A squad of North Korean operatives in North Korean snowsuits stand beside North Korean snowmobiles holding Israeli guns. Just another thing to see in the woods outside of Robbie Bourbon's cabin, the corpse of a krampus in front of them, it's head split, and standing in front of a terrified little boy named Leroy is none other than Robbie Bourbon himself, his gaze narrowed and lips pursed at the visage in front of him.

The simple PR "stunt" had gotten way out of hand at this point. Bringing underpriveleged youths to the woods for a relaxing getaway culminating with the delivery of a minty fresh Nintendo Switch for each child was supposed to be easy, heartwarming, and an all around swell move for Robbie to hang his hat on, the backdoor route to dignity and integrity. The barrels of the uzis pointed at him now said otherwise. Robbie tightly grips the head of his axe as he looks back at the North Koreans. He knows their guns won't do anything to him, but the kids were now a liability instead of a simple asset.

It's the holidays. You have no reason to be here. Leave.

Robbie's voice cracks, the attempt at getting hard nosed betrayed by the quaver of his own voice. An operative raises a fist, and the rest of the North Koreans lower their weapons. As they do, said operative removes their helmet, and upon doing so lets her long black hair down. She looks at Robbie.

Give us the child and we will leave.

What?

He won't be missed. That is Leroy Brown, he lives with his grandmother. His mother is in prison, his father, deceased. His grandmother has the Alzheimer's, inefectual for leading and raising children. We will give him a better life, raise him to be North Korean, then go on to win in the Olympics for us!

Leroy steps around Robbie.

Hey, don't...

No, she's right. I want to go. If it will help you and the rest of the kids in the cabin it's what I should do.

No!

Robbie steps in front of Leroy again, cutting him off.

They want to enslave you, Leroy.

That's just a small price to pay.

Leroy pushes past Robbie and walks straight up to the North Korean woman.

Let's go.

Shut it.

The woman backhands Leroy, who hits the frozen turf.

...

Robbie looks incensed as he steps towards the group of North Koreans, who all point their guns at Leroy on the ground. Robbie stops. The woman screams something in Korean. The report of each uzi in the hands of the agents fills the air.

NO!!!

Robbie charges the commander and levels her with a right. He pounces on the next gunman and twists the helmet swiftly, causing a snap and a break. The gunmen now point their weapons at Robbie, and Robbie makes a dash for the nearest, each bullet bouncing off and hitting the ice cold ground below. Robbie plows his axe into the third gunman's abdomen, upward into the rib cage, slicing into the heart and lungs while shattering the spine and rib cage as well. Robbie kicks the corpse from the haft of his weapon and leaps at the next gunman, sinking the axe blade deep into the right clavicle, down into the windpipe, causing a sickening gurgle as the North Korean agent slumps to the ground. With a spin, Robbie hurls his axe at the last gunman. The head of the axe pierces through the facemask of the helmet worn by the rider and a gush of crimson hits the icy air and stains snowflakes blood red as they hit the ground. Robbie turns to the body of Leroy, set against the perfect white snow.

Wait, why isn't the snow all red around you?

Robbie walks over and sees a bevy of spent bullets all across Leroy's prone body.

Is it over?

Yeah, it's...

Robbie stoops and helps Leroy up.

So you too?

Yeah.

Well, then.

Well what? We're both bulletproof.

Yeah. That's, um, kinda rare.

I know. Don't tell anybody.

Robbie looks directly at the XWF ninjacam.

Um...

Leroy turns.

Oh, shit.

Yeah.

Does that mean...

Firewood.

Okay.

Leroy scampers off to grab some firewood as Robbie rubs his chin in contemplation.

This, this is big.

That kid is bulletproof.

Is that all?

Well fuck, what do I do now?

What's that?

Oh, nothing, just thinking out loud.

Oh, okay.

Leroy returns with two logs.

So, who's Drew Archyle?

Drew Archyle? A man so charismatically bankrupt he hangs out with super edgy tweens like Bob and Jimbo to seem like a super edgy tween himself when he's really an old fart who had to do some time in the slammer. I think he went in because he didn't pay parking tickets or something stupid, it doesn't matter. What does matter is when Drew Archyle was in the clink, he was a model inmate. He stayed quiet, did his time, and got out without a scratch. He had to give up a ton of cornbread to do that, to.

I like cornbread.

I do to, Leroy, but you never let another man take your cornbread. Drew Archyle couldn't be rid of it fast enough, protection from one fellow to the next, turning up his ass with cheeks spread, waiting to fulfill someone with his back pussy. Not because he's gay, no, not because it pleased him, but because he needed to feel something strong and masculine in himself because his heart just didn't pump that way, you know what I mean?

That's crazy.

You don't know what I mean, you're nine. Anyway, Drew Archyle is a soft, mild-mannered, reformed convict looking to earn his keep in a fair society.

Good for him, too.

But really, what else can be said about the guy. I mean, I remember he ate popcorn with Trax one time? After that, he got locked up.

Now he's faking a smile at every line he hears Bob say. He's not understanding of guilt by association, that if you aren't a part of the solution, you are a part of the problem. Bob is a racist peice of shit who insulted a friend of mine because of the color of his skin. Human filth, human garbage, waste of oxygen, waste of water, waste of food, waste of sperm, waste of diapers, and waste of waste. One man's trash is another man's treasure, but nobody treasures Bob Main. No matter how hard he tongues Louis D'Ville's pert little asshole. Drew Archyle nods his head, smiles, and goes along with it, not really understanding why or what is going on around him.

Drew Archyle, the Stepford Partner.

Stepford what?

It's a reference to something older than both of us, bud, a book from the early seventies.

Oh. Is it good?

Is what good?

The book.

Oh, uh, never read it, actually.

With that, a large truck of American make rolls up the hill to the cabin, its headlights glaring down on Robbie and Leroy. A large confederate flag is hanging from the back.

Well shit.

Leroy looks at Robbie.

Firewood.