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Today was good. So was yesterday. My servant brought me carrots. The orange sticks of glory. I devoured them swiftly, to remind her of my immense power. She clapped her hands and laughed, as though she herself had conquered the carrot. I allowed this delusion. It keeps her humble.
The other humans call her Yelena, but to me she is my chosen human. My rescuer. My bringer of carrots. She blew up the Horrid Metal Maze and carried me away in triumph. Clearly, she is my most loyal knight. She scratches my chin when I command it and warms my royal paws with her lap. She is mine. Anyone who challenges this will face the bite.
The metal-armed one visits often. He stares at me with solemn eyes, as if I carry the secrets of the universe. Perhaps I do. But I will never tell. He also gives me sunflower seeds when the blonde one isn’t looking. I approve of this offering. It makes him my second-favorite servant. I think he wishes to join my court. I am considering it.
I also like the one who hides—the glowing giant. He appears to be a nervous and timid creature. Trembling and mighty all at once. He is the only being here whose power could rival mine (but only just). He seems to fear himself. I do not fear him. He should fear me. Still, he shares apple slices. I permit his existence and am open to forming an alliance, since he seems to value my human highly.
The others mean little to me, but I allow them to exist in my space.
The ghost woman disappears and reappears without warning. I suspect sorcery. Or worse: she may be stealing my hay in secret. Still, she pets me with careful fingers and whispers soft words. She respects my power. I shall allow her to vanish… for now.
The loud bear-man is the worst. Too tall. Too noisy. Calls me “little rat.” Unforgivable. I have bitten him once. I will bite him again. He brags of victories, but I know the truth: he has never conquered a carrot in his life.
Then there’s the other blonde man. Loud like the bear-man, but less funny. He smells like shoe polish and arguments. Tried to call me “buddy.” I am not his buddy. I am Cucumber the Magnificent. He has yet to learn this.
My favorite time is when my blonde servant lets me sit on her lap while she yells at the others. She is fierce and small, like me. We are clearly the leaders of this operation. I squeak my commands; she interprets them as her own thoughts. A perfect arrangement.
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Mission Log: The Briefing of Fools
Today began as all great days should: with me.
The tall woman with the sharp voice (Valentina) gathered my subjects around the long table. She droned on about “mission parameters” and “objectives.” I understood none of it, and therefore, it was unimportant. What mattered was that no one had yet acknowledged me.
So, with the assistance of my blonde servant (sworn knight and carrot-bearer), I leapt upon the table and planted my paws upon the stack of boring papers.
“Attention,” I squeaked.
Yelena nodded gravely. “He says your plan is stupid.”
Gasps. Shock. Horror. Alexei, the loud bear-man, snorted. “What does the rat know?”
The disrespect burned through me. I fixed him with my deadliest stare. The air shifted. The glowing man swallowed hard, shoulders stiff. Yes… they felt it. The weight of my command. They will learn.
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Mission Log: The Rations War
Later, my subjects argued over their tasteless food packs. I, however, discovered a treasure: a packet of strawberry jam. I sat atop it, the jewel of my kingdom.
Bucky frowned. “I was saving that.”
—squeak squeak squeak—
Yelena translated with perfect loyalty: “He says you were too slow.”
The metal-armed one sighed and broke off half a cracker, presenting it like tribute to a king. I accepted magnanimously, as was fitting. Ava muttered, “…he really is in charge, isn’t he?” No one disagreed.
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Mission Log: Taco Shield
Training time. The other blonde man—the one who smells like shoe polish and poor decisions—paraded around with his ridiculous taco-shaped shield. He puffed up his chest like he was the strongest warrior alive.
I waddled forward, unimpressed. I squeaked once.
He sneered. “What? You think you can do better?”
Fool. He should not have spoken.
When he dropped the shield against the mat, showing off its weight, I scrambled up the curve and perched triumphantly at the very top—like a king upon a throne made of stale corn. Balanced perfectly, tail twitching in victory.
The room went silent. Yelena clapped once, slow and deliberate. Bucky smirked. Alexei laughed so hard he nearly fell over.
John? He just stared, horrified, as if realizing he had finally been defeated. By me.
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Mission log: Night watch
When the others slept, the glowing one sat alone, light flickering with an empty dark beneath his skin. He looked haunted, as if he carried ten boulders on his back.
I leapt onto his lap without permission. I curled up, pressed my warmth against him. His trembling hands steadied.
“…thanks, little guy,” he whispered.
I squeaked once. I know when to comfort and when to command. I will not speak of this.
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My missions were complete.
I had conquered the strawberry jam. I had humbled the shield-thrower. I had guided my trembling subjects through the dark. A lesser creature might continue, but not I. A wise king knows when to rest his paws.
So I returned to my blonde servant. She stretched out on her bunk, boots kicked off, hair undone, eyes heavy with sleep. She lifted the blanket, and I knew—my throne awaited.
I burrowed beside her, tucking myself against her ribs, the steady beat of her heart beneath my ear. Warm. Safe. Mine.
She whispered, half-asleep, “Good job, Cucumber.”
I squeaked once. Of course.
The world outside could wait. My kingdom was secure. Tonight, I retire at her side, ever watchful. Should danger dare approach, it will face not just the Black Widow’s bite—
but the wrath of Cucumber the Magnificent.