Major Karnage

by Gord Zajac

  Flaherty turned to Fridge. “Take Charles to the showers and clean him up.”

  “No!” Cookie yelped. “I haven’t cracked the code yet! You can’t take ’em off until I’ve cracked the code!”

  “Charles.” Flaherty’s voice was stern. He looked at Cookie over the rims of his glasses.

  Cookie instantly deflated. Fridge grabbed Cookie under his arm and dragged him away. Karnage squirmed and wriggled as he shouted.

  “No! Don’t let ’em do it! You’re a trained soldier! You can take ’em! Bite off his ear! Knee him in the crotch! Tear out his guts! Snap him—”

  Karnage winced as jolts of electricity shot down his spine. An alarm softly pinged. An angelic female voice emanated from the base of Karnage’s skull. “Warning. Sanity Level upgraded to Lemon Breeze. Please refrain from violent behaviour. Thank you.”

  “What was that?” Johnson said.

  Flaherty’s eyes lit up. Just like Cookie’s, Karnage thought.

  “Oh, it’s an ingenious little device! Major, would you mind if I showed him?”

  “Go to hell.”

  Flaherty shook his head. “You really need to learn to be more cooperative.” Flaherty flipped a switch beside Karnage’s bed. The bed flipped onto its side. Flaherty pulled a long-handled pointer with a U-shaped end covered in rubber from his labcoat. He slipped the U around the back of Karnage’s neck and pushed his head forward. There was a tiny LED display at the base of Karnage’s skull. The screen pulsed a soft pale yellow.

  Flaherty turned to Johnson. “I call it the Sanity Patch. This is just the prototype. I designed it myself. Think of it as a sort of sanity fail-safe, if you like. It’s tied directly into the central nervous system. It scans the major’s brainwaves for indications of violent tendencies. There’s a tiered system with a number of different warning thresholds. Currently the major is rated at Lemon Breeze. That’s pretty good for John, actually. The thresholds move all the way up the colour spectrum to indicate his state of mind. The scale runs from Snow White to Tricycle Red. Fortunately, John has never hit Tricycle Red. The furthest he has ever hit was Frosty Pink. And that was plenty close enough for our liking. Wasn’t it, John?”

  “Eat donkey dick,” Karnage growled.

  “What happens if he hits Tricycle Red?” Johnson asked.

  “Tricycle Red activates the fail-safe. The subject is terminated before he can cause further harm to himself or others.”

  “Terminated?”

  “He means if I hit Tricycle Red, my fuckin’ head blows off,” Karnage said.

  “Is that true?” Johnson asked.

  “I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but yes. The subject’s spinal cord is severed from his brain. It’s not as barbaric as it sounds, really. It’s a worst case scenario, something we work diligently to prevent. Don’t we, John?”

  “You’re nuts,” Karnage said.

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” Flaherty winked at Johnson.

  “I ain’t the guy implantin’ explosives into people’s brains!”

  “I wish you’d stop looking at it that way, John. I’m trying to reintegrate you back into society. You have some extremely violent tendencies that simply must be addressed before anything of the sort can happen.” Flaherty turned to Johnson. “Come along, Johnson. Let me show you the O.R.”

  Flaherty headed to the door, expecting Johnson to follow. Johnson didn’t. He took a few steps towards Karnage and put a hand on his shoulder. “I just want to say how much I appreciate the sacrifices you made for us in The War.”

  The War!

  Karnage’s eyes bulged. His heart hammered in his chest. The War!

  The entire room dissolved. Karnage’s vision filled with flames, crumbling buildings, and death.

  The War!

  Rage pulsed through his limbs. The straps binding him to the bed bulged. There was the faint sound of tearing.

  “Johnson! Get away!”

  Karnage’s bed straps exploded in all directions. His right hand whipped up and grabbed Johnson by the throat. The Sanity Patch sent electric jolts shooting up his spine. He didn’t flinch. The Patch’s cheery voice informed everyone that Karnage’s sanity level was now at “Peachy Keen.”

  Karnage slowly sat up, lifting Johnson into the air. His voice hissed through his teeth as the remaining straps gave way one by one with a loud snap.

  “Don’t . . .”

  Snap!

  “. . . talk to me . . .”

  Snap-snap!

  “. . . about The War!”

  With a final snap, Karnage erupted from the bed. He lifted Johnson high into the air. Johnson grabbed futilely at Karnage’s wrist. Johnson’s face was beet red. The Sanity Patch crooned “Tangy Orange” as Skyscraper and Mammoth charged towards Karnage. Karnage turned to meet them, smiling crazily.

  Battle! This was what he knew. He kicked the bed with his foot towards the charging nurses. Skyscraper dodged out of the way as the bed slammed into Mammoth, knocking him down. Skyscraper whipped out his stun gun and stabbed it at Karnage. Karnage deftly sidestepped Skyscraper, tripped him and pulled the stun gun from his fingers. He slammed his knee into Skyscraper’s back, and slammed the stun gun into the base of his skull. Karnage gave him full blast until Skyscraper’s screaming and flailing subsided into silent fish flops.

  The major rose up just in time to catch Mammoth full in the gut with the stun gun. He juiced him hard, all the while keeping a firm grip on Johnson’s throat, whipping him around like a rag doll. Once Mammoth stopped moving, Karnage threw Johnson up into the wall, pinning him by his neck. In the back of his mind somewhere, he was conscious of alarms blaring and Flaherty screaming for security. A voice at the back of his neck whispered that he had just hit “Sharp Cheddar.” Karnage didn’t care. They could ring their alarms and call their security and blow his head off. None of that mattered. Karnage’s entire world had shrunk down to just him and Johnson.

  “You want to talk to me about The War? I’ll tell you about The War. New Baghdad. 1-1-5-2-5. Urban warfare on a grand scale. You ever been at ground zero while a whole city block is crumbling around you? I have. I lost thirty men that day. Benneli. Kahr. Mossberg. Weatherby. I’ll never forget their names. The only reason any of us survived was we were holed up against a column in that underground parking lot when it came down on top of us. I had thirty thousand tons of steel and concrete pressing down on my chest. You know what that’s like? You know how that feels? It feels a lot like having your throat crushed.” The pressure increased on Johnson’s throat. “Like that. Real slowly. Millimetre by millimetre. The life slowly sucked outta your body. Every few minutes, you hear a fresh snap—like that one. Your veins bulge out—just like that. You want to breathe so bad, but you can’t. You know why? Cuz Uncle Stanley’s gone and dropped seventy-five megatons of radioactive shit on your head. And all you got is one pinky you can use to dig you and your buddies out. You want to talk to me about The War? I’LL TELL YOU ABOUT THE WAR!”

  A pair of taser barbs lodged into Karnage’s neck, and 40,000 volts of electricity coursed through his body. He spasmed and gritted his teeth. His fist refused to let go of Johnson’s neck. Johnson’s body quivered and flailed from the charge. A second set of barbs lodged into Karnage’s thigh. Another 40,000 volts joined the chorus of the first. Karnage let out a yell as he fell to one knee. His grip on Johnson’s throat loosened, and the other man fell to the ground, gasping. Something wet and broken rattled in the back of his throat.

  Karnage looked up. Four nurses stood over him, each armed with a taser. His mouth was full of the taste of blood. He grinned. “Is that the best you got?”

  Two more sets of barbs shot out and caught Karnage in the chest and bicep. Karnage laughed like the madman he was as 160,000 volts of electricity plunged his body into the peaceful depths of unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Karnage lay in a pit of darkness. A single shaft of pale light shone on his head. He felt the familiar pull of the straitjacket o
n his arms and crotch. He was back in the Hole. Home sweet home.

  The Hole had been specially constructed just for Karnage. The walls were soft and yielding, yet slick and smooth enough to prevent any kind of solid grip. The room was just wide enough to prevent him from bracing himself against opposing walls and climbing up. The height of the walls was somewhere around two or three stories. They’d done their best to make it escape-proof.

  But Karnage knew better. Nothing was escape-proof. It was all a matter of time. He’d escaped from worse places than this during—

  The War!

  Sand and heat and bullets and flames. Crumbling bombed out buildings givin’ Uncle Stanley the perfect cover. Snipers snipin’ your platoon, one wide-eyed recruit at a time. Blood flowin’ like cheap whiskey at Happy Hour. Privates screamin’ for mothers and fathers, wives and sisters and lovers and brothers. None of ’em listenin’. None of ’em there. Nobody but your dying buddies and the bloodthirsty enemy hidin’ around every corner. Death from above, below, and everywhere in between. Tanks versus pistols. Choppers versus bayonets. Machine guns versus fists. Everybody’s dying around you, but you keep your head down and you do the job. Kill or be killed. Kill or be killed. Faster, soldier! Kill-kill-kill!

  Karnage slammed his head against his knee. The soft tones of his Sanity Patch pinged their gentle warning in his ear.

  He couldn’t think about . . . it. No point in thinking about . . . that. Nothing but pain and hurt lay that way. His troopers were counting on him. He had to be strong. Uncle Stanley wouldn’t get anything out of—

  No. Uncle Stanley was done. Ancient history. It was over. They had won . . . hadn’t they? They’d been given medals. He remembered that. Somewhere in some lockbox in the asylum lay seventeen medals, seven citations for bravery, and a set of major’s stripes.

  Karnage lay his head against the wall. He thought about his squad up in Ward Three. Velasquez. Heckler. Cookie. Koch. The finest troopers he’d ever served with. Who cared if they were sane? No one alive could outsoldier ’em. Karnage smiled. No dead ones, either.

  Karnage heard a door open in the distance. Echoing footsteps moved towards him. He looked up. A man’s silhouette appeared in the shaft of light above. It was Flaherty.

  “Ah, I see you’re finally awake,” Flaherty said. “How are you feeling? Would you like any painkillers?”

  “I’m gonna kill you when I get outta here.” A sharp jolt shot down Karnage’s spine.

  “Warning. Sanity Level upgraded to Citrus Blast. Please refrain from violent behaviour. Thank you.”

  Flaherty tsked. “Temper, John. We wouldn’t want you to lose your head.”

  “Where’s Cookie?” Karnage said.

  “Cookie’s showing signs of relapse. I was hoping those implants would improve his condition. I’ve scheduled him for exploratory surgery in the morning.”

  “Quit carving up his brain, you eggheaded bastard!” Karnage threw his body into the wall. He bounced off harmlessly. Another jolt of electricity ran through his spine. Karnage shrugged it off. He glared menacingly at Flaherty as the Sanity Patch crooned “Tangy Orange.”

  “It seems these mild warnings aren’t working. You’re obviously not taking your Sanity Levels seriously enough. I think I’m going to have to turn up the voltage,” Flaherty said.

  “Sure,” Karnage said. “If you can’t get me to blow my own head off, you’ll just fry my brain right inside my own skull.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Sure it is! Jackin’ up my Sanity Patch. Carvin’ up Cookie’s brain. Don’t think I don’t see what’s goin’ on here. Me and Cookie stumbled onto your little invasion plan, and now you want us out of the way.”

  Flaherty blinked. “My invasion plan?”

  “I don’t know how you factor into all this yet, but I’ll figure it out. I ain’t gonna stop until I get to the bottom of the whole thing.”

  Flaherty shook his head. “I’ve clearly underestimated the depth of your psychosis. You are, quite possibly, far more insane than I had originally imagined. I’m starting to think the Sanity Patch is nowhere near enough. If you continue to believe in this delusion, I may have to resort to more drastic treatments.”

  “Sure. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Carve my brain right outta my skull and stick it in a mason jar! Turn me into a walkin’ vegetable. Don’t think for one second you and your alien pals can intimidate me. I seen more shit in one day than you could see in a hundred lifetimes!”

  Flaherty removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “John, I sincerely hope this turns out to be a temporary delusion. Otherwise . . . well, I won’t speculate. Nevertheless, I will state this: there is no conspiracy. There is no alien invasion. No one is out to get you or your comrades. We really are doing everything we can to help you. Please believe that.”

  “That’s just what I’d expect you to say.”

  “Good night, John.” Flaherty stepped away from the light. Karnage heard his footsteps echo back towards the door.

  “You can’t hide the truth, Flaherty! You can’t hide the truth!”

  The only reply was the slammed door echoing in the darkness.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Flaherty descended the steps of the Veteran’s Home. He fished his car keys out of his pocket and let out a long breath. What a trying day. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered. He knew his methods were a bit . . . well, unorthodox, but that’s why he’d accepted this position. If he could cure these soldiers, he might finally win some acclaim from his colleagues.

  The sun was just disappearing over the horizon. It cast violent purple and orange hues across the night sky. The mountains were a dark silhouette in the distance. Flaherty stopped a few feet from his car and soaked in the view. The desert could be harsh, but the heat was already cooling and the sky was clear. It was going to be a beautiful night. He took a long deep breath.

  Swirling winds kicked up around him. Flaherty coughed and choked. He covered his face from the fierce attack of the sandladen winds. Darkness enveloped him, descending like fabric dropped from the sky. Flaherty looked up. Something round and oblong had blocked out the sun. It floated high above him; its span was impossibly huge. Flashes of light danced across its surface, illuminating panels and hatches.

  Unidentified Flying Objects of Death!

  “No,” Flaherty whispered.

  A panel slowly opened directly above him. Something long, phallic, and menacing lowered towards him. Deep greenish hues curled and swirled around its bulbous end. Flaherty’s hairs stood on end as the air charged with static electricity.

  Flaherty ran towards his car just as his world filled with an intense painful green. Every atom in his body was ripped apart in a single nanosecond.

  He didn’t even get a chance to scream.

  MK#2: KARNAGE UNLEASHED

  CHAPTER ONE

  Karnage woke with the fierce rays of the desert sun beating down on him. The smell of burning plastic hung heavy in the air. He looked around.

  He was lying in the middle of a giant smoking crater. The walls of the Hole were about two feet high, their ends melted and blackened.

  The asylum was gone.

  Karnage leaped to his feet. Where’s my platoon?!

  “Cookie! Velasquez! Heckler! Koch!” Karnage’s voice echoed across the desert. Somewhere in the distance, a vulture screeched. Dead. They’re all dead. Just like in—

  The War!

  Karnage’s mind filled with violent images. The Sanity Patch throbbed. Warning interrupted warning as the sanity levels shot by: Daffodil, Citrus Blast, Peachy Keen, Tangy Orange, Sharp Cheddar, Coral Essence, Frosty Pink—

  Karnage slammed his head into the glassy surface of the crater. The visions shattered. The Sanity Patch crooned “Strawberry Shortcake,” then went silent.

  “Pull yourself together, soldier!” Karnage barked in his best drill sergeant voice. “You’re made of sterner stuff than this. On your feet, mister!”

 
Karnage jumped to his feet. He struggled up the walls of the crater, hindered by the straitjacket, yelling at himself all the while:

  “Come on, mister! Double time! Move it! Hustle-hustle-hustle!”

  Karnage struggled over the edge of the crater onto a melted chunk of asphalt.

  “All right, you maggot,” Karnage panted. “I don’t wanna hear no more talk about anybody bein’ dead. I got no bodies and I got no dog tags! Now nobody’s declarin’ anybody dead until we got dog tags or bodies to prove it! Do you hear me, soldier?!”

  “Sir, yes, sir!” Karnage moved to salute himself, but the straitjacket kept his arms tight to his body.

  “Oh, right.” Karnage dislocated both shoulders and pulled his arms over his head. He lowered his tied sleeves until they rested on the ground. He stomped on them, stood upright, and pulled hard. There was a satisfying rip, and the strap holding the sleeves together gave way. The ends were still sewn shut. Karnage looked around for something to cut them with.

  There was nothing left of the asylum. It looked as if it had been scooped out of the ground, leaving a perfectly spherical hole. All that was left was a single car in the parking lot, shimmering and floating in the desert heat, and three quarters of a sign welcoming people to Steve Dabney Veteran’s Home: Support Our Troo—.

  Karnage took a closer look at the edge of the crater. Its edge was sharp and clean. There were no blast marks. No signs of thrown debris anywhere. He’d never seen anything like it. Nothing leaves a blast radius that clean. A tingle ran down Karnage’s spine. Nothing human, anyway.

  The aliens! It must have been. It was the only explanation that made sense. Karnage looked up to the sky. A pair of vultures circled over a backdrop of wispy clouds. There had to be a way to find those aliens. Had to be a way to stop them. If only there was some way to detect them—

  Of course! Camp Bailey! Camp Bailey was home to the Godmaster Array, the world’s largest radio communications array. If anything could help him find those aliens, it would be that array.