The Red Pander Chronicles

The Cupid Gang Part 1

February, 1940

The top crust of snow was packed hard and slick beneath the bare treads of the fat man's shoes.

As he ran, his feet pounded through that layer with a rapid fire sound that was neither quite a crunch nor a squeak, but somewhere in the vastness in between.

Once his wholly inadequate footwear burst through that upper coating, they plunged into an icy bath of half-melted slush beneath.

The fat man's feet were soaked and numb, but still he pushed his legs to reach the They plunged into an icy bath of half-melted slush beneath.

The fat man's feet were soaked and numb, but still he pushed his legs to race still harder,

faster.

Ten minutes ago he had been one of many.

Not the brains, not the muscle, just one of the sinewy bits in between.

Little had been expected of him but to play his part, and he had always done so.

But this, this was never part of the plan.

The disembodied voice from above, the peals of laughter that seemed to come from everywhere,

the fat man had been forced to improvise, and having no other ideas

in his meaty head, he had started to run. Nine minutes ago that had seemed like a sound

policy. He had been aware at first of other shadowy shapes around him, each trying to pick

a safe route through the maze of alleyways, cutting deeper into no man's land,

each hoping to find a route to safety.

The fat man didn't know how many of his confederates had made it, or why the grim specter of

justice high above seemed to be pursuing him in particular, but no matter how he struggled

and slid through the snow and the muck. The fat man could not shake the unrelenting

...