Sky Twister Press

It barrels monstrously through the open air, screaming as it flies. In its stomach, there is a man. I can’t remember his name so I’ll call him Mondo. Mondo doesn’t know where he’s going and to be frank with you it doesn’t really matter. He doesn’t know how he got here, he doesn’t know what he’s doing and he doesn’t why there’s a 9mm in a holster at his chest either.
Well, he’s here now. No changing that. His cheap black suit is the only barrier between the, what, 200-something people on the plane and the gun. He’s panicking a little because he’s not in a seat or anything, just in the middle of the aisle. It must be a dream, he thinks, or some drug-induced hallucination.
Mondo likes his drugs you see.
No, no it’s not drugs, he’s remembering now — his nose always scrunches up a bit when he remembers something important — he’s here to do… something.
Kill someone, probably.
Sharp cookie Mondo is.
Here I was thinking the gun was just a fun challenge for bonus XP.
The gun’s definitely loaded, it has that kind of weight to it, and who brings an empty gun on a plane? You’re already there, might as well commit whole-hog. Anyways Mondo’s got a sneaking suspicion that his target is near the front of the plane; high level targets don’t fly economy, generally.
So he’s walking down the aisle and this stewardess – is that what you call them these days? Stewardess? Air hostess? Airline attendant? Whatever you know what I mean – stops him and is all like can I help you sir. Um yes bitch you can get out my way, he says something like that, and has to stop himself shoving her. Not cause he gives a shit but because that would draw unnecessary attention.
Actually he probably didn’t call her a bitch but it’s my story I do what I want.
So one way or another he gets past her and then she’s up in his case again like sir you can’t go through there it’s for first class passengers only.
Yeah, yeah, I know. Super annoying right?
Mondo’s a clever guy though and he pulls out the classic I’m friends with the pilot card.
Now you’d usually use this at a club or something to jump the queue but Mondo’s not like you and me.
He’s Mondo for crying out loud.
The lady’s all like oh yeah what’s his name then and Mondo just says Mondo. Well no he doesn’t say Mondo, he says whatever his name is but I can’t remember what that is, remember?
The lady stops badgering him and lets him through.
Coincidentally, or perhaps not, Mondo and the pilot share a name.
Funny how that works.
Really dumb move but what are you gonna do, maybe he wants to say hi to his pal Mondo the Pilot.
Pilots don’t really do much anyways, they just press autopilot and jerk off or read a book or something. Trust me, my pal Mondo is a pilot.
So he’s in first class now and it’s like a whole new world up there. They have enough legroom to lie down and the chairs are far enough apart so that when the guy in front of you leans back you aren’t forced into leaning back yourself and domino-ing all the other chairs behind you.
You know, luxury.
There’s champagne that you can just take, too.
For free.
Nobody stops you.
Or Mondo.
He figures he won’t have a chance to celebrate after this so he downs a glass really fast, a little trick he picked up in university.
Very dry, he always forgets how dry champagne is, and he thinks it’s a bit stupid to serve alcohol on a plane because of the thin blood and everything but whatever.
The guy he’s looking for is definitely up here, he can’t be a pilot cause you don’t kill pilots while they’re flying, that’s just plain rude.
Mondo’s thinking now, is it a he? Well yeah it’s gotta be, Mondo doesn’t kill women. Mondo kills men, you know, that’s why I’m telling you the story, pay attention.
None of the faces are really sparking anything for Mondo, you’d think he’d have a seat number or something but nope, only other thing in his jacket apart from the gun is a crumpled one dollar bill.
Not especially useful in a cabin full of big dick rich people. He passes a bunch of faces he certainly recognises like actors and singers and pro wrestlers and Welsh scatological pornography directors but none of them are his mark. He’s got this foggy shape swimming itself to the front of his mind it’s like a… like a square. A golden square, and there’s something written on it. Maybe it’s a seat number but no the seat numbers are all in red glowing letters.
The shape isn’t glowing, shiny as it is.
There is a bit of red on the shape, actually, red circles.
Mondo’s no slouch, he passed his shapes and colours, and he can tell you for certain the numbers on the seats are not enclosed in circles.
Oh wait maybe they’re beads actually. The image is clearer to Mondo, it hasn’t quite broken the surface but it’s damn near close. Yeah red beads, he’s thinking, red beads on a gold square with some black writing.
Could be anything really, that doesn’t narrow it down. But hey that’s progress. Better than nothing.
People are staring now, he’s out of his seat and looking at people all crazy-like, bound to draw the eye. Especially to these rich dickheads, most hardship they’ve faced is daddy buying them a blue yacht instead of a white one. Mondo could kill them all just like that if he really wanted to.
But he doesn’t need to.
He only needs to kill one guy. But yeah the staring, bathroom break’s a good excuse as any so he slides on in and locks the door.
Think, Mondo, think, is there anything at all you know about this guy?
Nope.
Well he needs a piss anyways, champagne went right through him and he’s on a plane, probably gonna start descending soon. It’s a domestic flight so it’s not super long, might as well go now before it’s too late. So he pees and doesn’t wash his hands cause he’s a filthy animal, wipes his face with his hand too, the very hand that was on his dick just moments ago, and opens the door. Dude didn’t even flush, what an asshole.
So Mondo’s leaving the bathroom as the pilot mumbles something over the tannoy, I genuinely couldn’t tell you what he said and it’s not important in the slightest, and he sees this… this guy.
Guy’s got an expensive looking haircut, clean shaven, and a suit just like Mondo. Except, you know, not crap. A bit of light catches Mondo’s eye – a nametag.
A golden name tag.
That’s it! It’s all coming together for Mondo, the name tag is the golden square and the name is the black writing.
He just needs to add the red beads and job done!
Largely involuntarily, he reads the name tag: M. Mondo- ahhhhh. That was it. Right yeah sorry I got mixed up, that’s where I got the name from yeah. Oh well we’ve made it this far.
So Mondo goes up to the guy and he’s like are you Something or other, I can’t remember what the M stands for, and the dude’s all like yeah who are you. And then Mondo’s like I’m Mondo, but he doesn’t say Mondo he says his name, and the dude is like fuck dude please I’m sorry or whatever right just begging, crying like a baby.
Mondo’s a stone-cold badass so he reaches into his jacket, draws the gun and the dude’s petrified like can’t-move-a-muscle and then blam!
It wasn’t ‘right between the eyes’ per se, cool as that phrase is, it was pretty much all right eye – Mondo’s left. The bullet destroys most of the eyeball as whatever-his-name-was falls ass over teakettle back into the seat.
People are screaming now, Mondo, hurry it up.
The second shot was right between the eyes, but you know, the magic’s all gone now.
It doesn’t really matter.
Go for a third? Ah, go on, treat yourself.
This one lands quite nose-y which sends blood just everywhere. Mondo’s suit is gonna need deep cleaned with acid to get the stain out, although I guess it’s cheap enough to just buy a new one.
The guy’s definitely dead now and his wife, that’s probably his wife right, is just sobbing at his side. Like come on man he’s dead you moron. He can’t hear you. Or see you. Or smell you. Ah he should’ve gotten the ears actually, then the joke would make more sense. Mouth too. Unfortunately, only four bullets in the gun so even if he wanted to he couldn’t complete the set.
Shame.
Would’ve been pretty funny.
But uh yeah that’s how the president died, in case you were wondering.
Yeah that’s why he flies private now.
And why we have TSA. I remember you asking earlier.

By Mondo Mondo