Wednesday, September 26, 2012

8/9/12 - Sometimes, You're Better Off Dead

So, now what?

That's the question that's been !@#$ing with me since I got back from my unexpected month-long siesta, courtesy of the big !@#$ divine conceptual blowback that punching alternate earth Unhappy Jesus in the kisser got me. And I've spent all !@#$ing day, and all !@#$ing night, and then all of another !@#$ing day and night trying to figure it out.

See, usually, when some !@#$ing !@#$holes and their super army of !@#$heads tries to conquer the world, I've got so much !@#$ firepower I'm practically tripping all over my options.

I got strategic talents on speed dial, and super soldiers lined up around the !@#$ing block. I got mercenaries in every nation, spies in ever henhouse, and assassins just ready to go. I can call up the Emperor of Atlantis for a favor, too, if I don't mind him !@#$ing bragging about everything and asking me when we're going to forget that little mistake he made back in the 30's.

I got technology we haven't even !@#$ing figured out yet, except that it goes BOOM when we throw it and BANG when we pull the trigger. Trains, planes, and !@#$ing automobiles. I got human bombs and living lasers, talking planes and exploding monkeys.

!@#$, son. I've got killer islands, lurking out there in the !@#$ing Pacific Ocean, if I need them. You do not want to know where they come from, or how they work, or what I !@#$ing had to do to get them on our side. But I make a call and someone sends a command, and you can just kiss your sorry aquatic offensive the !@#$ goodbye, buddy.

And, to top it all off? We got Deep !@#$ing Ten, up there, making sure they can't call for help from the !@#$ing Spider People, or something. 

But this time?

Well, son, I'm sorry to say that, in the wake of the first successful takeover of the entire !@#$ing planet, I ain't got !@#$.

GORGON went and did an expert !@#$ing runaround on me, son. They stalled me, kept me guessing, and then came from !@#$ing nowhere with this amazingly effective !@#$ plan of theirs.

They took over people, years in advance, so they could sneak in and get us where it hurt. They neutralized us, kept us from seeing what they were really !@#$ing up to. Then they got me off planet on the mother of all !@#$ed up rescue missions, knowing it was almost a sure !@#$ thing that I would not be coming back from it. 

And then, on the day, they pointed Deep Ten's guns the wrong !@#$ing way around and blew the !@#$ out of our ability to make war in the sky.

And now? Now they've got the whole !@#$ing world fooled into thinking that they're the !@#$ing good guys, here. They've changed their name and their image, and convinced them that the big, bad US of A was going to conquer the world, first, but they stopped them.

It's just that, now, they need to control everything because a really bad menace is coming from outer !@#$ing space, and if we don't all pull together, we're !@#$ing doomed.

Hence the labor camps, the observation platforms disguised as television screens, the child hostages, and everything that I !@#$ing missed while I was being tossed forwards in time by a !@#$ed off super-kid with some control problems and a lot of anger issues.

Hence the trials I couldn't stop, the executions I couldn't prevent, and god knows what other !@#$ing atrocities have been going on this whole time.

Hence this !@#$ty world I've come back to, and my sudden and sad !@#$ing shortage of options to deal with it.

Now, given this kind of a situation, most people would probably dig themselves in for the long haul.

See, people like me aren't !@#$ing stupid, mostly. Faced with these kinds of realities, they should figure that we're pretty good and !@#$ed. They should know that if we make too much noise, too soon, they'll pick us off from orbit and then blow the !@#$ out of what's left, just to be !@#$ing sure.

So the best thing to do is move slow, organize in secret, infiltrate the enemy, and eventually dig ourselves into them so well that they could never !@#$ing find us in a million !@#$ing years. And then, one day, we strike, and the planet's !@#$ing free, again.

And it's a good plan, really. It makes perfect !@#$ing sense. It plays to our strengths and their weaknesses, and while it might be really !@#$ slow, and more people might get killed during that time, we'll eventually win.

Why? Because we're good, and they're evil, and therefore the world owes us a big !@#$ing break.

Unfortunately, we don't have the time for that kind of !@#$, right now.

You see, son, when GORGON, or Imago, or whatever the !@#$ they are, talk about some menace coming from outer !@#$ing space? They aren't !@#$ing kidding.

It is real, son. It is coming. I'm not 100% sure of what exactly it is, yet, but I've got some nasty !@#$ing suspicions.

And all I !@#$ing know for certain is that, whatever these Imago !@#$s are planning to do when it gets here? I don't think it's going to be for the aggregate benefit of the whole !@#$ world.

So no, son. We're not going to dig in and infiltrate and take them out within a !@#$ing generation or two. We're going to gather our forces in secret, get an army together, and get it ready to go. And once I've figured out what they're !@#$ing up to, and how they're !@#$ing doing what they're doing, and why, we're going to !@#$ing strike.

Preferably well before the outer space monster comes here.

Can I do it? Of course I !@#$ing can, son. Who do you think you've been dealing with, all this time? Elmer !@#$ing Fudd?

See, I may not have all the options that I used to, but I still got quite a few. I still got my safe houses and bolt holes. I still got my arms caches and little secret holdings and hideouts, here and there. And I got a few allies, out there, working together or separately.

!@#$, I may even be able to turn some enemies into allies, at this point. 

Best of all, Imago probably still thinks I'm !@#$ing dead or missing in action. And so long as I don't give them any !@#$ing reason to think otherwise, they won't be ready for what fresh !@#$ I'm gonna cook up for their sorry !@#$ !@#$s.

 It's gonna be a long, hard haul out of this !@#$, son. They denied me my No-Suits, back when they shot that dumb!@#$ Governor. They have control of my !@#$ing flier. !@#$ only knows where my cat got off to, and I shudder to think what happened to METALMAID without me to give her directions.

And I can't go too !@#$ big too !@#$ quick, or innocents will pay the price. They have Deep Ten, and I know the kind of !@#$ing damage their big guns can do. I've seen what's !@#$ing left of Choibalsan's airport, now, and I can only imagine that scene replayed all over the !@#$ing world.

I act up too loudly, or play my cards too soon? Maybe they just incinerate me and whoever I'm with. Or maybe they incinerate a whole !@#$ing city, just to try and kill me. Or maybe they !@#$ing incinerate some other city, like Neo York, just to bring me to !@#$ing heel like a bad dog that !@#$ on their carpet.

Or maybe they do something really nasty to the kids they're keeping !@#$ing cooped up in their little "school habitat" things. And that would be even !@#$ing worse than losing Neo York, quite frankly.

Yeah, quite a barrier, there. Big !@#$ barrier. Anyone else with any !@#$ing sense might say "!@#$ it" and pack their bags for Jupiter or something.

But I think I got something down, over on that weird, alternate future Earth that I wound up in. I can do any !@#$ thing I set my mind to, so long as I don't factor on living through it.

That's not to say I'm gonna count myself amongst the !@#$ing dead, yet, son. I'm not !@#$ing looking to go out and go bang. That's not my !@#$ing style (except when it occasionally is, of course.)

But I am very !@#$ ready, as of this moment, to put any worries about my personal survival to the side, and put the survival of the world and its' people first.

It's no different an attitude than when I started out. When I signed up for the Army, after Pearl Harbor, I did so to protect my country. And I did it knowing !@#$ well (even if I didn't really understand it, yet) that I might wind up dead on some battleground, somewhere.

It wasn't until they realized I had "special qualities," and sent me to Camp Rogers, that the idea that I could actually really live though the bad !@#$ing !@#$ the enemy might throw at me came into the equation. And then, when I got the Chandra Eye, and not only got even more !@#$ing superpowers than I know what to do with, but effective !@#$ing immortality?

!@#$, son. I've been living so high on the !@#$ing hog it's a wonder I don't !@#$ing oink when I talk.

But not being able to die has made me forget what it's like to be !@#$ing afraid. And that forgetting has made me a !@#$ leader, and a really !@#$ poor strategist. It's damaged my planning beyond any sense of repair.

And now, in hindsight, I have to say the only reason I've won through so many times is probably because I had so many !@#$ options that I was !@#$ing tripping over them.

So this is where I learn to be a !@#$ing man, again. A soldier. A leader.

This is where I learn to crawl through the bush and eat snakes and bugs. This is where I learn all I can before I start !@#$ing shooting. This is where I learn to reassemble a big !@#$ army and get it marching in the right !@#$ing direction.

And if there's one thing I know, learning is a !@#$, especially for someone as !@#$ing stubborn as I am. Thankfully, I'll have someone along with me to kick me in the !@#$ing skull when I start getting too high on my own !@#$ fumes, again.

So it'll be me and the President, leaving Choibalsan and heading off to the rest of Asia, and then the world. We will take in the sights, hide in my boltholes, and see what kind of allies we can find. We'll also be looking into certain things that I either didn't really look into before, about our enemies, which at this point is absolutely !@#$ing essential to whatever we're going to do.

And hopefully, at the end of it, I'll have all the pieces of this puzzle ready to put into play.

A tough road? !@#$ !@#$ing right, son. But after that little incident I had after I knocked out unhappy Jesus (which I'm not going to talk about, just yet) I've had my horizons broadened just a little.

And I think, now that I've had some time to contemplate that !@#$, I'm ready for it.

Consider this my apology tour, then, planet Earth. I'm sorry I !@#$ed up so bad. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me. And I'm !@#$ sorry for what's going to have to come next.

But Imago, or GORGON, or whatever the !@#$ they're calling themselves these days? They're going to be !@#$ing sorrier still.

Payback isn't just a !@#$, son? It's murder. Pure, bloody murder.

And Imago gets to find out all about that.


Nice evening, here in Mongolia. From here I can hear that one, lonely satellite I made contact with when we got back here. It's still calling to me, wondering where it is, and what happened, and why it's been left all alone up there.

I raise a glass of proper beer up to it in a toast. Maybe someday we'll meet, and laugh about all this !@#$.

We two survivors, needing to learn how to really survive in this frightful new world.

(SPYGOD is listening to West End Girls (Pet Shop Boys) and having a Har Horum)

No comments:

Post a Comment