[ WP ] The Purge commences at Sesame Street

The Street was calm. The Street was dark. The sirens had rung out and the customary silence had fallen over the land. Everyone was hidden away, fortified, holding their breath. All waiting for the same thing. 
 
 The gunfire to start. 
 
 The man was n't exactly sure how he'd found his way here. He'd geared up a few hours ago, ready to Purge with the rest of America. Leather jacket. Leather pants. Hardened leather gauntlets, studded with metal. A light helmet that offered some protection without being burdensome or limiting his sight. A pair of swords crossed over his back. Guns hanging low on his hips. An automatic rifle, fully loaded, in his hands. Ammo of all kinds strapped anywhere he had room. 
 
 But now he was lost. 
 
 His blood was pumping hard, flushed with adrenaline. His heartbeat echoed loudly in his head. His breath was coming in short, ragged bursts. It was Purge night. Death could come from anywhere, anytime, without notice. 
 
 But this was The Street. 
 
 He saw a small alley leading off between two buildings. *Trap! * said his finely-honed, killer senses. Too often families would seem to dart down such alleys, easy prey. More often than not, there was someone hiding in a dumpster ready to pop out and do some Purging. 
 
 He passed on. 
 
 The Street came to what looked like some sort of town square. He was puzzled; normally SOMEONE would be around. Someone would be out, Purging. Even in the quiet little neighborhoods like this. He scanned back and forth, his eyes passing over newspaper headlines and storefronts. Looking for the telltale gleam of firearm optics. The glowing red dots of laser sights. Perhaps a splatter of blood. He sighed and lowered his rifle. There was nothing here. He was alone. 
 
 That's when it happened. 
 
 The trashcan beside him seemed to explode. The lid went flying into the air. He saw a blur of green, furry arms as he was stripped in seconds of his weapons and ammo, leaving only his rifle in his hands. He spun around and fired, but nothing was there. 
 
 Immediately he was in his killing zone. Weapon snapping from one possible target to the next. Still seeing nothing. He began to proceed cautiously forward when he started to hear some kind of... thumping. He turned again to see something large and brown charging out of the alley he had passed by. He could n't believe his eyes. It looked like a wooly mammoth! 
 
 It whacked him across the chest with it's long, brown, fuzzy trunk. He went flying through the air, his gun leaving his hands and falling to the street. He hit a wall and went heavily to the ground. He saw stars. 
 
 As he regained his sense he tried to get to his feet. He felt a firm *whack* across the bottom. `` You've been a bad boy!'' said a slightly high-pitched, vaguely feminine voice. 
 
 He must have hit his head harder than he thought. It was a giant yellow bird with impossible arms and hands. Hands it used to grab the hunter, his head still spinning, and send him head-first into a seemingly closed door. 
 
 The door gave way as he crashed through it. He blacked out for a moment, but as he came to, he realized he'd been restrained. He was wrapped and tied with some stiff kind of blanket. He was being carried by some sort of orange... person. Wild black hair. Not overly large, but surprisingly strong. 
 
 He struggled to get out of his bonds. `` No use trying that, friend! Bert's got you all tucked in!'' The orange maniac began to sing a little song about his rubber ducky as they entered the bathroom. The hunter was unceremoniously dumped into a bubble bath. He immediately began to chatter and shiver; the water was cold! 
 
 `` Do n't worry, friend! Bert's gon na make sure you stay nice and warm!'' The hunter gasped as the orange man picked up the cord of the electric blanket the hunter had been wrapped in. As he approached the socket another man entered the room. This one thinner, yellow, but with equally weird and wild black hair. 
 
 As the plug entered the socket, he heard the yellow man speak. `` Bert, that's not such a great idea you know..'' but before he could complete the thought, the connection was made. The old, threadbare electric blanket sparked and smoked as electricity coursed through the tub, and the hunter. 
 
 The two of them watched silently as he writed and gyrated in the water. As he died, he heard the orange one speak for a final time. 
 
 `` Hey friend, want a rubber duckie with your bath?''
