Chapter 11: Have Katana, Will Travel

She immediately went back into the basement and broke out the heavy artillery. But she found that the howitzer actually was indeed heavy artillery - too heavy for her to lug around. She instead opted for an assortment of weapons hanging on a rack against the back wall, favoring two silenced .50 caliber 'automatics'. Not only did they look formidable, but they were the best choice for her since she never learned how to shoot a 'manual'.

She kicked open the basement door and opened fire in a blaze of flaming gunfire and noise (since silencers on a .50 cal are like counting votes in Florida. It don't make a damn bit of difference.). Then she realized that she kicked the basement door open that leads outside and looked around at the carnage she had wrought.

The neighbors ran, crawled, hid, and generally bled and screamed like sorority sisters tragically low on Tampax. She looked down unapologetically at the closest person she could find. It was old man MacDougal who lived next door, and judging by his "Kiss The Cook's Ass" apron - she had interrupted his barbecuing festivities.

"I'm looking out for number one!" she shouted down at him.

"Well I just made a big number two you can look at," he squealed back. "Just don't hurt me!"

"Old man, don't test me. A girls gotta do what a girls gotta do," she growled at him. Just as she turned to make her way to the front of the house and her Ford Escort she heard the high pitched shriek of her other next door neighbor, Mrs. Willowby.

Being the nosey white person she is, Mrs. Willowby had run outside, as opposed to seeking shelter like a normal person, at the sound of the gunfire to see what was going on. Mrs. Willowby still had on her spandex and leg warmers from her recent foray into the world of 'Oldies' and the ordeal of sweating along to them.

Jane sauntered over to Mrs. Willowby and slowly pushed the warm barrel of the silencer into her still squealing maw. Mrs. Willowby's shuddering mass still quivered as she sobbed, but at least she was quiet.

"Mrs. Willowby, I'd love to put some REAL lead in that fat ass, but I'm on a mission. I'm looking out for number one."

"William Riker?" Mrs. Willowby choked out in a confused tone.

"Ok, that does it. I was just going to leave, but you are entirely too dense to live," Jane said as she reached into her bag and whipped out a silenced ninja sword. She silently poked Mrs. Willowby in her pressure points (mostly centered around the head region) until her body relaxed so much that her neck was no longer able to keep her head attached to her body.

"Hey, look at that. You just lost ten unsightly pounds."

Jane smiled at her callous joke.

Jane ran around to the front of the house and jumped into her rocket-powered Fort Escort. Actually, it wasn't really rocket powered, but she had left a roll of carpet in the back with the hatch open, so she liked to imagine that it was a rocket (or some sort of automotive pseudopod).

She revved the engine and made a mad dash for the nearest low income housing development when all of a sudden a gaggle (or is it a flock?) of ninjas blocked the road. Jane screeched to a halt, just short of hitting the shortest of the ninjas, who stood at just over three feet.

The shortest ninja held up his hand, the only thing visible over the hood of her car except for the very top of his head, and said in a commanding tone, "You are under arrest for the unauthorized use of a weapon and the termination of home owners without prior written consent from the West Valley Park Home Owners Association."

Jane rolled down the driver side window and leaned out and said, "Man, you guys sure are quick. I only started my rampage a few minutes ago."

One of the taller ninjas (well, technically speaking they were all taller than the leader) replied, "Well, not really. We were already on our way over to smite Mr. MacDougal for his unauthorized barbecue."

The leader turned to the taller ninja and gave him a stare that would shrivel the balls of a moth.

"Enough! While we appreciate you giving us a head start on meting out today's dose of Home Owner Association justice, we must nonetheless hassle you to the point of death for your flagrant violation of the rules. Had you gone through channels earlier and subtly attached your request for a killing rampage as an addendum on, say - a request for a one piece washer/dryer unit in your garage, this conflict might have been avoided."

"We must enforce the rules in any case, even thought you are slightly better armed than out usual culprit. Generally we deal with assailants armed with barbecue tongs or a waffle iron…"

"Or a vicious Chihuahua."

The short ninja shot the taller one another annoyed look for his interruption.

"Prepare yourself for battle with th..." the short, leader ninja started to say when he realized that Jane had gotten out of the car, gathered her belongings and was climbing one of the impeccably manicured elm trees that lined the street.

"HEY! You better not break any of those branches, missy! Housing association dues are used to keep the community foliage in shape and we will not stand for..."

Just then Jane jumped from a branch about mid way up the tree, guns a blazing, her eyes filled to the brim with murderous intent.

The ninjas who were not cut down in the initial volley of fire scattered into the surrounding bushes while others made Jedi Mind Trick gestures, hoping to cloud Jane's mind. Jane stared at the mind trick ninjas for a brief second before cutting them down with a blast from a sawed off shotgun she had duct taped to her wrist.

"It only works on the weak minded, you fools," she said.

Meanwhile, the ninjas had time to regroup and they swarmed from every well-maintained nook and cranny throughout the neighborhood. A wall of black rushed at Jane - a screaming, flailing, gaggle of pasty-faced warriors of the night.

They were, after all, the local Neighborhood Watch organization, made up of the most zealous of the Home Owners Association members and really only ninjas in appearance only.

While their dreadfully lacking martial arts skills may have been a match for the run of the mill, puffy, Bob and Suzy homemaker that made up a majority of neighborhood residents, they were of course no match for a pistol packin', estrogen fueled, road warriorette.

Bodies flew everywhere, heads fell to the ground like rabbits wrapped in saran wrap and dropped from a very great height, and an assemblage of body parts started to pile up, making the typically serene street look like it was having a blood soaked, multi-house yard sale where everyone's kids were growing out of their limbs quicker than the parents could keep up with buying new ones.

After the dust had settled and the last death rattle was heard, Jane stood in the middle of the street, astride a pile of bodies.

Surveying her handiwork, she triumphantly said, "...

Continue on to the next chapter, following Jane's plotline...
Continue on to the next chapter, following the original storyline...