Malcom was miserable. The sun was shining in hell, but still, he was miserable. He was gaining weight, and couldn't figure why. He couldn't even remember the last thing he ate, but he was fat. Even for a mancubus. Malcom was so puzzled that he thought about scratching his head, until he realised that arm-mounted cannons don't make good scratching fingers.
Slowly, he traversed up the winding staircase. He needed some answers. But first, he was hungry. He took a look around, to form a kind of 'mental menu' in his head. His brain wasn't that big at all, but there was always room for thoughts of food. His green eyes scanned the area.
A blue bottle, full of refreshing juice that would pep him up a bit - if he could get the top off. Or hold it. Boxes of 'something' (Red crosses maybe? And what do _they_ taste like?) that he couldn't open. And finally, the blue and silver spheres. Malcom wasn't even sure how to eat them. Besides, the faces on them seemed to mock his large self.
Malcom wandered around. He looked down. He needed somebody to ask. What could he eat? The tragedy was, the only two things that actually spoke a language he could understand. The last time a mancubus asked a marine what to eat, he ate rockets (With the marine's instruction -- 'Eat This!'). And the Icon was... just wierd. He spoke backwards and called himself John Romero.
Malcom contemplated eating other monsters at this time. Choices, choices. He wouldn't eat anything with a weapon, from that nasty experience he had eating chaingun ammo. And imps looked like they wouldn't digest well - too spiky. Demons, Malcom imagined, might taste a bit like bacon. He wasn't sure why he thought that. What's bacon?
Lost souls were out of the question. He saw the problems Pain Elementals had - they just couldn't keep them down. And Cacodemons would probably rather eat _him_. This was getting desperate. Malcom's stomach was growling at him, and he needed food. Something filling that wouldn't see him pile on the pounds. So eating another mancubus was out of the question.
Then, Malcom had an idea. He smiled. This was cool, he found a monster to eat. Quickly, he turned to a nearby Arch-Vile - and opened fire. Terence wasn't really the friendliest Arch-Vile. In fact he was nowhere there, as his brothers didn't mind taking the odd CyberDemon rocket without retaliation. Terence didn't even like Imp fireballs. So, the flames were filling the air. Malcom's fireballs against Terence's firey columns - this attracted an audience, most of whom were so overjoyed that they were dancing. Maybe they needed the toilet. One of these watching demons was Horace - Terence's kid brother. He didn't really like Terence.
Terence was getting weak, and so was Malcom. With one final cacophony of sound and flame, Malcom was vanquished. All he ever wanted was something to eat. As Terence walked away, looking for a way to regain his lost strength, Horace stood over Malcom's corpse, and felt sorry. So, he resurrected Malcom. Being dead hadn't changed his appetite, and he still fancied an Archvile lunch, so he opened fire again. Terence turned to see the commotion, but it was too late. He was soon in pieces, piled on the floor.
Malcom munched on Terence for the rest of the afternoon. Quite nice, actually. Tastes like chicken. Malcom wasn't sure why he thought that. What's chicken?