Grigsby sprinted out of the hut toward the zebra. He leapfrogged onto one like he’d seen the cowboys do in old western films. The zebra was spooked and tried to buck but Grigsby held the mane tight and let him know who was boss. Ryūki looked for the largest male zebra and leaped on to it from a running sprint.

“Get the hell out of here, I’ll get Ira.” Ryūki ordered.

Grigsby kicked the zebra and galloped toward the narrow gated road of the village. Ryūki made his way for the feeding area where Ira was being submitted too. A bunch of hungry cannibals bore their sharp teeth at him. Ira kept screaming.

Ryūki leaned off of the zebra and grabbed a tea pot from the ground. He loaded the gunpowder in there and began riding at full gallop toward Ira. As he rode toward him a deafening sound of a Cessna 182 buzzed just 50 feet over the village. The tribesmen screamed, beating their drums and readying their spears. They formed a shield around their prey.

Now only 25 yards away Ryūki threw the teapot in the air and unholstered his pistol, shooting it on the first try. It exploded fire onto the tribesmen and they fell to the dirt. This provided an opening for Ryūki. He didn’t slow. He shot off the restraints they placed on Ira and heaved him on the zebra. “Go! Go! Go!” Ira screamed.

They rode out of the village. Ryūki shot at the nearby bandits making them take cover. This gave them enough time to make it down the long corridor and away from the village. Ryūki saw Dalia’s Cessna skirting on the ground. Grigsby stood with its door open waving them on. Ryūki looked behind and saw a hundred men with spears sprinting after him. He kicked the zebra for more power but it began to wheeze and a moment later collapsed.

Ira sprinted toward the plane, keeping pace with Ryūki, he was happy that he took so many SoulCycle classes in TriBeCa. They arrived at the plane, Ira jumped in after Grigsby while Ryūki emptied the clip of the pistol on the approaching tribe. A spear came sailing through the air but Ryūki caught it and heaved it back. This was a sight Grigsby had never seen, his samurai butler in full combat. It was remarkable.

“Hey! You’re not Miyamoto Musashi, get in the plane!” Grigsby shouted. Ryūki nodded and climbed into the cockpit. He did not notice the beautiful pilot with chestnut skin. Ryūki looked dead ahead as the Cessna howled and bounced down along the African floor. Soon the bouncing ceased and they felt weightless as they glided through the air and disappeared in white clouds.

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