by Gord Zajac
“Captain Riggs said—”
“Captain Riggs is a lying fuckmonkey,” Sydney said.
Campbell suddenly started and looked around nervously. “Oh man, you know what? You really—I mean really shouldn’t be here. You’re a wanted criminal! I mean . . . I should arrest you. I mean—”
“Campbell, come on now. You haven’t arrested so much as a doughnut as long as I’ve known you. Do you really want to start now?”
Campbell shook his head. “Not really.”
“Good. Now listen, I need your help.” Sydney fished the disc out of her pocket. “Can you play this?”
Campbell took the disc and flipped it over in his hands. “Wow—I mean, really. Wow! I haven’t seen one of these in years. Where did you find this? This is like . . . I mean, it really is a collector’s item. Does it work?”
“I sure as hell hope so. Do you have anything that can play it?”
“I might. I just might.” Campbell jumped up and sifted through the hardware stacked on the shelves. Tangles of wires and screws fell to the floor. “The captain’s always bitching at me, telling me I gotta throw all this stuff out. But I keep telling him, you never know when this stuff will come in handy. You just never know. And now I’m right—I mean, really, I’m right. If I wasn’t holding on to the stuff, you’d never—”
There was a loud crash somewhere above them, followed by shouting. Campbell looked up. “What was that?” He looked at Sydney. “Does that have anything to do with you?”
Sydney grabbed Campbell’s face in her hands. “Campbell, for once in your life, I need you to stay focused. You’ve got to find something to play that disc. Can you do that for me?”
Campbell nodded. “I can. What’s on the disc?”
“Video clips. I need to get them on DiN.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere. All the official channels. All the unofficial channels.”
“There aren’t any unofficial channels left.”
“Just get it on all the channels you can.”
Campbell took another look at the disc. “Why? What is it?”
“You’ll understand when you see it,” Sydney said. “It’s kinda self explanatory. I promise you, Campbell, you get this data up there, you will have saved the world.”
He gave her a funny look. “Huh?”
There was another larger crash, and someone screamed. A muffled noise tore across the floor above them.
It was squiggly.
“What the hell was that?” Campbell said.
“Nothing good.” Sydney stared hard at the ceiling. She heard feet scrambling, and something crackled. “Give me your goober pistol, Campbell. Now.”
Campbell’s hand dropped down to it. “Why?”
“Because I’m a better shot than you.”
Campbell opened his mouth to argue, realized she was right, and shut up. He handed her his pistol. “Don’t let the captain find out about this.”
“He won’t find out, I promise.” Sydney headed for the door. “Just get that video on the DiN. Promise me you’ll do that, C. No matter what.”
“What do you mean no matter what? What’s going on up there?
This has something to do with you, doesn’t it?”
“No. Well, yes. Sort of. Look, it’s just too much to explain. You have to get that video up on the DiN. Before it’s too late.”
“Too late? What do you mean too late? Sydney, what the hell is going on?”
“Trust me, Campbell. Please! And stay here. Otherwise . . . just stay here. You’ll be safe.” She gave Campbell the thumbs up, and left. Sydney shut the door firmly behind her. She took three steps back, and fired three rounds of goober at the frame, sealing it shut.
Get those clips up, C.
There was more crackling and screaming from upstairs. Sydney ran down the hall and through the door into the stairwell. She walked cautiously up the stairs, her gun drawn.
The door to the main floor was gone, nothing but a smoking circle where it used to be. Dabneycops ran past the door. Pink volleys of goober shot across the doorway. Green energy balls flew in the other direction. A squidbug stopped in the doorway, levelled its energy spear, and fired. It looked down and spotted her, but Sydney fired first. Goober bloomed out from the squidbug’s chest as it fell to the ground. More squidbugs appeared in the doorway, their energy spears glowing, and Sydney raced back down the stairs. She could hear the clacking of feet on the stairs above her as she raced through the door at the bottom of the stairs back into the basement. She slammed the door behind her, and fired three more rounds of goober into it. She heard the squidbugs pounding on the door behind her, squiggling in frustration. Then, they grew quiet. Sydney reloaded her pistol, waiting for the goobered door to disappear.
She heard a crack-hiss behind her, and she spun around. Leaning against the wall at the end of the hall was a squidbug lighting a cigarette. The door to the maintenance tunnel swung on its hinges.
Sydney moved to raise her pistol. The squidbug didn’t even turn to look at her. It simply lifted its spear with one hand, and shot a crackling ball of energy across the hall.
Sydney’s world filled with an intense painful green.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“He’s quite an eloquent man, wouldn’t you say?” Patrick tossed the tablet like a frisbee. It slid across the glass floor and flipped over the side into the netting.
“I’d say he’s full of shit,” Karnage said.
Patrick smiled. “Of course you would. That’s exactly the sort of thing you’d say, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is. I just fucking well said it.”
Patrick wagged a finger at Karnage. “You’ve been very naughty. You didn’t tell me you could overcome your little ‘handicap.’ It was quite clever of you, really. You certainly showed me up with that trick, I’ll grant you. Tell me, Major. What did you think of my little trick?”
“You mean that thing where I killed you and you didn’t stay dead?”
Patrick nodded. “Quite something, isn’t it? Wouldn’t you like to know how it works?”
“I’d rather you just stayed dead.”
Patrick languidly shook his head. “That’s not true. You’re curious. And why wouldn’t you be? Imagine what you could do if you could cheat death?”
“There’s some who’d say I’ve been doin’ that all my life.”
“Indeed. But time marches on, doesn’t it? You’re fighting a losing battle on that front, aren’t you?”
“Isn’t everybody?”
“Not me.” Patrick studied Karnage a moment. “I could share my secret with you, if you like. But you’ll have to earn it.” Patrick walked over to the railing and leaned against it. “Would you like to play a game with me, Major?”
“No,” Karnage said.
“I call it Wak-A-Patrick.” Patrick leaned out and grabbed a handful of netting above the tablet. He ripped it from its frame. The tablet slipped out of the netting and twirled end over end into the depths below. “How many times can you kill me before I kill you?”
“What the hell kind of game is that?”
Patrick grinned broadly. “A fun one.”
“Me and my fists versus you and your gun?”
“You have a point,” Patrick said. “That’s not exactly fair, now is it?” He tossed his gun through the hole in the netting, then turned back to Karnage. He gave a slight bow. “Et commence!”
As the two circled each other warily, Karnage repeated his mantra in his head: Cookie, Velasquez, Heckler, Stumpy, Koch. Cookie, Velasquez, Heckler, Stumpy, Koch.
Patrick quivered with anticipation, as if overeager for this rematch. Karnage opted to hold back to see what his opponent would do. Patrick’s impatience got the better of him and he lunged. Karnage sidestepped, grabbed Patrick by the back of his coat, and threw him head first through the tear in the netting.
Patrick’s foot tangled in the net. He hung upside down. His foot was slowly slipping from the tangles, but he made no attempt
to right himself. He looked at Karnage and winked. His foot came loose, and he fell from the tower, quickly disappearing into the distance.
Karnage’s Sanity Patch stayed silent. He reached behind his neck and knocked on its screen. Like riding a bike.
The elevator binged behind him. Karnage turned around. The doors slid open and Patrick strode out, twirling a long black cane.
“I must admit, that was rather foolish of me,” he said. “I was a little overeager, but I think I’ve found my footing now.” Patrick pulled the shaft off the cane, revealing a long thin blade. “Ready for round two?” He raised the sword and ran at Karnage, bringing the blade down in a sweeping blow.
Karnage grabbed Patrick’s sword arm, locked the elbow, and grabbed the sword by its hilt. He jerked it upwards, ripping it out of Patrick’s hand. He brought the blade around and ran Patrick through. His Sanity Patch buzzed. “Warning. Sanity Level upgraded to Citrus Blast. Please refrain from violent behaviour.”
Karnage whispered in Patrick’s ear. “Let’s see you survive that, fucker.”
Then he grabbed Patrick and threw him over the railing and through the hole in the net. He made a point to watch Patrick fall. The reflective glint of the sword rhythmically winked at Karnage as Patrick tumbled out of sight. He waited until the winking had completely disappeared, then headed for the elevator.
Karnage heard a high-pitched whine coming from outside. He turned around.
Patrick flew up and hovered in front of the open netting. He wore a Dabneycop-issued hoverball flightpack. “Excellent technique, Major. Tell me, are you just as talented at dodging bullets?” Patrick pulled a pistol from his jacket and started firing.
“Give me a fuckin’ break!” Karnage dove out of the way as bullets whizzed past his head. He ran around the central cylinder, trying to put anything between him and the flying gunman.
Patrick swooped and bobbed wildly, steering with one hand as he navigated through the net. Bullets exploded across the wall behind Karnage. He saw the discarded cane sheath appear on the deck as he charged around the cylinder. He dove to the ground in a roll, grabbing the empty shaft with a free hand, and leaped back to his feet.
As Patrick passed the hole in the netting, Karnage whipped the cane sheath through it. It smashed into one of the hoverballs, cracking it open. Yellow smoke spewed from its side, and the flightpack jerked out of control. Patrick frantically worked the controls as the flightpack spiralled out of sight. Karnage watched as the contraption fell. It struck the side of the tower, and the hoverballs broke off in either direction. Patrick’s body continued hurtling toward the ground, colliding with the tower as it fell.
Karnage leaned against the railing and took a moment to catch his breath. He walked back to the elevator. The doors and the console were riddled with bullets. He tried pressing the buttons, but nothing happened. “Shit.” He ran to the Emergency Exit door and placed his hand on the knob to pull it open.
He heard the faint sounds of feet running up metal stairs coming from the other side, getting louder with each frenetic step. Karnage snarled. “Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me!”
He pressed himself against the wall, and the door kicked open. Patrick burst through, brandishing a rocket launcher. Karnage kicked the rocket launcher out of his hands and punched him across the jaw. Patrick stumbled across the deck and fell to the floor.
Karnage snatched up the rocket launcher and set it on his shoulder. Patrick rose to his feet, brushing down his uniform. He looked at Karnage and smiled. “Brilliant. Is there anything you can’t defend against?”
“No,” Karnage said, and fired the rocket.
There was the slightest shout from Patrick as he was engulfed in an explosion. Smoke billowed out and filled the deck. Charred bits of what was probably Patrick flew out in all directions from the cloud. When the smoke finally cleared, there was nothing left of Patrick but a blackened, mangled hole in the floor.
“Congratulations, Major,” a voice said behind him. “You win.”
Karnage turned and saw Patrick level a machine gun at him. The inevitable spray of bullets hit Karnage square in the chest, knocking him backwards. Stumbling, he fell through the hole in the floor.
Karnage tumbled through the sky, the bullet wounds hot across his chest. Suddenly, they went cold. Karnage looked down. Tranquilizer balls dotted his shirt. What the . . .
The tranquilizers knocked him out before he could finish the thought.
MK#9: DOUBLE THE KARNAGE, DOUBLE THE FUN!
CHAPTER ONE
The world spun in Karnage’s head, twirling violently, like he was circling down into a drain without end. Then, without warning, the spinning stopped. The world dipped, and Karnage felt himself propelled upward. He felt like he was flying, pushing through damp clouds, bursting out into cold blue sky, flying higher and higher until he was floating in ice cold black.
Bright pinpricks of consciousness pierced the black. They swelled in size. Features became visible in the soft circles of light. Black glasses and mouths like belly slits that curved up slightly at the corners. The faint outline of chauffeur’s caps resolved themselves in the gloom. They were all Patrick. Every one of them. They smiled and leered and stared down at him. The faces swirled around him as they talked amongst themselves.
“He’s ugly.”
“Much uglier than I would have thought.”
“Are you sure it’s him?”
“It’s him.”
“Amazing.”
“Astounding.”
“How many times has he killed us?”
“A hundred?”
“A thousand.”
“Really?”
“No, nothing like that. You’re exaggerating.”
“He could, though.”
“You’re being silly.”
“I’ve seen him in combat. He’s brilliant.”
“Simply brilliant.”
Karnage tried to focus his mind, to wake him himself up from this dream. The faces swirled tightly together, merging from thousands into hundreds.
“He’s trying to focus.”
“Can he see us?”
“He can see us.”
“Look at his eyes.”
“So cold.”
“So calculating.”
“So brilliant.”
Karnage tried to shake the vision away, but it wouldn’t go. The hundred Patricks merged again, down to tens, then to three. “Who caught him?”
“I did.”
“Good work.”
“Thank you.”
“Bravo.”
“Thank you both.”
Karnage’s eyes slowly came into focus, the three Patricks stubbornly staying apart. They were sharp and clear as day in front of him. And that’s when he realized it.
There were three of them.
The three Patricks stood in a line in front of Karnage. He was sitting in a wheelchair. Thick ropes tied him to the chair by his wrists and ankles. A single set of fluorescent tubes hung from a fixture overhead. The walls and ceiling were a dull metallic grey. He was inside a cargo container.
The three Patricks looked down at Karnage. Their faces beamed.
“Congratulations, Major,” the first one said.
“You’ve won the game,” the second one said.
“You’ve earned the prize,” the third one said.
“Would you like to see it?” the second one said.
The first one moved aside. “It would like to see you.”
Behind him was an old man sitting in an electric wheelchair. He hit the joystick on the armrest with a gnarled hand, and wheeled forward. The other Patricks stepped back in deference to the old man. He wore an old Uncle Stanley uniform that hung loosely from his frame. Medals clanked and gleamed against his chest. Four stars were affixed to each of his epaulets. A pair of plastic sunglasses covered half his face. He reached up with shaking hands and pulled them off, revealing thick lenses affixed to thin wire frames. They magnified his p
ale eyes, showing white dots of cataract in the pupils.
“Hello, you,” he said.
“Who the fuck are you?” Karnage said.
The old man smiled. “I was rather hoping introductions wouldn’t be necessary. That perhaps you would have recognized me without me having to—well, that was all a long time ago, wasn’t it? We were the greatest of enemies then. Oh, what a pair we made. But memories fade with time. Perhaps the name Patrick Mayhew will ring a bell?”
Karnage started. It did ring a bell. It rang a bell so loud and clear in Karnage’s skull it felt like there was an alarm klaxon blasting from one temple to the other. Karnage looked at the three Patricks and back at the old man. Finally, he twigged to the similarities. He recognized the faces. All of them. All four of them. Karnage’s heart thumped in his chest.
“General Patrick Mayhew,” he said. “Otherwise known as . . . General Mayhem.”
The old man shook his head. “I so wish you wouldn’t call me that. I never cared for that nickname.”
“Seemed a pretty accurate description to me,” Karnage growled. “What with all the people you killed. The trail of destruction you left behind.”
Mayhem smiled. “I was good at my job, wasn’t I? You were no slouch yourself, Major. I lost count of the number of times you laid waste to my best plans. The number of missions that had to be scrapped because of a stubborn little carpy known as Major Karnage. Oh, how you vexed me at first. I wanted nothing more than to see your head on a pike. But after your ingenious escape from New Baghdad, I found myself taking a shine to you. I surprised myself with that. There you were, my most despised enemy, the very embodiment of everything I hated most about the carpies, and yet, I just couldn’t help myself. You were so . . . brilliant.
“Your escapades amused me greatly. Your constant promotions and demotions—the demotions I loved most of all. You weren’t just a pain in my posterior. Your own superiors despised you as well. And yet, they couldn’t get rid of you. You were just too valuable to them, weren’t you? By my calculations, you should have earned the rank of Field Marshal five times over in your career. But that never mattered to you, did it? You didn’t care about your career. You cared only for the battle ahead, and for the men that served under you. If the carpies hadn’t been in such desperate straits, I’m sure they would have had you shot a hundred times over—and what a horrible waste that would have been.