Adventures of Max Cliché (Part 1)

There he stood. Max Cliché-the man, the legend. Wearing a ten-gallon cowboy hat, leather gloves, a leather trenchcoat under which his tools were tucked away safely and a pair of the most rugged jeans even sewn, Max stood in the middle of the desert sweating profusely. Not because he was scared, not because he was tired, but because his clothes didn’t “breathe”. But it didn’t matter to Max. He was a badass. The words were even embedded on his belt-buckle: BADASS.

As he stood there scanning the horizon, a ray of light bounced off his BADASS belt buckle. But it was noon and Max’s impeccable inner compass told him he was facing north. “Impossible”, Max thought to himself in his inner voice which was so gritty that the only accurate parallel that can be drawn is 'steel strings washed with acid'.
“In the Northern hemisphere, the sun is directly to the south of the observer at noon.
That can only mean one thing…”
Max’s eyes narrowed.
“Robot Zombie”, Max whispered to himself.

Max was right. The sunlight shining on Max’s buckle was reflected off of the metallic body of a Robot Zombie. A Robot Zombie was a human first made undead by a virus and then frankenscienced into a robot. It was strong and quick like an android but ran on brains instead of batteries. Truly, an abomination of both nature and science.

Max stood still and waited for the Robot Zombie to lunge for his brain. He knew their tactics well; he had already fought about five of these. Or maybe it was ten. The exact number didn’t matter to Max, he was a badass. The poor, unsuspecting Robot Zombie circled around Max and tried to stealth grab Max’s head from behind. Before it could lay a metallic finger, Max rammed his elbow into the Robot Zombie’s gut, badly denting it. He then turned around and threw one of his punches that could knock an elephant out (and it had). The Robot Zombie’s head went flying through the hot desert air and landed lifelessly in the sand. The body collapsed on the spot with a dent in its torso and wires spilling out of its neck. Max looked at it: half rotten flesh, half shiny metal, completely out of function.

“Dr. Villano, the end is near“, Max said in his head while lighting a cigarette.
He knew smoking kills, but he doubted that Death had the balls to come for him twice in the same day.


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