9. DOG ENDS

FIRST-CLASS MALE

Hunt prey, Terry Jackson-Brown, left us this update, not divulging his present status to touch upon some of his subsequent experiences, roughing it in the mail system.

After that first one with the fitness cycle I managed to find a boxing punchbag that was being sent to a bloke in Preston. I removed the stuffing and some electronics. Judging from the information booklet it was a second generation AI punchbag which let the puncher know how hard they were hitting, all of which was designed to motivate them to throw more punches, then I got in myself.

Of course, I hadn’t planned on being placed into the hands of a bloody punchaholic. I had hoped to be put to one side once he had taken delivery of me, then when the coast was clear I could do a runner. But no. He immediately hung me up from a beam in his backyard that began creaking as I swayed from side to side, put on his mitts and began pummeling the Hell out of me. Fortunately, I was able to cry out in pain, as this was what was expected of the AI punchbag anyway, and it needed no acting from me. A right haymaker then busted my lip and I could feel the claret oozing out down my chin. That was it. I called him a ####er, slid my arms out and started punching him back. Caught him a nice one on the nose. My knuckles hurt like Hell after but at the time adrenalin had kicked in and all I felt was satisfaction. The tide had turned. No more punches were raining in on me. I got my legs out, unhooked my chain from the beam and started chasing him. What a change. Now the punchbag was hitting back he didn’t want to know it. He found safety behind his neighbour’s door and I shouted a few threats before I made off.

I later discovered that the incident sparked concerns in the North-West that an AI punchbag was on the loose bent on destroying humankind invested with the speed and dexterity of Muhammad Ali in his prime and the punching power of Mike Tyson. This soon escalated to concerns that all AI fitness equipment was about to turn and led to temporary closures of gyms in the area for fear that treadmills could deliberately develop potholes and those using rowing machines could suddenly find they had to paddle for their lives to avoid a torpedo on their stern.

Thereafter, I adopted a different strategy when packaging myself, opting for easier gigs. Like the shirt one. A guy in Plymouth ordered a shirt from eBay. I turned up in the shirt and simply told him that I had forgotten to remove it before posting it. Easy as that. And he bought it. Twice you could say.

Although I am regularly delivered to doors in my quest to evade the hunt. At least I have avoided death’s door.