The suburban municipality re­sem­bled something off of tele­vi­sion — wide hedges, exotic-looking trees, huge lawns, and large homes set WAY back from the sidewalk and street.

The two assassins wondered how anyone could ever live in such sickening tranquility. Both were flat-out nauseated by the idyllic scenery once they finally reached the designated home mentioned in the mysterious message.

The largest of the two brothers was called Wreck. Though quite good-looking in the ruggedly-handsome sense, he was a bull-necked, copper-haired young man who reminded one vaguely of an ox. He had steel-gray eyes, a protruding jaw, enormous ears and size 16 feet,

"Well, we showed up just as the letter requested. But this place looks deserted."

Ruin was smaller, more boyishly cute, and even more dangerous-looking than his brother. He was compact, muscular and pale with close-cropped blonde hair and sky-blue eyes. His feet were size 13, which were fairly large to normal people, but when compared to his older brother’s size 16’s….

"I'm going to check in the other room there's gotta be a clue somewhere that'll give us a hint as to why someone lured us here."

"You do that I'll keep searching out here."

After thoroughly scrutinizing the premises, the immense executioner heard his brother yell out,

"Hey, I think I found something."

Before Wreck could comment, a crash shattered the near-silence. Just as the sound of broken glass faded, a yelp of surprise reverberated from the room that Ruin was searching. Wreck rushed towards it. Once he traversed inside, he found his brother standing in the corner concealed safely behind his shield. In the center of the room, resting on the carpet was a metal ball a grenade of some sort. The window in the room had been smashed and shards of glass littered the room. Obviously the metal ball had been launched into the house from somewhere outside.

Ruin glanced at the round banal-looking object that lay near his and Wreck's feet,

"Hey look, bro a gas grenade."

The immense executioner peered down at the baseball-sized sphere as well,

"That's absurd. They don't make gas grenades so small. This is a frag-shell bomb."

"No ... see the markings on it? This is a gas-grenade, most-likely fired from a PBR Mortar 52mm Jet Shot Mark one."

Wreck shook his head,

"You need glasses Blondie, this looks more like a fragment-bomb fired from an Arwen 37 Antiriot Weapon System."

At that moment, the metal sphere began to hiss quietly. Then somnolent gas began to stream from it in seemingly all directions.

An annoyed Ruin turned to face his immense brother, his sky blue eyes were as wide as hubcaps and his face had blanched to an eggshell white, "Told ya it was a gas-grenade, smart-ass!"

Before Wreck could answer, the area was overrun by a rolling cloud of gas. His eyes stung and his throat burned quite a bit. He peered through the haze and saw Ruin begin to teeter on his feet succumbing to the tranquilizing vapors. Then his brother's knees buckled and he toppled forward. Wreck himself tried to move away from the grenade, but his legs were made of cement. The room's lights appeared to swirl around like fireflies high on crack as he slid to the floor.

The gas thickened, growing more and more dense. Both of the brothers felt their senses leave them … then they knew nothing for some time.

***

Once the fumes cleared from the room, masked uniformed members of The Ebonknights rushed right in. Confident that the somnolent gas had done its trick, they sprinted throughout the domicile without even drawing their weapons. Two of these black-clad soldiers found the two brothers lying where they had fallen. Removing their masks, Ebonkights Darnell Hill and Andre Johnson inspected the two unconscious assassins and immediately took note of how huge Wreck’s feet were. Darnell even tugged the boots off those giant socked feet and was immediately hit with a wave off sweaty foot odor that comes from feet that have been trapped in leather for about a day in hot July weather. It was an odor that caused a stirring in his penis despite the fact that he wasn’t nearly as much of a male foot fetishist as his friend and partner. And without hesitation or the least bit of awkwardness, he even slid the damp, smelly socks from the unconscious Wreck’s huge feet. Then, seizing one bare foot by the ankle, he held it out towards his fellow Ebonknight and said, “I dare you to do it, Dre…”

“Dare me to do what, fool?” asks Andre.

“Dare you to lick his smelly feet clean … I know you like that shit,”

Andre made a funny face. Seeing the huge bare foot of the assassin being presented to him like a gift had clearly stoked the fires of lust within him. Still, his rational side won out…

“I would love to lick those gunboats up as if it they were made of ice cream, but I can’t … I mean, even though this fucker is big, he’s still just a kid. And you know I don’t play around with ja--"

“He’s not a KID kid,” stated Darnell, “Our intel report says that Kelsey ‘Wreck’ Ballinger is twenty years old. He only looks like a little kid cause he’s out cold. You know how white people always look younger when they’re unconscious.”

Andre was still dubious, “Well what if someone catches me? I mean the other guys are going to come in here eventually and—“

Darnell seized both of Wreck’s ankles and shoved both of the unconscious assassin’s bare size 16’s in Andre’s face. "I will straight-up suffocate you with this bastard’s
stinky feet unless you do what you KNOW you want to do! Start licking, you foot-loving freak-ass fucker!"

That did it. Andre opened his mouth and began stroking the soles of the assassin’s sweaty, smelly feet with his tongue, savoring the salty taste. He started to moan as he licked the unconscious copper-haired youth’s soles. Darnell, still holding on to Wreck’s ankles, manually moved the assassin’s size 16 feet around on his fellow Ebonknight’s face so that his partner could lick every inch of each foot.

Then, without prompting, Andre began to suckle upon Wreck’s toes. Even though the assassin was still out cold, those toes wiggled around a bit--so much so that the Ebonknight grew a boner hard enough to cut diamonds.

Andre jerked himself off while Darnell worked furiously to put Wreck’s socks and boots back onto his feet before their fellow Ebonknights could locate them.

***

Encompassed by warmth, the blond-haired assassin slept comfortably on a cot in a dimly lit room. When he finally stirred and opened his eyes, he was puzzled. Where was he? How much time had passed since he and Wreck were knocked out by the gas grenade? His brother was lying on a cot beside him, fully clothed, and his mace was at his side. Apparently their captors were so confident that they didn't care whether or not the two assassins kept their weapons.

Seconds after Wreck regained consciousness … and discovered that his toes were all pruny for some strange reason. Both brothers, clad only in heir undershorts, were ushered out of the dimly-lit room and jostled into a larger one by a rifle-wielding man in a black uniform. Once their eyes adjusted to the brighter lights of this new room, the two brothers tried to take the spectacle they were witnessing in stride.

They saw an army of armed, masked men standing on the brow of a raised platform. Ruin recognized these men as the Ebonknights, warriors hired by their captor to serve as bodyguards and his own private army. All of them were dressed in black uniforms just like the man who had jounced them into the room at gun-point. Their hands were covered with gloves. Full-faced masks covered their heads. They were each strapped with AK .47s and Uru Mekanika rifles.

As he stared down at the two brothers from his vantage point atop the elevated platform, Jamaal Jackson, leader of the Ebonknights, spoke…

"Sorry about gassing you senseless before bringing you here, but I couldn't take the chance on you figuring out where this little base of operations is located."

Jackson was a tall, brawny, ebony-skinned African-American. The well-defined muscles in his back, shoulders and arms bunched and moved as he helped another one of his enlistee warriors to move a crate full of ammo onto the platform. Once he was finished he turned his attention back towards the brothers,

"Now, I'm going make this short and sweet… I want Mayor Hardgraves out of the way. I want him iced. Rubbed out. Snuffed. KILLED. My reasons why don't concern you, but I shall give you the opportunity to name your price for services rendered."

Wreck glanced at his brother, then looked up at the mysterious man and shrugged, "Okay."

To be continued…