It was a new type of thing, shiny but not too shiny, reactive to small changes in body language or temperature, and currently half price if you were a member.
His Yum Incorporated Luxury Bar tasted strange. The whirling noise on the other end of the line was inexplicable. As he waited he noticed the expiration date, sometime last year.
Under a dozen heavy, symbiotic blankets it heaved and sighed. Another hour before fruition, just one more comfortable hour.
The undercarriage was covered with it. It was loud–screeching at first–then muttering and complaining. Finally it was reduced to singing, casually then absolutely operatic.
Around the corner it stood. Seven feet tall. Many hued chitin. Swollen abdomen. Wings slowly unfolding.
Underneath the house a new colony grew rapidly and organized itself into approximations of Mom and Pop.
Biological division continued unchecked, increasing, littering the compound with howling brood.
By the time the fifth Yum Incorporated security van arrived, he’d assumed the worst, and guzzled the putrefaction shake as fast as he could.
One by one they delivered the parcels, wrapped loosely in wool blankets. The bruises became worse, but were systematically ignored.
Yum Incorporated factories were in every prefecture. The odor from the sprawling, concrete complexes was sweet and sticky.
Soldering the two antennae together was more difficult than it first appeared–the squirming was violent and distracting.
That bucket was half full of primordial soup, the other half was roaming around trying out exciting new flippers.
The soundtrack was familiar, the rhythm intoxicating, the man-eating plants dissuading.
The flesh pods were meant to be assigned, however hoarders decimated the supply, resulting in mounds of unallocated biomass.
“We found it bundled up in an old army blanket in the trunk. It almost matches the others, except it has too many fingers.”