Ben Hansen
Despite the struggle being briefer even than our stalwart heroes would admit, there was still time for enough grabbing, joint-wrenching and nervous farting for the two to feel like they had at least made a showing. The non-blond, slightly less physically impressive with the gun exposed but no less threatening, directed them deeper into the copse to reveal that behind the trees they had previously seen, there were in fact more trees.
"So it's a secret arboreal lair!" Ben declared smugly. Hugh decided he was not interested enough in loosening the cavities he had preemptively clenched for long enough to formulate a response.
By and by, the Germans brought the pair to a clearing with no clear avenue of escape that wouldn't involve getting past one of the four other Germans (also non-blond, also topless) that dwelt within.
"Hey," said one of the four non-blonds. "What's up?"
"We have more delicious guests to help us in our Ultimate goals!" boomed their Kraut captor as Ben and Hugh let out silent breaths of relief at the narrowly aborted reference.
"Ahhh, wunderbar! Let us get them out of those constricting clothes and into a few moist warmups!"
"I mean, it's pretty warm now," Ben said, trying to delay the inevitable while his counterpart tried to take advantage of the momentary distraction to climb a tree, or at least bring the scenery down on his captors once again.
Alas, while lightning may occasionally strike twice, it had struck none of the surrounding trees and none of them were obliging enough to give way under Hugh's weight.
The very manliest of their topless tormentors came up while Hugh was hanging a mere foot from the ground, and prised the smaller man's limbs from their positions as Ben's expert arguments were derailed by the more mentally supple musclemen and their expert conversational gambit of saying "no."
Barely a shenanigan later, the Germans had taken the detectives two to a person, removing their tops by force despite the wailing and desperate pleas, and deposited the two unceremoniously in the middle of the clearing.
"I almost wish there had been an ulterior motive," Hugh muttered as the pair stood back to back, turning slowly as they wondered which of the discs being tossed up and down by the ring of spiteful sportsmen would be the first to find their way into a delicate part of the duo's anatomy. "At least we'd be getting some idea of where to go next with this case."
"I just wish I knew why they keep choosing us," Ben replied. "Ten years of this now."
"We must just be fated to become the Ultimate victims." Hugh tore his gaze from the threatening musculature and solid stares of their antagonists to glance up at his companion. "Well, just in case they can't dig all the plastic out this time... can you tell my parents to pay for the Amazon Lost Tribe Experience?"
"Wait, that debt and all of the Dutch midgets don't die with us?"
"No, not at all, you see -"
"Vait," said the blond German, so shocked that his accent slipped into a Count Von Count impersonation. "You say you are making Dutch midgets die?"
"Only in the sense that we're leaving them Dutch and destitute," Ben jumped in. "So far, we've only killed full-size ones."
"And we'll do it again if we have to!" Hugh declared, dropping into what he hoped would be taken for a vaguely competent martial arts stance. The effect was, to his shame, bad enough that the Germans looked at each other in confusion, exchanging mutters of "was ist das?" just loudly enough for it to carry to his ears.
"We are most pleased to hear this!" the Blond declared, his wide grin momentarily leaving the pair stunned. "Those despicable Dutch douches dying delights us deliciously! The dastardly dicks' defeat demands duly dedicatory discourse!"
"Hearing our hatred of horrible Hollanders has humoured you heartens us!" Hugh happily hollered, hoping for the Huns' happroval strongly enough to start alliterating words that didn't exist.
"Yeah, hollandaise is awful," Ben said, missing the point almost as severely as we've missed his writing.
"Yes," the German added, "Knowing we have killed the murderers of our most hated enemies will make us twice as powerful. We shall become the ultimate Ultimate team! So ultimate that our foes will not dare make light of our redundancy!"
"Bollocks," Hugh said.
"Arse nuggets," Ben replied dejectedly.
"Take careful aim, men," the blond called out. "Today we harass and belittle heroes to our kind."
Every muscle tensed, our heroes faced their impending deaths.
They did not expect to face the view of a steaming yellow, viscous liquid pouring onto the heads of all the Germans at once, ruining the one claim to a distinct identity that the non-blonds had even as it caused third degree burns on their scalps and permanently damaged the eyes of those who did not close them quickly enough.
"Hey!" the four formerly non-blondes cried out in unison. "What's going on?"
"You just had to say it, didn't you," came a voice, emanating from hidden speakers in every direction. The Germans did not seem to take the chastening to heart as well as they could, possibly as a result of their scrambling in every direction in a desperate attempt to get away from the pain. Considering the number that ran into each other in the middle of the clearing and collapsed over one another, the witnesses unconsciously formed a concensus that this could have been better executed.
"Don't tell me," Ben said, as Hugh experimentally ran his finger through what remained of a nearby sportsman's face and stuck it in his mouth.
"Yup," Hugh confirmed. "Tempered glass flavoured."
A platform built of wood descended beside the pair, seemingly built from whatever branches were at hand and lashed to a series of tightly braided vines. The man inside, neither midget nor muscleman and clearly free of frisbees, was one of the most beautiful sights that Ben and Hugh had seen.
"Come with me if you want to live," the man advised. "We should be safe in my secret arboreal lair!"
As one, Hugh and Ben grabbed their clothes and made for the lift with a quickness.
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