súton

[scubatankfilledwithfarts]

It isn’t emasculating to wake up within a pile of other men dressed as butterflies—or at least not as much as you’d think. It’s actually pretty warm, and incredibly sweaty, and there’s a hint of pee in the air; it’s a little comforting in its own way, though.

What isn’t comforting is the breath-rendering donkey kick 24 graced him with, rousing him from his definitely drunken slumber. 21 snorts, snuffles, and waves off 24’s apologies and grumbles about the swampy farts he’d suffered from 21’s behind being so close to his face.

The younger henchman rolls his eyes, but asks: “What were you dreaming about? Seemed pretty intense.” Underrated statement of the century. Their lives are nightmare fuel.

24’s expression turns distant beneath his cracked eyemask, even 21 can tell by the slack-jawed jawing. “There was this giant crocodile,” he began slowly, “and it was coming outta a swamp to kill me—it wasn’t Crime-o-dile by the way. I had to kick it to keep it away—except it had The Rock’s face.”

21 twists to prop his chin in his palm, trying to picture it, brows furrowed. “The Rock…like Dwayne Johnson, The Rock?”

24 turns to him with something like slowly dawning glee.

“Yeah! It was Dwayne “The Croc” Johnson.”

A moment of farting, snorting and whimpering in the background.

The two henchmen, hench-brothers burst into obnoxious, delighted laughter, so intense they both come up heaving, nearly puking their guts up.