Mr. Blonde was sorely disappointed right now.

Yes, he had no trouble starting and controlling the fire (not that he would have cared much if it got out of control). No, he had not gotten very hungry yet, and yes, he fully believed that once he did get hungry, there must be some source of food on this island.

When he was dropped off at this remote location, it was night, and the sun was just now coming up. Therefore, Mr. Blonde reasoned, When I woke up it must have been very early morning, some time past midnight. He gave himself a pat on the back for this realization.

Actually, there had been many a thought running through Vic Vega's head the past couple of hours. He was lounging against a thick, black tree that was a couple stories high; yeah, there might be nasty bugs and other critters around him, but he had grown comfortable and did not want to move. He liked the way the smoke from his cigarette was swallowed into the smoke from his proud little fire. In fact, he might even consider way the plumes swirled together to be pretty, but he never really used that word to describe anything other than women (and even then, not often). And Eddie. Just to piss the fuck outta him. Good times.

There was some rustling around Mr. Blonde. It was not the first time that night that he had heard rustling, so he chose not to investigate odd noises until they were made more than once. So when there was a little more rustling, he sighed. Time to pay attention. I guess. He halfheartedly sat up and eyed his immediate surroundings for anything suspicious. Suspicious besides being randomly plunked on a fucking jungle island. Ha ha. There was nothing that caught his eye, so when he heard the rustling another time, he chose to try to locate it. Was it coming from up above? Maybe. He held his cigarette in his fingers as he craned his head back and looked straight up.

…

"Whoaaa."

He stared through the dark glasses he had put on his face in anticipation of the annoying ol' sunrise. After a few seconds of staring, he took them off and said to himself, "What in the fuck is that?"

It was a hideous blackish creature. He had never, ever seen anything even remotely like it. Mr. Blonde had seen quite a lot, but he was shocked for a moment into just staring at the creature. What. The. Oh shit. What the. What is. Does it have a SHELL? And a motherfucking TAIL?

It finally hit him how bad this might be. He started to scramble up to his feet, still caught off guard and staring at the creature up in the tree. Suddenly, something shot out of its mouth, or head, Mouth Head Thing! SHIT! He jumped out of the way. Was that a TONGUE? WHAT THE CRAP!

Mr. Blonde jumped away and darted between some clumps of weed-possessed shrubbery. The creature jumped down from the tree. Mr. Blonde broke out into a run from his abandoned area. The thing (rather large, it was) crashed through the shrubbery he had just burst through. It was coming at him with surprising speed. Not that it looked slow, just too hideous and weird to be fast. He decided to stop running (not really his style anyway). Of course he kept his gun with him. He whipped it out and took no chances – he whipped around and shot at the creature once. It seemed to have hit the creature, but didn't cause much major injury, because besides making some weird rattling noise, it kept moving. Mr. Blonde shot at it twice more, this time hitting some sensitive area under the exoskeleton-like cover. This time it hiss-screeched. Mr. Blonde watched it recoil and twist away.

He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. I doubt you can talk, you ugly S.O.B., but it's worth a try. "What in the fuck are you, mister? … No, you know what would be goddamned humorous? If you were a girl. You probably are." He reached for a cigarette and chose not to pay attention to the fact that he must be lonely if he's talking to this alien-looking creature on a jungle island. "I deem you, missy, pretty one… Nutmeg." He lowered his gun at her form like a knighting sword, then shot at her again. A couple times. Because if he could deal with this whatchamacallit right now, he wouldn't need much more ammo for the rest of the week.

May as well go all out. A couple of more shots. This time a little blood-type stuff was splattering, but under the trees, he couldn't see it so well. Another shot, and some fluid splattered on his arm. An intense burning sensation shot up his wrist. Mr. Blonde hissed in pain and dropped his gun. "FFffuuck!" ACID? What the-

Now the creature, full of horribly unattractive noises, jumped on Mr. Blonde. He swore in rapid succession. The tongue thing shot out again. He moved his head, but otherwise was trapped.

He'd be damned if he was losing to something this ugly.

In constant and frenzied movements, he whipped out his razorblade and stabbed rapidly in what might be the torso of the thing, he wasn't one hundred percent sure.

Then he shot it as many times as he could.

Acid dripped onto his clothes and spots quickly burned through.

OOOOUUUCH-

He kept in this process before realizing he was doing this for half a minute to some unidentified carcass.

Mr. Blonde tossed it away from himself and ran out of the clearing as fast he could, his hands feeling like they were on fire. He ran past what felt like miles of trees and shrubs and grass and more trees and flowers and probably animals and maybe some more hideous alien fuckers and past some funky-looking trees and bushes and past a strip of sand-

And finally water.

He let the cold soothe his blistered hands and soak his shirt. Mr. Blonde had lost his gun and one of his razor blades back there. He would probably not regain them in his possession when he would go back later to inspect the body of whatever his first little opponent on this island was.

Mr. Blonde was more confused than ever. He was totally perplexed as to what he was surrounded by on this island, why he was here, how much longer he'd be there. Between injuries and limited means of defense, meeting tougher predators on this godforsaken chunk of land was going to be one hell of a challenge. And surely he'd eventually figure out his purpose there.

It all made his brain hurt almost as much as his hands. It all made him forget about his precious lost pistol. And it all made him smile. It made him smile a whole lot.

As Mr. Blonde soaked his acid-burned skin and caught his breath after running from some monster with acid blood that tried to suck up his face, he thought that this was the most fun he was having since tying up that cop yesterday.