Conning The Con Artists

Chapters

Chapter 1- Not According To Plan
Chapter 2- That's Interesting
Chapter 3- What Is This Sorcery?
Chapter 4- True Colors

Chapter 1- Not According To Plan

Conning The Con Artists
Chapter 1- Not According To Plan

Naked as a jaybird and tied to a chair in a dark room. Wish I could say that this was the first time, but unfortunately I don't have that luxury. Then again, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me back up a bit.

My name is Cal Braxton, perhaps you've heard of me. At least, named by the media along with my sibling as 'The Brash Braxton Brothers.' (Yes, I think the name's stupid, too, but what can you do with sensationalist journalism?)

No? The most notorious con artists of this generation? Wanted in thirteen countries, stolen millions from countless companies, and all-around bad-asses? Still nothing? Well, slick, can't say I've heard of you either, but I won't hold that against ya.

Anyway, my brother and I have been pulling off scams for as long as I can remember. Not like we had parents to keep us in check, being orphans and all. Honestly though, I don't blame them for ditching us on the porch of an orphanage. Seriously, babies suck. I probably would've done the same thing as them, I hate the infernal things. My apologies, rambling again.

Needless to say, we were quite the hellions. We figured that if the world's kicking ya down, it's high time to kick back. My brother was the only one I could rely on and I for him. We stuck together through it all, thick as thieves we were. Where most kids grow up playing soccer and going to summer camp, we were learning every trick of the scheming trade. It was all small stuff at first, of course: snagging some kid's lunch, smooth talking our way out of punishments, and basically causing havoc.

As all kids do though, we grew up and moved on to bigger things. For example, remember that giant diamond that 'mysteriously vanished' a few years back? Nothing but a shiny mantle-piece now. It's not just about money, it's the thrill of doing what we do best.

Ya know what's the greatest thing about all this? We haven't even reached our prime. Yes'sir, barely into our mid-twenties and we're already internationally infamous. Safe to say that things are going great.

Unless you count right now. You know, buck naked and tied to a chair in a dark room. Mexico, man.

Fortunately, my brother is here in the same room and not some other cell. Two heads are better than one, after all. Even if his is practically balding from how much he's buzz-cut his scalp. Poor little dingus is still unconscious, but that can be easily fixed.

"Hey! Jimmy boy! Wake up, ya filthy animal!" I call out, jesting with the dork. Unfortunately my command fell on deaf ears as he remained asleep. Plan B it is then.

Clearing my throat loudly, I hoke one hell of a loogie up into my mouth for my next step. With the utmost precision that only years of practice can hone (mostly due to boring moments), I spit out in an high arc overhead. With the desired calculation that would leave any physicist tearing up, the spit lands directly in my brother's ear. Harlem Globetrotters, eat your heart out.

Almost immediately, the wet sensation rouses Jim from his slumber and causes him to look about wildly. His eyes fall on my cheesy grin and he soon realizes just what is in his ear. Scraping his head against his shoulder quickly, he mutters, "You stupid cactus-humper, I hate it when you do that!"

"Well I was gonna kiss ya, but you were too far away," I respond instantly with a chuckle. With some careful effort, I push myself and the chair closer to him. I notice the floor is completely dirt, which complicates things a bit by kicking up a small cloud of dust. "You alright?"

After sufficiently shaking his head against his shoulder, Jim finally nods. "I'm fine. Still gonna rip your stupid mustache off later though."

"Pffft! You're just jealous you still can't grow one," I accuse. Glancing around the room, I try to gather stock on where we might be. "By the way, this is probably the worst idea you've had. Happy Birthday, clown."

Jim's face pales at that last bit. "You really think we've been out that long? I thought we would have been out of here before our day."

Fun fact: Jim and I share the same birthday, go figure. Sure made remembering a whole lot easier. May 1st is Braxton Day, write that down. Especially now that we're a quarter of a century old now in this wondrous year of 2020. Yet here we are, most likely in some old Mexican lady's basement while her little ninos figure out how to get their goods back. When I say ninos though, I mean the cartel and when I say 'goods' I mean insane amounts of drugs.

Yeah, our idea of 'go big or go home' probably wasn't the wisest. Granted, we've been in worse places on our birthday. On our 19th birthday we were in an igloo hiding out from some crazy Ukrainians. All you need to know is that their daughters were totally worth it.

It's at this point of my little reminiscing bout that the door of our room slams open. Wouldn't you know, our captors have decided to join the party. Just so happened that they're all your stereotypical Hispanic drug-lords. Tattoos of the Virgin Mary across their chests, pistols inside their pants (least I hope those are pistols, otherwise this could get real ugly), and grim sneers across their hideous mugs.

You may think I'm racist or something, but that's simply not true. I hate everybody equally, it's more fair that way.

"So!" the lead drug-lord shouts, blood-shot eyes twitching. He approaches us slowly, pulling out one of his pistols (thank Zeus for small miracles.) With his other hand, he shines a flashlight into our faces. Oh gadfrey, he has the most disgusting neck beard. Let's not forget that stench either, woof. "You're the two pendejos that thought you could steal from me. Thought you could get away with it too, no?"

"S'cuse me, Senor Neckbeard, but methinks you're barking up the wrong tree," Jim quickly counters. "You got your money fair and square."

With nary a moment's hesitation, the drug-lord backhands Jim's face. "Payaso! You think you could fool me with Monopoly money?"

"Pretty much, you guys are dumber than dirt. Plus it worked like a charm on these Frenchies we knew, big idiots thought they were actual U.S. dollars," I say with a grin. Good times.

Not good enough though as the drug-lord's hand smacks across my nose. "That's real funny, no? I like to play games, too. Why don't we play my favorite, 'Let's kill the gueros,'" he replies, pulling back on his pistol's hammer and aiming at my forehead.

You'd probably think I'm completely screwed and have no way out, that this is the end of the story already. Not so, good friend. Want to know what's great about being us?

We always have a failsafe.

BOOM.

An explosion rocks outside the door that the drug-lords had entered, launching each of them into the wall behind us. Thankfully the blast only jostles our chairs, but somehow leaves us upright. The drug-lords smash against the hard concrete basement wall, knocking them unconscious. When the smoke and dust finally dissipate, I look over to see Jim flashing me a wide grin.

"Awwww, looks like someone else opened your birthday present," he says, revealing that he had somehow cut his bonds during the confusion. He rubs his wrists a few times before getting out of his chair to come towards me.

I raise a brow at his quip. "You were going to give me a bomb?"

Jim snorts, cutting my ropes before answering. "I would have stopped ya from opening it. If anything, it was for if something like this happened. Which it did, so you should be thanking me." He pauses a moment while I get up from the chair and stretch a bit. "Besides, you gave me a piranha in a box last year."

"Oh waaahhn, it was dead by the time I packed it. That was just the white elephant joke anyway, I still hooked you up with what's-her-hot-face that night!" I reply, running a hand through my dirt-covered blonde hair. I definitely needed a shower, but that would have to wait for now.

"That actress, Emma Stone? Okay, first of all, I'm pretty sure you drugged her with something. Even with my devilish charms she was way too in to me. Second, she called a hit squad on us the next morning," Jim retorts, scratching some dried mud off his chest.

I shrug. "I didn't hear you complaining at the time. Now," I begin, motioning a hand around the room. "Are we gonna salvage the rest of our birthday or do you want to stay naked in a room full of unconscious dudes?"

"You always know what to say, don't ya?" my brother quips. He points a finger towards the door. "After you, Cassanova."

"Gladly. I'd rather you see my rear than I see your's," I reply before quickly exiting the room. I miss hearing what expletive Jim mutters, but I'm sure it was colorful.

Luckily for us, the rest of the house is completely empty and mostly unlit. As we escalate the stairs though, the nearby windows reveal that the sun is now setting over the horizon. I let out a long, quiet whistle at the sight. "Those big idiots took up our whole day! I was gonna go surfing out in the gulf!"

Jim glances around the rest of the house while I groan about our ill-fated timing. He smiles wildly and prods my shoulder. "At least they left us some mementos," he says, nodding at another room. While the house itself was pretty much a dump- peeling wallpaper, stains everywhere, dirt floors, the whole nine yards- the drug-lords had the 'essentials.'

I follow his gaze until I notice a giant pile of gold bars, what look to be stacks of plastic-wrapped marijuana, and a set of keys for some vehicle all upon a mattress. I feel a surge of excitement rush through me as I take the items in stock and unleash a holler. "Woooooee! Looks like it's gonna be 'Braxton Day' after all!" I shout, eager to put our new found inventory to use.

"Hold on there, Cal," my brother replies, blocking me with his arm. His sky-blue eyes flash mischievously and dart back to the mattress. "I think it's high time we suit up first."

At his suggestion, I realize our business attire is also upon the mattress. More surprisingly, the gray suit-coats and pants are neatly folded over one side instead of tossed haphazardly. I chuckle lightly. "I s'pose going back across the border would go easier if we're actually clothed."

Without hesitation, the two of us grab our respective suits and begin dressing. It's not long before we're finished, grab the mattress loot, and venture out of the house with the unknown car keys. Might as well had a choir of angels singing when we see just where they belonged.

"Sweet Poseidon's left nipple, I've died and gone to heaven," Jim manages to utter. Before us sits the most beautiful piece of machinery that we have ever set our eyes upon: the Hennessey Venom GT. We're both speechless for who-knows-how-long as we gaze at the miracle on wheels.

I finally snap out of my daze and punch Jim's shoulder, spinning the keys in my other hand. "Happy Braxton Day, Jim," I say, tossing the keys to him.

His baffled look is priceless as he tries to comprehend what's occurring. "...You're kidding. You're kidding, right?"

"Hey, you were technically the one who got us out of that mess. Granted, you were the one who thought we could pull off that deal and quite possibly almost ruined Braxton Day, but here we are with the score and a shiny new car. I think you've earned it," I reply with a smile.

Jim unleashes a triumphant yell and punches a fist into the air. Without warning though, he rushes over to me and lifts me off the ground in an attempt of some bear-hug. "Happy Braxton Day, you hairy monkey!"

"Hey hey hey, you're ruining the mood! Don't be that guy!" I shout, unable to not share in his excitement though. My brother finally puts me down after a moment and sprints to the sports car. It's a wonder that he's able to wait for me to get in before starting it, but somehow he manages. The next sound we hear is the incredible roar of the engine igniting. Jim revs the accelerator pedal a few times, basking in the vehicle's glory.

"I think I'm love. Purr for me, baby, purr," he says, rubbing his hand across the dashboard. "Let's go for a drive."

This poor Mexican landscape is not prepared in the slightest for our new joy ride. Jim slams the pedal to the floor, rocketing the car forward like a bat out of hell. Ohhoho, this car is unlike any other as we accelerate onto the roadway. Hardly have ten seconds passed when we already reach over 150 miles per hour. It's good to be a Braxton.

~~~~~~~~~~~

After a half-hour of fantastic driving, we arrive at our entry-way to Texas. Specifically, a patrolled gate courtesy of these fine United States. Only the highest trained and most loyal of guards are stationed here. Ya gotta remember though, we're the Braxton Brothers.

As we slowly pull in, a uniformed patrolman approaches our vehicle, sneering all the while. We stop when he raises his hand, lowering his head to view through the open window. The patrolman clears his throat, glaring at the two of us. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you two criminal scumbags here?"

"Well you see, officer, we're hoping to make our merry way back into the good ol' US of A. Mexico didn't really strike our fancy," Jim replies without missing a beat. He smirks at the patrolman, awaiting a response.

The guard maintains his glare, leaning closer towards Jim. "Is that so?" he asks gruffly. The silence lasts for a few moments before his face breaks into a grin. "Good to see ya, Jim. Lookin' good there, Cal," the patrolman responds.

"A fine hello to yourself, Keith. How are Mary and the kids?" I ask, genuinely curious of their well-being.

Keith shrugs. "Could be better. Ol' Uncle Sam took another cut of my salary and the bank's trying to foreclose on us," he replies, his face darkening for a moment.

"Well, we can't have that now, can we? I'm sure Mr. Franklin and his jolly band of ten thousand clones would be happy to help the cause," Jim jests softly, stuffing a stack of bills into Keith's vest. "Besides, America needs all the help she can get."

The guard nods, his grin once more returning. "That she does. That she does." He raises a hand at the gatehouse and whistles. While the fence starts to separate, he looks back to us and says, "Much appreciated, boys. You take care of yourselves out there."

We both nod to him. "Likewise, Keith. Happy trails," I respond before Jim slowly drives forward past the gate and into Texas.

It isn't long before we make it to one of our bases of operation, right on the outskirts of Corpus Christi. Our little Venom has blended well with the low-night visibility, only seen by the occasional street light. 11:37 blinks across the car's console as we pull into our mansion's garage. The house itself is completely dark, its other resident (one of of our few trusted advisers) most likely asleep.

We enter the side-door quietly, both of us quite exhausted from the day's events. Jim turns towards the stairs and sets foot on the first step before I stop him. I grin at his questioning look and say, "Braxton Day isn't over yet, Jimmy boy."

He raises a brow, but follows as I begin walking towards the kitchen. Pulling open the fridge door, I retrieve an amber-colored bottle wrapped with a green bow from within. I hear Jim gasp as I turn around and reveal our last present. "Is that a bottle of that scotch we got from Ireland?! I thought we drank all of those!"

"All but the one I saved for tonight, dear brother," I reply cheekily. With a firm pop, I uncork the fine liquor and grab two shot glasses. Jim watches as I pour a good deal into each and hand one to him, while leaving one for myself. Setting the bottle down on the counter, I raise my glass into the air. "A toast."

My brother nods and raises his glass as well. "To the Br-," he begins, but pauses as a look of confusion passes over his face.

My smile fades and I lower my glass at his abrupt change. "Jim?" I question while poking his shoulder. "Hey. You alright in there?"

He remains silent for a good while, cocking his head to the side quizzically. His mouth tries to form a question, finally asking, "Flim?"

"...what?" I manage to respond. His expression stays puzzled, staring at me in a most creepy fashion. Jeebus, that's frightening. I can hardly stand any longer before smacking his face. "Oy! Cal Braxton to Jim Braxton, are ya in there?"

The jostle somehow brings him back to reality as his eyes focus back on me. "Whoa," he mutters, rubbing a hand over his cheek. "What just happened?"

"You tell me, you just zoned out there," I reply. "I guess you're more tired than I thought."

Jim shakes his head a bit, trying to regain his composure. "I'm fine. Just some weird moment," he explains. However, his grin returns as he raises his glass. "To the Braxton Brothers."

I smile and raise my own. "To the Braxton Brothers. Take from the rich!"

"And give to the needy!" my brother finishes. We clink our glasses together and gulp down the shots of liquor. The alcohol burns on the way down, but it does its work as we're left with a delicious aftertaste and pure content. Even with the waking feeling that the scotch gives off, Jim still manages to let loose a massive yawn. "Maybe you are right, I am feeling kinda beat."

I pat his shoulder briskly, putting the scotch back in the fridge. "No worries, brother, we have tomorrow to gather our wits. Get some shut-eye and I'll see ya in the morning," I reply.

Jim nods, trudging towards the stairs. "G'night, Cal."

"G'night, Flam," I respond. It's probably time for me to get some rest as well. We did have a long day after all. After cleaning a little, I soon follow up the stairs to my own room and gently close the door.

Quietly, I undress myself in the dark and make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth. My fingers search along the wall until they brush the switch, causing the overhead light to slowly flicker on. I inspect myself in the mirror, still a bit worn down from that scuffle in Mexico. However, my debonair features are intact, mustache is still smashing, body parts are in the right places, apple slice tattoos on my thighs-

Wait.

My eyes go from the mirror to my legs. I gingerly scratch at the new additions, wondering if my vision is playing tricks on me. Sure as the steroid users in a baseball team though, there is an apple slice tattoo on both my right thigh and my left thigh. Maybe I'm just tired or maybe I'm already asleep and just dreaming, but they seem mighty real to me.

However, before I go straight back to bed and lay down from the confusion, my mind connects to only one plausible explanation.

The cartel is kinky.

Author's Note

Big props to TwistedSpectrum on his original idea for 'Five Score, Divided By Four.' I don't think anyone could really hope to top it, much less myself, but I do hope that my little addition here spices things up a bit. Thank you very much for reading and be sure to keep on rocking!

Chapter 2- That's Interesting

Conning The Con Artists
Chapter 2- That's Interesting

"Faster, brother of mine, that dastardly vagabond is right on our tails!"

"The machine's giving all she can, Flam! I don't think she'll last long befo-," I reply, but a loud snap interrupts my explanation. The next thing we know, our beloved Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000 ('Suzy' for short) is somehow transformed into a pile of mashed potatoes.

Without our vehicle to support us, we both fall into the gooey substance face-first. It is a bit degrading, but nothing compared to how the rest of the land is going down the chute. I raise my muzzle up, brushing aside the obstruction to see what's going on. Sadly the scenery's all the same, upside down cottages and multi-colored fields of jello. I glance over to my brother and feel relieved that we're both okay, but I fear that our safety is even more in jeopardy.

Crazed laughter echoes around us as we push ourselves up from the mess, forcing us to look about wildly. The loud cackling immediately stops just as soon as it started and we're left in momentary silence. Well, as silent as barking cows, musical fences, and whistling spiders will allow. However, a quiet pop quiets all the ruckus and none other than Discord, the very Spirit of Chaos, appears before us.

"Mentlegen," he greets, smiling wickedly at us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I awoke abruptly, breathing heavily as if I had just run a race. Slowly, my heart steadies itself and I realize that I'm now sitting upright on my bed. I rub at my eyes a bit, grateful to see afterwards that I am safe in my room.

What the flogging molly was that?! I've had some weird dreams for sure (not to mention that one about six arms, last time I ever drink that much), but this one really takes the cake. Everything looked like some bizarre kids' amusement park on acid, especially that weird dragon thing. That wasn't even the strangest part though. The dream felt like a memory, like I had experienced it before.

Better send myself off to a loony bin before I even consider that thought. It made no sense! Sure, things felt familiar and that... horse... horned thing, whatever called me 'brother', but what am I supposed to make of that? If I took every dream I had seriously, I'd have three ears, a talking bear, and a pumpkin for a grandmother. No thanks.

It's at this point that I notice I'm not alone in my room. Sitting in the corner, trying to hide and doing a horrible job of it, is a heavier-set girl with long black hair. She lets out a quiet squeak and blushes deeply when she sees me look at her. "I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry, I was never here!" she exclaims, rushing out of the room.

Story of the poor thing's life. That's our 'adviser' who looks after the house when we're away on business. Bit of a long story with her. You see, Maxine grew up in the same orphanage as we did. At the time we didn't really notice her, mainly because she was six years younger than us and usually kept to herself. We did, however, notice the punks that tried to commit some very ungentlemanly acts upon her. I say 'tried' because we sure as hell put a stop to that when no one else would.

After that, we practically became her big brothers. While we weren't able to help her get out of the orphanage the same time we left (partially because we left illegally), we did come back to 'adopt' her when we stabilized our operations. She's been with us ever since then, quirks and all. Don't get me wrong though, she's a great help around the place. Just a little... out there sometimes.

"Mornin', Maxi!" I call out, hoping to stop her before she runs out of the house from sheer embarrassment. I hear quickened footsteps down the staircase and can't help but chuckle. You should have seen her reaction the first time she walked in on me dressed down. Gadfrey, I thought the house was on fire with how fast she ran out.

Regardless, it probably was time to get up anyway. I glance over to my clock and see that it is a bit later in the morning, just past 9:30. My fingers absentmindedly scratch at my leg, causing me to look down at the source. My late-night discovery re-intrudes my mind as I see the apple slice tattoos again.

I still can't think of any reason those dingbats would have put them on me. Some new branding of their own division? 'The Fruits?' Guess I've seen stranger things, but it's still bizarre. My musing suddenly makes me wonder if they marked up Jim as well.

I push the thought aside for the moment, favoring a shower and getting ready for the day first. Even while I'm washing up though, my mind remains on the tattoos. Rinsing in the shower, trimming my mustache a bit, and brushing my teeth I feel like I have one eye fixed on them the whole time. All things considered, whoever created them did a fairly good job. They seemed to jump out of my skin yet remain natural and familiar. Like they belong ther-...

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Jim yells loudly from his room. The shout breaks me out of my daze and I exit the bathroom. Before I leave my bedroom though, I pull on a set of track pants quick and make my way to my brother's door.

I knock briskly and ask, "Something wrong, Jim?" A loud scuffle resonates from inside his room until he violently opens his door. Naked again, lucky me. I'll tell ya, Folger's knew that the best part of waking up was definitely not seeing your brother's junk.

"You bet your stupid mustache there is! I think those drug-lords screwed me!" he says angrily, eyes wide and teeth bared. Odd, his hair seems like it grew quite a bit overnight.

Before he goes on a rampage through the house, I raise my hands gently. "Slow down there, brother. Want me to get a mannequin and you can show me where they touched you?" I ask jokingly.

My jest proves successful as his rage lowers a bit and he lets out a sliver of a smile. However, he shakes his head and tries to regain his anger. "No, ya big idiot. They gave me freakin' tramp stamps!" Jim exclaims, pointing at his thighs.

I ignore the misnomer and glance at the specified marks. Sure enough, there are a pair of tattoos of... I'm not entirely sure. My body instinctively crouches down to get a closer look, but Jim jumps away. "Oh calm down, Skippy, we're not in that German prison again," I chide, raising a brow at my brother.

He relaxes and steps to the side so I can better see the tattoo. Strange, looks like a red apple with a slice of it missing... sonuva-...

"Ya see! Now, I don't exactly know that country's culture, but I'm fairly sure that this was their own way of saying they took something from me. Like an organ or something," Jim says, waving his hand at the new ink.

"Jim."

"I mean, it's not their typical fare of some skulls or the Mary Virgin or whatever," Jim continues, missing my interjection.

"Jim."

"Some deep insults behind it, too, I bet. Probably means that they think that I'm- WHATAREYOUDOINGPUTYOURPANTSBACKON!" my brother shouts at my sudden undressing.

What? He wasn't listening.

Without saying anything, I point at my left thigh and match Jim's position. His face pales as he looks back and forth between our tattoos. "Sonuva-."

"My thoughts exactly," I reply. My apple slice tattoos are almost dead-on matching with his incomplete apple tattoos. They leave both of us staring at the two before I ask, "What do you think they mean?"

Jim shakes his head, scratching at his neck. "Hell if I know. That you're gonna put your apple slice into my-,"

"Don't you dare complete that thought," I interrupt sharply. "This is weird enough as it is, I don't want to even consider that they were into incest. Jeebus, that's terrifying."

Before my brother can reply, I pull my pants back up and turn around. "I'm gonna fix breakfast while you get cleaned up. Maybe Maxi can help us with these later, even though it's private. She did help take that splinter out of your pe-," I almost finish my sentence, but I notice Jim is giving me a death glare worthy of Satan's minions.

He narrows his eyes further and says, "We agreed to never speak of that again." With that, he slams the door shut and leaves me alone in the hallway.

Yep. This is a typical morning for us.

I wander back to my room to put on a shirt before walking downstairs to the kitchen. Maxine's nowhere to be seen, but she might be working on something in the basement. Pulling the fridge door open, I grab a package of bacon from one of the drawers.

Bacon: the true breakfast of champions. Seriously, everything about it just screams excellence. The sound of cooking it is like an audience cheering, its scent is heavenly, it's crispy and oh so savory. The only downside is that you cook a pound and you only get a bookmark. Oh well, gotta love that bacon.

By the time I have a full platter of cooked bacon, as well as some jammed toast, I hear Jim descending the stairs. He's clothed and still seems a bit peeved when he enters, but his mood brightens when he sniffs that wonderful aroma. "Ohhhh yes, praise Lord Bacon."

"Praise!" I respond, jokingly raising my spatula as a salute. Mornings just go a lot better with bacon, let's face it. True, that bacon's gonna make ya thirsty... for more bacon. It's a miracle food.

"Save me some, save me some!" We hear Maxine call out from downstairs. Not soon after does she emerge from the basement, carrying some large, flat box with her. She smiles widely and nods to both of us. "Mornin', Cal. Mornin', Jim."

"Mornin', Maxi," we both reply. I finish dishing out our meal while Jim gathers some mugs for orange juice. He glances at the box and asks, "What's that for?"

Maxine blushes a bit, setting it on the counter. "Well, it's your birthday cake for yesterday, but you guys never showed up. What happened?"

"I'd tell ya, but then I'd have to kill ya," Jim jokes. He sets the filled mugs on the table and takes a seat, grunting. "Thanks again for the help on Cal's present, it really paid off."

I double-take at his slip and widen my eyes at Maxi. "You helped him with that?! You know it was a bomb, right?"

She fidgets, twiddling her thumbs and not answering my question. My brother grins wickedly and says, "Technically it was her idea."

"Was not!" Maxi protests immediately. She rushes over to me and stands a little too close for comfort, hands put together in some pleading notion. "Cal, I didn't know that he was serious, I thought it was a joke! You know I'm careful with that material. I would never use it like that!"

I raise a hand and take a step back. "Easy there, Maxi. No harm, no foul. If you're really choked up about it though, you can make it up to me with some of that cake."

Maxi nods quickly and darts over to the box she brought up. Jim shoots me a look as I take a seat next to him and asks, "Really? Cake for breakfast?"

"S'cuse me, Princess Vodka, but cake's got eggs, flour, milk, and all sorts of nutrition. I'm set," I respond with a smile. Jim looks away at the mention of the nickname from our time in Russia. I kid you not, he drank his weight in alcohol while we were there. It'll be a miracle if he doesn't die from kidney failure at his rate.

Our little banter is interrupted though when Max brings over the cake box and lifts the flap to reveal its contents. "Would you like a corner piece of just an edge?" she asks, pointing with a serving knife.

I half-glance, but immediately look closer when I notice how the cake is designed. Great Scott, this behemoth was beyond worthy of the title 'cake.' What I first thought was just some green frosting all around it, is actually an intricate detailing of a US dollar bill.

Not just that though, the center seal that usually features an important figure in US history (remember, friends, Franklin wasn't a President) is taken by two individuals. Namely, Jim and I. The artwork is insanely well done with our caricatures, almost like a real photo. Our cake-selves look extremely cheesy though, back to back and grinning ear to ear. 'Presidents Cal and Jim Braxton' is written in a scroll below the portrait, along with the usual fare you'd see on cash.

"Daaaayum," Jim manages to utter. He leans closer to admire the dessert, glancing up at Maxi. "Where'd you get this masterpiece?"

She blushes profusely and whispers, "I made it."

Both of us sit upright in our chairs and stare slack-jawed at her. Neither of us are able to form a coherent thought due to that fact with the cake's majesty.

"It's not every day you turn twenty-five. I wanted to make this year's cake really special, as sort of an extra thank you for everything," she continues, her eyes downcast at the floor. She glances at us when we don't say anything and she cringes. "Oh no, you guys hate it, don't you? I knew I should have just-,"

"It's... amazing," we somehow reply in unison.

Our response immediately lightens Maxi's mood and she smiles brightly. "I was hoping you'd say that. Even though it's a day late, Happy Birthday!"

Jim and I stand from our chairs and go over to give her a hug, saying our thanks. She's way too thoughtful. While we're standing, I'm able to see the cake at a different angle overhead. "Fantastic job, Maxi. How'd you even make this?" I ask, pointing at the design.

"Oh, that was easy. I just calibrated my lasers on a weaker setting to 'carve' the cake after I made the design," Maxi explained.

Jim's attention from the cake is diverted when he catches the first part. "Wait, can you adjust those to remove tattoos?" he inquires.

Maxi shrugs at the question. "Sure, but it'll probably hurt like no other," she replies. A grin crosses her face as she realizes something. "Got some regretful ink last night?"

"We both did, unfortunately. Some kinky cartel members put some weird tattoos on us," I cut in, snagging a piece of bacon and munching on it.

"Oh," Maxi says quietly. She leans over to me and whispers, "Is this gonna be like that one time when I took a splinter out of Jim's-"

"Hey! Hey! What part of 'we've never going to speak of this again' was not clear?!" Jim interrupts, throwing his hands up. He groans loudly and sets them on his head, scratching at his slightly longer scalp. Sure did grow quite a bit from yesterday. "And I gotta cut my hair again, keeps growing like a weed!"

He's about to walk off, but Maxi stops him by gently grabbing his shoulder and saying, "Hold on a sec, Jim." When he looks back at her, her eyes widen a bit and she grins. "Awwww, you're finally growing a mustache."

"What?!" we both shout in surprise. Jim touches his upper lip, feeling for the accusation. He looks over at me and, sure enough, there's some darker hairs growing there. "Ugh!" Jim groans. "Now I'm gonna look like this clown."

"You know you love it," I reply cheekily, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "We're gonna be twins!"

Maxi's head tilts to the side. "Wait, what kind of tattoos did they put on ya? Are they matching?!" she asks, failing to hide her amusement.

"Ugh, fine," Jim mutters. He lowers the side of his pants to reveal his apple-missing-a-slice tattoo. He glares at me and I soon follow suit, showing my apple slice tattoo. We stand still for a moment while Maxi looks over the ink.

Her smile widens further and she begins laughing, holding a hand over her mouth. "No way," she chortles. Without another word though, she rushes out of the room and down to the basement. Jim and I glance at each other, unsure of her reaction. However, we soon hear her running back up the stairs. "Are you telling me that you were kidnapped by 'bronies'?!" her question carries hints of ridicule with it.

"'Brownies'?" Jim asks, puzzling over what he thinks she said. "Is that what we're calling the cartel now?"

Maxi chuckles again, returning to the kitchen with a laptop in her hands. "Bronies. I'm surprised they're still out there, the show ended years ago. Guess we're a harder breed to get rid out."

"What show? What are you talking about?" I ask, just as confused as Jim.

Maxi clears her throat and sets her laptop on the table. "'Bronies' are fans of that latest generation of 'My Little Pony.' Looks like the tattoos they gave ya are cutie marks of two of the characters from an episode in season 2."

Jim raises a brow. "'My Little Pony'? 'Cutie marks'? Why do I feel more violated than what I originally thought the tattoos meant?"

We both ignore his complaints (myself even more because incest is NOT cool) while Maxi brings up some pictures on her screen. Bizarrely enough, I soon see an exact copy of what's on my thighs on what looks to be these horse things. I don't know, I didn't ever watch cartoons. I guess they're grayish-olive colored horses with a horn coming out of their heads. They look really familiar though, sporting some sort of vest and tie along with a straw boater hat. Their hair is a bit two-toned,mostly red with some white flowing through like uncooked bacon.

"So these two are Flim and Flam. Jim, your tattoos match Flam's, the one with the mustache. Cal, your's match the other one, Flim," Maxi explains. While the other horse things around them are mostly feminine, these two carry some masculine traits, especially with one having a mustache. It could be worse, they look rather dapper and-..

"Good lord, that's what our tattoos our from?!" Jim asks angrily. He shakes his head and begins walking away. "Even if it was a compliment, they didn't match us correctl- what the hell am I saying? Screw this! Soon as I cut my hair and shave this stupid mustache, I want this ink off. Maxi, kindly arrange your set-up to remove these tattoos and then we'll take ya shopping."

We silently watch Jim go upstairs, partially amused by his grumbling. I shoot a glance to Maxi and hold out a plate, saying, "I'll take a corner piece, by the way. The tattoos can wait with how majestic this cake looks."

She smiles and cuts a piece for me, setting it atop my plate. "You got it, President Flim."

President Flim. That has a bizarre ring to it. Must have been another nickname for Nixon.

Chapter 3- What Is This Sorcery?

Conning The Con Artists
Chapter 3- What Is This Sorcery?

Just thought you should know, the cake was as delicious as it looked. That Maxi sure knows how to make her desserts, clever girl.

After cleaning up our plates from breakfast, I follow Maxi downstairs to help her arrange a set-up to remove our tattoos. It's pretty incredible what she's done with the basement in general. While her own room is separate, there's an intense tech lab filled with all sorts of awesome tools. Most were simple requests she made, but through those she constructed a little forensics lab, a central hub for all our computers and software, and even a clean medical room.

I lift her console of laser tools and set them on a wheeled tray while Maxi wipes down the patient chair. She glances at me and asks, "So, what's the rush for getting these tattoos off? I mean, no one would really see them and I think they're kinda cool."

"Well," I utter, unable to find an immediate answer. She does have a point about them. I mean, they'd never be my first choice if I ever wanted to get inked, but they weren't horrible. It was most certainly a glorious day when I earned my cutie mark, more so when Flam got his at the same time.

Wait, what?!

Maxi notices my befuddlement and waves her hand in front on me. "Cal? You okay?"

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. "Yeah, just... something on my mind," I reply. She bites her lip and looks ready to ask just what that might be, but I continue. "To answer your previous question, it'd be better to get these off now while we don't have anything going on rather than risk being caught with them. Besides, too many possible meanings with this ink."

"Ehn, let 'em think what they want. Now you have something more to share with your brother," Maxi counters. I shudder at her input though, remembering how Jim first interpreted the tattoos. I did NOT want that rumor spreading.

"I think Jim is getting his off regardless, he didn't seem too enthused about them. Let's warm up these lasers and get this ready for him." My suggestion doesn't seem to dissuade her at first, but she shrugs and moves to the console. She begins flicking a few switches and types in the desired setting to prime them lower. Soon, however, we hear Jim call from upstairs.

"Cal? Maxi? You mind coming up here for a sec?" my brother asks, hints of frustration in his voice. Maxi and I share a wondering look, but we make our way upstairs. Jim's leaning over the second floor balcony as we reach the ground floor. His lips are pursed and he's holding a set of hair clippers. Strange, I thought he would have cut his hair by now.

Maxi soon asks the same question I'm thinking though. "Weren't you using those already? It sounded like you had 'em going for five minutes, but you haven't cut your hair yet. They not working?"

"Oh, they're working just fine," Jim replies crossly. He waves a hand upwards and nods to the side. "You're gonna want to see this." Before we can reply, he walks away to the bathroom upstairs.

This day just couldn't be normal, could it?

I trod up the staircase while Maxi follows behind, both of us trying to figure out what's going on here. My curiosity piques when I enter the brightly lit bathroom and see large clumps of yellow-orange hair in the sink. I half-wonder if it's hair from another section of his body, but remember that my brother's practically hairless in general. Although, looking at his scalp, which now seems to have at least an inch of that same colored hair, I'm beginning to doubt that theory.

Maxi notices the hair in the sink as well, but she backs away and scowls at my brother. "Jim! That's disgusting! Why would you show us you shaved your-,"

"No," Jim says flatly, not even in the mood to entertain that thought. "Just watch." At that, he tilts his head down over the sink and turns on the hair clippers. They must be fully charged because they give off a loud whirring noise as he brings them to his forehead. Without further ado, he shaves off the center of his scalp successfully about halfway back. He shuts the clippers off and drops the clump of hair into the other pile, turning to face us.

It's a clean cut down the middle, buzzed like he usually has it. I'm not really sure what the fuzz is about, Jim's probably just pulling our le-.

"Great gulumuku, is it growing back?!" Maxi asks, grasping his head and bringing him closer to her. Jim's legs almost stumble at the sudden change, but he manages to keep his balance. Oddly enough, he doesn't berate her and simply allows the close examination. I lean forward a bit myself, not really believing Maxi's exclamation. His cut looks the same and nothing's- oh holy hell, it really is growing back. Albeit very slowly, but growing nonetheless before our eyes.

Jim eventually loosens himself from Maxi's grip and stands upright. Glancing at the mirror, he growls. "Not enough they put these stupid tattoos on us, now I find out they put God-knows-what in me to make this happen!" shouting, he points a finger at his growing hair. "I'm going back there right now, I need answers. Then, I'm gonna kill them."

"Oy! Jim, listen to yourself for just a moment," I protest, gently putting a hand against him before he dashes out of the room. "We're lucky to still be alive, they were gonna kill us. If we really are going there, we need to be composed and to have some sort of plan. Maybe figure out what and why they put something in us. Also, we're not gonna kill them, that's not our style."

"Wait, did you say they were gonna kill you two?" Maxi interjects, worry and confusion over her face.

Jim snorts, shaking his head. "Wouldn't be the first time anyone's tried, Maxi."

She bites her lip and walks out of the bathroom. I first think she's offended, but her current pacing proves that she's just thinking about something. "But, that doesn't make sense though. Why go through the trouble of injecting something in you before killing you? Unless they wanted to change how you looked, but DNA would still prove who you were. I can still run some tests in case, yet it still doesn't add up."

We both pause at her insight. It definitely was curious, all things considering. After a moment, I break the silence. "Who knows, maybe they had some bizarre gang rituals and wanted to sacrifice us or something. The important thing is that we still have the element of surprise and time to plan. They had no idea who we were when we tricked them." Probably better that way, most likely torture us or something if they found out how much we really had.

"I still think it was ridiculous, but good idea on that, 'Mr. Sherwood'," Jim replies, finally releasing a smile at the memory of my fake name used.

"Hey, I told ya code names would be better on that job, 'Mr. Nottingham.'" I lightly punch his shoulder, exiting the bathroom and descending the stairs. "We can plan while we get these tattoos removed, that'll take our minds off the pain."

Jim follows behind me while Maxi remains atop the balcony with a cheesy grin. "It's now official, you guys have too big of a man crush on Robin Hood." She chuckles, eventually trailing us.

"Don't disrespect the Hood, he's still our inspiration on some of these heists. How else would our old home at 'His Helping Hands Ministry' receive such a generous donation from those corrupt businessmen?" I counter.

She simply shakes her head and grins. "Still makes you two big dorks."

Regardless of our possible dork status, Robin Hood was definitely one of our idols in this line of work. Practically all of his detailed life in folklore was of clever plans and elaborate ruses. Not to downplay his mantra neither, 'Take from the rich and give to the poor.' We added our own implements into the thief's ideals, such as retribution to the innocent from the corrupt, but it was generally the same principle. Although, I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the perks that came with it.

That note aside, we return to the basement and Jim lays down on the patient chair. Maxi's still prepping the lasers when I sit down with a laptop beside my brother. This would prove even more beneficial with planning as well as helping distract some pain during the removal.

"So." Jim begins, turning onto his side and lowering his pants slightly. His eyes glance at the incomplete apple tattoo, but he looks back at me. "We know that they're centralized in Monterrey, but they could be in any of the surrounding towns."

I mumble an affirmative, bringing up the area's map on screen. "Especially how they took us to some country house just outside of Valle Hermoso. That blast did knock them all out though, so there's a fair chance that they're still weak and around that location."

"Alright, Jim, I'm going to start this up. This isn't like the old fashioned way where it takes multiple sessions, just this one time. Not gonna lie, it'll hurt like a banshee," Maxi interrupts. She places a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to look at her. Her eyes soften and she says, "We don't have to do this right now. Heck, I think you should honestly keep it, makes you more unique."

Jim shakes his head roughly. "Not a chance. Even if I did like... whatever it's really supposed to mean, it was put on me without my consent. Besides," he replies, turning his head back to me. "I've had worse pain. Go on ahead."

Maxi looks my way, seeming to ask silently if she should. I simply nod and bring my attention back to the map. "If they really are still there, it's likely they don't expect anything to happen. That would give us an incredible advantage."

"That's if they're still there. What if they've left that area altogether?" Jim asks, circling around Monterrey with his finger.

"Someone will know where they've gone. Even if they've flown the coop and made it to South America, we have to find them. Revenge or no, discovering what they put in you is a priority," I reply, running a hand through my hair.

Jim glances at my scalp. "You know, it's very possible they put something in you, too."

"What do you-," I begin, but the smell of burnt flesh floods my nostrils. Ugh, that's never a pleasant aroma. I shake my head to clear my senses. After I do though, I notice Jim's staring expectantly at me while Maxi is running the laser over his tattoo.

Gadfrey. Either it's really not that painful or Jim has some incredible tolerance. I hope it's the former because I'm no where near as tough. "Anyway, you really think I have whatever you have, too?" I inquire.

"Well, your hair does seem a bit... off," my brother replies, shrugging.

I glance at a small mirror on the wall. Sure enough, my hair looks like it's grown a good deal since yesterday. Not only that, but the color is now matching Jim's current subtle red-orange.

"Oh. My. God," Maxi utters, complete shock in her eyes. Our attention immediately turns to her and neither of us are sure how to react. Her mouth tries to form words, but the sheer bafflement hinders her. She turns off the laser and says, "Y-you're not gonna believe this."

All of us look down at the partially removed tattoo. You wouldn't believe how bad I wanted it to stay that way. Nothing strange to happen. Alas, my small wish went unanswered as the top half of the apple faded back into existence. As if to add insult to injury, it looked even more vibrant and vivid than before.

"Both of you hold still, I have to take skin samples," Maxi hurriedly explains, brandishing a scalpel out of nowhere. Whatever our answer was going to be, she shaves a thin, minuscule piece of skin off of Jim's thigh. She leans over him and does the same to my arm. "I'm gonna analyze these in the lab. Gimme an hour."

Before we respond, she runs out of the room. The two of us glance at each other and then back at the tattoo. "That's it, I need a drink," Jim states, pulling up his pants and getting off the chair. I'm still too baffled to even follow him.

What is going on?!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time I make it upstairs, Jim has already poured himself a glass of scotch. In other circumstances, I may have joshed him about drinking before it was even noon. However, I find myself quick to join him and pour a glass. He's turned on the television, probably trying to get his mind off our current predicament. It doesn't seem to be working though as he keeps guzzling down alcohol.

"This is bullshit, Cal. Shouldn't even be possible for any of this to happen, yet here we are!" Jim exclaims. He shakes his head and raises the remote to change the channel. The TV blinks to a weather report, some weird atmospheric changes going on over the Midwest.

I don't even know what to say. There's certainly no Hallmark card for this sort of thing. Then again, I'd be more concerned if they made a 'Sorry you got screwed over by the cartel' card. "Jim... we gotta look at this in a different way. It's probably just something temporary and it really isn't that bad. There are worse things after all."

"You say that now, but what if we start losing things instead of insane changes? These can't be the only two things that are going to affect us, I think something really bad's gonna happen. What then, Cal?" Jim asks angrily. I know his rage is directed towards this unknown setback, but I can't help but feel some of that wrath as his eyes lock onto mine.

I sigh. "Then we go through it. Together."

He opens his mouth to reply, but a loud beep emits from the TV. Both of us turn our attention to the noise, noticing it's some news bulletin. It's the usual pair of reporters that you see on any station in Texas, but I can't seem to turn away as they begin speaking.

"We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming for breaking news. We've just received word from local law enforcement that-"

"Blah blah, some crazy guy's probably pulling a high speed chase just as some publicity stunt. Had enough of this," Jim interrupts.

He's about to turn off the TV, but I hurriedly stop him. "Hold on a sec, something's up."

My brother raises a brow and asks, "What are you talking about?" When I don't answer him, he glances back at the news report.

"-known as 'Los Reyes', led by a man known only as Satanas, have violently entered the United States through a security post just outside of Matamoros. We warn you that the following footage is disturbing."

"Isn't that the name of-?" I try to ask, but I stop when I see that Jim is completely focused on the report. A grainy camera video is shown next on screen, a pair of armored security guards stepping towards a large SUV. They raise their weapons, but a multitude of rifles are aimed out of the vehicle's windows. The next part is cut out, probably due to the station's censoring, but it's clear what just transpired.

"No word yet on the number of casualties at the outpost, but first reports are that, unfortunately, none of the patrol survived. Authorities are trying to track down these horrible criminals, but witnesses say the gang switched vehicles in a small farming town. We advise everyone watching to avoid confrontation with 'Los Reyes', but to instead contact 9-1-1 to help with any leads."

I jump in surprise when Jim hurls the remote across the room. "Grrrahhh!! Those bastards!" he yells, completely enraged.

My mind finally connects on what's probably upset him most: Keith, one of the guards at that security post and, more importantly, our friend. Today was supposed to be his last day before a break with his family. I open my mouth to reply, but he quickly points a finger at me.

"NO! They've crossed the line. I am NOT going to sit back and wait, we're going now!" Jim shouts, storming out of the room.

So many questions run through my mind. What had we gotten ourselves into? What did 'Los Reyes' really want? How will I hold Jim back when I know he wants to make them pay?

It's through all of these thoughts that something occurs to me. Why did they choose that particular route? "Flam!" I call out to my brother, chasing after him into the hallway. "You cleared everything out of their house that could have connected us, right?"

"Of course, I did! That wasn't our first rodeo, Flim, I cleaned our tra-." Jim leads off, a look of stunned realization crossing his visage.

I notice his demeanor and grab his shoulders. "What? What is it?"

"We didn't check the car for a tracker."

BANG. CRASH.

The sudden chaos disrupts our conversation as we look at the front door and then behind us at the living room's glass doors. Both entryways are packed with members of 'Los Reyes.' All of them have rifles pointed at us and begin surrounding us. Our options are slim to none, strictly limited to surrendering as we lift our hands. A low chuckle echoes behind the first group.

"Well well well. Looks like Christmas comes early, amigos," Satanas says with a sickening grin. His neck beard is still as disgusting as ever, but his nose looks smashed in. Must have been courtesy of that one-on-one meeting he had with that wall yesterday. He approaches slowly and nods. "You two are going to make me very rich, gueros. Or should I say, Braxtons."

Jim looks ready to rip off someone's head, fuming at Satanas. Instead, he spits in his face. "Like hell we will. You're gonna pay for what you've done."

The drug-lord slowly shakes his head and sighs, wiping the spit off his cheek. "Wrong answer," Satanas replies, nodding behind us. Before I can react, one of the cronies smacks the butt of his rifle against Jim's head and knocks him out.

"Jim!" I shout, quickly trying to catch him. However, I feel something hard smack against my head and I'm forced to my knees.

Before I lose consciousness, I hear Satanas command his gang. "Burn down the house, we're leaving."

Author's Note

Possibly a bit trope-following, but what story doesn't, right? I tend to write that way a bit sometimes, but I do promise next chapter won't be cliff-hanging.

Chapter 4- True Colors

Conning The Con Artists
Chapter 4- True Colors

"I daresay I would have made you two my honorary brewmeisters. I mean, it's hard enough creating all this havoc without some hard alcohol on the side," Discord states matter-of-factly, gesturing his arm at the landscape. His eyes narrow at both of us. "And as much fun as that whole chase thing was, today's been more annoying than it should have and this isn't worth making you come voluntarily. Booze is booze regardless if you're really in control of yourself, puppets."

We should have known it was a lost cause trying to run from the all powerful being. Can you really blame us though for trying? Being forever indentured to the Spirit of Chaos isn't exactly on our bucket list. Then again, neither was getting hog-tied in a Neighpon brothel. Woof.

"We're not interested in being your puppets! Why don't you just leave us alone?" Flam questions, breaking my train of thought. My mustached brother stomps a hoof toward Discord in an attempt of intimidation. However, it's ruined as he slips on the mashed potatoes we're still standing on.

The draconequus cackles loudly. "Have you already forgotten who you're talking to?! You know what, don't answer that. I feel like a broken record with how many times I've had to have this conversation today. Now, who's first to give up their will?"

Helping my brother to his hooves, I glare back at our foe. "Forget it, you fiend, go jump in a lake!"

"I'll take that as a 'Me first' answer. One whipped Flim coming right up!" Discord shouts, lifting his arm to snap his talons.

Before he can perform whatever magic he's about to conjure, Flam interjects with an angry yell, "NO!" His horn flashes a radiant green and shoots forth a beam of the same color. With amazing precision, it collides dead center with Discord's fist.

"Ragh!" our foe howls, shaking his arm from the unexpected pain. His eagle limb is still intact, but blackened and smoking. His attention turns back to Flam with a look of pure unadulterated rage. If he wasn't mad before, there's certainly no doubt that he is now. "If you wanted to go first, then why didn't you say so?!"

Discord springs toward my brother, rearing his unscathed lion arm back to attack. However, I feel a surge of adrenaline rush through me in response as I charge my own magic. Surprising even myself, a blast of green magic smashes into his outstretched limb and causes him to bellow once more. A sharp crack echoes loudly around us and the draconequus disappears suddenly. Flam and I look about wildly, searching for any sign of Discord. It couldn't be that easy to beat him, could it?

"Gettin' real tired of your shit, FlimFlam brothers," Discord calls out, still untraceable as his voice echoes. Before either of us can respond though, I feel something encircle my neck and squeeze. I barely register that it's the draconequus' paw as he lifts me high above the ground.

Flam looks ready to tear off Discord's head, but misses the chance as the mashed potatoes rush up his body and encase him. I try to yell my brother's name or even say anything for that matter. However, little more than a chortle escapes my lips as Discord grips my throat tighter. "You two are lucky you even scratched me. If it wasn't for the trouble the Elements gave me earlier, your stupid 'brotherly love' wouldn't have done a thing to me. Yet here I am, the GOD of chaos, being wounded by twats. Can't have that happen again," Discord says angrily.

A muffled yell resonates from where Flam is trapped, but I can't make out what he said. Already my vision is blurring while I struggle for breath in Discord's stranglehold.

"Well, it wasn't nice knowing you and I hope we don't see each other again. Send my regards to those other brats I've trumped." The draconequus bids us farewell sardonically, a bright flash of chaotic magic filling my darkened vision.

I feel like I'm falling in slow-motion, all of my limbs threatening to rip apart by some unseen force. Despite Discord's next words echoing loudly in my mind, I find myself praying that Flam and I will be okay.

"For five score, divided by four..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey! Wake up!" someone with a gravely voice commands. The request sounds faint due to my gradual awakening and my eyes only reveal blurs when I blearily open them. I guess it seems I'm not waking up fast enough because I'm immediately splashed with a bucket of water. Yes sir, I definitely have bigger problems than analyzing that tripped out dream I had again.

The ice-cold liquid nullifies my grogginess as my head springs up instantly. Jeez, one of the worst ways to wake up bar none. Not like I could retaliate though with my hands chained to a bulky overhead pipe. The chains aren't cutting too bad into me, but it's certainly not comfortable. My feet barely hang above the begrimed floor. Even though I'm alert by that awakening, I feel exhausted and battered like I had been tossed around. Seeing where we are, that may actually have been the case.

I'm not even surprised that we're in some dark room again. There's some emergency lighting near the bottom of the walls, but they barely give off any light. Whoever splashed me has left the room and it seems I'm alone. A rattle from my left proves me wrong, however, and I glance over to find Jim not too far from me. Least I hope it's him, I can't really tell yet. He's in the same boat and seems to be gauging the strength of the chains and pipe. His frustrated grunts tell me all I need to know of how difficult an escape would be. "Jim?"

He looks over to me and squints. "Cal? You alright?"

"Yeah, good as I can be." I purposefully cough to clear my throat from how raspy I sound. My mouth is incredibly dry and feels like I haven't had anything to drink for days. A closer glance at my watch reveals that it thankfully hasn't been that long, but still six hours from when we were attacked. Six hours from when they had burned down our home.

The memory strikes a flame of anger within me and I find myself jostling against my restraints. However, it proves fruitless as the chains dig deeper into my wrists. So much for that. I bite my lower lip and look around the room once again. Despite the low-level lighting, the white walls and floor make it a little easier to see. Several hanging hooks and wheeled trays are scattered about the room. On every surface around, a number of dark-colored stains seemingly radiate in the dark. It could be from the ice water being thrown at me, but it's absolutely freezing and I find myself shivering.

The loud noise of a switch being flicked echoes from the doorway and cheap fluorescent lighting bathes the room in a sickly glow. Walking quite arrogantly into the room, and with a shit-eating grin no less, Satanas approaches us with three large guards. "Ah, Los Hermanos Braxton. Good to see you're both awake," he says, but pauses when he looks closer. His expression darkens in puzzlement "Your... what the hell happened to you two? Jesus, Fidelfo, I told you just to chain 'em up." Satanas chides the guard to his left.

"Don't play games with us, you cock-munch, we know you drugged us! Wasn't enough that you tattooed us, you had to inject some ghetto ass hormones to screw with our bodies!" Jim shouted in accusation. His outburst surprised me, but not as much as what I see when I look his way.

Holy hell.

His previously short hair is now shoulder length, as well as being an intense hue of red. A white stripe runs down the middle of his thick locks. That wasn't the only hair growth though as he now sports a bushy red mustache. All of this, however, is not what baffles me the most.

It's the long, pointy ears that now poke out in the midst of his hair.

"Tattoo? I didn't tattoo you, what are you talking about, payaso? I heard you two were weird, but this is the stuff of brujas," Satanas replies. His eyes remain on Jim for a moment, before he glances at me in equal bafflement. "Weren't the one with the mustache earlier?"

"What do you mean you didn't ta-," Jim snarls in question, but stops when he looks at me. His face mirrors Satanas' incredulity as he stares at my head. "...Cal? Your... ears-" my brother attempts to state.

I lick my upper lip. Sure enough, like Satanas mentioned, my beloved mustache is missing in action. Dammit. "I think we're in the same boat, brother of mine."

Jim raises a brow and tries to look upwards, his eyes almost rolling back. However, his gaze spots the colorful red hair that now sits atop his head. After a few moments of stunned disbelief, he suddenly wracks angrily against the chains holding him. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO US?!"

Satanas doesn't answer, still looking like he just saw a ghost. He quickly shakes his head though and waves a hand to one of his guards. "Raul, go find one of our payroll doctors. These two might be infectious or something." While the named guard leaves the room, our captor pulls a flask out of his jacket. He takes a quick swig after uncapping it and steps closer to Jim. "Now look here, let's not be throwing accusations out like Christmas presents. I tell you what: you help me, then I'll help you."

"Like hell you will," I quickly retort. You'd have to be dumber than a fence post to trust someone like Satanas. My immediate rejection, however, causes the drug lord to quickly smash his fist into my stomach. I should have expected the punch, but I'm unable to brace myself from his speedy attack. The blow knocks the air out of my lungs and I hunch over (as much as I could hanging from the ceiling) in reaction.

"You're only making this harder on yourselves, boys. Just tell me your secrets- foreign bank info, private investments, everything- and we can all go home happy," our captor snidely explains.

Jim struggles harder against his chains, rage overtaking his vision. "Get bent, Satanas! Think you're hot shit railing on my brother while he's restrained and drugged up?! C'mon here, ya putz, you probably punch as hard as your dad's limp dick!"

Satanas falls easily to the goading and rushes at my brother. With that same speed, he grasps his shoulders and brutally headbutts Jim. The resounding crack is disconcertingly loud and even the two remaining guards shudder at the impact. The drug lord, insanely enough, doesn't seem to be phased by it and grins wickedly. A trickle of blood runs down his head as he leans closer to Jim. "If you want to live, I suggest you cooperate."

"What's wrong, sweetie, got a date tonight?" I ask , smirking. It may appear stupid and reckless what we're doing, but people are more prone to make mistakes when they're angry. Giving Satanas what he wants isn't part of our to-do list, but we couldn't do much else in our position. It was a risky gambit, but one where we had success in the past. Plus, I need to get the drug lord's attention on me, Jim looks bad with that head trauma.

To my surprise, and to the guards it looks like, Satanas chuckles quietly. He glances at me, beginning to laugh louder. Suddenly, he pulls out a pistol from behind his back and aims it at my head. "You're a funny one, Cal. I got a joke for ya," he says steadily. The abrupt change from mad giggling to a measured expression is more than a little eerie. He pushes the barrel of the weapon against my forehead and asks, "How many bullets does it take to kill a Braxton?"

Before either Jim or I can answer, one of the guards steps forward. "Easy there, Leo, we need 'em alive," he explains evenly. Glad to see these psychos have a voice of reason in Fidelfo. Least I think that's his name.

"Easy?" Satanas asks while still facing me. Let's not forget the gun against my head still. "Do you think I'm not in control, Fidelfo?"

"I'm just telling you not to do anything rash," Fidelfo replies.

The drug lord whirls his pistol away from me and fires at the sane guard. The gunshot pierces Fidelfo's chest, ripping out his back. He looks at the wound and then back to Satanas in shock, before he collapses to his knees and falls forward. "How's THAT for rash?! I know exactly what I'm doing!" Satanas screams angrily.

Like I said before, mistakes are made in anger. Almost immediately, a loud bang echoes beyond the doorway and three more members of Los Reyes barge into the room. Raul leads the charge, question and concern upon his face. "What happened? Is everythin alright?"

"Yes! The Braxtons were just about to tell us everything! It's all in control!" Satanas exclaims, turning back to point his weapon at us. His left eye twitches erratically.

Raul looks down and sees Fidelfo, bleeding out on the ground. It didn't look like he was breathing. The questioning guard looks back at Satanas, a look of fury crossing his expression. "All in control, ehn? You just killed my brother, Leo."

"The hell with your brother!" Satanas retorted.

"Chingado, Leo. Put the gun down or I WILL kill you," Raul counters while raising his own pistol. The rest of the guards raise their weapons at Satanas as well. Looks like our gambit worked. Somehow, we had planted the seeds of mutiny.

Satanas turns around slowly, raising a brow at his partners. "I think you are all forgetting who's in charge here. Do I need to remind you?"

No one says anything and the tense situation thickens even more. All the guards' eyes are trained on Satanas, and his on them. It's only us who spot someone lean around the doorway and drop a canister into the room. Thankfully, both Jim and I know exactly what it is and close our eyes, shielding ourselves away. However, everyone's attention immediately turns to look at the new foreign object.

BOOM.

Despite preparing for the flash-bang's effects, I lose my hearing in place of a loud white noise. I chance a peek towards the door and see that all of Los Reyes are staggering about blindly. A masked figure in black enters the room, carefully aiming a tranquilizer gun and firing at each of them. With frightening precision, the figure sedates all of the guards and approaches us.

I whistle quietly, impressed, and nod my head. "Nice entrance there, stranger. Who do you happen to be?"

"I'm Batman," the figure states with a false deep tone, holstering the weapon and pulling out a mini cutting torch. Even though the figure's masked, I can tell a wide smile is across their face. Waiting a few seconds, our rescuer pulls off the mask and reveals her identity.

"Maxi? How the hell did you do that? Better yet, how did you find us?" Jim asks incredulously. He watches in befuddlement as she reaches up and begins using the cutting torch on his chains.

She laughs and continues to cut away. "I told you all those video games weren't for nothing," she replies. Maxi taps the weakened point, causing Jim's restraints to split and drop him to the floor. "As for how I found you, that's a secret."

Jim lands with a quiet 'oofh', but stands back up and brushes himself off. Maxi smiles and approaches me with the torch still in hand. "Whatever, not like you tagged us or something," my brother mutters.

"Eh heh, right. Nothing like that," Maxi replies, chuckling nervously.

I catch her momentary lapse though and raise my brow. "Wait, did you seriously put tracking chips in us?!" I question. Was that why she was in my room this morning?!

"Well it worked, didn't it?" she immediately responds. Jim merely shakes his head and picks up a dropped pistol from the floor. "WHOA! EARS! Forget me, what happened to you guys?!" Maxi exclaims, suddenly noticing our strange changes.

"I'm hoping we can find that out," I reply. While all the other guards were knocked out, Satanas somehow remained conscious albeit dazed and out of it. I pulled him up and nodded to Jim. "Alright, turkey, what did you do to us?"

Satanas snorts, shaking his head. "I didn't do anything to you two."

"Stop lying, you sack of shit! Why are we changing like this? What drugs are in us?" my brother interrogates.

Maxi taps my shoulder. "Cal, we probably shouldn't stay here long. The cops are on the way."

"I'm not lying, payaso. I just wanted your money, why would I turn you two into a couple of circus freaks?" the drug lord retorts. "You two are dead men by the way."

Jim angrily presses the pistol against Satanas' head. I quickly look to his face and see the complete seriousness in his eyes. "Jim. He doesn't know anything. We gotta go."

"You killed a patrolman today at the border," my brother tells Satanas, ignoring me for the moment.

"Pfft, I killed a lot there. Why should I care?" the drug lord questions.

Jim pushes the barrel harder against him. "You took a loving husband and father away from his family. Keith Williams: more than twice the man you could ever hope to be, you damn fiend."

"Jim," I quietly say. With caution, I gently place my palm over his hand holding the pistol. Maxi is completely silent, mesmerized by the scene unfolding. "If you do this, we're just like him. This isn't us."

Satanas chuckles. "That's right, mariposa, you can't shoot me. You're weak. You're worse than me."

"Wrong," Jim replies. He suddenly breaks my hold and glares at the killer, weapon ready to fire.

Instead though, he smacks the pistol against Satanas and knocks him out. "I'm better than you."

Both Maxi and I release the breaths we didn't realize we were holding. Not an average day unless there's some drama. Jim glances at us both and smiles. Maxi shakes her head, saying, "And I thought I was cheesy. Seriously though, we have to go right now. The cops will be here any minute."

"Where though?" I ask, unsure where we can go. Our home's no more and our other hide-outs could be compromised in case there are other Los Reyes.

Maxi simply smiles. "Don't worry, I've got an idea," she teases, walking away from Jim and I. We both share a look, but eventually follow after her to who-knows-where. It was around this time, that I had a strange pain in my ass.

And I'm not just talking about Maxi.

Author's Note

Took me long enough, right? Sorry 'bout that, been working on other random stuff. Thanks so much for reading, any and all feedback is appreciated, and be sure to keep on rocking. WUBS!