“why follow your dreams when you can follow me?”

Sully – 2022

Artymiss robs a bank

Artymiss cackled like a deranged ape as he sat, holstered in his pink booster seat. The car seat was strapped to a real leather seat, inside of a Bentley Continental, a luxury car worth more than a family home. The young boy grabbed at the bowl of Cheerios inside of the booster seat cup holder and cramped a sticky handful of the honey nut cereal into his crusty mouth. He had a light complexion and straight black hair, which was gelled into a slicked-back hairstyle. The small circle cereal spilled all over his designer suit, coating the thousand-dollar jacket in drool, honey, and crumbs. While he chewed, 13-year-old Artymiss bent his head low, grinning and rubbing his short fingers together in an attempt to scheme together a new and audacious plan.

            Buttlah grunted as he sat in the driver’s seat, manning the car. The Bentley was currently driving around downtown Ireland, as Artymiss had instructed Buttlah to “show him around town”. Buttlah was Artymiss’s bodyguard, hired by Artymiss’s concerned parents. Artymiss’s two parents, Joe and Marine, where the only family he had. They were in their 40’s, and had no time to watch the young child, as they had a family business to run. Joe was the CEO of the multi-billion-dollar Fowl company, and Marine was the manager. Buttlah had been chosen by Artymiss’s parents, as he had undergone a rigorous 10-year combat-training, designed to produce super-humans. He had muscles literally the size of bazooka barrels, and a shaven bald head that shone like the moon on a clear night.  

                Suddenly, Artymiss, the “criminal mastermind”, went quiet. His usual muttering and gibberish were replaced by silence. For a couple minutes, Buttlah drove in silence, the only sound being the air-conditioning distributing cold air throughout the luxurious car cabin.  The hulking bodyguard nervously looked back once or twice to see if his young charge had escaped, but he was still in his seat, head bent low. Suddenly, Artymiss broke the deathly silence. “Buttlah!” he called. “I think I wet my pants again!”

                Buttlah rumbled like a pony who had a hoarse throat. He absolutely despised changing Artymiss’s diaper, but it was necessary if he wanted his paycheck every week. Buttlah gritted his teeth with contained anger. He had been specially trained not to visibly react to certain circumstances, but sometimes an emotion or two went loose. The bodyguard slammed on the brakes, screeching the Bentley to a halt. He unbuckled, opened the door to the family’s car, and did the horrific deed of changing Artymiss’s diaper. Even though the young boy was only thirteen, he wasn’t potty-trained. It was as if an un-potty-trained toddler had taken control of a young boy’s body.

                After he had donned new Huggies, Artymiss sighed. Nothing was more refreshing than a new change of underwear. “Buttlah, it’s time to execute my new master plan; We will rob a bank!” Artymiss announced, cackling dementedly with pride. He kicked his feet with excitement, shaking the booster seat. Buttlah grinned, and smashed his fist into his hand. He loved these missions. “Now you’re talking, Arty. Let’s go!”

                Buttlah jumped back into his driver’s seat, opened up Google Maps, and found directions to the nearest Bank of America. “Okay Arty, the nearest bank is just 4 miles away!” Buttlah called back at his young charge. “Go Buttlah! As the Americans say, ‘Put the pedal to the metal!’”

Buttlah did as he was told, and the Bentley screeched as its engine revved, and Artymiss slammed into the back of his booster seat from the extreme forces the car exerted. Buttlah and his charge sped towards the Bank of America.  

Three minutes later, they arrived. The bank was at the corner of Bay Ave and Winscombe. It was quite an impressive bank, with security guards patrolling the inside of the branch every 3 minutes. Artymiss cackled again. “Okay Buttlah! I will cause the diversion, and you will retrieve the cash.” Buttlah scratched his bald head, not sure whether Arty’s plan would work. After all, the young child did have a history of causing quite a handful of trouble.  “Are you sure this will work Arty?” Artymiss grinned and rattled his booster seat restraints. “Let me out Buttlah, I’m sure it will work!” Buttlah shrugged and opened the door. He was bound to this young child, no matter the circumstances. Artymiss shot out of the Bentley and stretched his short limbs. Cheerio dust fell to the pavement from Artymiss’s designer black suit. He yawned loudly, causing some people at the line by the ATM look over cautiously. Buttlah slipped out an inconspicuous black duffel from the passenger seat and slipped into the bank. He didn’t trust his charge to not stay arrested for an hour, but it was Arty’s plan, and he had to follow Arty’s instructions, no matter how idiotic they were.

                Buttlah waited by the glass doors, and watched as Artymiss shrieked with sudden enthusiasm, and pulled out his nerf blaster. Buttlah had bought it as a present for Artymiss, as he had not wet his diaper for a week in a row. Buttlah grunted, incredulous, as Artymiss brought down the plastic gun and fired a couple rounds at an old lady hobbling toward the ATM machine. She screamed like a moose and fell onto her hip. Everyone in line scattered like ants. There was a deranged killer on the loose, and he had taken his first victim! The tellers inside the bank acted immediately, alerting the security guards and the local police. Metal cage doors slid over the glass doors, preventing anyone from getting outside or in. Buttlah watched, helpless, as the police cars pulled up to the bank’s curb. Artymiss screamed like a maniac, firing his plastic rounds at the cops as they tried to subdue the child. He took out a couple with a roundhouse kick that Buttlah himself had taught the young child, but there just were too many. He was promptly arrested, read his rights, and driven off in a patrol car, surrounded by a dozen backup cars.

                Buttlah sighed with disappointment, shaking his head. He shouldn’t have trusted Artymiss’s plan after all. This was going to make a dent in his paycheck to pay the court a bribe, and it would take some talking to release the boy.

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