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Chapter 30 of 99 · Book 8, A Parade of Horribles

Chapter 30 — Heat three: Gluteus Maxx and the Sugar Hermits

Book: A Parade of Horribles · Part: Horrible One · Previous: Chapter 29 — The stampede; Harbinger · Next: Chapter 31 — Luca Di's entry; the ghoul cages; a mile of fire · Floor: Floor 10 — Don't Come in Last · Series: the series

Opening

» All racers proceed to the starting line.

Summary

Five minutes to heat three; teleported back to the garage covered in Harbinger, nobody asks. Gluteus Maxx drives — the best of the strippers at Mario Kart — in a Speedo and a borrowed hockey helmet, leaning on the horn and taunting One Fine Pig's Draconian mercenary on the APV's heavy machine gun, whom Carl marks with two Denial of Service missiles and the gun with two more (a Rosetta recipe: not explosives, since every team has a shield now). Donut rides in her new chair and Carl crouches between; the two ghouls sit caged in the back. A new rule: starting-block shields, ninety seconds of invulnerability — Dr. Metcalf does not know what kind, because nobody upgraded her, they picked 'that chair for your cat' instead. The chair is a Smart Companion Royal Pet Throne, Ultimate Diamond Pampered Pet Princess edition, a real viral product: a fluffy bed appears when its princess sits, it gyros her safe, monitors her vitals, offers 'relief', feeds snacks, and flatters her without pause; Donut has it speak as a Polish woman named Dorota, and it and Dr. Metcalf hate each other ('My virtual foot up your ass'). The track: a hundred metres wide, straight down like a ski ramp at thirty degrees under a red sun, a blue-and-yellow dome at the bottom. Gluteus's eyes are red: Samantha found outworlder uppers in Rishi's junk, 'one can taste time' — her Mario Kart secret — and he took two ('the space between each individual second tastes like cotton candy mixed with the sweat dripping off the tits of a randy high elf priestess'). Too late to swap; Carl tells Donut to ready Laundry Day for the suit; then the ground rumbles: 'We will be sharing the track with migrating Sugar Hermits' — tens of thousands of painted skulls tumbling downhill, screaming, each with barbed purple tentacles, one wrapped round the Draconian's neck trying to pull his head off through the shield. Level 11, feeding on brains and bones, wearing skulls like a snail's shell, painted like sugar skulls 'because I fucking said so', migrating to the kaiju skull that blocks the finish line to lay eggs. 'The good news is this race is only twenty minutes long.'

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