I would definitely have to say that our first night in Vegas went well. I'm basing this judgement on the fact that it was 2:00 in the afternoon before I managed to climb out of bed, and my memory of the previous evening was almost non-existent. As an added bonus, I didn't even have any additional tattoos or piercings. And that's not always guaranteed when I go partying with my cousin, Ty.
As always, we'd started the evening together and then gone our own ways at some mutually agreeable time. I have a foggy memory of him getting a lap dance in a strip club, and I'm pretty sure that's about the time I parted company. I have no real recollection of anything that happened after that. At least, not until I woke up in my hotel room with my usual hangover. I called room service and ordered coffee, water, and a bacon, egg and hot mustard sandwich, and then collapsed on the bed until it arrived.
Fortunately, I know from previous experience that Ty isn't likely to recover much earlier than I am. As usual, we ran into each other in the hotel gym. There's nothing quite like a good workout to get the blood moving (and the alcohol sweat happening) after a big night out. So, after plenty of rehydration therapy, and a second sandwich, we were ready for night two.
That's when I discovered that we'd apparently done something heinous in the hotel restaurant the night before, and were banned from re-entering. Damn it. So Ty and I decided to head down the street and find somewhere else to eat.
I'm glad that we did. We found this amazing place in an upstairs loft of one of the other restuarants. They specialise in ribs - I think it was called Harga's House of Ribs or something similar. We ordered, and we were each brought a huge platter (too big to call them plates) of amazing, hot, smoky bbq pork ribs. And a pitcher of beer. Heaven.
We'd just ordered second helpings each (although I think we were up to our 4th pitcher of beer each) when there was a commotion on the street below. Both of us went to the side to look, obviously. You don't get to our positions in the military without being aware of your surroundings. (Even if, in my case, my surroundings are usually a conference room or office of some kind.)
There was this incredibly scene unfolding on the street below us. It's pretty hard to describe. Essentially, there was a Japanese man who seemed to be glowing from within, and he was being attacked by a group of.... I don't even know what to call them. Superheroes seems far too ridiculous. And it's not like they were in costume. But they were... Well, they were wielding swords and giant handguns and other odd weaponry. And one of them was flying with what looked like replica angel wings. But they didn't seem to be able to harm the glowing man at all.
(At one point I had to hold Ty back so he didn't go rushing off to the rescue of the man. He seemed to have it under control, and we really had no idea what the fight was about.)
Then this giant ship came sailing in. Through the air. I suppose it would have to be, since Vegas isn't exactly known for its access to the ocean. This viking ship landed, and hordes of undead vikings suddenly flooded the street. They didn't seem to be on anyone's side in particular, but were happy to hack and slash at anyone who got in their way.
Ty and I watched, both fascinated and distrubed by what was going on below us. The group of six promptly began fighting the undead zombies, and the glowing Japanese man was lost in the crowd. And then the zombies started retreating, got back on their ship and flew away. The six ...people... gathered together. The glowing man was gone. (Or, at least, not glowing, and therefore not as noticeable.) And the street was in carnage.
I don't know what happened after that, because we were disturbed by a man who approached us and demanded that we go with him. He talked a lot of nonsense about gods and danger, and offered to bribe us with beer if we'd go with him. In the end, we did so. For myself, at least, I agreed mostly because he seemed so intense. He seemed to believe what he was saying. That, of course, didn't mean that it was true. He could just as easily be insane.
We went with him to the hotel, where he told us that we had to go with him to Switzerland, or we'd risk "titanspawn" killing us. (He also introduced himself as Hans Gruber.) Ty and I discussed things briefly, and then gathered some belongings and agreed to go. Perhaps it was his intensity. Perhaps it was idle curiousity. Or perhaps, as Hans would have us believe, it was Fate. Who knows. But soon enough, we were boarding a private plane at the Las Vegas Airport, enroute to Switzerland.
Luckily we both had our passports with us.
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