by Gord Zajac
Darla’s face was white. She stared intently at the radio, then looked at Charlie. “Did that sound . . . squiggly to you?”
“Squiggly?!” Charlie curled his lip. “Oh hell. You’re as crazy as that—”
The radio screeched again. The lights in the diner went out. A solid wall of pitch black slid over the sky, as the world descended into darkness. Flickering panels of light shot back and forth across the sky.
“Wow, would you look at that?” Charlie moved over to the window. “Looks like it’s gonna rain something fierce!”
Darla went pale. Her voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t think those are clouds. . . .”
“Well, what the hell else—”
Their world was consumed by an intense painful green.
MK#3: KARNAGE BEHIND BARS
CHAPTER ONE
Karnage’s arms and legs were strapped to his chair. He was sitting at one end of a long table, dressed in an orange jumpsuit. His scowling reflection stared back at him from the two-way mirror in the far wall.
Could be worse , Karnage thought. At least I don’t got a catheter shoved up my pisshole.
He watched in the mirror as the door behind him opened. A pair of hulking Dabneycops squeezed through the door. Tasers and stun sticks hung from their belts. They were followed by a tiny figure in a Dabneycop uniform, conspicuously lacking a matching helmet to cover his face. He was a thin, pallid man wearing thick glasses and a cowlick. The binder he carried was thicker than his rib cage. He shuffled across the room and sat in the empty chair. His two Dabneycop flunkies stood behind him. He pushed up the frames of his glasses, and cleared his throat. “Hello. I’m . . . ah, Dr. Huang.”
Karnage let the silence hang in the air, hoping to unsettle Huang. It worked. “You a shrink?”
Huang’s head jerked and bobbed like a trained seal. “Ha! I suppose that you could, ah . . . put it that way.”
“I ain’t talkin’ to no shrink.”
“That’s rather, um, unfortunate as, ah . . . you’re sort of stuck with me. Ha!”
“Ha,” Karnage said.
Huang paled. He put his binder on the table and sat down.
“That my file?” Karnage said.
“It’s, ah . . . your medical records. Which I suppose is your ‘file.’”
“It say anything in there about how many shrinks I put in the hospital?“
Huang jerked back as if he’d been slapped. He stared at Karnage with wide, hurt eyes, then swallowed. He cleared his throat, and opened the binder. “So, ah . . . let’s get this party started, shall we? Ha!”
“Ha,” Karnage said.
Huang quickly looked away from Karnage and buried his face in his binder. “It says here you’ve spent a lot of time incarcer—ah . . . impris—ah . . . rather, I mean . . . you’ve, ah, spent quite a bit of time under psychiatric—yes! Psychiatric care. Ever since the W—” Huang stopped himself. His face went white.
Karnage felt the blood race to his ears. “Ever since what, Huang?”
The guards reached for their stun sticks. Huang swallowed hard. “Ah . . .”
Karnage strained at his bonds. “Ever since what?!”
Huang’s eyes darted around the room. “Ever since—ah . . . hostilities! Hostilities!” Huang grabbed at the word like a drowning man going for a life preserver. “Ever since the hostilities ended. Ha! World peace and all . . .”
“World peace.” Karnage resisted the urge to spit. “Don’t talk to me about World Peace.”
“You, ah . . . weren’t happy about that?”
“Not like it did me any good.”
“You would have preferred that the W—hostilities! Hostilities!” Huang repeated the word as if it were a talisman to ward off evil spirits. “You would have preferred that hostilities had continued?”
Karnage wrenched forward. “I would’ve preferred not being locked up like some kinda goddamn animal!”
“AH!” Huang jerked back. His pen flew out of his fingers and went flying across the room. He grinned sheepishly. “Ha! Yes! I can see why you’d feel that way.” Huang pulled another pen from his pocket and clicked it open. “Ah! But, ah . . . you know it wasn’t, ah . . . malicious. You were—rather, you are, ah . . . not exactly ‘well.’”
“You saying I’m nuts?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like—”
“I’m not crazy!” Karnage barked.
Huang shrank back. “Well, ah . . . what about the, ah . . . hospital?”
“What about it?!”
“You don’t think that, ah . . . blowing it up—”
“Is that what this is about?”
Huang looked at the two-way mirror as if trying to get guidance. He looked back at Karnage. “Well, ah . . . yes.”
Karnage leaned in and growled. “Get this straight, Chuckles. I didn’t blow up a goddamn thing.”
“No?”
“NO!”
Huang squealed, then tried to laugh it off. “Ha! Is this where the—ah . . . ‘aliens’ come into play?”
Karnage grit his teeth. “You best lose that patronizing tone, Doc, before I tear it outta your throat and shove it up your—”
Karnage’s neck buzzed. “Warning. Sanity Level upgraded to Citrus Blast. Please refrain from violent behaviour. Thank you.”
“You should, ah . . . watch that temper, Major. We wouldn’t want you to, ah . . .”
“Lose my head?”
“Ah. You’ve, ah . . . heard that one before? I should probably, ah . . . stick with my day job, then, eh? Ha!”
“Ha,” Karnage said.
Huang shrank back behind his binder. He cleared his throat. “So, ah . . . is it your contention that these, ah, ‘aliens’ blew up the hospital?”
“It is my contention that you are a royal pain in the ass.”
“Ah!”
“It is also my contention that aliens are gettin’ ready to invade this here dirtball, and you kitty cops need to get the hell outta my way so I can find my troops and we can do our job!”
“So, ah, it is also your, ah . . . contention that your fellow inma— ah, patients are alive?”
Karnage leaned forward, his voice a low growl. “Lemme tell you something, Doc. I may not have all your fancy degrees or a big thick binder to hide behind, but I can tell you this: you do not declare your buddies dead until you got dog tags or body bags. And right now I got nothing. They are MIA. Missing In Action! You get me, Huang, or do I gotta draw you a goddamn diagram?!”
Huang jumped in his chair. “No, ah . . . thank you. I believe I, ah . . . get you.” Huang took a moment to straighten his collar. He shuffled his papers. “Ah . . . if I may—er, rather, would you be willing to, ah . . . entertain an alternate theory?”
“Like what?”
Huang cleared his throat. “Well! Ah . . . perhaps . . . if you could just, ah . . . picture for one moment, ah . . .”
“SPIT IT OUT, HUANG!”
Huang jumped. “Ah! Well, ah . . . what if these ‘aliens’ as you call them weren’t really, ah . . . aliens at all?”
“Well, what the hell else could they be?!”
“Ah! Ha-ha! Well, perhaps they are, ah . . . part of some sort of, ah . . . hallucination?”
Karnage leaned back. “So that’s how it is, huh? Keep the old mushbrain talkin’ and maybe we can eventually get him to come around to seeing things our way.”
“Ah, does that mean that, ah . . . you won’t, ah . . . consider—”
“You can take your goddamn theory and shove it up your ass!”
“Ah! I see.” Huang shut the binder. “Captain Riggs will be very, ah . . . upset to hear about this.”
Riggs! Karnage’s mind reeled. His ears rang. That single word echoed in his head.
Riggs!
Karnage’s hands balled into tight fists. “What do you know about Riggs?”
Huang nodded eagerly. “He, ah . . . served you with you during the—ah, during the hostilities. And he was most disappointed to�
��”
Karnage laughed. Huang cringed at the sound. Karnage glowered at Huang. “Nice try, Huang, but you boys gotta do better research. Sergeant Riggs bought it back in Kandahar. I don’t know who this captain you’re talkin’ about is, but it ain’t him.”
Huang blinked. “But . . . but I assure you that—”
“You got wax in your ears? Riggs is dead! Don’t think I don’t see what’s goin’ on here. You’re just pushin’ my buttons, hopin’ I’ll crack!”
“But I assure you it’s the same Riggs!” Huang said. “The very same sergeant who served with you during The War—AH!” Huang slapped his hand over his mouth.
The War!
Karnage’s blood boiled. Bullets and flames and death rained down on his psyche.
The War!
Huang staggered up from his chair as the two Dabneycops pulled their stun sticks and charged forward.
The War!
Karnage pulled at his restraints. There was the heavy creak of metal fatigue. A wrist restraint snapped, and his right arm was free.
A stun stick came plunging down into Karnage’s vision. Karnage’s free hand whipped up and grabbed the wrist that was holding it. A quick twist snapped it. Somewhere outside of his vision a man screamed. A second stun stick came thrusting in after the first. Karnage adjusted his grip so he held both the broken wrist and the accompanying stun stick and swung it around to meet the second one barrelling towards him. The metal tines of both sticks struck naked flesh. Hot sizzling and the stench of ozone filled Karnage’s nostrils. Two sets of screams filled his ears. Somewhere deep in his vocal chords, a guttural primal laugh flowed up and out and reverberated throughout the room.
The two Dabneycops fell to the floor. Huang was pressed against the two-way mirror, clutching the binder to his chest. Karnage grabbed his remaining restraints and ripped them open with his free hand.
“Don’t talk to me about The War!”
Karnage tossed the table out of his way and charged Huang. Huang pressed himself against the two-way mirror, screaming. Karnage’s fingers wrapped around Huang’s throat. He slammed Huang’s head against the mirror. The mirror sprouted a spiral of jagged spiderweb cracks starting from the back of Huang’s head.
“You want to talk to me about The War?” Karnage hissed. “I’ll tell you about—”
The door behind Karnage burst open. Boots stomped into the room. A familiar voice shouted, “Karnage!”
Karnage turned around. There, standing in front of a line of Dabneycops, was Riggs. His tall, lanky frame had filled out. His hair was grey and pulled back in a ponytail. Crow’s feet had sprung up around the eyes. But there was no mistaking those eyes. It was him.
“Riggs?” Karnage stared at his former sergeant. His fist stayed closed around Huang’s throat.
“Mercy,” Huang weakly clawed at Karnage’s tightened fist. “Please . . .”
A Dabneycop beside Riggs cocked his rifle. “Let the doctor go or we will be forced to open fire!”
“Negative!” Riggs pushed the Dabneycop’s rifle down. “Nobody fires until I give the order! Do I make myself clear, Murtaugh?”
“That’s not how Sydney would have us play it, sir.”
“Sydney’s not in charge here!”
“We found your dog tags. Half-melted, lost in that sea of rubble. How could you . . . ?” Karnage’s fists clenched tighter around Huang’s throat. Huang gasped in his grip. Karnage growled: “You ran. You got scared and you turned tail and ran! Riggs The Roach. Always comin’ out okay! Always! Right up until the end. Right up until the goddamn end!”
“John—”
“We were counting on you to hold your position. When we came back, there was nothing there but a pile of smoking rubble. Nobody to meet us but Uncle Stanley. They came outta the hills like hornets, Riggs. Like a goddamn swarm! We thought for sure you were dead. The Roach had finally been crushed. We shed tears for you, you asshole. We shed goddamn tears!”
“I can explain—”
“You left us behind!” Karnage’s fists tightened around Huang’s neck.
“John, you’re killing Huang!”
“You left us, Riggs. YOU LEFT US!” Karnage dropped Huang and lunged at Riggs.
Murtaugh levelled his weapon. “Open fire!”
“NO!”
Riggs’s cry was drowned out by the pop-pop-pop of automatic weapons fire. The rounds slammed Karnage in the chest, throwing him into the cracked mirror. It shattered. Karnage fell through. He landed in a tumble of desks and screams on the other side.
The wounds in his chest went from hot to cold. Karnage looked down. Brightly glowing ping pong balls covered his chest. Tranquilizers, Karnage thought. The icy coolness spread from his chest to his limbs. He lost consciousness.
CHAPTER TWO
Karnage woke in a holding cell. Its thick metal bars were covered in barbed wire. Blue sparks danced and crackled from the wire to the bars. He stood up.
“Where the hell am I?”
A monitor on the wall behind him came to life. A DC logo splashed across the screen. Dabby Tabby bounced onto the screen and leaned against the logo. He was decked out in an orange prison jumpsuit. His ankle sported a ball and chain. A gentle, female voice wafted from the screen.
“Welcome to the Dabney Correctional Executive Class Hospitality Centre. We hope your stay with us is a pleasant one. Please enjoy these pastoral images and soothing mood music while you await trial and sentencing. And remember—at Dabney Correctional, we believe everyone is innocent until proven guilty. And it shows.”
Treacly music blasted from the walls and ceiling. Karnage clamped his hands over his ears. The music vibrated through his body and threatened to shake the fillings from his teeth. It was unbearable. “Jesus Christ!”
The gentle female voice returned, now at a much higher decibel. “Rather than use offensive language to express yourself, try to articulate what you’re feeling.” Dabby Tabby unrolled a list of words on the screen. “Please feel free to use this vocabulary of handy alternatives to many common expletives.”
“You want vocabulary? How’s this? Shut up, you fucking fuckknuckle!”
“Rather than use offensive language to express yourself, try to—”
Karnage screamed in frustration and kicked the wall. His neck buzzed. “Warning. Sanity Level upgraded to Frothy Cream. Please refrain from violent—”
“Goddammit! What do I have to do to get you cheery bastards to shut the fuck up?!”
A voice shouted to him over the noise. “I can’t help you with that voice in your neck, but I can get that music to stop for you.”
“Who the hell said that?” Karnage whipped around. A grizzled old man in an orange jumpsuit sat in the cell across from his. A pair of reading glasses sat perched on his nose. He held a tattered paperback in his right hand. His left hand ended in a stump. He pointed to the monitor with his stump.
“Tell it you’re hungry,” he said. “It gives you a fork you can use to short the system.”
Karnage did. A tray popped out of the wall. A bowl full of steamy grey pulp was bolted to the middle of the tray. A fork lay beside it. Karnage picked up the fork.
“It’s attached to the tray with a cable.”
“Don’t worry about that,” the old man said. “Just bend up the tines and jam it under the bowl. On the other side. You want it to get jammed up inside the wall when the tray retracts.”
“How’s that?”
“Perfect.”
“What now?”
“Empty the bowl.”
Karnage eyed the oily grey slop. “I ain’t eatin’ that shit.”
“I don’t blame you,” the old man said. “It tastes worse than it looks. Like ground-up cardboard soaked in bacon grease. There’s enough sedatives and hypnodrugs in there to kill an elephant. Scoop it out and dump it in the toilet. But don’t spill any. The sensors in the floor call the cleaning staff when it’s dirty.”
Karnage scooped out the gooey grey mush with h
is hands, and dumped it into the toilet. It was so heavily laced with narcotics it made his skin tingle. Once the bowl was empty, the tray retracted. The fork’s bent handle slid under the rim of the wall with a satisfying thwock. The tray seamlessly disappeared into the wall. The music kept playing.“It didn’t work!” Karnage said.
“Yes, it did,” the old man said.
“Then why the fuck can I still hear music?!”
“Tell it you’re hungry again,” the old man said.
Karnage did. The edge of the tray appeared in the wall, then stuck. Somewhere inside the wall, gears ground. Engines whined. Karnage caught the faint scent of burning plastic. Something inside the wall snapped. The tray shot forward an inch, then sagged back, its bottom edge sticking out from the wall. The music stopped. The monitor flashed blue. Three red Dabby Tabby heads appeared on the screen.
“Error 503. Please wait for assistance.”
“See? What did I tell you?” The old man grinned.
“Sounds like it called for assistance,” Karnage said.
“Yeah. Tech support. Don’t worry about it. It’ll take them days to get here.” The old man jerked his thumb toward his own blue monitor. “Mine’s been like that for a week now and they still haven’t fixed it.”
“You mean nobody’s noticed?“
“Oh, sure, they noticed. Nobody’s done anything about it, yet, though. Other than charging me with cyber-terrorism.”
“Cyber-terrorism?”
“Circumventing security measures. Defacing public property. All falls under the same law. Can’t say I was bothered by it. It’s what got me locked up in here in the first place.”
“You some kind of terrorist?”
The old man snorted. “Yep. If you define terrorism as being too curious for my own good. All I wanted to know was how those biometric scanners worked. Is it my fault they’re so easy to get around? All you have to do is pop the top off and twist the red and green wires together. Bingo! Instant access.”