It is not often that I'll allow people into my circle.
Lately, I have made an exception without evaluating the situation at hand. This has led to several instances where I'm being placed at the bottom of some intellectual food chain where I have been forced to look up words in order to understand the conversation taking place.
Now, I do not judge people for their intelligence nor their use of it. I try not to judge people for their lack of intelligence either, but I am human. This is a new experience for me as I am the one being forced to the bottom of the proverbial genetic pile by this pejorative mordant doppleganger posing as a confidant.
This pompous pendantesque personage of perverted pride and passion (often pendaneous in patronage and patriotism) proposes propounding probities, however it is nothing but prestidigitation.
Left-handed compliments are still hurtful even in jest.
I believe that R.E.M. but it best, "Everybody hurts... sometime." So enough with the incesance whining about how your childhood was fucked up and how your relationships have gone sour, and about how utterly lonely you are without someone else's woman. Everyone's experiences are fucked up. That doesn't make you special. It makes you repetative. Your ego is far too overblown for you to see what is going on in front of you. It is no wonder that your true friends and relationships are digital in nature, as that is where your passion lies.
Go be intelligent, just don't force it down other people's throats anymore. It is too cumbersome to deal with the extreme amount of baggage that you have and the constantly having to wonder about all of the silent sneers that you articulate all too well (until one figures out the game that you're playing).
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
Buzzards in the Sun
The sprawls in Texas are different. Sure, you have the same neon colored skyline, the same corporate Zones, the same kinds of gangs; there were always the Goths, the Fashionistas, the Ethnicios (no matter what color they were) and the Themers, based on whatever new or old theme was available. One of the favorites that Benjamin Franklin Baxter had once had to deal with was a gang out of Arlington that had the inane idea to revamp the old Batman villains from over a century ago. He couldn’t count how many times he had put down a Themer decked out in a purple suit and painted face wielding a great big titanium mallet. The thing that struck Benjamin about the Seattle Sprawl was the lack of authentic barbecue.
There were too many of the Asian barbecue restaurants and street vendors, but they didn’t really know how to properly cook a slab of beef. Most of the food in Seattle was geared towards the Asian lifestyle; it was all chopsticks and dim sum. It was mostly finger foods for those up-and-comings on the go. There was always a meeting to go to, or a new haute place to meet your chums. The sheer speed of the Seattle Sprawl was a lot faster than what he was used to in the Dallas Metroplex.
Business was business everywhere in the world, but the overall feel of the Dallas Metroplex, locals still called it DFW even though the metro extended far beyond Dallas, Arlington and Fort Worth. Waco and Austin were incorporated as part of the metroplex in the early 80’s. Sweetwater and Abilene followed soon after. Wichita Falls, Gainesville and Paris were incorporated into the ‘Plex just before 2099. Mr. Pleasant and Longview followed the next year and the feather in the Dallas Metroplex’s proverbial hat was Palestine.
Even though the Dallas Metroplex was huge and impressive, the people there remembered where they came from. For nearly eight hours on every Sunday, the entire sprawl shut down for Sunday dinner. It was a revamp from an old state Blue Law that required business to be closed on Sundays. It was family time then. It was time for barbecues and sitting with your Grammy to understand where you came from and who you were.
Those were the times that Benjamin held onto when he had to be away from his home in DFW. When his aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers and other extended family members would get together at Grammy Baxter’s condominium out on her veranda incorporated on the 45th floor, the time was more than magical, it was family time. Benjamin felt that he could see the entire Metroplex on those Sundays. He later learned that his fantasy was an impossible dream, but the memory was awe inspiring at the time.
The crisp neon glowed with the warmth that was unusual for the cityscape. Grammy Baxter would tell him about how in the early part of the century that all of the skyscrapers that he saw weren’t even in existence. He couldn’t believe it at the time. This was home. It was eternal and constant. It couldn’t have been any different.
His father would fire up the barbecue grill and plop down the Argentinean ground beef patties and spice them with chili powder, paprika, garlic, black pepper and then top it all off with Texas chili and pepper-jack cheese. What made the burger special was the pretzel roll he used to finish off the sandwich. It was the best hamburger that Benjamin ever remembered having. Nothing could compare to his father’s Black Sabbath burger.
Benjamin frowned underneath the neon that lit up the Seattle Sprawl. He wanted to be in Texas, away from all of the Asians that infested the Pacific Northwest. They didn’t know anything about the Black Sabbath burger or why one wanted to cook a steak medium rare in butter and not some sort of sesame-soy oil combination with an accompaniment of ginger and wasabi. The chefs didn’t understand why he wanted to have a fork and a knife with his steak instead of chopsticks and sake. He wanted a cold beer with a steak fried in butter. “Butter, you know, from a flippin cow?” he explained once to a slant-eyed server fresh out of the Corporate Zone. The Korean just looked at Benjamin as if he had grown a third head – which wasn’t that unusual, but his manifestation didn’t work that way.
Sure, his connection to the Kertzburg Dimension did change his body, but he couldn’t grow extra appendages like some of the other metas tuned into the K-D could. His body radically changed. Great Granddad Baxter explained it to him at one time, “It’s not that you yourself change, it’s just your body.” Benjamin didn’t understand what he said at the time, but that was nearly thirty years ago and half a country away from where he was now.
Now, he was in the rain, in the Seattle ‘Plex, under the undeniably oppressive grayness and thick as mud cloud cover that reflected a veritable electric rainbow from the prolific use of neon to advertise anything from acid washes for your skin to overcooked ziti sold on rancid little street corners by Ukrainian refugees, looking for an unregistered meta.
The reports were initially difficult to confirm due to the constant mutilation and dehumanization that the general populace was undergoing, but when the scanners picked up unusually high K-D activity, Benjamin knew that he had to board a parabolic from DFW to SeaTac. There really was no other choice in the matter. The Local Enforcement Officers in the ‘Plex could have handled the unregistered meta, but Benjamin and his handlers higher up in the chain knew that Project SILVER had to have a presence on the scene before the LEO’s found a dead unregistered meta. It was Benjamin’s job to find the metahuman and save them from society. They just didn’t understand.
If it wasn’t the LEO’s that were going to kill the skimmer, then it might be the private corporate armies that would freak out and shoot before asking questions. They were all paid goons anyway. Many with freakish cybernetic implants to enhance themselves up to Meta standards or underwent some zoomorphic procedure to give them an advantage. Yeah, they were all card-carrying and registered in the Project SILVER database, but that didn’t stop them from using their acquired powers to make a grease spot of an unexpected unregistered intruder on private property. They were wannabe’s in a world of genuine articles like Benjamin. It was sad, really.
A chime sounded off in Benjamin’s ear. He knew it was his handler. Adjusting the brownish black Stetson that had seen better days he hit the small stud on the earpiece he wore to extend the small holographic screen in front of his right eye. Due to his particular relationship with the K-D, he couldn’t use the normal implants that many of the Special Agents used within Project Silver. He was all natural, well as natural as any metahuman could be.
“What’s the status, Rictus?” Gina Grey’s tiny little voice flew into his brain. She was emphasizing the importance of finding the skimmer through her own talents as a P-Type. Benjamin frowned darkly; paying homage to the codename he had been given. Quickly he ran through a montage of the latest pornography he had been subjected to on the parabolic flight from DFW to SeaTac. “Good God,” she squawked over the earpiece, and only the earpiece, “did you have to do that?”
“Yes.” Benjamin replied. “I’ve got his scent, and it is a ‘he.’ What’s scanning on your end Blue?” Benjamin knew it wasn’t the most creative name in the world, but he liked it. It described her eyes when she went into her P-Type show. A blue aura surrounded her eyes like nothing you’ve ever seen. No neon lamplight could ever match that. No Photoshop junkie could ever capture it correctly. It defied the normal parameters of the color. It just was, and so was she – Blue.
“There’s cross-talk with the LEO’s and the Kitsume’s over at Nin-Ban,” her clear voice was as calm as any other handler Benjamin had had before, but there was that something extra that Gina had always put into every conversation that she had. Perhaps that was why he loved her. “Aw, you’re sweet too,” she giggled.
“Let’s keep this nice and professional-like, okay Blue?” Benjamin sent another image of the professional-grade hentai from the plane. “And then maybe we can get together later for some steaks and beers at Ruth’s Cris. God, I hate Seattle!” Benjamin yelled at the top of his lungs.
“No need to yell Rictus.” Immediately he could feel mental fingers sliding down the various pressure points, calming him instantly, “We don’t need him yet. Save him for the Kitsume’s over at Nin-Ban. Local chatter says the LEO’s just lost about half a dozen down there in the corporate zone. The Kitsume’s are going to be down on the ground level soon. You’d better hustle down there Rictus, because that’s where your skimmer’s at!”
“Shit!” began to run. He wasn’t that far from the corporate zone, but getting into the zone when it was hot was another thing all together. He didn’t want to use his manifestation if he didn’t have to. There was always hell to pay afterwards. “Ok Blue,” Benjamin yelled into his microphone, “I need…”
“Already on it, love.” And she was. Immediately street maps and schematics popped up and ran across the holographic field in front of his eye mapping out the quickest route to the Nin-Ban tower. A news feed along the bottom gave Benjamin transcribed updates to what was going on down in the corporate zone.
Looking up, he could see the one-man Dragonfly Gyros thundering overhead. Their floodlights cut through the grey skies as they flittered around the tall superstructures that began the corporate zone. The LEO’s could already smell the blood of the unregistered Meta. Like buzzards in the sun, they circled around the corporate zone, their floods impossible to miss. It was lit up like a main event. Everyone knew what it was though.
Street corners raced through Benjamin’s field of vision. Long trails of reds and greens from the neon signs streaked by as he channeled and focused on his connection with the K-D. A snarl plastered itself across Benjamin’s face. It was an aftereffect of letting the beast within gain a little control over his body. He bumped into people sending them skittering into walls and bouncing off of the reinforced bulletproof plexi that lined the unidentifiable store fronts. They yelled, he growled in response. Rictus wanted out to play with the meat sacks.
Ratings tallies jumped through the roof according to the ticker scrolling along his holographic screen. Anytime that there is a police action or any other egregious televised violent event, everyone seemed to sit down and jack into the net or watch the streaming video on their console walls. They were all opportunists just waiting for the chance to watch their city and people die. Waiting for the rotting remains to just hunker down and shake for the last time. All of them were just buzzards in the sun.
Benjamin could just see the reports that would filter up to his handlers at Project SILVER. Words like, ‘resisting arrest,’ and ‘public endangerment’ came to mind. Already he could feel his anger building. ‘Failure to uphold the Federal Vigilance Act,’ was prevalent in their reports. In his mind they were all just wannabe’s taking potshots at the real heroes that were left holding the responsibility towards all of humanity.
“Those flesh bags wouldn’t know what to do if a fully trained metahuman actually advanced into their city and started to take control.”
“Not just yet, Rictus,” he could hear Blue in his ear, keeping him calm for the moment. “I’ve got the techs working on how to disable the K-D Nullifiers in place. They’re telling me it’s not impossible, but you know what that means coming from the techs.”
“Yeah,” Benjamin agreed sourly, “it means I’m on my own with my dick hanging in the wind until they figure out how to drop the firewalls at Nin-Ban.”
“Strike Team Seven is prepped and ready. ETA is about ten.” Gina informed him. “And save that pillow talk for later, lover boy.”
“It’ll be over in five, and you know it.” Benjamin blew her a mental kiss as he leapt up over a 40 foot wall that blocked off the corporate zone from the rest of the ‘Plex. “See you on the flipside Blue.” Static filled his ear and small holographic screen as the jamming frequency broadcast throughout the corporate zone took effect.
Immediately he felt the nausea and pain overtake him as his own connection with the K-D was simply cut off. It was the worst feeling. Like being cut off from your own body, or being really rip-roaring drunk. You can think straight, but your body doesn’t want to cooperate. That and pain, lots of pain.
Benjamin hit the small metal stud on his earpiece and turned it off. The holographic projection rod retracted before he landed on the ground. The ghetto birds were lighting up the area in harsh floodlights. He could feel the downdraft of the gyros whipping the air, dust and other detritus into assault vectors for anyone on the ground.
“Well, I’m in it now,” Benjamin said to himself knowing that his connection with Blue had been cut off. Silently he hoped the techs found a way into the Nin-Ban firewalls to shut off the K-D Nullifiers. He felt like hammered shit and there was a whole heap of work to do yet.
The floods from the LEO gyros spotlighted Benjamin’s target. Fighting off a particularly nasty wave of nausea that caused his gut to wrench as if it were being ripped out with a vise, he drew his sidearm and opened fire on Seattle’s Finest. Sweat began to form on Benjamin’s brow as he steadied the pistol more through force of will rather than combat training. A few shots missed their mark, but soon the floods were out and he could see again.
Benjamin rushed the boy who accidentally found himself in the corporate zone. His clothes were a wreck. They were ripped and disheveled. Benjamin knew what that was like. He knew all too well.
The Kitsume’s rushed out with their reinforced armor and assault rifles from the Nin-Ban lobby. A loudspeaker came on with an ear-piercing tone designed to induce fear and terror. Benjamin just found it annoying. It modulated up and down in algorithmic harmonies to further the confusion factor. It was quite effective for most, but Benjamin learned long ago how to deal with that kind of sonic attack. Rictus would have a great deal more time to play if he hadn’t.
Benjamin knew the play. The gambit was always the same. When the loudspeaker came on, it was the signal for the LEO’s to scatter. It was called plausible deniability. When it came to Corporate Law, the LEO’s didn’t have the legal chutzpah to contest trespass and use of deadly force.
“This is private property.” A Kitsume Trooper came over the loudspeaker. “You are in violation of publicly posted notifications and are subject to deadly force if you do not vacate in five, four, three, two, one! Open fire!” Muzzle flash erupted from the Kitsume Troopers lined up on the stairs, finding cover behind the stone edifices and benches. Benjamin leapt to take the boy down and that’s when things changed.
The earpiece lodged in Benjamin’s ear squelched an inane frequency in response to the Nin-Ban jamming going down. Tackling the young boy, Benjamin felt the 10mm rifle rounds hit him and lodge into his armor. Benjamin yelled as the impacts from the Kitsume rifles hit the Tunguskium weave. The boy yelled in response. Benjamin could feel the soft flesh of the boy change into roped and knotted muscle underneath his fingers.
“This aint gonna be good,” he said to no one in particular.
“Rictus, come in.” the earpiece squawked again. “Rictus, respond!” Benjamin could feel the boy changing in his grasp; he was slowly loosing grip. Skin was changing into scale the young face and jaw was changing into an angular shape. The boy’s change in girth was beginning to force Benjamin to lose hold. A tail began to flail around from underneath the two metahumans locked in deadly embrace.
“No time Blue,” Benjamin said between gritted teeth. “Aw shit!” he screamed into the microphone, “He’s like me, Blue!” Benjamin struggled with the last of his will to hold onto the new reptilian beast that was writhing underneath him. “He’s like me!”
“Roger, Rictus.” Gina responded with a professional coolness in her voice. Benjamin knew what she was thinking. She couldn’t help but broadcast it. She was keeping her emotions in check. Operation: Duck Hunt was in full gear.
“Get that tube online but quick, Blue.” Benjamin struggled with the boy-beast tearing at his long coat and armor with razor sharp claws. With a great roar, his mouth came down on Benjamin’s neck. “This aint gonna be pretty.” He informed his handler as warm blood flowed from his neck. “Aw shit, Blue. This aint gonna be pretty.”
More gunfire from the Kitsume’s flashed through the air at the two combatants on the ground. Benjamin screamed as every impact hit. Quickly he brought his focus and training into play. The warm blood flowed openly from the impossibly sharp teeth still lodged in his neck. He could feel his armor beginning to tighten around his body. Everything felt small.
“Flesh bags got you down, Benji.” Benjamin could hear his sardonic voice. “Let me take care of them.” From deep down in Benjamin’s belly, he could feel the Beast laughing. “Aw, come on man. You know I live for this.”
Benjamin fought for control of his mind. He could hear the Tunguskium weave rip as his own body changed. The Alligator-Boy’s teeth scraped and tore his new grey-mottled flesh as the metamorphosis took place. The wound stung worse than anything that Benjamin could remember.
“He shouldn’t have done that, Benji.” The Beast raged in his mind. “That hurt us.”
“He doesn’t know what he’s doing.” Benjamin yelled. “You know what that’s like.”
“Yeah, I do,” the Beast chuckled, “but the difference between you and me Benji, is that I don’t care.”
“Well I do care!” Benjamin seethed. The pain of the manifestation from his normal body into the Rictus Beast was always new. It didn’t matter how many times he had made the change. Something about the knitting of bone and the growth of new muscles and fusing of thousands of yards of tendons and ligaments was just something he couldn’t get used to doing. “This is my body that we share, you’re just a guest. A parasite at best.”
“I’ll show you a parasite, you waste of flesh!” the Beast roared in his mind as the final snap of flesh and bones took to the new body. Gamma-plasm secreted through glands in the Rictus Beast’s body giving him a slimy texture. The giant grey face was twisted into a permanent scowl. Black eyes were underneath a huge brow that burned with hatred. Benjamin withdrew into the tiny hole that he knew was waiting for him. The Beast was loose again.
“Kid,” the Beast growled in deep rumbling voice that echoed his hatred for the world at large, “you should never bite off more than you can chew.” The Beast let loose of the scaly hide and grabbed the angular head that was latched onto his neck and pressed. Thick fingers found their way towards yellow eyes. The boy howled in pain as the pressure built. The Beast could feel the boy’s eyes pressing inward towards the small reptilian brain that was in control.
Howling in pain, the boy let go of the Beast’s neck. Thick black blood mixed with the natural gamma-plasm secretions flowed down the Beast’s neck and onto his arm. Still the Beast pressed in and down on the boy’s head. Methodically, he began to pound the boy’s head into the ground.
Great hammer blows forced the angular head inches into the ground with every strike. The ground shook as the Beast ground down his enemy with every strike. Wails of pain were let loose from the Alligator-Boy. The Beast could feel him writhing and undulating in panic and pain. Powerful claws raked across the Beast’s body collecting gamma-plasm and blood as they drew across his grey flesh.
Underneath the Rictus Beast, something shifted. In a flash, the Beast found himself flying through the air spraying the courtyard with the gamma-plasm that naturally secreted from his body. Arms flailing in the air, the Beast twisted and tried to maneuver his body and brace for the impending impact. Twisting his head, he saw the building a microsecond before he face planted into the fourth story.
“Aw, shit,” the Beast uttered the words as the reinforced bulletproof plexi gave underneath both the force in which he was thrown and his own great weight. Insulation, steel, concrete rebar, several office chairs and a reverse-osmosis water cooler followed his path into the building as the Beast’s impact created a great rent in the side of the building.
“So, that’s how you want to play it, huh kid?” the Beast shook off the concrete chunks that had stuck to the gamma-plasm slime covering his body as he stood up. “All right then, the kid gloves are off.” The Beast growled as he drew his energy inward, forcing more of the slimy gamma-plasm out of his body. “Get ready for the beatdown of a lifetime!” he roared as he felt his power increasing through the connection to the K-D.
With more speed that should have been possible, the Beast released the stored energy he was building and launched himself back through the hole he had just created in the side of the building. To watch the Beast move was similar to a speed skater on ice. Legs pumped and glided easily on the gamma-plasm covering the floor. The thick viscous fluid that had bonded with the rubble created the slick frictionless surface in which he could slide with ease.
The Beast became a grey muscled blur as he launched himself out of the fissure in the fourth floor. A trail of gamma-plasm followed him out in a great arc. The Beast howled in vengeance as he angled his body down and drew his feet together. The Alligator-Boy had twisted his body in an impossible angle and was clawing at the dirt and concrete of the courtyard in order to dig his head out of the hole that the Beast had placed it in. The impact of the Beast landing on the equally large scaly Alligator-Boy sent out a shockwave that caused the ground to ripple in response.
“Stay down,” the Beast yelled at the now slime covered scaly hide of his opponent, “and you won’t get hurt. Damned kids, never know respect for their elders. Never know when to stop testing the boundaries. Devastation is my game.” The Beast smiled, or what passed for a smile with the perpetual grimace tagged on his face.
“Go, go, go!” the Beast heard the Kitsume’s commander yelling. Weapons fire burst out in his direction. The snaps and cracks of the automatic rifles reminded the Beast of breaking bones. He felt the impacts of the 10mm rounds, they were an annoyance. The gamma-plasm on his body caught them. Turning to face the corporate troopers, he let loose a bellow that screamed the echoes of all that were long dead and demanded retribution for their misgivings in life.
“You’ve had your shots,” the Beast chuckled maniacally, “my turn now!” The Beast leapt up from the impact crater he had created from landing on the boy and brought his huge hands together in the air. Linking his fingers, he arched his back and brought his clenched fists forward as he landed. The lead Kitsume Trooper died before the pain could even register. His body was rendered into what looked like a dark chunky salsa from the force of the blow from the Rictus Beast.
Breathing hard through clenched teeth and his perpetual scowl, the Beast roared again in glee. He swung out at another trooper in his proximity and felt the soft flesh crumple as if anyone else were swatting a plastic bag. The now dead meat sack flew across the courtyard landing in an impossible angle on one of the trees that decorated the courtyard. Gamma-plasm and blood dripped off of the corpse, pooling at the base of the tree as if it were hot wax.
“Stupid flesh bag wannabe’s!” the Beast screamed. “You have no idea of what pain is!” The Beast spun around bringing his leg down and smashed another of the soldiers underneath his foot. Blood, gamma-plasm, bits of bone and the flesh of his internal organs sprayed out like a ripe tomato, covering his companions in the gore.
From somewhere higher up in the building the telltale sound of the air being ripped asunder from the rotation and expulsion of .50 calibre rounds started. The twin stream of tracer fire of the hot lead lanced the air as if it were paint. The twin guns angled their lines of fire and chewed up the concrete, mowed down trees and decimated the rest of the Kitsume Troopers facing off against the Rictus Beast.
The Beast felt the sting of the twin cannons and reeled from the impacts. The gamma-plasm was strong, but not that strong. Howling in pain, the Beast pushed off against the ground and leapt up to the side of the building forcing his huge hands into the face of the exposed wall. With a cat’s grace and impossible strength, the Beast kept leaping up and up until he found the gun mounts on the side of the building, some eighty floors up.
They were getting smarter; these were unmanned drones laying down the weapon fire. The drones couldn’t get an angle on the Beast from the side of the building, the arc was too drastic. The Beast could see them, hidden in a little nook. Growling, he reached into the side of the building and grabbed a chunk of concrete and rebar and threw it at the gun nest some ten floors above him. In an instant the whine of the rotary guns ceased as the lump from the building smashed into the guns, destroying them.
An explosion rocked the Nin-Ban building sending the Beast flying outward. Shaking his head in mid-flight, the Beast focused his black eyes and found the side of the building he had been attached to suddenly decompose into rubble. The hole in the side of the building spanned three floors. Twisting, the Beast saw the ground rushing towards him in a hurry.
“This aint gonna be pretty,” he said as the ground rushed towards him. Arcs of lightning flashed as he sped towards the ground. From inside his hole within the Beast, Benjamin counted. Four seconds had already passed; the Texan knew that 50% terminal velocity was usually reached in about three seconds. The Beast was right.
Lighting coagulated in the form of a ring as the Beast fell under the control of gravity towards the ground. Bringing his massive forearms in front of his face and moving his knees up, the Beast became an insanely sized metahuman projectile curled up in a fetal position. The impact was going to be horrendous. Closing his black eyes, the Beast waited for the ground to meet him.
The crash felt differently than what the Beast was expecting. Sure it was hard, but it had more of a fluidic feel rather than the solidity that he was expecting. The Beast felt his forearms, wrists, knees and shins break though the force of the impact. The vacuum collapsed on his head as he fell through whatever he had hit. The Beast felt every tiny micro fracture in his skull.
It was the splashing that he heard that clued him in on the fact that he was no longer in Seattle, no longer in the corporate zone and no longer facing off against the Kitsume’s at Nin-Ban. Opening his black eyes, the Beast saw he was in an impact tank that was commonly used for teleporters who had lost control. Letting his arms and legs relax, the Beast let go.
“Sure, leave me holding the bag,” Benjamin scowled at the Beast.
“Like you said,” the Beast chuckled evilly, “I’m a parasite at best.”
Pain rocked through Benjamin’s senses. Arms and legs broken, he let them flop around causing more throbs of lancing hot pain as he undulated upwards, moving the massive body towards the top of the tank, towards the surface where he could breathe again. Everything hurt.
The medical team rushed towards the impact tank and immediately stuck Tunguskium needles filled with specially calibrated tranquilizers into his system. It was often the only way to tame the Beast once it got loose. The massive gurney used to haul Benjamin’s malformed body was reinforced to take the weight, but getting him into the thing was more than a task in and of itself. Somehow the team managed and Benjamin found himself floating in and out of consciousness. The lights created patterns that were beautiful.
“Body count?” Benjamin asked. “The boy?”
“Try not to talk Agent Baxter,” one of the medical staff replied calmly. “Your jaw has been broken in three places.” Benjamin struggled through the new pain he was feeling. His body had been broken and bruised before, but it was something that he never gotten used to.
“Blue?” Benjamin’s voice was ragged and broken. Something else must have been broken.
“I’m here, lover,” her voice was cool and composed. Benjamin knew it had to be bad.
“The boy?”
“Safe. He’ll be treated and trained.”
“Body count?”
“Oh Benji,” her voice cracked. Benjamin knew that it was really bad now. She never called him ‘Benji’ unless it was serious.
“Body count?” Benjamin forced his voice out from whatever was broken in his throat sounding more like the Rictus Beast than he wanted to.
“Fourteen on the ground and another ten within the building,” Benjamin sighed at the news, “Next of kin are being notified.”
“Blue,” Benjamin moved a massive hand through the pain of broken bones and bruised muscle, “I’m going to sleep now.”
“You sleep Benji,” she sobbed, “you’ve earned it.” Benjamin let the blackness take him.
The group gathered in Arlington National Cemetary. A massive flock of men and women in black were gathered around a central location within the field. The group circled and created pathways to line up to hug and touch the pregnant woman near the casket. They could say nothing that she hadn’t heard before. “I’m sorry for your loss,” and “He was a hero to his nation,” and “God he was so full of life,” echoed throughout the group.
Gina Grey put a hand on her belly, feeling the baby kick. It was going to leave a bruise again. The baby was unhappy with all of the commotion that was going on. All the people circling the dead body like too many buzzards in the sun.
There were too many of the Asian barbecue restaurants and street vendors, but they didn’t really know how to properly cook a slab of beef. Most of the food in Seattle was geared towards the Asian lifestyle; it was all chopsticks and dim sum. It was mostly finger foods for those up-and-comings on the go. There was always a meeting to go to, or a new haute place to meet your chums. The sheer speed of the Seattle Sprawl was a lot faster than what he was used to in the Dallas Metroplex.
Business was business everywhere in the world, but the overall feel of the Dallas Metroplex, locals still called it DFW even though the metro extended far beyond Dallas, Arlington and Fort Worth. Waco and Austin were incorporated as part of the metroplex in the early 80’s. Sweetwater and Abilene followed soon after. Wichita Falls, Gainesville and Paris were incorporated into the ‘Plex just before 2099. Mr. Pleasant and Longview followed the next year and the feather in the Dallas Metroplex’s proverbial hat was Palestine.
Even though the Dallas Metroplex was huge and impressive, the people there remembered where they came from. For nearly eight hours on every Sunday, the entire sprawl shut down for Sunday dinner. It was a revamp from an old state Blue Law that required business to be closed on Sundays. It was family time then. It was time for barbecues and sitting with your Grammy to understand where you came from and who you were.
Those were the times that Benjamin held onto when he had to be away from his home in DFW. When his aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers and other extended family members would get together at Grammy Baxter’s condominium out on her veranda incorporated on the 45th floor, the time was more than magical, it was family time. Benjamin felt that he could see the entire Metroplex on those Sundays. He later learned that his fantasy was an impossible dream, but the memory was awe inspiring at the time.
The crisp neon glowed with the warmth that was unusual for the cityscape. Grammy Baxter would tell him about how in the early part of the century that all of the skyscrapers that he saw weren’t even in existence. He couldn’t believe it at the time. This was home. It was eternal and constant. It couldn’t have been any different.
His father would fire up the barbecue grill and plop down the Argentinean ground beef patties and spice them with chili powder, paprika, garlic, black pepper and then top it all off with Texas chili and pepper-jack cheese. What made the burger special was the pretzel roll he used to finish off the sandwich. It was the best hamburger that Benjamin ever remembered having. Nothing could compare to his father’s Black Sabbath burger.
Benjamin frowned underneath the neon that lit up the Seattle Sprawl. He wanted to be in Texas, away from all of the Asians that infested the Pacific Northwest. They didn’t know anything about the Black Sabbath burger or why one wanted to cook a steak medium rare in butter and not some sort of sesame-soy oil combination with an accompaniment of ginger and wasabi. The chefs didn’t understand why he wanted to have a fork and a knife with his steak instead of chopsticks and sake. He wanted a cold beer with a steak fried in butter. “Butter, you know, from a flippin cow?” he explained once to a slant-eyed server fresh out of the Corporate Zone. The Korean just looked at Benjamin as if he had grown a third head – which wasn’t that unusual, but his manifestation didn’t work that way.
Sure, his connection to the Kertzburg Dimension did change his body, but he couldn’t grow extra appendages like some of the other metas tuned into the K-D could. His body radically changed. Great Granddad Baxter explained it to him at one time, “It’s not that you yourself change, it’s just your body.” Benjamin didn’t understand what he said at the time, but that was nearly thirty years ago and half a country away from where he was now.
Now, he was in the rain, in the Seattle ‘Plex, under the undeniably oppressive grayness and thick as mud cloud cover that reflected a veritable electric rainbow from the prolific use of neon to advertise anything from acid washes for your skin to overcooked ziti sold on rancid little street corners by Ukrainian refugees, looking for an unregistered meta.
The reports were initially difficult to confirm due to the constant mutilation and dehumanization that the general populace was undergoing, but when the scanners picked up unusually high K-D activity, Benjamin knew that he had to board a parabolic from DFW to SeaTac. There really was no other choice in the matter. The Local Enforcement Officers in the ‘Plex could have handled the unregistered meta, but Benjamin and his handlers higher up in the chain knew that Project SILVER had to have a presence on the scene before the LEO’s found a dead unregistered meta. It was Benjamin’s job to find the metahuman and save them from society. They just didn’t understand.
If it wasn’t the LEO’s that were going to kill the skimmer, then it might be the private corporate armies that would freak out and shoot before asking questions. They were all paid goons anyway. Many with freakish cybernetic implants to enhance themselves up to Meta standards or underwent some zoomorphic procedure to give them an advantage. Yeah, they were all card-carrying and registered in the Project SILVER database, but that didn’t stop them from using their acquired powers to make a grease spot of an unexpected unregistered intruder on private property. They were wannabe’s in a world of genuine articles like Benjamin. It was sad, really.
A chime sounded off in Benjamin’s ear. He knew it was his handler. Adjusting the brownish black Stetson that had seen better days he hit the small stud on the earpiece he wore to extend the small holographic screen in front of his right eye. Due to his particular relationship with the K-D, he couldn’t use the normal implants that many of the Special Agents used within Project Silver. He was all natural, well as natural as any metahuman could be.
“What’s the status, Rictus?” Gina Grey’s tiny little voice flew into his brain. She was emphasizing the importance of finding the skimmer through her own talents as a P-Type. Benjamin frowned darkly; paying homage to the codename he had been given. Quickly he ran through a montage of the latest pornography he had been subjected to on the parabolic flight from DFW to SeaTac. “Good God,” she squawked over the earpiece, and only the earpiece, “did you have to do that?”
“Yes.” Benjamin replied. “I’ve got his scent, and it is a ‘he.’ What’s scanning on your end Blue?” Benjamin knew it wasn’t the most creative name in the world, but he liked it. It described her eyes when she went into her P-Type show. A blue aura surrounded her eyes like nothing you’ve ever seen. No neon lamplight could ever match that. No Photoshop junkie could ever capture it correctly. It defied the normal parameters of the color. It just was, and so was she – Blue.
“There’s cross-talk with the LEO’s and the Kitsume’s over at Nin-Ban,” her clear voice was as calm as any other handler Benjamin had had before, but there was that something extra that Gina had always put into every conversation that she had. Perhaps that was why he loved her. “Aw, you’re sweet too,” she giggled.
“Let’s keep this nice and professional-like, okay Blue?” Benjamin sent another image of the professional-grade hentai from the plane. “And then maybe we can get together later for some steaks and beers at Ruth’s Cris. God, I hate Seattle!” Benjamin yelled at the top of his lungs.
“No need to yell Rictus.” Immediately he could feel mental fingers sliding down the various pressure points, calming him instantly, “We don’t need him yet. Save him for the Kitsume’s over at Nin-Ban. Local chatter says the LEO’s just lost about half a dozen down there in the corporate zone. The Kitsume’s are going to be down on the ground level soon. You’d better hustle down there Rictus, because that’s where your skimmer’s at!”
“Shit!” began to run. He wasn’t that far from the corporate zone, but getting into the zone when it was hot was another thing all together. He didn’t want to use his manifestation if he didn’t have to. There was always hell to pay afterwards. “Ok Blue,” Benjamin yelled into his microphone, “I need…”
“Already on it, love.” And she was. Immediately street maps and schematics popped up and ran across the holographic field in front of his eye mapping out the quickest route to the Nin-Ban tower. A news feed along the bottom gave Benjamin transcribed updates to what was going on down in the corporate zone.
Looking up, he could see the one-man Dragonfly Gyros thundering overhead. Their floodlights cut through the grey skies as they flittered around the tall superstructures that began the corporate zone. The LEO’s could already smell the blood of the unregistered Meta. Like buzzards in the sun, they circled around the corporate zone, their floods impossible to miss. It was lit up like a main event. Everyone knew what it was though.
Street corners raced through Benjamin’s field of vision. Long trails of reds and greens from the neon signs streaked by as he channeled and focused on his connection with the K-D. A snarl plastered itself across Benjamin’s face. It was an aftereffect of letting the beast within gain a little control over his body. He bumped into people sending them skittering into walls and bouncing off of the reinforced bulletproof plexi that lined the unidentifiable store fronts. They yelled, he growled in response. Rictus wanted out to play with the meat sacks.
Ratings tallies jumped through the roof according to the ticker scrolling along his holographic screen. Anytime that there is a police action or any other egregious televised violent event, everyone seemed to sit down and jack into the net or watch the streaming video on their console walls. They were all opportunists just waiting for the chance to watch their city and people die. Waiting for the rotting remains to just hunker down and shake for the last time. All of them were just buzzards in the sun.
Benjamin could just see the reports that would filter up to his handlers at Project SILVER. Words like, ‘resisting arrest,’ and ‘public endangerment’ came to mind. Already he could feel his anger building. ‘Failure to uphold the Federal Vigilance Act,’ was prevalent in their reports. In his mind they were all just wannabe’s taking potshots at the real heroes that were left holding the responsibility towards all of humanity.
“Those flesh bags wouldn’t know what to do if a fully trained metahuman actually advanced into their city and started to take control.”
“Not just yet, Rictus,” he could hear Blue in his ear, keeping him calm for the moment. “I’ve got the techs working on how to disable the K-D Nullifiers in place. They’re telling me it’s not impossible, but you know what that means coming from the techs.”
“Yeah,” Benjamin agreed sourly, “it means I’m on my own with my dick hanging in the wind until they figure out how to drop the firewalls at Nin-Ban.”
“Strike Team Seven is prepped and ready. ETA is about ten.” Gina informed him. “And save that pillow talk for later, lover boy.”
“It’ll be over in five, and you know it.” Benjamin blew her a mental kiss as he leapt up over a 40 foot wall that blocked off the corporate zone from the rest of the ‘Plex. “See you on the flipside Blue.” Static filled his ear and small holographic screen as the jamming frequency broadcast throughout the corporate zone took effect.
Immediately he felt the nausea and pain overtake him as his own connection with the K-D was simply cut off. It was the worst feeling. Like being cut off from your own body, or being really rip-roaring drunk. You can think straight, but your body doesn’t want to cooperate. That and pain, lots of pain.
Benjamin hit the small metal stud on his earpiece and turned it off. The holographic projection rod retracted before he landed on the ground. The ghetto birds were lighting up the area in harsh floodlights. He could feel the downdraft of the gyros whipping the air, dust and other detritus into assault vectors for anyone on the ground.
“Well, I’m in it now,” Benjamin said to himself knowing that his connection with Blue had been cut off. Silently he hoped the techs found a way into the Nin-Ban firewalls to shut off the K-D Nullifiers. He felt like hammered shit and there was a whole heap of work to do yet.
The floods from the LEO gyros spotlighted Benjamin’s target. Fighting off a particularly nasty wave of nausea that caused his gut to wrench as if it were being ripped out with a vise, he drew his sidearm and opened fire on Seattle’s Finest. Sweat began to form on Benjamin’s brow as he steadied the pistol more through force of will rather than combat training. A few shots missed their mark, but soon the floods were out and he could see again.
Benjamin rushed the boy who accidentally found himself in the corporate zone. His clothes were a wreck. They were ripped and disheveled. Benjamin knew what that was like. He knew all too well.
The Kitsume’s rushed out with their reinforced armor and assault rifles from the Nin-Ban lobby. A loudspeaker came on with an ear-piercing tone designed to induce fear and terror. Benjamin just found it annoying. It modulated up and down in algorithmic harmonies to further the confusion factor. It was quite effective for most, but Benjamin learned long ago how to deal with that kind of sonic attack. Rictus would have a great deal more time to play if he hadn’t.
Benjamin knew the play. The gambit was always the same. When the loudspeaker came on, it was the signal for the LEO’s to scatter. It was called plausible deniability. When it came to Corporate Law, the LEO’s didn’t have the legal chutzpah to contest trespass and use of deadly force.
“This is private property.” A Kitsume Trooper came over the loudspeaker. “You are in violation of publicly posted notifications and are subject to deadly force if you do not vacate in five, four, three, two, one! Open fire!” Muzzle flash erupted from the Kitsume Troopers lined up on the stairs, finding cover behind the stone edifices and benches. Benjamin leapt to take the boy down and that’s when things changed.
The earpiece lodged in Benjamin’s ear squelched an inane frequency in response to the Nin-Ban jamming going down. Tackling the young boy, Benjamin felt the 10mm rifle rounds hit him and lodge into his armor. Benjamin yelled as the impacts from the Kitsume rifles hit the Tunguskium weave. The boy yelled in response. Benjamin could feel the soft flesh of the boy change into roped and knotted muscle underneath his fingers.
“This aint gonna be good,” he said to no one in particular.
“Rictus, come in.” the earpiece squawked again. “Rictus, respond!” Benjamin could feel the boy changing in his grasp; he was slowly loosing grip. Skin was changing into scale the young face and jaw was changing into an angular shape. The boy’s change in girth was beginning to force Benjamin to lose hold. A tail began to flail around from underneath the two metahumans locked in deadly embrace.
“No time Blue,” Benjamin said between gritted teeth. “Aw shit!” he screamed into the microphone, “He’s like me, Blue!” Benjamin struggled with the last of his will to hold onto the new reptilian beast that was writhing underneath him. “He’s like me!”
“Roger, Rictus.” Gina responded with a professional coolness in her voice. Benjamin knew what she was thinking. She couldn’t help but broadcast it. She was keeping her emotions in check. Operation: Duck Hunt was in full gear.
“Get that tube online but quick, Blue.” Benjamin struggled with the boy-beast tearing at his long coat and armor with razor sharp claws. With a great roar, his mouth came down on Benjamin’s neck. “This aint gonna be pretty.” He informed his handler as warm blood flowed from his neck. “Aw shit, Blue. This aint gonna be pretty.”
More gunfire from the Kitsume’s flashed through the air at the two combatants on the ground. Benjamin screamed as every impact hit. Quickly he brought his focus and training into play. The warm blood flowed openly from the impossibly sharp teeth still lodged in his neck. He could feel his armor beginning to tighten around his body. Everything felt small.
“Flesh bags got you down, Benji.” Benjamin could hear his sardonic voice. “Let me take care of them.” From deep down in Benjamin’s belly, he could feel the Beast laughing. “Aw, come on man. You know I live for this.”
Benjamin fought for control of his mind. He could hear the Tunguskium weave rip as his own body changed. The Alligator-Boy’s teeth scraped and tore his new grey-mottled flesh as the metamorphosis took place. The wound stung worse than anything that Benjamin could remember.
“He shouldn’t have done that, Benji.” The Beast raged in his mind. “That hurt us.”
“He doesn’t know what he’s doing.” Benjamin yelled. “You know what that’s like.”
“Yeah, I do,” the Beast chuckled, “but the difference between you and me Benji, is that I don’t care.”
“Well I do care!” Benjamin seethed. The pain of the manifestation from his normal body into the Rictus Beast was always new. It didn’t matter how many times he had made the change. Something about the knitting of bone and the growth of new muscles and fusing of thousands of yards of tendons and ligaments was just something he couldn’t get used to doing. “This is my body that we share, you’re just a guest. A parasite at best.”
“I’ll show you a parasite, you waste of flesh!” the Beast roared in his mind as the final snap of flesh and bones took to the new body. Gamma-plasm secreted through glands in the Rictus Beast’s body giving him a slimy texture. The giant grey face was twisted into a permanent scowl. Black eyes were underneath a huge brow that burned with hatred. Benjamin withdrew into the tiny hole that he knew was waiting for him. The Beast was loose again.
“Kid,” the Beast growled in deep rumbling voice that echoed his hatred for the world at large, “you should never bite off more than you can chew.” The Beast let loose of the scaly hide and grabbed the angular head that was latched onto his neck and pressed. Thick fingers found their way towards yellow eyes. The boy howled in pain as the pressure built. The Beast could feel the boy’s eyes pressing inward towards the small reptilian brain that was in control.
Howling in pain, the boy let go of the Beast’s neck. Thick black blood mixed with the natural gamma-plasm secretions flowed down the Beast’s neck and onto his arm. Still the Beast pressed in and down on the boy’s head. Methodically, he began to pound the boy’s head into the ground.
Great hammer blows forced the angular head inches into the ground with every strike. The ground shook as the Beast ground down his enemy with every strike. Wails of pain were let loose from the Alligator-Boy. The Beast could feel him writhing and undulating in panic and pain. Powerful claws raked across the Beast’s body collecting gamma-plasm and blood as they drew across his grey flesh.
Underneath the Rictus Beast, something shifted. In a flash, the Beast found himself flying through the air spraying the courtyard with the gamma-plasm that naturally secreted from his body. Arms flailing in the air, the Beast twisted and tried to maneuver his body and brace for the impending impact. Twisting his head, he saw the building a microsecond before he face planted into the fourth story.
“Aw, shit,” the Beast uttered the words as the reinforced bulletproof plexi gave underneath both the force in which he was thrown and his own great weight. Insulation, steel, concrete rebar, several office chairs and a reverse-osmosis water cooler followed his path into the building as the Beast’s impact created a great rent in the side of the building.
“So, that’s how you want to play it, huh kid?” the Beast shook off the concrete chunks that had stuck to the gamma-plasm slime covering his body as he stood up. “All right then, the kid gloves are off.” The Beast growled as he drew his energy inward, forcing more of the slimy gamma-plasm out of his body. “Get ready for the beatdown of a lifetime!” he roared as he felt his power increasing through the connection to the K-D.
With more speed that should have been possible, the Beast released the stored energy he was building and launched himself back through the hole he had just created in the side of the building. To watch the Beast move was similar to a speed skater on ice. Legs pumped and glided easily on the gamma-plasm covering the floor. The thick viscous fluid that had bonded with the rubble created the slick frictionless surface in which he could slide with ease.
The Beast became a grey muscled blur as he launched himself out of the fissure in the fourth floor. A trail of gamma-plasm followed him out in a great arc. The Beast howled in vengeance as he angled his body down and drew his feet together. The Alligator-Boy had twisted his body in an impossible angle and was clawing at the dirt and concrete of the courtyard in order to dig his head out of the hole that the Beast had placed it in. The impact of the Beast landing on the equally large scaly Alligator-Boy sent out a shockwave that caused the ground to ripple in response.
“Stay down,” the Beast yelled at the now slime covered scaly hide of his opponent, “and you won’t get hurt. Damned kids, never know respect for their elders. Never know when to stop testing the boundaries. Devastation is my game.” The Beast smiled, or what passed for a smile with the perpetual grimace tagged on his face.
“Go, go, go!” the Beast heard the Kitsume’s commander yelling. Weapons fire burst out in his direction. The snaps and cracks of the automatic rifles reminded the Beast of breaking bones. He felt the impacts of the 10mm rounds, they were an annoyance. The gamma-plasm on his body caught them. Turning to face the corporate troopers, he let loose a bellow that screamed the echoes of all that were long dead and demanded retribution for their misgivings in life.
“You’ve had your shots,” the Beast chuckled maniacally, “my turn now!” The Beast leapt up from the impact crater he had created from landing on the boy and brought his huge hands together in the air. Linking his fingers, he arched his back and brought his clenched fists forward as he landed. The lead Kitsume Trooper died before the pain could even register. His body was rendered into what looked like a dark chunky salsa from the force of the blow from the Rictus Beast.
Breathing hard through clenched teeth and his perpetual scowl, the Beast roared again in glee. He swung out at another trooper in his proximity and felt the soft flesh crumple as if anyone else were swatting a plastic bag. The now dead meat sack flew across the courtyard landing in an impossible angle on one of the trees that decorated the courtyard. Gamma-plasm and blood dripped off of the corpse, pooling at the base of the tree as if it were hot wax.
“Stupid flesh bag wannabe’s!” the Beast screamed. “You have no idea of what pain is!” The Beast spun around bringing his leg down and smashed another of the soldiers underneath his foot. Blood, gamma-plasm, bits of bone and the flesh of his internal organs sprayed out like a ripe tomato, covering his companions in the gore.
From somewhere higher up in the building the telltale sound of the air being ripped asunder from the rotation and expulsion of .50 calibre rounds started. The twin stream of tracer fire of the hot lead lanced the air as if it were paint. The twin guns angled their lines of fire and chewed up the concrete, mowed down trees and decimated the rest of the Kitsume Troopers facing off against the Rictus Beast.
The Beast felt the sting of the twin cannons and reeled from the impacts. The gamma-plasm was strong, but not that strong. Howling in pain, the Beast pushed off against the ground and leapt up to the side of the building forcing his huge hands into the face of the exposed wall. With a cat’s grace and impossible strength, the Beast kept leaping up and up until he found the gun mounts on the side of the building, some eighty floors up.
They were getting smarter; these were unmanned drones laying down the weapon fire. The drones couldn’t get an angle on the Beast from the side of the building, the arc was too drastic. The Beast could see them, hidden in a little nook. Growling, he reached into the side of the building and grabbed a chunk of concrete and rebar and threw it at the gun nest some ten floors above him. In an instant the whine of the rotary guns ceased as the lump from the building smashed into the guns, destroying them.
An explosion rocked the Nin-Ban building sending the Beast flying outward. Shaking his head in mid-flight, the Beast focused his black eyes and found the side of the building he had been attached to suddenly decompose into rubble. The hole in the side of the building spanned three floors. Twisting, the Beast saw the ground rushing towards him in a hurry.
“This aint gonna be pretty,” he said as the ground rushed towards him. Arcs of lightning flashed as he sped towards the ground. From inside his hole within the Beast, Benjamin counted. Four seconds had already passed; the Texan knew that 50% terminal velocity was usually reached in about three seconds. The Beast was right.
Lighting coagulated in the form of a ring as the Beast fell under the control of gravity towards the ground. Bringing his massive forearms in front of his face and moving his knees up, the Beast became an insanely sized metahuman projectile curled up in a fetal position. The impact was going to be horrendous. Closing his black eyes, the Beast waited for the ground to meet him.
The crash felt differently than what the Beast was expecting. Sure it was hard, but it had more of a fluidic feel rather than the solidity that he was expecting. The Beast felt his forearms, wrists, knees and shins break though the force of the impact. The vacuum collapsed on his head as he fell through whatever he had hit. The Beast felt every tiny micro fracture in his skull.
It was the splashing that he heard that clued him in on the fact that he was no longer in Seattle, no longer in the corporate zone and no longer facing off against the Kitsume’s at Nin-Ban. Opening his black eyes, the Beast saw he was in an impact tank that was commonly used for teleporters who had lost control. Letting his arms and legs relax, the Beast let go.
“Sure, leave me holding the bag,” Benjamin scowled at the Beast.
“Like you said,” the Beast chuckled evilly, “I’m a parasite at best.”
Pain rocked through Benjamin’s senses. Arms and legs broken, he let them flop around causing more throbs of lancing hot pain as he undulated upwards, moving the massive body towards the top of the tank, towards the surface where he could breathe again. Everything hurt.
The medical team rushed towards the impact tank and immediately stuck Tunguskium needles filled with specially calibrated tranquilizers into his system. It was often the only way to tame the Beast once it got loose. The massive gurney used to haul Benjamin’s malformed body was reinforced to take the weight, but getting him into the thing was more than a task in and of itself. Somehow the team managed and Benjamin found himself floating in and out of consciousness. The lights created patterns that were beautiful.
“Body count?” Benjamin asked. “The boy?”
“Try not to talk Agent Baxter,” one of the medical staff replied calmly. “Your jaw has been broken in three places.” Benjamin struggled through the new pain he was feeling. His body had been broken and bruised before, but it was something that he never gotten used to.
“Blue?” Benjamin’s voice was ragged and broken. Something else must have been broken.
“I’m here, lover,” her voice was cool and composed. Benjamin knew it had to be bad.
“The boy?”
“Safe. He’ll be treated and trained.”
“Body count?”
“Oh Benji,” her voice cracked. Benjamin knew that it was really bad now. She never called him ‘Benji’ unless it was serious.
“Body count?” Benjamin forced his voice out from whatever was broken in his throat sounding more like the Rictus Beast than he wanted to.
“Fourteen on the ground and another ten within the building,” Benjamin sighed at the news, “Next of kin are being notified.”
“Blue,” Benjamin moved a massive hand through the pain of broken bones and bruised muscle, “I’m going to sleep now.”
“You sleep Benji,” she sobbed, “you’ve earned it.” Benjamin let the blackness take him.
The group gathered in Arlington National Cemetary. A massive flock of men and women in black were gathered around a central location within the field. The group circled and created pathways to line up to hug and touch the pregnant woman near the casket. They could say nothing that she hadn’t heard before. “I’m sorry for your loss,” and “He was a hero to his nation,” and “God he was so full of life,” echoed throughout the group.
Gina Grey put a hand on her belly, feeling the baby kick. It was going to leave a bruise again. The baby was unhappy with all of the commotion that was going on. All the people circling the dead body like too many buzzards in the sun.
Friday, May 08, 2009
3 Cloves of Garlic
George Welts sat in a refurbished Laz-E-Boy recliner that had seen better days. He sat smoking the last cigarette out of a now crumpled package laying on the worn end table next to him. The antichrist was visiting again in the form of his wife. It was more often than not these days. George couldn’t remember a day when she wasn’t screaming at him for something.He was either too skinny, too dirty, too lazy, unmanly, slimy, useless or any other string of hateful adjectives that she used on an almost hourly basis to describe how he failed her as a husband. Today was no different than any other day in that respect, only the subject had changed. Today, it was about garlic.
“Why can’t you just do what you’re told George?” he looked at her when he handed her the powdered garlic in the plastic shaker bottle no more than twenty minutes ago. “I can’t use this!” her mouth formed more words, but George tuned her out. It was something about his stupidity, his lack of attention to detail, stemming from his lack of manhood. That was her favorite, to insult his manhood in both spirit and body. She made it clear in no uncertain words that he was one of the smallest men she had ever been with and how that she had made a mistake in marrying him. You see, her mother had told her so.
“Fresh garlic, dumbass!” she continued her tirade, “I needed three cloves of fresh garlic!” Alice’s eyes rolled for the countless time in his direction. George stood there for a moment and listened like the dutiful husband that he was supposed to be. “How can I make my Bruschetta Pomodoro with powdered garlic? Now Richard and I will have to stop of at the market before cooking class?” At this, George went into the living room to escape her mouth through watching television.
“Yeah, walk on out like you always do George.” He could hear her voice resonating off of the chipping, yellowed paint. “You are a total and complete waste of flesh George Welts. It’s amazing that you remember to hold you cock when you pee.” George switched on the TV with the remote and started flipping channels. He didn’t care where he ended up; it was the motions that were important. This was something that George knew that he was in control of. The TV didn’t berate him, or chide him or even cheat on him with Richard Hammet from work. ‘Cooking class’ was code for their dates. It started off maybe once or twice a month, but now it was once or twice in a week. Adjusting his glasses with his middle finger, he brought the cigarette and took a long pull on it, feeling the smoke burn through his throat and into his lungs.
“Yes, George Welts, sit there and smoke. I hope you get cancer!” Alice bent over him, trying to get a reaction. When he didn’t move or even look in her direction, she stood in front of the television. George sighed and made eye contact with her. “Did you hear me, George Welts? Why don’t you just die of cancer and do us all a favor, won’t you?” George looked into her eyes and found the extreme hatred burning there. He wondered briefly if she had ever truly loved him. “Good God, why did I marry you?” her breath already stunk of gin. Her makeup was already caked on her face, her hair up getting ready for more applications from the Tammy Faye Techniques of Fashion. Richard liked her looking like an over-painted porcelain doll.
“Because you told your mother you were pregnant.” George mumbled, casting his eyes down.
“What?” here was the antichrist again, painted and awaiting her ministrations from her man of choosing, “What did you say to me, George Welts?”
“Nothing dear.”
“That’s right.” She grabbed the remote from his hand and threw it against the yellowing wall. “That’s exactly right. ‘Nothing dear,’ that’s what you are, my little ‘nothing dear.’ The man who is ‘nothing dear’ to anyone.” The television flared to life, volume now uncontrollable.
“A little bit of E-V-O-O and three cloves of garlic,” Rachel Ray instructed before the TV switched again, slamming into George Welts’ soul.
“And my favorite, some gah-lick, to take it up a notch and BAM!” Emeril Lagasee followed through, his audience clapping in the background, before the TV switched again, slamming into George Welts like a hammer blow.
“Just put the garlic on a sheet pan, peel and all and roast them until their nice and brown. They’ll get that nice sweet and nutty flavor that will add a depth to…” Rick Bayless was describing before the TV switched again. Another slam into George Welts’ heart and soul.
“I love garlic!” Martin Yan announced with his own brand of passion, “You don’t need to slice it, just place it on the board, like this, and like this, and like this and take the side of your knife and bam. See, it’s easy. Just like that. I love it!” The TV died, sending one more shunt into George Welts.
“Now, why don’t you just sit there and think about what you’ve done now, George Welts!” Alice snarled at him with her gin-soaked breath. “I have to get ready now and Richard is going to be here any minute. And now we’ve got no TV to watch until you get a new one. Like that will happen any time soon!” Alice left George in the dilapidated Laz-E-Boy and slammed the door to their bedroom.
George Welts sat there for a moment and tried to grasp what had just happened. A knock on the door came, bringing him out of his daze. He knew it was Richard Hatten coming to pick up Alice for ‘cooking class.’ George knew his place. Stiffly, he got up and answered the door.
“George!” Richard greeted him. He always was overdoing the greeting. George guessed that he was overcompensating for the fact that he wasn’t supposed to know that Alice and Richard were having an affair instead of truly learning to cook. George grasped his outstretched hand and shook it limply, as he always did. “Is Alice ready, or is she running late again, as usual?”
“You know Alice as well as I do.” George said flatly.
“Yeah,” Richard laughed that fake laugh that he always brought to bear when he was trying to be smug. “I guess I do, huh?” Richard nudged him in the ribs with an elbow.
“Richard, is that you?” the antichrist yelled from the bedroom. She had on the sweet voice now, “come on in here, there’s something I need to talk to you about.” George knew that this was the pre-game. They got some sort of thrill by playing grab-ass while he was in the other room. Another joke, he guessed.
“Sorry George,” Richard brushed him out of the way, “duty calls, you know.” Richard gave him another smug laugh accompanied with a wink. George played dumb, he always did. Richard walked through the living room as he had done countless times before and entered into George and Alice’s bedroom without hesitation – as he had done countless times before. George watched him stroll through the doorway and close the door behind him. Alice giggled. It was the only time he heard her laughter and knew that it was genuine.
George walked into the kitchen. The foodstuffs were all there for the ‘cooking class.’ Tomatoes, basil, Italian bread, just no garlic. The brown container of powdered garlic he had brought to her was lying sideways on the floor from when she threw it. George bent down to pick it up and was temporarily blinded from the glare coming off of the hanging knives on the wall.
“And just a rough cut,” Rachel Ray informed him.
“Power down through it with a downward stroke, bringing the knife towards you,” Emeril Lagasse instructed.
“It doesn’t have to be perfect, it will add character to your dish,” Rick Bayless tried to give confidence in his small, weak voice.
“And you cut it like this, and like this, and like this,” Martin Yan echoed in his particular way.
Without another thought, George stood up and grabbed the 11-inch chef’s blade hanging from a magnetic strip installed on the wall. It felt good in his hands, like a natural extension. It wasn’t the first time he held a knife, but this time was – different. He turned and walked into the bedroom, glistening steel in his hand. Rachel, Emeril, Rick and Martin guided him through the wet work that needed to take place. Crimson rain exploded in the room.
After the work was done, George slipped on his worn leather coat, grabbed up his Zippo and walked out of the door of his shabby apartment. A light tune came to his mind as he bounced down the stairs. He needed cigarettes anyway.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Chrome Lethargy
I remember taste. Hot roasted peanuts at the baseball games coupled with a cold Japanese beer. Good times. The salty tang refreshed by the cool effervescence of hops was one of my favorite tastes. The other was the soft warmth of her lip gloss. It didn’t have an exact taste; it just triggers memories of her. The shock of dyed red hair, the quirky smile and the way that she knew exactly what to say made me love her. That was before the Others made sure that there was no more Japanese beer, or anything else out of Japan. The entire island had been obliterated early on. She was in Tokyo at the time. The death toll was in the millions – and that was jus the first strike. It didn’t count the tsunamis that wiped out parts of China and washed out the big island of Hawaii.During the course of the next few weeks, the campaign continued. Los Angeles was hit as well as Colorado Springs. Seattle, Cairo, the entire Gaza Strip, Baghdad, Tehran, Hong Kong, Berlin and Moscow were all wiped out. For some reason, the Others left Washington D.C. intact. Their reasons were their own.
They were called Others because they had seceded from all the countries of the Earth. Liberty Litany Lunar Inc. had established the moon base near the Sea of Tranquility. The rich ores and the strategic placement of solar panels that they had established made the base a profitable one. It was such a rich time for the Earth before the Incident. The changes that President Obama had ushered in were downright miraculous. It was another golden time for humankind. It was too bad that Biden didn’t have the charisma or tenacity that his predecessor did. After the assassination, the world was never the same. The one thing that stayed constant was the capitalization of the moon.
It was during the onset of the ‘New War on Terror’ that the employees and citizens of the Triple L Base to become incorporated into their own country. New leadership planet side coupled with new laws being beamed in from corporate headquarters in Detroit began the dissention. The new country was named Luna. Not quite as original as one might think, but they were mostly engineers and miners. Sometimes simplicity is best in those kinds of situations. Those on Earth called them the ‘Others.’ They called themselves ‘Lunatics.’ Ironic if you think about it.
The world was going to hell. There were too many checkpoints and too many suspicions going on (publicly, privately, and professionally) between the people of the Earth. It was when the Koreans released the news of their ‘World Cracker’ that the Japanese rattled their own sabers and launched an offensive of their own of intimidation on the Seoul Men to the south. When the Korean electric grid crashed, the Japanese Console Cowboys that were inserted cracked their military-grade networks and infiltrated virtual Korea. The dedicated military networks came down without so much as a whimper and to add insult to injury, as the Japanese are infamous for, they detonated the ‘World Cracker’ in its launch tube.
The outrage from the world was incredible. There were sanctions, threats of war, legal proceedings put forth in front of the United Nations. The entire ball of wax was coming apart. There were too many news bites scrolling across the Times Square marquees at any given time. Fax and email bombs were assaulting the virtual society that was established across the world. Ham radio operators were filling up the airwaves with their chatter as well. There was an electric buzz during the days before the Incident.
She used to bake when she was stressed. Lemon bars, tiny chocolate brownies with walnuts, banana bread, carrot cake with a special amaretto cream cheese icing – oh that carrot cake was to die for. I’d stay up with her. I know she didn’t always want the company, but she did need it. Sometimes when she looked at the batter in the Kitchen Aid, she would cry. And then I would hold her until she stopped shaking. I remember the taste of her lips. Salty and sweet with the strange unnamable, unidentifiable taste of her lip gloss. She used to complain when her hair stuck to it. I thought it made her look so endearing and sexy. It just made her annoyed.
Her trip to Tokyo was spur of the moment. She was part of a specially designed task force developed to help to negotiate Japan’s involvement in the utter annihilation of Seoul. That incident knocked them back to the Stone Age. Their power was out, their people were still dying; disease was rampant in the streets as the dead drew upon the scavengers that found their crispy irradiated bodies tasty. She was good at her job.
The various impacts from the modified rail gun that the Others had built created so much dust and cloud cover that various environmentalists urged the rest of the civilized nations to come together to find a solution towards the immanent Global Winter Event that was soon coming. As usual, they couldn’t agree. They didn’t have enough time to get to an agreement. The onslaught continued from Luna. When New York fell, along with the United Nations, it was when China, Russia and the United States formed an alliance.
It was odd at first. No one complained about differences in views regarding the socio-economic beliefs that were at the table. No one complained or distrusted the difference in politics. It was the three most powerful nations left in the world coming together to fight an enemy that they couldn’t quite reach individually. If it weren’t for the billions dead and the threat of impending doom, I might have been happy.
I remember volunteering for the experiment. The short hairs looked at me through their mirrored sunglasses with their medals and ribbons on their lapels and scoffed. I whipped out my laptop and showed them a thing or three. Even before the Incident, I could outhack just about any net junkie in existence. It was after they picked up their jaws in disbelief that I outlined my plan.
Going on without her was not an option for me. The dull ache anytime I saw an image of her or smelled her perfume was too much. I just wanted to sleep. I didn’t have the energy to do anything else. I would never taste her lip gloss again. Move her incorrigible bangs out from her vivid blue eyes again. I would never feel her soft lips, her warm body next to mine. I miss the sight of her manicured toes. It’s odd how those things come up at the most inopportune times.
The upload of my consciousness into the surviving Milnet and Arpanet gateways was almost science fiction for them. Through my outline, I showed the military brass how it was possible. I showed them. How many people get to really say those words and mean it? They didn’t believe me at first, but as the brain and most of its personality is merely electrochemical reactions, the theory was sound – and they had nothing better. They needed a mind that could multitask and outthink their computers. Sure the Cray’s could have done it too, but most of them were wiped out. It wasn’t the fact that their hardened defenses couldn’t handle a massive electronic surge, but instead it was the fact that an 80 ton rock had hit them square at 16,000 kilometers per second and collapsed entire buildings (cities, really) around them.
Honestly, I don’t have the energy to fight anymore. I just want it to be over. I just want to sleep. When I sleep, I don’t have to remember that she’s dead. I can dream of making love to her in the kitchen while the Kitchen Aid stirred the newest batter creation. I can remember her pretty little toes and how they fit nicely onto her feet and ankles. I can remember it all, when I sleep.
When the upload is completed, I can sleep.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Funniest Mafia Wars Synopsis
This is the funniest synopsis that I've seen while playing Mafia Wars.
Your Mafia of 29 fought against Your Mum with 3 Gold Desert Eagles, a RPG Launcher, 23 Chain Guns, 2 .50 Caliber Rifles, 10 A Pint o' Green Beers, 19 Body Armors, 3 Armored Cars, 16 Towncars, 5 Getaway Cruisers, and 5 Armored Trucks.
Your Mum's Mafia of 21 fought with 2 Gold Desert Eagles, a Mini Uzi, 2 Meat Cleavers, 16 Chain Guns, an A Pint o' Green Beer, a Gas Mask, 9 Body Armors, 10 Bullet Proof Vests, and 21 Towncars.
You WON the fight, taking 1 damage and dealing 24 damage to your enemy. You gained $0 and 2 experience points.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
An Open Letter to The Rumor-mongers:
I revel in the fact that my life gives you some semblance of dramatic entertainment. Truly, I do. I thank you for caring enough to lurk on my blog here or on my facebook page and not even bother to leave a comment or so much as a short email to signify our alleged friendly relationship. The fact that somehow you’ve put me on a pedestal so very high that your ignorance overwhelms and guides you to speak to others regarding your opinion of what may be going on in my life, both personally, professionally, politically and socio-economically is truly something to behold!
In the immortal words of Slim Shady, “everybody wants to discuss me that must mean that I’m disgusting.” With this in mind, I’ve come to the conclusion that it is not I t hat is disgusting, but instead it is those of you who are willing to pass judgment and start rumors that have no business being started at all. It is YOU that is disgusting. A pox on life in general, an abhorrent pimple on the arse of society, a nauseating pestilance that has no other reason in life but to be medicated and eradicated. In other words, Bub, you serve no purpose.
It is an utterly gross and extremely esoteric conception for you to even think that you may know me enough to even begin to think in that addled brain of yours that you have the permission, passion, permit or privilege to speak on my behalf related to ANY aspect of my life. It is even too ludicrous to even begin to imagine that at our age and day I have to write such a piece on my own privacy. What you did was open your mouth on things that were none of your concern. Your obvious misunderstanding of what I write leads only to the fact that the English language is not a main concern of yours. You apparently have no comprehension of humor, wit or any semblance of abstinence for your overwhelming diarrhea of the mouth. Perhaps you need to install that brain to mouth filter that your parents were always talking about.
All of this to make you look good in the Powers That Be is an abomination on so many levels. The PTB already know what kind of person you are. There is no hiding that. You may try to put on a level of professionalism and run with the big dogs, but you cannot. Your sheer amount of ignorance holds you back from being a success. So why don’t you keep your mouth shut and actually learn for a change? It is always better to be silent and have those assume you are wise than to open your mouth and prove otherwise. So, word to the wise, the action plan for your success is as follows: manage your own business and leave the perceived world around you go by, because you have no concept of reality. It is an abstract to you.
The first thing out of my co-worker’s mouth today was, “Do you know the drama you have caused?” I, of course, had no idea that I had been sabotaged by you. I will take personal responsibility for this, of course. I am proud of my online presence and the folks (both digital and natural) I’ve cultivated friendships with. I have memories of my first modem (2600 bps) on a BBS. Yes, a BBS. So if you think you can outhack me in social engineering, you’ve got another thing coming to you. Believe me, I too have the ears of the PTB, but instead of needing to dig up dirt on my co-workers and friends, I’ll combat with facts instead of fiction. You will unwittingly provide the data for your demise.
Your days of this distasteful rumor-mongering are at an end. The drama that you have caused will come back to haunt you. It always does. I do not need to rely on my own actions to ensure that this will happen. It will be your doing. Although, you will not realize it at the time and you will likely blame the first person that is inherently convenient for you. I do not need to channel what a good friend of mine would call the “Bodhivista of Two-Fisted Enlightenment.” All I need to do is sit back and let karma take its course. All things are cyclic.
In short, you’re hooped, Bub. Get over yourself and put your tiny little ego away because no one really respects you or wants to listen to what you have to say. You are a bag of wind, insignificant as a fart in a hurricane. Your mind is like a steel sieve, with as much retention and comprehension as a monkey to physics. If none of this has gotten through, just look yourself in the mirror and ask yourself if anyone truly loves you. You’ll know the answer.
Cheers,
The Author.
In the immortal words of Slim Shady, “everybody wants to discuss me that must mean that I’m disgusting.” With this in mind, I’ve come to the conclusion that it is not I t hat is disgusting, but instead it is those of you who are willing to pass judgment and start rumors that have no business being started at all. It is YOU that is disgusting. A pox on life in general, an abhorrent pimple on the arse of society, a nauseating pestilance that has no other reason in life but to be medicated and eradicated. In other words, Bub, you serve no purpose.
It is an utterly gross and extremely esoteric conception for you to even think that you may know me enough to even begin to think in that addled brain of yours that you have the permission, passion, permit or privilege to speak on my behalf related to ANY aspect of my life. It is even too ludicrous to even begin to imagine that at our age and day I have to write such a piece on my own privacy. What you did was open your mouth on things that were none of your concern. Your obvious misunderstanding of what I write leads only to the fact that the English language is not a main concern of yours. You apparently have no comprehension of humor, wit or any semblance of abstinence for your overwhelming diarrhea of the mouth. Perhaps you need to install that brain to mouth filter that your parents were always talking about.
All of this to make you look good in the Powers That Be is an abomination on so many levels. The PTB already know what kind of person you are. There is no hiding that. You may try to put on a level of professionalism and run with the big dogs, but you cannot. Your sheer amount of ignorance holds you back from being a success. So why don’t you keep your mouth shut and actually learn for a change? It is always better to be silent and have those assume you are wise than to open your mouth and prove otherwise. So, word to the wise, the action plan for your success is as follows: manage your own business and leave the perceived world around you go by, because you have no concept of reality. It is an abstract to you.
The first thing out of my co-worker’s mouth today was, “Do you know the drama you have caused?” I, of course, had no idea that I had been sabotaged by you. I will take personal responsibility for this, of course. I am proud of my online presence and the folks (both digital and natural) I’ve cultivated friendships with. I have memories of my first modem (2600 bps) on a BBS. Yes, a BBS. So if you think you can outhack me in social engineering, you’ve got another thing coming to you. Believe me, I too have the ears of the PTB, but instead of needing to dig up dirt on my co-workers and friends, I’ll combat with facts instead of fiction. You will unwittingly provide the data for your demise.
Your days of this distasteful rumor-mongering are at an end. The drama that you have caused will come back to haunt you. It always does. I do not need to rely on my own actions to ensure that this will happen. It will be your doing. Although, you will not realize it at the time and you will likely blame the first person that is inherently convenient for you. I do not need to channel what a good friend of mine would call the “Bodhivista of Two-Fisted Enlightenment.” All I need to do is sit back and let karma take its course. All things are cyclic.
In short, you’re hooped, Bub. Get over yourself and put your tiny little ego away because no one really respects you or wants to listen to what you have to say. You are a bag of wind, insignificant as a fart in a hurricane. Your mind is like a steel sieve, with as much retention and comprehension as a monkey to physics. If none of this has gotten through, just look yourself in the mirror and ask yourself if anyone truly loves you. You’ll know the answer.
Cheers,
The Author.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Facebook Top Ten
Top 10 phrases from my facebook account that scare me:
10. A scoundrel has eyes on yer pirate booty!
09. Amy Dionise just accepted the The Answer.
08. Lon Sarver just accepted the The one ring to rule them all.
07. Patrick Gorman just accepted the Improbablilty.
06. Suzzana Acevedo wants to know how many points in a piece of cardboard smeared with mustard might be?!?!?
05. Stefan Livingstone Shirley became a fan of "Weird Al" Yankovic.
04. Having met his match, Vicente de Abriggio was forced to flee. He headed home to recuperate.
03. I completed the quiz "Which 80s movie defines you?" with the result Footloose.
02. Amy Dionise Kidnap'd me to Buenos Aires using the 8-Ball in a Tube Sock.
01. You just bought 5 chainguns for $1,000,000. Buy another 5?
10. A scoundrel has eyes on yer pirate booty!
09. Amy Dionise just accepted the The Answer.
08. Lon Sarver just accepted the The one ring to rule them all.
07. Patrick Gorman just accepted the Improbablilty.
06. Suzzana Acevedo wants to know how many points in a piece of cardboard smeared with mustard might be?!?!?
05. Stefan Livingstone Shirley became a fan of "Weird Al" Yankovic.
04. Having met his match, Vicente de Abriggio was forced to flee. He headed home to recuperate.
03. I completed the quiz "Which 80s movie defines you?" with the result Footloose.
02. Amy Dionise Kidnap'd me to Buenos Aires using the 8-Ball in a Tube Sock.
01. You just bought 5 chainguns for $1,000,000. Buy another 5?
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