Post by Michael Callahan on Jan 19, 2013 15:10:28 GMT -4
ACTION PACKED COMICS, ISSUE #1
$1.50
HALLIDAY STREET
FORT DODGE, IOWA
0500 HOURS
TEN YEARS AGO...
Waking up knowing that any day from today has a significantly higher chance of being your last than your entire life so far is one way to make sure you wake up with your blood pumping through your veins. Hell, what other good reason was there for it? Protecting the homeland? There's no real incentive for screwing with us and nobody has the manpower of the hatred of us to stage a full-on invasion of the US. Serving my country? Nah. I'm no patriot. I'm doing what I do because I want to be somebody. I want to be someone doing something, to fill the void that you left.
Ever since you left, I've felt mentally dull. Like nothing thrills me anymore, nothing makes me happy. I'm so sick and tired, so very very sick and so very very tired. Yet like the vampire, I feed off of others. Their suffering feeds me my life, to make me happy. I enlisted because I want to live for the moment, know that every day I can face what you did but maybe not be so fucking pathetic about it. I want to know what it feels like to take another man's life. I want to know what it's like to stand shoulder to shoulder with the most reprehensible of all men, the killer deified and be commended for the grim work that we carry out in the dead of night while our own people sleep soundly.
Do I sound crazy? Sure. Maybe I am a little bit twisted. Yet you have to be to take on this kind of work. We're not the Peace Corps man. We're not here to spread peace and love. We're a uniform of monsters and creeps who you pay hard earned tax money to do the dirty work of the government. There's no need for our high tax budget spending. I don't know about you but so long as I'm fed and watered, I'd gladly do this job for free and I can't speak for other career soldiers but I'm willing to bet my Rolling Stones vinyl collection on the fact that there'll be at least half of them who do. The money is an irrelevant bonus, the job itself is the true reward.
Flash forward half an hour and I'd showered, shaved, cleaned myself up well and was ready on the doorstep with my things packed being kissed goodbye by my mom. She had a warm smile on her face, a genuine happy one that I hadn't seen in a long time. She could see now the total picture of me in my uniform, smiling with my comrades and from that she could tell that I wasn't going to be the failure she expected me to be. I was going to be somebody...
”There is he is, mah beautiful babeh boy. All dressed proud ta' fight for his countreh.” beamed my mom as she adjusted the collar on my camouflage jacket like it would make any difference.
”Come on mommmmms... you're embarassing me. Hahahaha.” I chuckled but couldn't help but feel this was a poor facade for the distance between us in family life.
Two wet kisses on my cheeks, then the lips. She held me tightly in her arms, the smell of her perfume strong enough to mask the gin. She was putting up a tough front but deep down she was breaking inside.
”My little boy... all grown up, a soldier.” she pined again, wiping a solitary tear from the the green, almond shaped eyed that she passed onto me.
My dad's goodbye was far less effeminate. John Zzyzx, a former soldier himself, blind in one eye from a grenade, shook my hand like the gentleman he thought I was for not falling too far from the tree. Such pleasantries for such a barbaric career move.
”Kill one of those graujo bastards for me, son! Ahaha, go make your old man proud.” he chuckled, so casual about legalised murder. It was almost chilling.
His handshake pulled me into a half-hug, half-embrace. The warmth was positively radiating...
”Awhhh... thanks pop. I'll bring you one of them pipes they smoke back.”
Mom started sniffing, her face going shades of red as the tears ebbed at the corners of her eyes.
”I promised myself I wouldn't cry...” sobbed my Mom, as she pulled me into another embrace.
”Come on Mag, he's a grown man now. He's a Zzyzx, he's got the soldier spirit in him! Do you want me to drive you there son?” asked my dad in a rare display of generosity. He couldn't wait to see the back of me.
”Nawh it's okay dad. I'm taking the bus down. Thanks.” said I, forcing a smile as I waved goodbye to my mom and my dad forever.
-
Two pairs of beady eyes, terrible haircut on one, beard on the other. Politician and doctor, both dressed like the blazer-wearing handlers who made me like this. What do they want? Why does my head hurt? Why am I here? Where are you?
”Do you think he can beat Phil Atken? I mean, he's not... all there.” said the politician, staring straight at me but not talking to me. I don't know who Phil Atken is.
”Do you doubt my work? This man is a fighter. He's a soldier. He is trained to kill a nation's finest defenders. Do you really think that that out of shape slouch can hold a candle to him? The GI will murder the man.” replied the doctor, putting his hand on the politicians shoulder. It was reassuring. He did that to me a lot, but it didn't quite work the same way.
”Let's not be hasty. Phil Atken beat Sally Talfourd. rebutted the politician in a typical political fashion, always with the point and the counter-point. They both made me feel nauseous to look at.
”So did you.”
”Yeah but GI can't beat me.”
”He'd give you a run for his money.”
I want to scream and shout and ask what these people want from me, what they expect, but I can't. I can't focus. I'm still out there on the battlefield as just another rifle. They treat me less like a human being than they did way back during the war. At least there, they called me by my name and not by my job description. I don't feel nice.
-
CAMP BEHRINGER
0800 HOURS
SIX MONTHS LATER
UNKNOWN
1ST CLASS PVT. MARK ZZYZX, U.S. ARMY
”GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD MOOOOOOORNING PRIVATE ZZYZX!”
I rocketed to a seated position, sheer fright jolting through me as the commanding officer Lieutenant Kevin Hartigan brought me out of my slumber. I was well rested, but I had not woken up when I wanted to. You never did in the army. You always wanted five minutes more, another three hundred seconds to escape the fact that you're in a war zone and could die at just about any moment.
”What time do you call this to be waking up huh?! 8AM?! Camp Behringer soldiers fight from dawn 'til dusk and then right through the night.” screamed Lieutenant Hartigan, a spray of spit coating my face. I was too surprised to be angry about being treated this way.
”Sir, they told me I could take a day off for saving Sergeant Patterson yesterday from that graujo ambush sir!” I yelled back groggily, but already knew it was totally in vain.
”Don't be fucking stupid Private Zzyzx, we don't do days off in MY camp. Do you understand me?! Get your lazy ass out of bed and get yourself down to the canteen. Your scrawny ass is late to join the patrols, but you're never too late for fry-cook duty. Are we clear?! Now move it, move it, move it!” he boomed, dragging me by my arm out of bed and to my feet.
Six months into my regime and I was a master of this getting dressed quickly routine. Hartigan would always pull this shit with us. Surprise inspections, “camp attacks” in the middle of the night. We hated him, but he always had us on our toes. That's probably why so few of us ever went KIA under his watch.
”Come on, Zzyzx! What the fuck are you doing, shuffling around in those oversized pants like you're some maggot breakdancer! GET a damn move on!”
I just about managed to finish dressing, when Lieutenant Hartigan started barking at me like a dog. He ran me out of the tent and straight down the camp, continuing to humiliate me with dog noises as other patrolling soldiers watched with concealed smirks. I sprinted my way into the tent and got behind the counter as quick as I could, throwing on a hairnet and joining the other cooks as I prepared for serving lunch.
”Good job, Zzyzx! Maybe one day you won't be so fucking useless. That took one minute and thirty six seconds. That's five seconds slower than Corporal Jefferson over there. Ain't that right Jefferson?” he yelled, gesturing to another man who was frantically chopping up some rather questionable looking meat.
”SIR YES SIR!” he roared back like an obedient dog.
”Now drop, give me twenty, and scrape out those fry cleaners before the combination of mouldy grease and the stress of dealing with this fucking camp brings on an early heart attack!”
”Sir, yes sir!” I said.
And God only knows I dropped and gave him twenty. He practically made us lick the floor when we did push-ups. I never thought it'd be like this when I enlisted. Never thought I'd have diktats giving me crap like this day in and day out. But then as people always like to say, “You wanna see the rainbow, you gotta' put up with the rain”. If I got to unleash my inner monster and do the thing that puts the smile on my face each and every morning, that ironically keeps me sane? Well then having to deal with this prick was worth it.
-
Everything looks industrial. I can't stand up straight. Bright light, ahhhh. Who's that man in the t-shirt?
I'm being dragged by doctor and politician through corridors, lead like a child by his parents. The doctor is the stern father who wants me to be a man and make him proud. The politician is the nurturing mother who also wants me to succeed but is far too vain to notice me properly. I hate my parents.
”We need to get him some microphone time. I know he doesn't... talk, but we need to get him to say something. Right?”
”I don't know Mike. I mean the guy is... well, look at him. He's not right.”
”Can we at least talk for him?”
”I don't see why not. AH-, Perfect! Hey, Cindy!-
And there she is. She's not you. She never will be you. But she can replace you. With her beautiful blonde hair and those emerald eyes cut from the finest jewellers in Heaven. This woman was my everything. She couldn't help me get the words out that I desperately wanted to say but she made the pain just melt away. Nothing else mattered when she was there.
”-over here. We've got someone for you to talk to-”
She looked at me and smiled, the white of her eyes glowing as bright and as beautiful as the pale flesh that clings to her body. Gray approached Angel and slipped an arm around her, bringing her towards us and making my heart skip beat after beat. I think my jaw dropped until I felt politician slap me across the back.
”There we go, big fella. Why don't you tell the pretty girl what you're gonna' do this week when you face Phil Atken?”
”I... I.... Kill. I will... eliminate enemy tango's...”
I can't get the words out. They're all there in my head but I can't think, I can't speak, I can't form sentences. Nothing.
”What Mr. GI is trying to say Philip is tonight? GI is going to make my job at Survive and Conquer just that little bit easier for me when he beats you to a pulp and stomps your career into another slump, I'm going to walk into that championship match with another advantage amongst many that I already have. Your army of goons helped you beat Sally and rob her of that title, but as it happens, I've got my own entourage to back me up and they trump yours each and every time. You have a security guard? I have a soldier. You have a PR advisor? I have a degree level psychologist. The only thing that's going to save you is for you to make the effort and go the distance because ever since you came to Asylum, you relied on OTHER people to do the work for you.” he shouted. Why has he got to be so loud?
”Now tonight, you're facing GI. That's all well and good. In typical Callahan fashion, I have the night off before a pay-per-view. I don't always ask for it, but it happens more often than I'd care to tell you. I'm going to be 300% going into this match, well-rested, well energised and I'm going to be hungry for that championship belt. The re-election campaign stops in London, England, and when it does I'm taking home the title. I'm getting sworn in to 2013 as Asylum's first new World Heavyweight Champion. Setting your lap-dogs won't work on me, you're going to have to prove your mettle to survive GI and more importantly? Survive me. You're gonna' have to show me and all my constituents in Birmingham that YOU CAN stand toe to toe with anyone and that you're not a phoney champion because if you can't? I'm walking out of the Wembley Stadium as the world... heavyweight... champion. Cya Sunday, Phil.”
[End of Chapter]
