I was standing there in the middle of the zoo parking lot, surrounded by five men who were equipped with various types of firearms. I couldn’t see them very clearly; it was still nighttime and the parking lot was poorly lit. About fifty feet away I could see the moving van that would have been my escape vehicle, but there was no way to get to it now; if I moved, I was sure that I would be shot. These men had already shown themselves to be capable of murder, since that is what got me into this situation in the first place; inadvertently finding them burying a body.
I knew that my 12-foot-tall purple plastic naked 3D-printed statue of Buddy Hield was waiting in the van for me to get back. I wondered what would become of him when I was gone. He couldn’t drive the van, of course; even if he was capable of understanding the steering wheel and pedals, he was simply too big. He would probably just walk back into the zoo and keep playing with the goats until somebody called the police. Then what would happen?
“Two victims in one night,” the leader of the men said from behind me. “I wasn’t planning on it, but I’m sure we can dig another hole somewhere around here.” His goons laughed. “Who wants to do the honors?”
Suddenly, a huge figure, twice the size of an average male, came running out from behind the van. Buddy! Instead of his usual unintelligible chatter, which is the only noise he makes, he was roaring. It was a scary sound, honestly.
“What the hell is that?” one of the men exclaimed. The armed men all turned their attention to this new threat, and I took the advantage of their distraction, diving back into the woods to watch from there. Even by the time I started sprinting away, some of the men had opened fire, and I instinctively covered my head as bullets whizzed through the air.
Buddy was hit several times by bullets before he reached the man closest to him. With a deafening bellow, Buddy swung his arm and knocked the gun out of the man’s hand, then easily picked the man up by the neck in a one-handed grip. After raising the man above his head, Buddy threw the man back down on the ground; even over the sound of gunshots, I could hear the man’s bones breaking as he bounced sickeningly off the concrete. He did not move.
There was another man nearby who was emptying round after round into Buddy, with seemingly no effect. Buddy formed a fist and clocked him right in the jaw; several teeth popped out of his face as he dropped dead to the ground, his head an oddly flat shape as it was apparent his skull was completely fractured.
Panicking at the grisly death of their comrades, the other men started to run away down the parking lot, screaming and crying and pleading for mercy, but Buddy had no problem catching up to them. The slowest one, he kicked from behind, breaking the man’s leg. As he lay on the ground writhing in pain, Buddy stomped directly on his head, causing a balloon-bursting effect. The man’s gun was still next to him; Buddy grabbed it, looked at it for a second, then pointed it at the last two men running away and began to fire. One bullet connected in the man’s back, apparently severing his spinal cord and paralyzing him instantly. Another bullet a few seconds later pierced his skull and turned his cleanly-shaven head into a splattered mess that looked like a modern art piece.
The other man escaped Buddy’s aim, so Buddy began running again, still roaring. Buddy’s long strides make him impossible to outrun, as that final criminal soon found out. When the man saw he was about to be caught, he turned around and began firing his weapon right at Buddy’s face, but Buddy seemed to feel nothing as he calmly reached down, crushed the gun with the grip of his hand, then picked the man up with two hands. The man begged for help, but there was nobody around to save him; all his friends were dead.
I almost couldn’t watch as Buddy pulled on the man’s legs and torso in opposite directions. There was the sound of ripping flesh and screams of agony rang through the night. Then, the man’s body gave way, and was torn into two separate pieces, which Buddy discarded on the ground as blood spurted and internal organs flopped out.
Sirens could be heard in the distance. Somebody had reported the gunfire. “Buddy, we gotta get out of here!” I yelled, emerging from the trees and running to the van. Buddy saw me, smiled, and began running as well. His purple body was stained red with blood. I was just turning the ignition when Buddy, knowing that we had no time to open the back of the van, squeezed himself into the front.
“Thank you,” I said, still reeling from the gory scene that had played out. Buddy, knowing full well that had rescued me from a very bad situation, give me a big plastic hug. He’s my best friend.
But the sirens, growing louder, reminded us that we couldn’t stay there.