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"The Mad Licker" 

Page 2 of 3

    “Bill- I’ve a bit of bad news for you I’m afraid.”

    “You’re full of bad news, what the hell do you mean, clean freak?” Bill snapped, but he was softening thinking about poor old Daisy- probably somebody’s grandmother. However, he had licked her, he had licked her just the same.

    “It’s about your last victim Bill …Daisy,” Stickweiler baited the Mild but Mad Licker.

    Daisy?” Bill said, seeing the woman’s face off in the distance through his tears and the glaze of a fordone licker. “Did you say Daisy? What about Daisy, sanipad?”

    Stickweiler bristled at the derogatory term, often used against Sanitarian State officials, but he would have revanche; he breathed deep… and then lied.

    “Ms. Daisy Constantine, 89 years of age, died yesterday due to toxigenic bacteria.” Stickweiler and the assault team covered their mouthpieces to stifle snickers.

    “Died? Died? How could she die? I just licked her for Chrissakes,” Mild Bill felt as if a horse had kicked his head, or as if he’d been licked, himself.  He was licked… just like his victims. He was licked. And that poor old Daisy…

    “She died Bill. It happens. Bacteria kills. Now open the door, it’s over.” This wasn’t so much a command as just the next line in a script playing out. The door would open.

    Mild Bill stood up, unlatched all three locks, glanced at some of the areas of the door he had licked bare, and stepped backwards to the middle of the room; and there he stood stonily, awaiting his fate.

    Stickweiler entered.

    The Sanitarian Assault Team swarmed in around him and begirded the Mad Licker. They were outfitted for germ warfare, but with some exception for mobility. The smaller respirators were being employed because Bill was considered only a Level Two Bacterial Risk. His medical records had been reviewed and he was disease free and in fairly good health according to Vector Inspectors. They figured his breath was probably even minty.

    “William Mosley: State Vector Number 17” Stickweiler said, his compassion from behind the door melting away, “you are hereby to be neutralized before you are tried for the safety of the State, and those who will be forced to deal with your filth.” Stickweiler stopped reading and instructed his team, “The titanium stock, now.”

    Mild Bill was bewildered with the odd looking contraption that appeared from nowhere. It was a four-foot hand held stock, which locked the head and hands within girdled enclosures: a domino center left the Vectors mouth exposed.

    “I never meant to kill anybody,” Bill garbled peccantly.

    “The old lady didn’t die you fool,” Stickweiler laughed, “Sanitarian tactics Bill, that’s all. She suffered some gastric distress thanks to you, but she’s alive and kickin. And she says she wants your tongue Bill, and we aim to give it to her.”

    “What!” Mild Bill’s eyes grew behind the mail.

    “Sanitarian People’s Republic protocol, Bill. Suspected Vectors like yourself…and I said suspected… will be neutralized by total glossectomy on capture; it’s a safety precaution Bill. You’re a dangerous fella with that muscle in your mouth. You must be one of those leftist bleeding hearts who still believes in petting, or…kissing…or even copulation?” Stickweiler removed a hawksbill knife from his bioware suit.

    “Yes!” Bill shrieked; the Licker became mad. “I do! And throat diving! And all unhygienic acts! I’ll suck toes! Lick wounds…analingus! I’ll lick you, you pristine bastard!”

    Mild Bill’s disease surfaced wholly then, with a fiercely flicking and spatterous tongue; madness gazed through the stock at the knife, and the cheek above the respirator.    O’ to lick!

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