Tevun-Krus #50

The Breath of the Bone - @MadMikeMarsbergen

"The Breath of the Bone" originally appeared in Tevun-Krus #9: Spunky Heroine

Author's Note from MadMikeMarsbergen: Written back in 2014, this was the first of my genre-jumping epics for Tevun-Krus, which would become something rather commonplace over the years that followed. Prior to this one, my contributions to TK had been a winning drabble, a short comedy and two epic-length horror-SF stories, and I remember when I set out to do this one I wanted to tap back into my comedic origins. So "The Breath of the Bone" is primarily a comedy, but there's also some action, some intrigue, some horrific moments, and a heartbreaking ending I hope you don't see coming (but see was always there, in retrospect), all wrapped up in this strange BonePunk veneer. Sentimentally speaking, this is still one of my personal favourites, though I do think my later stuff is written better. Nonetheless, it gives me great pleasure to share with you all the currently definitive version of this "classic" MadMike tale.

The Breath of the Bone

by MadMikeMarsbergen

1

The deal was done.

Isabella Sistrane handed over the pills to the little Finuvian boy, taking the cash-money in exchange and inserting the bills in between her larger-than-life-itself, 48V-sized breasts. They didn't even make bras big enough for those mutated boobs of hers, which was why she went without.

"Aw deeth goink to wahk?" the boy asked, foul-smelling drool depending from his bone-braced teeth. His Finuvian accent was near-impossible to understand at the best of times. Combine that with a set of gnarly looking choppers undergoing realignment via the finest in dental technology, and you had a recipe for excessive use of subtitles.

"They'll make you see pretty pink mechanobats pissing rainwater into your mummy's morning tea," Isabella told him, before ruffling the three red curls on his otherwise-bald skull.

"Oh, dath good." The boy popped one pill and swallowed it dry. He looked around the industrial park, eyes gunning straight for the nearby rooftops and mechanotrees. "Dath weal good." He started to whistle, spraying more spit than sound.

Isabella found this very suspicious. "Say, kid, you're not planning on screwing me, are you?"

His eyes went to Isabella's ample bosom, then back to searching the mechanical leaves on the trees and scanning the tops of the buildings. "Uh, naw."

"What are you looking at, then?"

"Nawthink."

"Doesn't look like nothing to me," Isabella said. "Looks like you're waiting for backup to come swooping in and arrest me. You part of a sting op, kid? You been given all the powder your little nose can toot, in exchange for taking down the biggest dealer in illicit narcotics this side of Garbalzapan? Huh?"

"I doan even know what that meanth." The kid fidgeted, tugging on the front of his salmon-coloured shirt. He cleared his throat. "It'th a wathah nithe night tonight." He looked around, eyes wide. "I thaid: IT'TH A WATHAH NITHE NIGHT TONIGHT!"

Definitely a code word.

Like a stroke of lightning across the blackened sky, Isabella pulled her revolver out from between her breasts. The gun was made of solid bone and had been possessed by the soul of her dead dad—after a freak accident involving high-grade explosives and even-higher-grade psychedelics.