“Oh,” said the man, delightedly. “Do you know, I’ve been at this all day and you’re the first to agree to my terms?” He shook Pete’s hand. Pete shrugged, he was up for experiencing some extremes.
“So,” said the little man, “one hour of the worst pain you can experience, followed by an hour of the greatest pleasure.” He led Pete to a bare room and sat him on the floor. He closed the door as the screaming started. It didn’t take long before even that stopped.
Two hours later he opened the door to stop the pleasure. The screaming returned.
“Please,” said the worker, releasing an acrid smell of fear. “Is non-combatant.” The soldiers stared at his dropped weapon, more like it were racked against the walls, organised by type. One of them swore.
“It’s a rake. We’re in their bloody garden shed.”
“Restrain it and move, the queen must be in the big structure. Mind the mandibles.”
The ground outside rumbled and burst, as chitinous titans emerged.
“Ah,” said the worker, “is combatants.”
I wrote this for a Chrons 75 word challenge, but it wasn’t close enough to the theme. So I wrote another one for that instead and put this here.