Kilroy Owns the Night: Day 23 (Quixotic)
I own the night.
That’s more than a mantra or creed. It’s something I say repeatedly to motivate myself in moments of stress; those times I need to reach into the depths of my constitution and kick some extraterrestrial ass. Owning the night is my essence, my being, my true self. Who am I if I’m not owning the night? It’s what I do! And how can I do it if I don’t say it. In order to own the night, I must declare first that I own the night. It’s a whole thing with me.
So, in order to make sure procuring the Encyclopedia of Potentially Dangerous Things wasn’t a Quixotic quest ending in futility, I knew I had to own the night. That started be declaring it.
“I own the night.” It was my best Clint Eastwood impression.
“Oh, for the love of Billbocks,” Mercury huffed.
The moment called for deployment of unique weaponry. A diversion. Some way to keep my adversaries at bay while I returned to The Tempting Fate for the Encyclopedia. Holstered on my belt were such diversions. The JazzHands gun which would force my targets into an involuntary dance number. Entertaining but I couldn’t risk getting caught up in watching the spectacle. My Existential Crisis Inducer had been on the fritz so I couldn’t trust it. That left only one viable but proven option: the Fartillery Grenade.
I plucked the grenade from my belt, pulled the pin, and tossed it. Next came the pungent gas.
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