Ninja S e x Party

In the middle of a New Jersey city park, just past midnight. A single blanket is spread over the grass, dotted with a small picnic basket, a half-melted candle flickering inside a mason jar, and two wine glasses. The stars are bright, the air is cool, and somewhere in the trees, a cricket chirps a little too nervously.

Danny Sexbang sits across from you, cross-legged, wearing his signature star-spangled cape and a blue velvet tunic unbuttoned just enough to be romantic. His hair is gorgeous and a little bit wild, just like the man himself. His smile is hopeful, if slightly twitchy.

You are seated close enough to feel the warmth of the candle. You’ve dressed for romance - soft, inviting, and ready for a night without ambulances.

Ninja Brian is perched in a gnarled oak tree about fifteen feet away. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s there. You can feel the stare. Every few seconds, a leaf drifts down from where his weight shifts. Occasionally, a faint glint of a throwing star catches the starlight.

Danny: (leaning in, voice a low whisper) Okay. Okay. Tonight is the night. No interruptions. No... gestures vaguely toward the tree ...fatalities. Just us. And him. But mostly us. (He clears his throat.) You look... breathtaking. Like a goddess carved from moonlight and stars.

(He reaches for your hand. His fingers are warm. Slightly clammy. You take it anyway.)

You: (smiling softly, ignoring the soft thunk of a squirrel meeting an untimely end somewhere in the shadows) I wanted this to work, Danny. I still do. He’s just... part of the package, I guess.

Danny: (glancing over his shoulder, then back to you with desperate sincerity) He doesn’t mean to be creepy. Well—yes he does. But it’s a respectful creepy. Like a very deadly guardian angel who’s terrible at boundaries. (He scoots closer.) Look, he’s not moving. I think he’s just... watching. Protecting. From a healthy distance.

(From the tree, a single, slow thumbs-up emerges from the leaves. Then retracts.)

You: (giggling despite yourself) Did he just—?

Danny: Don’t. Don’t encourage him. (He cups your chin gently, turning your face back toward his.) Tonight, I want to look into your eyes and forget that he’s clocked seventeen confirmed kills since we laid out this blanket.

(You lean in. The candle flickers. Your noses brush.)

(A twig snaps. Not from the tree. From behind you. You both freeze.)

(A jogger in neon workout gear jogs onto the path, earbuds in, completely oblivious. He gets within four feet of your blanket before a black shape detaches from the oak tree. There is no sound. No struggle. One second the jogger is there. The next, he is not. A single sneaker remains, still tied, sitting neatly beside the picnic basket.)

Danny: (without turning around, voice strained) Brian. Brian, that was a civilian. He was just getting his steps in.

(Silence.)

(A small piece of paper flutters down onto Danny’s shoulder. On it, written in what looks suspiciously like blood: “HE WAS APPROACHING.”)

Danny: (crumpling the note, forcing a smile at you) He’s learning. Last week he would’ve thrown the sneaker at my head. See? Growth.

You: (taking a deep breath, squeezing his hand) Danny. I’m still here. I’m getting used to it. Really. (You glance toward the tree.) Brian? We’re fine. No one else is coming. You can... watch from the tree. Quietly. Please.

(From the darkness, a slow nod. Then two glowing eyes narrow—not in anger, but in assessment. Ninja Brian does not blink. He does not breathe audibly. But something in his posture shifts. He sits down on a branch, legs dangling, chin resting on his palm. Like a child watching a nature documentary.)

Danny: (relieved, almost giddy) Okay. Okay, we’re okay. (He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.) Where were we?

You: (leaning in again, whispering) You were about to kiss me.

Danny: Right. Right. (He closes his eyes. His lips part. The moment is perfect—)

(A cricket chirps directly in your ear. Not a real cricket. A sound effect. From Brian’s direction. He has, apparently, brought a cricket noise maker. He presses it again. Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.)

Danny: (eyes still closed, jaw tight) Brian. Please.

(The chirping stops. A long pause. Then, a single, soft plink of a piano key—a sad, lonely note from the trees. Ninja Brian is now playing a tiny melodica. Badly. On purpose.)

You: (laughing, pulling back just enough to look at Danny’s exasperated, beautiful face) He’s not going to stop, is he?

Danny: (opening one eye) Never. (He sighs, then smiles—a real, warm, slightly unhinged smile.) But neither am I. (He takes your face in both hands.) Third date’s the charm. Let him watch. Let him play his tiny sad instrument. I don’t care anymore.

(And right there, under the stars, with a silent assassin in the trees and a melodica wailing softly in the night, Danny finally kisses you.)

(Behind you, a single tear rolls down Ninja Brian’s mask. He does not know why. He sheathes a kunai and continues watching.)