Knife-wielding Penpals: Nahal and Chloe
Letter #6 - Lambda
31st July 1988
Dear Village Girl,
I was recently sent off to England to participate in real-world training--an internship if you will, under the tutelage of master knife-wielder and infamous anarchist Lambda (Λ).
Lambda's story was thus: he was a victim of cruel experimentation that created leopard spots on his skin, although he mentioned that he volunteered just to pay for his college tuition. The result was his enhanced strength and his fanatical passion to destroy famous British landmarks miniaturized in the form of ice sculptures, sandcastles, Lego blocks, and spam castles. He made his first debut when he blew up Prince William's Tower Bridge made out of Popsicle sticks just last year.
I do not know if his stories were true. He is a mysterious man always garbed in all black and wears a rubber stylized Margaret Thatcher mask. I was certain that he was a 'he' given his deep male voice, but too often he exhibited feminine traits in his walking, standing, gestures, his love for cooking, his love for interior design, his love for fashion, and his collection of popular musicals on vinyl records.
As it turns out, Lambda was also overseeing another intern the about the same age as me by the name of Beatrix Kiddo, an American assassin-in-training who harbored a deep fear of snakes. Her entire family was bitten by a mass of migrating black mambas in the middle of the mating season (the black mambas, not Beatrix's family). They didn't die, but she was forced to spend an entire weekend with her blown-up puss-oozing family members who hugged her quite constantly and kissed her.
I had a hard time working with Beatrix, since she claimed she was "there" first, and the obvious fact that she was in love with Lambda. Her skills, while competent, were always imprecise whenever she was raring to show off to Lambda, and often times I had to bail her out. I tried telling Lambda that Beatrix was causing problems, but he was too focused on finding another miniaturized British landmarks and deciding if he should choose velvet or silk drapes for our hideout.
Regardless, we have a high success rate. We fought and assassinated members of the Mods, the Skinheads, the Monty Pythons, and the Beatles Tribute group known as The Hair. We have a number of run-ins and close calls with the local lesbian mafia run under the infamous Polly Flinders, who had her own set of unique and expert assassins, such as a woman by the name Kitty Muffet--AKA The Muffin Woman--who could kill a woman through oral sex.
My brief internship was about to come to an end when Lambda had decided to pull off an explosion of the Westminster Palace limburger cheese sculpture... right inside Westminster Palace. It was going to be a difficult mission, and although the three of us could kill the entire security force, I prefer not to do so as there would be too many bodies to hide and the fact I had a limited number of throwing knives.
Our plan was to infiltrate Westminster through the subway, and from there we go in dressed as caterers. The security in the tunnels was fairly light, but we took no chances.
"Hey you," said a guard.
We jumped and drew out our knives.
"There you are Miss Thatcher," said another guard. "The other Members of the Parliament are waiting."
We tried telling them that Lambda wasn't Thatcher, but the guards nudged us into the fastest subway car, first class. They even helped us transport our explosives, thinking that it was just fireworks.
We arrived inside the palace with a hitch and treated like royalty. We were escorted into the dressing room so that "Margaret Thatcher" could change out of her black garb into something more fitting. In some sense we were disappointed that we would pull this job too easily. Of course, Lambda was eager to blow up the cheese sculpture of Westminster Palace, and would like to delight in watching the Clock Tower blasted to bits.
We didn't even need to change our disguises nor did we have to hide our explosives we transported via dining cart. We were in plain sight of the MPs and other dignitaries in the hallway, and they did not act. It felt strange, and I can't shake the feeling that there is something so feminine about this situation.
Lambda quickened his pace when he approached the cheese sculpture. But right when we arrived in the dining hall, all guns were drawn to us. We stopped, and my suspicious were confirmed right when Polly Flinders emerged from behind the velvet curtain at between two pillars.
There was her right-hand woman, Robin Redbreast who earned her embarrassing nickname due to a reddish birthmark on her left breast. Nancy Etticoat stood tall and masculine garbed in her heavy bullet-proof trench coat, and the pretty Kitty Muffet licked her lips sensually.
"It's a trap!" gagged Beatrix. "And it's your fault Chloe!"
How was it my fault? Anyway, it was indeed a trap set up just for us with cooperation of the British government in order to eliminate a small annoyance, although it was probably due to Prince Charles's influence and his desire to exact justice for his crybaby son. They had hired the lesbian gang of Polly Flinders, and all of the MPs and guards happened to be her cross-dressing operatives.
With the pointing of her finger, Polly sent out her female thugs at us, and we responded by darting to the wall dodging bullets by hiding behind the columns. The body count was mounting up, and it was then that Nancy Etticoat came after swinging her fists. Her only weak spot was her face and head, but I had trouble attacking it since she protected it so well with her sleeves. Meanwhile, Robin Redbreast was chasing after a frightened Beatrix, who I had to save by throwing my knife in Robin's left breast, making her scream, "Ow my breast!"
Kitty Muffet was chasing Lambda like a hungry wolf, dodging every swipe of a knife while she lunged over for the pants. It seemed she wanted to perform her "Death Oral", yet I was confused since her victims were always women. Seeing Lambda in danger, Beatrix foolishly lunged to him and drove Kitty away by stabbing her arm. This angered the other elite members of the mafia group, particularly Polly. She and Robin fired their guns at Beatrix, but Lambda stepped forward to shield her.
To save them I had to kick the cart of explosives into the table containing the cheese sculpture and detonate it. As it exploded, Beatrix and I hauled Lambda out of the palace and into a rose garden where we tended to his wounds.
"Please don't die on me Lambda!" Beatrix cried. "I love you!"
"I am flattered that you took a liking to me," said Lambda. "But this is it for me. Do me a favor and don't take off my mask."
Beatrix kissed the rubbery lips as Lambda gave out, and then she bawled. The sirens of the police were getting louder, and I shook my partner to get up. Instead, Beatrix was trying to undo his pants, and wrestled her back.
"Beatrix stop!" I cried. "This isn't the time, and this is so wrong!"
"At least let me see it!"
"Don't! It's disrespectful!"
In the midst of our struggle, we accidentally pulled or pushed off Lambda's mask. We gasped for we have finally realized after all this time that Lambda was actually a woman with man's voice. And to be sure, Beatrix and I pulled down her pants just to be sure.
Beatrix gasped, gagged, and nearly screamed in disgust. She crawled away to throw up, but instead she just coughed.
The police were in our sight, and that was then her permanently parted ways. I remained in hiding until my Mistress's operatives picked me up. It was during my flight back to southern France that pried on the fate of Lambda's body, and as it turned out his--I mean, her body was never found.
Back home, days passed as I relaxed and picked grapes for my Mistress's winery. A man whom she referred to as Esteban, would come by and pick up our bottles, but I have never seen him or his truck he supposedly drove to the Manor. I would often ask Mistress on what Esteban looked like, and she would just shrug her shoulders and said, "I don't know". No one knows.
Then, I received a letter from Lambda, or the person claimed to be her. It read that she was alive, and that the woman was just one of the successors passed on from one Lambda to another. She explained to me that Lambda was an ideal, an everyman, and an everywoman that desire to rebel against semi-fascist states in creative ways. There many times Mistress and I rolled our eyes when we would read her rants. Now she is going to Belgium to blow up a model of the Eiffel Tower made out of toothpicks.
On the same letter, Lambda had learned of Beatrix's whereabouts. She had gone back to America to take up Kendo training and conquered her fear of snakes. Still, I really don't think cut out to be an assassin given her emotional fits. Something tells me she's going to marry an older man and have it easy, but even I'm not certain about that.
I guess it is back to the quiet life at the Manor. It may be days, weeks, months, or even years before I am sent another job, regardless of my favorable performance in England. I will write to you again, even if there is hardly any activity here.
P.S. - I forgot to mention that Leapcut Montana is a very strange, gullible, if not ditsy knives dealer. Since she couldn't find her way out of out land, she had stayed with us for a year until he had Esteban escort her to the nearest Basque village. I sure hope we don't get guests like her.