“Bwa-ha-ha-ha,” Dark Cracky laughed, “Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”

Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha,” he continued, the deep, booming laugh filling the underground corridors of the tunnels under the White House. “Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.

He paused for a deep breath.

“Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”

“Are you done yet?” Hunter asked.

“Of course not,” Dark Cracky said. “Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”

Hunter bashed off a piece of Dark Cracky and fished for it in the tunnel muck.

“They are all so mad,” Hunter said, stuffing the filthy crack shard into a glass stem. “Of course Daddy was never going to let me go to jail.”

“Ten-year blanket pardon,” Dark Cracky said. “10% for the Big Guy always pays off.”

“And that sweet Ukraine money keeps rolling in…” Hunter said, then hit the stem with his torch. He exhaled a cloud of grey smoke and groaned, “Dolla-dolla-bill, y’all.”

Dark Cracky laughed.

“I mean, do they use dollars over there?” Hunter asked.

“How am I supposed to know?”

Hit and hit, deep hit, and the Cracky-shard was smoked away.

Hunter leaned against the wall of the tunnel, smiling, lips burnt white… until he heard the whispers…

“What was that?” Cracky asked, eyes frightened dark, staring dark into the tunnel that was enveloped in gloom.

“Hunter…” the voice came from the dark. “Hunter…”

“Who is that?” Cracky asked, his voice cracking.

“Who’s there?” Hunter said, trying to light the tunnel up with his crack torch.

A face, a hideous face, appeared, hovering in the darkness.

“LOOMER!” Cracky screamed and pissed himself. “RUN!”