, so we really shouldn’t be having this conversation…or any conversation at all, really.”  It was true enough; Maximillion had suffered a rather unforeseen and tragic lawn furniture accident, landing him in his very own coffin nearly a year ago.  Since then, however, his spirit had haunted the small settlement, appearing only at night or near open bars.

“That’s no big deal!” he scoffed, dismissing Reece’s comments and coaxing a cheer from the crowd with a wave of his hand.  “But what I do have a beef with is you, Mr. big shot.  You may be keeping a low profile now, but I know you have bigger fish to fry elsewhere.  HUGE fish.  Like…like tuna huge.  Have you seen those things?  They’re the size of a child!  An obese child, even!”

            Idiot.  It was the one word that always seemed to cross his mind when he had a conversation with Max.  Even after his passing, it still proved to be true.  “Just get to the point,” Reece mumbled, growing more impatient with the situation.  He hadn’t liked dealing with the madman when he was alive, and his passing only seemed to muddle his mind further.

            “My point, Reece, is that you’re not just a business man!  You’re a murderer!”  Sharp gasps shot from the crowd as throngs of eyes were turned towards Reece.  “You only live here to keep a low profile, but your real business is having people killed!  People that stand in the way of your profits!”  The surrounding populace immediately took to shouting insults while Max only smiled.  Such an act was perplexing to Reece.  Why would he smile?  He had just called someone a murderer.  Murder was not a clever quip, nor did it make for a witty knock-knock joke.

            “Maybe I am,” said Reece, barely audible over the constant ruckus.  “But even so, you can’t prove it.  The only way you could is by admitting that you’re no better than me, worse even!”  Reece turned from side to side, addressing the mob itself more than Max.  “After all, you were a well-known hit man!  How can you condemn me for such misdeeds, when you yourself have blood-stained hands?” 

            No one but Max seemed to register the accusation.  His smile, however, only broadened.  “Oh, I know.  I was misguided, I see that now.  Because I found something on the other side.  I found…ROCK!”  With a quick, sharp motion his arm shot out, and almost immediately the blacktop erupted again.  A bright light, flashing out from the fresh breach blinded all eyes for an instant.  Once the glare faded, Max held the same pose, his outstretched arm grasping an extremely stylized electric guitar.  Breaking the stance, Max swung the guitar in a wide arc before bringing it to his torso, raking his hand across its face as both the man and the instrument boomed.  Unearthly sound screeched from the pair as his fingers danced across the strings, barely seeming to touch them at times but never failing to summon forth the intended note.

            The crowd roared louder than before as a tune began to emerge, the music briefly struggling with the cheers before intensifying, breaking apart the shouts of praise and wailing into the night sky.  Reece only grew annoyed, surrounded by numerous youth flailing their arms and leaping up and down, pleading with Max to make the music louder.  Their pleas did not go unheeded as the smile on the musician’s face only widened, his lips stretching to impossible lengths to showcase extra rows of jagged teeth that, even as he played, continued to grow from new places in his jaw.  While Reece avoided the flailing arms around him, he became gradually aware of a deep rumbling sound from beneath the street.  The subtle vibrations were all but concealed by the reverberations produced by Max’s guitar, but sound could only cover so much; there was something moving underground.  Something big.

            Massive fissures spread across the intersection as a large mass rose beneath it, splitting the concrete in irreparable ways.  Gradually, an enormous ivory-colored framework surfaced, flinging large portions of the road into the surrounding buildings with effortless power.  Maximillion rose with it, perched upon the massive skull while the rest of the entity snaked its way from its ancient tomb.  A mighty roar joined the musical chorus, supplied by the animated bones of a tyrannosaurus rex.  Reece felt terror grip his heart as the giant surveyed the numbers surrounding it.  As it turned its head, Reece observed a particularly unsettling feature; suspended by no corporeal means, two frozen crystals made their homes in the beast’s empty eye sockets, the light blue glow floating off of their surface causing frost to form on much of the interior of the skull.  When the light of one of the crystals fell on Reece, he could feel the frigid energies wash over him.  “Yeah!” shouted Max, sitting cross-legged on the towering skull, “That’s the guy, baby cakes!”  Reece immediately took flight, quickly pushing his way past the throngs of Maximillion’s admirers and breaking into full run, disappearing into the long shadows of the night.

            Max laughed again, still coaxing an ever complex tune from his guitar.  His new ally, however, was not quick to give chase.  Instead, the rex knelt down, what was once its belly brushing against the soil as the relatively small claws of its forearms searched for something buried in the earth still.  When it rose again, it held what appeared to be an antique street lamp, long since discarded from the realm of man.  Now, however, it held a new purpose, and its ornate glass windows concealed a new light.  What was once a major intersection became illuminated once more as a deep red light shone forth from the artifact, the light blurring as the lamp was hurled to and fro, wielded as though it were a simple cudgel.  Satisfied with its practice swings, the rex gave another roar before striding off after Reece, followed by the masses and music alike.

            “Nah, I’m not too sure I want any fries.”  Sara rolled her eyes, looking up at the menu again.  The customer had already rejected nearly every item on the menu, and she was starting to lose hope she’d ever be rid of the indecisive man.  “What else do you think is good here?” he asked, staring at the cashier rather than examining the menu himself. 

            “Well,” she began, her fingertips dancing over the counter as she examined their inventory.  All of her favorite items had been denied, and she had long since resorted to offering things that disgusted her.  Silently, she wished there was a line behind the man, so she could politely ask him to step aside until he could formulate an order.  Unfortunately, the lunch rush was hours away, and aside from an elderly man straining to clean his dentures at a nearby table the entire restaurant was devoid of customers.  “How about some of our fresh apple turnovers?”  She cringed slightly as the word ‘fresh’ passed over her lips.  As far as Sara could tell, there was a crate of the things in the back room that magically never ran out of stale, fruity pastries. 

            “No, no…” he replied, opting to study his shoes as his neck slowly drooped downward.  “I’m not looking for anything too sweet.  Just a burger, really.”  His head came up quickly, peering at Sara with bright, hopeful eyes that begged for a solution to his problem.  Maybe you’d have a burger if you didn’t veto every last one we make, thought Sara, trying her best not to display her disdain.  As she prepared to recite the entire menu a second time, an epiphany brought a smile to her face.

“Actually,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder to locate her manager, “There’s a new sandwich we’re releasing soon.  Technically, we’re not supposed to sell it until corporate gives us the go-ahead, but…”  She paused as she watched Ted, the daytime supervisor attempt to count fifteen dollars in change at the drive-through window.  “…I think it just may be the burger you’ve been looking for.  It’s called the Fantastilicious Deluxe, and it’s guaranteed to be jaw-droopingly amazing.”

            For the first time since his arrival, the customer didn’t reject the offer as soon as it was made.  Instead, he stroked at his chin with thumb and forefinger, squinting into the distance at nothing in particular.  “Fantastilicious, hmm?  And Deluxe, no less.”  Silence floated over the counter as Sara anxiously awaited his decision, her fingers hovering just over the keys on her register.  It seemed almost a full minute before he spoke again.  “Ok, why not?” he said, coaxing yet another smile out of the weary food worker.

            “THANK you, sir,” she said, grateful for his eventual resolution as she punched in the digits for the overpriced burger.  “That’ll be $9.53, please!”  Sara was never so happy to receive exact change.  When she produced a tray with a simple, gray, lifeless box on it however, the problematic customer was less than impressed.

            “That’s it?!  This is the size of a normal burger!  I was promised deluxe!” demanded the suddenly irate customer, waving a hand dismissingly at it.  “I paid ten bucks for this?  I want to see a manager!”  Sara’s mind raced; she was in no way authorized to sell him the item in the first place.  If Ted found out(especially via complaint), she could lose her meagerly compensating position. 

            “W-wait!” she pleaded, pointing at the box.  “You haven’t even tried it yet!  How do you know it’s not worth it?”  The man’s mood did not change, but at Sara’s urging, he took another look at the box.  It was small, nearly flat, and completely devoid of decoration; the only thing visible besides plain cardboard were the words ‘fantastilicious deluxe’ stamped in small, modest letters.  The man grumbled but did not protest further, instead opting to open the small box.

            As the container’s lid was slowly peeled back, a strange, almost golden glow seemed to seep out of it.  Sharp rays of ghostly light danced on the man’s face, and as they did, his jaw slowly opened, leaving his mouth gaping in apparent wonderment.  His eyes, meanwhile, beheld his meal with only moderate awe, wandering occasionally to glance back up at the menu.  As he studied the strangely named burger and compared it to the other items on the menu, however, his expression distorted and became a bizarre mix of confusion and surprise.  Slowly, he brought a hand up, touching his cheek gingerly with his fingertips, caressing his face with a series of light taps.  Eventually, he pressed his palm against his chin; softly and first, then increasingly more forcefully.  “…Sir?” Sara whispered, leaning forward.

            His eyes locked with hers; any confusion in them rapidly dissolved into panic.  Alarmed groans flew from his throat as his mouth continued to expand, despite obvious efforts to close it.  Instead, the man began to wave his arms violently, pointing to his jaw in a vain attempt to plead for help.  All Sara could do was look on in horror, however, as her ears were filled with loud popping sounds.  The man’s jaw had gone as far as physically possible, yet was still moving downward at a gradual, unhaltable pace.  Bone fractured and split apart as shrieks of pain and fear filled the small restaurant, accompanied shortly by the sound of ripping flesh.  Small cuts grew into long gashes as the customer’s maw continued to be pulled apart by unseen forces, peppering the clean tiles at his feet with droplets of blood.

            The man’s screams changed to pained gurgles as his facial structure ripped itself apart.  His hands had returned to his chin, but even with adrenaline-fueled strength, all his efforts were hopeless.  Tears mixed with blood as the fissures in his flesh spread, relieving the pressure exerted by his possessed mandible.  Much of his face followed his severed jawbone as it ripped its way out of his body, the entire left half of his face from nose down joining the exodus.  His strength drained, the unfortunate customer slumped to the floor in a shivering heap.  Sara wasn’t sure if he was dead or unconscious, but either way, she was too shocked to move.  It wasn’t until the old man shouted at her that she realized he had climbed onto the counter.

            “WHY?!” he screamed, gripping her shoulders tightly and starring accusingly into her eyes.  “WHY DID YOU HAVE TO MAKE THE BURGER SO DAMN MAGNIFICENT?!”  Having no answer, Sara only looked to Ted with pleading eyes.  Ted, however, did not return her gaze; his attention was fixed only on the Fantastilicious Deluxe as his jaw slowly dropped open in amazement.

            Morning broke as it always had; quietly, slowly, and gracefully.  Edward never did find a way to emulate the process.  Not completely, at any rate.  There was an element to the start of a day he had employed as fluidly as the day itself, but sadly, it was not the quiet grace he practiced.  “Son of a gun,” he said, sighing into his oatmeal, “It’s already a quarter to ten.”  Dropping his spoon into the lukewarm mush, Ed sluggishly moved through his home, snatching up his wide-brimmed hat on his way.  “This is just perfect,” lamented Ed as he pushed his screen door aside, “I’ll never hear the end of it, being this late.”

            The simple prediction proved accurate as an accusing shout addressed Edward shortly after he left his home.  “HEY!” cried a high, shrill voice.  “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG THE SUN HAS BEEN UP?!”

            Ed nodded as he began his work, unrestrained by the tone of the voice.  “I know, I know, you don’t like to be kept waiting.  I’m sorry, I’m just not as young as I used to be.”  Sighing again, Ed’s hands shook as he reached for the plump blackberries growing almost literally on his doorstep.  “I’m really doing the best I can.”

            “Well it’s NOT GOOD ENOUGH,” the voice hissed.  “You have to, have to HAVE TO pick these blackberries before the sun gets too hot!”

            “Yes, I know, I’m sorry.”

            “It’s really not good for them to be on the branch too long, you know.  Especially in the heat of the day.”

            “Really, I’ll do better next season.  I promise.”  There was a pause as Ed continued his work, filling the sack at his side one morsel at a time.  Though he wasn’t the most punctual worker, he was a reliable one, and would keep the same pace through the day’s work.  When the voice spoke to him again, it had softened considerably.

            “It’s…it’s just that it gets HOT out here on the branches, Ed.”

            Ed nodded, not slowing for a second.  “I know, it’s alright.”

            “It’s not that we don’t appreciate what you do, it’s just that we’ve been sentient for hours now, and we were worried you’d forgotten about us.  We can’t exactly move ourselves, you know.”  Ed smiled warmly at the bush before plucking the last few berries, moving to the next to start the process all over again.  His fingers ached from his work already, but with so much left to do on even such a small farm, he knew that if he allowed such a thing to slow him now, he’d never get through the day.  “You know,” muttered the voice again, “It’s really not just us that worry about when we’re harvested.  The strawberries love to be picked this time of day.”

            “That’s true,” he chuckled, “But they’re much more patient than you.”  After a moment’s reflection, Ed continued, “Come to think of it, though, you all seem to be doing marvelously this morning.  Why is it that only one of you is speaking up?”

            “OH!” came a shout from the bag, now sounding even more perturbed than its initial greeting, “You took SO long to get out to us, there was enough time for me to be voted as representative!”  The explanation was followed by loud outbursts from all the others, explaining at length the perils of coming to such a selection and how much trouble they would have been saved if only Ed had been on time. 

            Ed only sighed again, moving to the next bush.  “I shouldn’t have said anything.”  His words were lost in a sea of protests almost before they left his mouth.