The Butcher of Gadobhra

Keep rollin', rollin', rollin'

Though the streams are swollen

Keep them doggies rollin'

Rawhide

Vern was woken up at six in the morning by the sound of whips cracking, and the rolling guitar melody of the theme song from Rawhide. He sat up in his narrow bed and looked around the unfamiliar surroundings in confusion. Then he remembered and got angry, laying back down and putting his pillow over his head to drown out the sound.

Through rain and wind and weather

Hell-bent for leather

Wishing my girl was by my side

All the things I'm missin', good vittles, love and kissin'

Are waitin' at the end of my ride

Someone began shaking him, then tore the pillow away. Ricardo was

already dressed in grey sweatpants and a sweatshirt. "Mr. Throckmorton, you have to get up! You slept through

Bonanza

and

High Chaparral

. This is your last chance to get moving."

"I don't care! I'm tired from the flight and the obnoxious orientation meeting last night and famished from lack of food! What do they mean by not feeding a man?"

"I quite enjoyed the salad, sir. But if you're hungry now, you really don't want to miss breakfast." Ricardo shook him twice more, but Vern refused to move. Leaving Vern to his fate, Ricardo ran to the main courtyard and lined up for morning calisthenics. The exercise program was only ten minutes long and quite easy, followed by a mandatory check of heart rate and blood pressure. Looking at the seventeen other participants, Ricardo approved of the caution the trainers were taking. He was thirty years old and spent time in the company gym. The others were closer to seventy, overweight and gasping for air.

Vernon joined them at the end. As Ricardo had left, two orderlies wearing denim jeans, boots, colorful shirts, and ten-gallon hats showed up. "Rise and shine, pardner! We don't tolerate slackers at the ACME Ranch." One pulled a gun and fired two blank shots at the ceiling, the sound getting Vern's attention. The other orderly took his arm and marched him out the door to do his exercises in his pajamas. Two minutes of exercise was nearly the end of him. He was escorted back inside and sat at a table with Ricardo. A waitress in a fringed buckskin skirt and boots brought their breakfast.

"I've got a Rancher's Breakfast for Ricky, and don't you worry about that veggie bacon. It looks and smells like the real thing but is as healthy as eating raw kale. Same with your griddle cakes, hashbrowns, and almost-egg omelet. Dig in, have seconds, and enjoy yourself. And for Uncle Vern, we've got what the cook calls 'Late for the party special,' which I'm sure you'll enjoy so much you'll be out of bed a mite bit quicker tomorrow."

Vern looked at his small plate, populated by a cornmeal muffin and a small square of eggwhite and spinach omelet. "Take this back and bring me a real breakfast, miss. I can't be expected to live on this little."

She put one hand on her hip and smiled at him, "You're missing the point. Eating a healthy meal, getting up on time, and doing your exercises are what's going to keep you alive. The more you buck the system, the more the system will buck back. Don't like it? Fine, don't eat. I'm sure you're used to making decisions." She turned to Ricky, "And if I catch you giving him food, you'll start eating what he eats."

Ricky nodded to her, "No ma'am, I keep my food on this side of the table."

"Good, now you boys have fun. You have 23 minutes to be dressed and at the big barn. If you need help getting there, just call an orderly."

As she was walking away, Vern reached for Ricardo's plate, "Poppy-cock, hand that over."

Ricky picked up his plate. "Sorry, Vern, but I want to survive as much as you do, and that won't happen eating that little bit of rabbit food. Lunch comes right after the tour of the barns, and I think we should be on time." Vernon grumbled, ate his food, and headed to his room. Ten minutes before the deadline, he called and asked for two orderlies to help Vern get to the barn, knowing he'd gone back to bed. The four of them made it to the barn with seconds to spare, the orderlies running and carrying Vern between them."

A grinning cowboy met them and greeted the group of a dozen people, "Howdy buckaroos! My name's Chet Frisco, you may remember me from famous ACME training videos like, '

Why shit rolls downhill.

' and '

Why the Bottom Line is Important, and you aren't.

' I'm sure glad to see you all today! This barn is a money-maker for the ACME Ranch like no other. We rent out our fine horses for commercials and video extravaganzas. Every time you've seen an ad for Bludgeon Beer with those famous horses pulling the Blud Wagon, we're racking up the dollars. Those are fine horses. Each one has their own trainer and dietician watching over them and making sure they eat right. But just like every other horse, they produce a smelly byproduct."

Chet motioned to the other hired hands who began to hand out wide, square shovels. "And that's where you come in. The horses are producers, and you're just red ink on the balance sheet. To remind you of that, we're assigning each of you a set of stalls so you can shovel out the horse shit and make them sparkle. The horses will appreciate it, and you'll earn your lunch and get your morning cardio at the same time. Have fun, It's two hours to lunch, and you don't want to miss the steaks we're cooking up."

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Vern stared at the shovel, then motioned to Ricardo, "My boy, I think we can work together on this project and finish much quicker."

Chet appeared out of nowhere, his blindingly white teeth on full display, "Sorry, Mr. Vern, but you're thinking like an executive and that's just not going to get your shit shoveled. Both you and Ricky are at the bottom of the pile, and the only way out of this barn, off this ranch, and away from shit-shoveling is to finish the jobs we give you. Just pick up a bit at a time, fill that cart, and haul it over to the big pile where you can dump it."

Ricky filled his cart and headed to the large manure pile a quarter-mile walk down the road. Vern gritted his teeth and channeled his anger into doing the same, "I never did like that asshole's videos."

Two hours later, they were back in the dining room for lunch. Ricky had finished his set of stalls and half of Vern's. As expected, Vernon had nearly passed out and needed medical attention before the job was done. He was wheeled off, cleaned up, and wheeled into the lunchroom. Ricky was just finishing a 16-ounce porterhouse steak, a large Caesar salad, and a piece of apple pie. Vernon looked at his six-ounce fish patty and bowl of mixed berries with disdain.

"I'm going to ruin Billy for doing this to me."

Ricky nodded conspiratorially. "I was thinking that myself. But first, we need to get out of here. That's what you should be focusing on. Every insult, every kale smoothie, every day of shoveling shit is Billy's fault. So, let's play by the rules and get you in shape so we can get started."

Vern began chewing his kale. "What do we have in the afternoon?"

"We get to take a four-hour nap in our pods and spend some time in Genesis. Then dinner. You get to watch some re-training videos, and I get to work on your TPS reports."

Ricardo considered that shoveling horse manure was more desirable than doing TPS reports. At least there was only so much horse shit to shovel. TPS reports were endless.

"Excellent! I can start putting my plans in place to get rid of that overstuffed lizard and reclaim my gold."

Vern was surprised to find he wasn't in his throne room when he logged in, or even anywhere close to where he had been. He was in a large town in the main square, surrounded by tall buildings with peaked slate roofs. Then he saw the bank with its large tower and sign proudly pronouncing it to be the 'Royal Gnomish Bank of Sedgewick.'

"What the hell, this is Billy's town!"

He heard laughter and turned to find Billy behind him, along with several mercenaries who worked for him and a hard-bitten woman with scars and tattoos covering most of her arms. She wore boiled leather armor dyed a striking scarlet and had no less than six weapons that he could see.

"What's the meaning of this? I have work to do in the South!"

Billy nodded. "Got that right. But first, Mr. Lesser God-Emperor Unca Varn, we need to get you in shape and make sure you can follow the plan."

"What? That wasn't part of the deal."

"Well, you know, Vern. That deal was a little light on details, but there were two points made. The first is that I'm in charge. So when I say that you're going to learn how to fight and gain a few levels, that's what's going to happen. And to make sure it happens, I have a new personal trainer for you. She'll be breaking you down, and your squire, Ricky, will pick up the pieces and put you back together."

The woman stepped forward, legs spread and hands behind her back. She looked down at Vern with unhappy eyes. "Dear god, why in hell you picked the body of a withered, overweight, and out-of-shape Methuselah when you could have been twenty years old is beyond me. We're going to start getting you in shape, starting today. I hope you like running and getting your ass kicked by level 1 rabbits because that's what we're going to be doing."

"Bullshit! I don't answer to you, and I've had enough of exercising in the real world."

A muscled leg swept through Vern's feet, knocking him to the ground. Marceline squatted and dropped her voice to a low growl, "I told you, Granpaw, that the next time you gave me sass, it was going to get you a broken hip. But I'm being paid a very large salary, so I'm giving you one chance to stand up, salute, and say 'yes ma'am.' After that, I'm cracking all your bones and sending you to respawn. Up to you." She stood and waited.

Vern stood, did something awkward that might have been a salute, and said, "Yes, ma'am."

"Good, now we'll take a slow run over to the bunny hill. Keep him moving, squire, but get him there. We're going to watch him kill Fat Rabbits until he gets his first level."