“Don’t worry about it,” Logan snarled. “I owe ya.” With that, he shook each of the Caterpillar’s hands, bowed deeply and raced out of the room and out of the dilapidated building. He didn’t run far before he smelled something familiar. He extended his metal claws when he turned toward a familiar face.
“Corpse Flower,” Logan said matter-of-factly. “I could smell your rotting flesh and garbage a mile away. And what’s with the tutu?”
The tall, gray humanoid-sunflower mutant shook with maniacal laughter and extended a petal appendage toward Logan.
“You owe me, Logan!” Corpse Flower screamed. “You owe me!”
Logan circled. “Yeah, I owe you. I didn’t bury you when I had the chance.” With that, Logan leaped on Corpse Flower, and, with claws slashing, severed it in half.
“Logan! You owe…” it screamed again before its voice faded away to a whisper.
Logan jumped off and retracted his claws. “I’m not a gardener,” he told Corpse Flower’s remains. He then noticed an official-looking piece of paper in one of Corpse Flower’s petals. Logan picked it up and read. A shudder came over him. He read “Services Rendered – FTD - $345.12.”
Logan instantly remembered the funeral and the flowers for that enemy he respected in Germany the year before. He had forgotten to pay the bill. Stinky ol’ Corpse Flower was the florist. He was a nasty enemy but he knew his bouquets.
“Darn, bub,” he said sadly, staring at Corpse Flower. “I guess I did owe ya.”
Logan sat sadly with his fallen enemy as the noonday sun beat down upon them both. With Corpse Flower’s rotting stench and Logan’s mutant sweat, it made for a horrific odor. It drew onlookers who kept a safe distance.