Chapter 2.2

Per Hunter’s request, the following day, I whisk a trendy criminal’s hideout on their lot which looks a lot like an abandoned warehouse.

(How’s this, Hunter?)

“Nice, Creator. This should do….for now.”

(This will do for all time until you can get the funds for a bigger place. I spent all the money your father earned on this swanky joint!)

“Whatever, Creator. Making money is one of my specialties!”

(You mean stealing money?)

“Stealing…earning…what’s the difference?”

**Hits head on desk**

“Oh, glory be!” Divan yells, throwing his hands in the air to heaven. “I still can’t believe I’m not hearing that awful voice inside my head!”

(Hunter, tell Divan your plan…he might wish I was still inside his head.)

“Oh, yeah, hey, Dad…about you living here.”

Divan’s eyebrow arches. “Yeees?”

“Well, you see, it’s just going to be cramped in here and well, with my…um…er…job…the less witnesses the better.” He throws on that cheesy smile Divan himself invented.

Divan shrugs. “I won’t report your activities to anyone and your mom certainly won’t. You’re an adult and need your space. We won’t get in the way.”

“Yeah, well, um…the Creator…yeah, that’s good…the Creator says it’s a rule or some such plum. You gotta go. Now.”

(What??? I never said that! You tell him the truth. I just can’t help him out if he has to pee or poop or wants to find a decent place to sleep! Yeesh!)

But Hunter tells him nothing and Divan glowers at me.

“Creator. How could you?”

(I-I didn’t! HUNTER! You tell him the truth right now!)

Hunter pats Divan on the shoulder and says, “It’s all in your best interest, Dad. Creator is going to get you something nice…” he flips a quick glance at me, “and it will be cozy! This warehouse will be too cramped with all the things I have to do. Creator will get you anything you want! Right, Creator?”

(**Glares** I don’t know what you’re up to but I’m not doing anything until you tell him the truth.)

“Okay…gosh, Creator. You’re annoying.”

“Isn’t she?” Divan is still glaring at me.

“She’s forcing me to come clean. The truth is, I need my space, Dad. I’m a grown up now and I want a fresh start. Can’t you understand that? I don’t want to hurt your feelings but I really need to do this thing on my own. My way. And I promise you’ll love your new place.”

(And tell him he can visit any time.)

“Well, I don’t think I have to go that far, Creator,” Hunter says inside his head.


“All right! You don’t have to scream!” Hunter pokes at his ears. “And I’d love for you to visit. On Mondays after five and on Saturdays at noon.”

(Anytime, Hunter.)

“Grr…um…I mean, you can come whenever you wish. Just give me a heads up!”

Balling his fists, Divan says, “Tell Creator that she’ll be lucky if I ever come back!”

Then he thinks about it and adds, “Can you let her know I want a Jacuzzi, swimming pool, full exercise room, private spa, sauna room, and dance room?” Wriggling his fingers, he says, “Whenever she gets the chance.”

(**Eyeroll** He never changes.)

“I’ll let her know,” Hunter assures, pulling Divan by the arm to encourage him to leave. “Now I’ve got an appointment at 7 with a VIP and he doesn’t like strangers.”

“Okay! I sure am looking forward to that spa with SOME NICE LOOKING LADIES attending.” Divan winks toward me.

(Sigh…I think I’ve got a headache.)

After Hunter says good bye to his family (after I’ve jettisoned a nice place for them across the street), he paces, looking at his watch.

(What’s wrong now?)

“I was sure he said he’d be here by seven o’clock.” Hunter looks at his phone.


Mr. Sausages, of course!”

(Are you sure you want to mess with him? He doesn’t have any friends. In fact, he makes it his life mission to create new ways to kill off people who claim to be his friend. I think you need to reevaluate things.)

“Don’t worry your cloudy head about it, Creator. I’ve got it all under control.”

(**Shrugs** Okay…at least I have two other heirs who could replace you. Just in case.)

“You won’t have to replace me, Creator. Now stop worrying!)

(Who says I’m worried?)

After another ten minutes of pacing, a large van drops off some crates as a little boy in a hot dog costume hops out of the back.

“Who are you?” Hunter asks. “And what is this junk you’ve dropped on my doorstep? I’m not in the mood to buy any of your lame llama lollipops for your scout troop. Now take your peanut butter stained fingers and disgusting droopy drawers home to your mother. I’m meeting someone important.”

“But I am your 7 pm meeting.”

The kid takes out a piece of paper and reads, “Are you Hunter Rex, residing at 222 Beach Byway Lane?”


“Well, I was told to give you these crates. They’re from none other than Mr. Sausages himself. He sends you his greetings and may the plum be with you.”

Hunter raises his finger angrily, “This is absurd! Do you know who I am? Hunter the Invincible! And Mr. Sausages assured me he would not only deliver me an item most worthy of my talents to help me rule Newcrest, but he also said he’d speak with me. Not some half pint hot dog full of all sorts of grimy little diseases you’ve probably gotten from all the cretins you peruse with at school.”

“Listen, pal, who do you think YOU are to speak with my dad? THE Mr. Sausages? You are just some underling who isn’t fit to lick the bottom of my dad’s yellow sneakers.” He raises his finger and sneers, “So nany-nany-boo-boo to you, dorkbrains.”

Then the little monster marches back to the van and speeds away.

Hunter looks at me. “Do you believe that? What is happening to real parenting? I have half a mind to report his upbringing to child services.”

(I wouldn’t do that.)

“Why ever not, Creator?”

(Because he said he was the son of Mr. Sausages.)

Hunter looks at his shoes, scratching his head. “Oh. Yeah. Right. I forgot about that little detail.” He sighs and surveys the crates. “Well, this must be some incredible machine that will make the powers at be succumb to my glorious will!”

(Or it could be an exploding bomb. I wouldn’t touch it if I were you.)

“Oh, Creator, Dad never mentioned what a worry wart you are. I’m telling you. Mr. Sausages and I go way back.”

(Okaaayeee…don’t say I didn’t warn you!)

Pulling his fingers through his hair, Hunter says, “You take all the fun out of things, Creator. I’m tired. I’ll deal with this tomorrow.”

(Oh, good. Then maybe the garbage men will pick it up.)

“I hate my life.”

(Hunter….don’t be a drama queen.)

“No, I take that back. I hate you. Stop talking to me!”

(LOL….oh…you’re so funny!)

He stomps to the front and slams the door.


In the morning, Hunter decides to open the package.

(**cringing…waiting for the blast**)

But to my surprise, the boxes only held a few t-shirts, sunglasses, and a hat.

Hunter puts the items on and moans, “What’s the meaning of this junk? THIS is supposed to help me conquer Newcrest?”

(Er…I think Mr. Sausages uses those items to ensnare his captives with subliminal messages.)

Pulling out his phone, Hunter mutters, “I’m NOT a third rate amateur. I deserve better treatment than this.”

“Sausages? It’s Hunter the Invincible. Look, I need you to come to my place right away. Your products are faulty. And if you don’t want my lawyer contacting you, I suggest you figure this out in person! No…I’m not plumming off my nut. And DON’T send your half-pint son!”

(**wipes face** You DO know who Mr. Sausages is, right, Hunter?)

“Of course, Creator. We’re old pals.”

(Well, you just told the guy who wanted to put his baby in the middle of a train track that you were going to sue him. I don’t think that’s a wise decision.)

Hunter waves his hand. “Eh…he’s all bark and no bite. DID he put his boy on the train tracks? No. He SAID he was going to. Those are two different things.”

(**rolls eyes** The only reason he DIDN’T put his son on the train track to be obliterated is because he COULDN’T. There are limits to this world you live in. And the only reason his son lives today is because Sausages can use him as he did last night.)

Shaking his head, Hunter says, “Those are tiny details, now will you hush? I see Sausages coming down the street.”

Mr. Sausages storms up to Hunter. “What in the grotty blazes are you doing calling me up at this gawd awful hour? Don’t you know I have science experiments just waiting to pop off at any moment?”

Hunter puts his hands on his hips. “I have a few grotty questions to ask you. What’s with the cheap product placement in my own story? You’ve already got thousands of readers and fans. Why do you have to go and try to grab for more? I don’t appreciate it, Sausages. I thought we were friends.”

Mr. Sausages just raises one eyebrow.

(EEK! Hunter, this doesn’t look good. People who talk like that to him never live to see the next day. Look what happened to these poor people in episode 6. And they were his FANS!)

But Hunter doesn’t care, he just gives it right back to Mr. Sausages. “Well? Are you going to answer me or just sit there like a leftover hotdog after the circus leaves town?”

“All right, mate, since I like your attitude (it’s much better than the sniveling plum I usually have to deal with), I’ll let that bit about the circus slide. This once.”

Hunter snarls, “I mean, I’m not YOU. How will this stuff even work? If you would have sent me a unique villain costume and my own glasses and hat, well, that would have been different.”

Scratching his chin, Mr. Sausages says, “All right, I see your point. Since you aren’t salivating over my shameless self-promotion, I’ll do something special just for you. I know a bloke who’s in the business of making wishing wells. I’ll send one over. Seems they like LOADS of money. Greedy little buggers, they are. When it’s in a ripe mood, ask it anything and it will give you your request. Sound fair enough?”

Hunter thinks about it then holds up his hand. “Not buying it, Sausages. What would I do with a wishing well? I don’t need people to make wishes. I need to conquer the world.”

Sausage grins evilly. “The wishing well does people in…if you know what I mean. You never know when it will strike.”

Scratching at his mustachio, Hunter finally says, “Throw in a Sausage original designed villain costume made especially for me and it’s a deal.”

Mr. Sausage gazes toward the heavens. “Like taking plasma juice from a vampire. You never told me he was this dim, Creator.”

(***EYES POP*** Did you just speak to me, Mr. Sausages?)

“Of course. You know I’m omnipotent, omniscient as well as immortal. I can see and hear all.”

(Really…well, then you know very well that I won’t allow that wishing well to kill anyone and all of your murdering antics are over. Now get your plum back to the hovel I made for you and leave Hunter alone!)

But instead of drooping his head and wisely going home, he only laughs maniacally. “Muahahahahaaa!”

(**scratches head** I don’t get it.)

And then he saunters away, still laughing.

Hunter glares at me. “Thanks, Creator. You insulted him. Now I’ll never get that Sausage original costume I’ve always wanted.”

(Something tells me I should be very worried.)

Author’s note: Mr. Sausages is the creation of the very talented @EmberDahl . Please go and read his story –it first started out as an experiment and then turned into a hilarious story about the most devious character in Simdom–An Obnoxious Psycho Sausage Tests the Boundaries of Sims 4 Emotions.

4 thoughts on “Chapter 2.2

  1. Oh…I don’t think that things are going to go well for Hunter. And Mr. Sausages can hear the Creator! Oops! And that wishing well….oh gosh….I never have luck with that thing.


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