(PRIVATE: 4th October, 2011)
Drove today, after the sham of morning prayers with father and brothers. Went to Abu Dhabi and then straight back home to Dubai, just to feel the speed. Clear the head. Plan the next move.
Got the car up to 150 on Sheikh Zayed Road before it started to shudder and groan, like always. Smiled while speeding in the passing lane, watching those who wanted to go just a little faster (but not that fast) look in their rear view mirrors and see the car coming. Watched that delicious widening of the eyes in the meat as they realized that it was not going to slow down.
Laughed as they got out of the car's way in a hurry, sometimes speeding up just a little faster to get past the slow cars and avoid an accident. Laughed louder when one went into the ditch and rolled over, throwing steel and oil and meat everywhere.
(Was still being worked on by emergency crews when coming back from Abu Dhabi. Two ambulances. Covered stretchers hiding broken meat. Many onlookers with sad, fateful faces.)
Pulled over in shade of towers and drank tea from flask, watching cars go by. No meat stopped to question, or watch. Perfect time to think, away from prying, familial meat. No facebook or twitter or increasingly petulant emails from angry employer. Just the road, the heat, the wind, the metal flying by.
The metal, flying. Moving. Breathing. Hissing like water in fire.
Always the metal, crying louder than the call for prayer.
Brass is an alloy of copper and zinc. It has been in use in these lands for centuries. Look anywhere in any country and it will be seen, shiny or dull, small or large. It is the metal skin of the craftsman's wares, shining in the sun or smoldering in the dark.
Waiting to be discovered.
Early years were difficult. The meat was a shell that could be climbed outside at will. Metal became another, better body, containing all senses, and all thoughts.
The meat was left helpless at these times, leading to beliefs of fainting spells, possibly a more serious condition. Learned to hide the talent. Learned to keep quiet about playing in the fields of metal.
Learned that brass was best conductor, and that hinged or flexible metal could be moved like the body. Learned to control metal bodies. Small at first. Then larger.
Learned to take over entire buildings if needed, though control lessens with size.
Did things with these bodies. Small at first. Then larger. Many unsolved crimes in Dubai. Many were not done by meat.
Went to classes. Learned the trade of the metalsmith's. Bought tools and supplies. Told meat family it was sculpture, and they believed, or did not care.
Meat never cared, really. The Meat concern about fainting and possible illness turned to overly cautious behavior turned to apprehension and fear. Meat gave almost everything asked of them just to avoid dealing with the "sick" and "unwell."
Meat put up the money for "Western" university. Meat did not care about classes on archaeology, mythology, literature, philosophy. Meat did not notice strange books around the house.
Meat never read "Howl." Never felt the words burning. Searing and tearing aside the world like veils. Calling like the metal, like a drumbeat in the mind.
Smashing the meat money. Smashing the fake god. Smashing the world, blow by blow.
Burning the world, child by child.
Meat never saw the connections. Meat never saw the poem leading to the ultimate form. Meat never saw the metal take shape, guided by words, hammering and burning and cutting the brass ribs, the flexible arms and legs, the magnificent length.
Moloch, staring and hating. Moloch, burning and smashing. Moloch striding across the world, triumphant, and powerful.
Moloch, claiming all meat for its own.
Metal always felt more comfortable than meat, but never felt so right before Moloch. The first time inside it was better than anything imaginable. Like finding the true love promised in books, or the touch of Allah meat speaks of in the Mosques at Friday prayer.
Only real, this time. Real and solid and hot as noonday sand.
Many crimes in Dubai, after that. Many meat murders not witnessed by the living. Only a large truck with tinted windscreens seen driving away, its metal cargo hidden.
(Perfect alibi. Was "home" all the time, "asleep" in room while truck drove, and Moloch raged. No one suspected.)
Moloch did not kill for money. Meat money is worthless. Moloch killed hypocrites and cheats and liars and those with too much money, but left it all there for the meat police to find, and be puzzled over.
Meat murder is better if there is no motive.
Then Moloch was seen raging. Photographs taken on cell phones and beamed around the world before Moloch could stop them. Had to kill that Moloch to stop meat from tracing it back to me. A sad day, but only a small setback.
Moloch is eternal. Metal cannot die.
Received strange email while building the second Moloch. Strange, petulant language, badly translated into Arabic. Suggested meeting in the Undernet to discuss "item of mutual interest." Possible trap, but something about the strange tone suggested not perfidy, but clumsiness and desperation. Agreed to meet.
Employer is strange, but has noble goal. Employer wants to kill the false deity, SPYGOD, who has helped bring ruin and disaster to this region since before meat was born. Moloch could agree to such a thing.
Employer knows that fire is the weakness of the deceiver. Employer suggested modifying "armor" to include fire, and provided schematics for method of drawing heat from meat, in keeping with Moloch's history. Employer was also willing to share teleport technology, and provide bandwidth on secret, disused satellite network to accommodate worldwide reach of the target.
Moloch agreed. Details were sent. Devices constructed and built into new Moloch. Strange method of creating fire was touch-and-go, based on old supervillain gimmick, but not insoluble. After a few tries with useless meat family members, Moloch mk. 2 worked perfectly.
First attempt to kill SPYGOD was good trial run, but unsuccessful. Target quickly learned weakness of fire method: if meat captive dies, fire goes out. Teleported away to change tactics.
Moloch mk. 2.1 included increased shielding around head and vitals of meat. Also picked meat that target might hesitate to shoot. Second attempt was also unsuccessful. Target brought sub-zero ordinance, which froze fire and caused thin metal to shatter. Also clearly did not care about meat. Teleported away to change plan.
Then target taunted Moloch in the newspaper, giving place and time for rematch. Rare moment of genuine frustration led to change of tactics. Well known in region that SPYGOD has friends amongst turncoat, west-loving Arabs. Easy to find helpless meat family member of one friend, place her inside Moloch, and meet SPYGOD at coordinates.
Plan worked perfectly. SPYGOD genuinely stunned and unprepared. Willing to completely disarm and let Moloch burn him in vain hopes of saving meat life. Not aware that to enter Moloch is to be doomed.
Burned him to meat. To cinders. To bones and ash and powder.
Hidden allies of SPYGOD fired "Freeze Cans" at Moloch. Returned fire but seconds later intense cold shattered Moloch. Barely able to teleport back to meat.
But mission was successful. SPYGOD was dead. Rested for week, planning to build new Moloch with money gained from employer.
Then receive word of the impossible. SPYGOD is alive.
How can this be? No one is sure. Was dead when Moloch left. Ashes and powder in human shape.
Employer is still furious. Does not dare call Moloch a cheat and a fraud, but calls Moloch incompetent and weak, amongst many other, strange names that do not translate very well.
(Employer may not be sane, but sanity as false a concept as Allah. Employer is as Moloch is.)
Employer is offering more money for a fourth attempt, but money is worthless. Enough parts and schematics and experience to make better Moloch. Enough money to fund. Enough meat family to test new systems.
Moloch will kill SPYGOD because SPYGOD must die. There is no God but Moloch, and Moloch needs no messenger.
Moloch will show SPYGOD his error, and then the hellfire.
Drive back to meat home, soon. Tea growing cold and there is so much to do.
(MUSIC: Parabola (Tool, Lustmord Remix, DRINK: Tea)