Hardcore Honey & the Swamp Monsters
A TeslaPunk Story by AngusEcrivain
It was an odd feeling, just as strange the umpteenth time as it had been the first, as electrical energy coursed through Honey's body thanks to her Tesla Coil breast implants.
There was no doubt at all it was an odd look and she definitely got more than a handful of questioning glances when she was shopping for groceries, or lingerie, or a used car at 'Daves (Dave didn't believe in apostrophes, nor did he really understand the intricacies of the English language) Used Cars and Porn Emporium.'
On those occasions though, other than a barely audible thrum the implants were purely aesthetic. It was during situations like those mentioned and many more besides, that Honey liked to think of her jubblies as dormant.
They were anything but dormant though, as Honey used the additional power (she was pretty fucking badass regardless, you see. She wasn't a Hardcore Honey for nothing!) the Tesla Coils proffered.
The Swamp Monsters didn't really stand a chance. They were mostly comprised of water - granted, really really shitty, smelly, swampy water - and as such, with every blow delivered by her electrically charged clenched fist a Swamp Monster was fried, or boiled, or...anyway, they were fucked.
Whilst fighting the Swamp Monsters, Honey did contemplate the fact that as there was actually no swampland in the vicinity, or even on the continent as far as she was aware, someone had really screwed the pooch and whilst she had her suspicions as to whom that someone might have been, she knew better than to question a hitherto unseen all-seeing, all-knowing creator - the fact she did not believe in such things was so far beyond the point, the point was a dot but even so, tempting fate of any kind was a fool's errand and Hardcore Honeys were no fools. They might've made 'em pretty at the the Hardcore Honey Academy for Girls and Confused Boys, but they certainly didn't make 'em stupid.
The remaining Swamp Monsters rallied and charged Honey in a very sloppy - sloppy as in wet, moist, damp, as opposed to tactically unsound (though it was, of course, a tactically unsound manoeuvre) - fashion, and as they did so Honey cricked her neck, corrected her Tesla Coil charged cleavage, lowered herself to a knee and dropped both fists to the ground with such force that Pluto became a planet again.
"Booyah!" she exclaimed, too cool for school as she was, and stood tall as all around her, the tarmac crackled and glimmered as vast amounts of excess electricity sought somewhere to go.
"That was so cool!"
Honey turned on the spot to see a little girl of no more than eight or nine years old. She was scruffy as shit, and some of the filth that coated her clothing and exposed skin where it was, indeed, exposed, may well have been actual shit.
"How did you do that?!"
"I'm Hardcore fuckin' Honey is how," Honey replied with a wink, dropping to a knee once more so that she was positioned at a more suitable height to address the youngling. She reached out and ruffled the urchin's unkempt mess of dirty blonde, matted hair. "Now run along home, little one."
"Don't have a home," the girl replied, earnestly, her big blue eyes temporarily appearing to be too big for the rest of her head.
"Then we'll have to do something about that," said Honey, smiling. "You're a fucking state though so it's gonna' be shower time, first. Then we'll get you something to eat, you look as though you've not had a meal in days."
"And what happens then?"
"Tomorrow, your training begins," Honey replied. She stood tall once more and reached out her hand, which the girl grabbed with her own. "You're gonna' learn to be a Honey, girl. You're gonna' love it."
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