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Summer Wars: A Live Report Rip Off
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Chapter 13: From North of ……. Oh Fuck
“I don’t see anything, sir.” A quick glance at the monitor confirmed that the soldier was telling the truth. “Judging from the size it’s just a migrating bird. An albatross maybe.”
DARKING crossed his arms before his chest and took a deep drag of his cigar. The ember might as well have been a star in the shadowy room. Overhead, the smoke was sent swirling into the rafters by whirling fans. An albatross, why not. There was no way anything larger was getting through.
Weeks had passed since the last incident at the Peruvian border. The resistance had tried to break through the blockade on the northern coast, but his boys had cleaned it up easy as pie. Their contacts in the French government might have been overwearing, baguette chomping c!@ts, but they the best gear out there and had been kind enough to supply him anything he wanted. Black Ops, Spetsnaz, Kidon, they were feared the world over, but DARKING’s boys made them look like kids.
Making sure no one escaped Peru was a boring job, though. The money was good, but he craved adventure and there was little of that in this jungle fortress. He spent his nights sleeping within a mosquito nest and his days staring over people’s shoulders. And the daily calls! The fucking accent on the French contact was like taking a cheese grater to his ears. They just kept coming, constantly checking in, second guessing and questioning. There was only one way to make it stop.
DARKING shut the door behind him. His bags were already packed, the preparations long since having been made. Money, power and territory was all nice and well, but he had his eyes set on a kingdom that wasn’t a sweltering jungle. His mind drifted across the ocean his contact at the French government was lying dead, blood pooling at his throat. From there it wouldn’t take much to take out Durn, the one who really called the shots. A smile crossed DARKING’s face.
Time to make it happen.
Chapter: 14 Innovator of Sorts
Not everyone was a fan of unconventional. There were a lot of ways to skin a cat, but only a few approved ways to kill a man. Fists, knives, guns mostly. Of course a few rather odd torture devices, but the point remained people liked to stick to the tried and true methods. That shit was for the birds.
They said you couldn’t kill a man with a golf ball, but spraying lemon juice in someone’s eyes incapacitated them just long enough to shove one down their throat. They laughed at him when he brought bars of soap to a fight, but that’s just because they didn’t realize how slick and sudsy the floor in the ring was. His opponent went down in a heap and it didn’t take long for his face to become an unrecognizable pulpy mess.
Just as there were approved weapons, there were approved fighting styles. Ju-jitsu, Taekwondo and a few others were rather popular in the fighting circuit, but that was merely because no one had taken the time to learn how a toilet paper roll could be used to gouge out someone’s eyes.
Simply put, Ej was an innovator. His unorthodox approach to fighting had taken him to the heights of the Polish underworld. Imagine a scene out of Fight Club, but without the sweat lathered muscles. Just a lot of belly fat and alcohol. Yep, that was his reality, but he rather liked being king. His bed was filled with women and a chalice of barely palatable vodka was always within reach.
But was it really enough? He pondered this on long walks through the Warsaw night. It was the only city he had ever known, really, and he craved for some adventure. His talents were renowned in his home land. So much so that he couldn’t help wonder what kind of acclaim they could earn him on foreign soil.
He’d thought about it many times, but this was finally the night. He tossed his backpack on the passenger seat and lowered himself into the car. Rumor had it King Durn was finally done pouting in his castle. He was supposed to be the greatest warrior of his generation, a talent not seen for hundreds of years. An even match, huh? Ej liked the sound of that. He turned the key and stepped on the gas. He would find Durn and he would kill him. It didn’t matter if it took a subwoofer to the head or a lightbulb to the Achilles, he would take care of the diminutive Frenchman. Then he’d be King. And being King of the world sounded way better than another night in some seedy Warsaw club.
Chapter: 15 This Again?
Heartland shook his head and grumbled. People were never where they were supposed to be. Just because it was a breezy 16 C didn’t mean he wanted to stand outside all day. And yet, that was precisely what he’d been doing for the last three hours. Didn’t they know what “Meet here at 10:30” meant? Didn’t they realize he was supposed to catch a plane?
Honestly, he wondered if anyone understand anything these days. It felt like 50% of his time was spent waiting for someone. He’d go to the doctor only to find the moron had skipped out to lunch. Spending a pleasant afternoon with a friend was out of the question. They never seemed to make it. Believe it or not, they usually had some absurd excuse about waiting for hours and hours for him. AS IF! It was really, really simple, but he seemed to be the only person who could get it right. Being him was easy, it was when everyone else came into the picture that things got complicated.
Heartland started walking. Catching this flight was extremely important. It was better to start walking than stick around and hope for something to materialize out of thin air. It was, in fact, the most important trip he’d made in some time. He’d flown all around the globe and, while he always missed his appointments, he had gone on some nice strolls through some of the world’s most recognizable cities.
He wouldn’t settle for recreation this time, though. He may have been going to Paris, but there was business to attend to. He was supposed to meet with King Durn as the man had been too dumb to assemble the IKEA furniture he had recently purchased. It was an onerous task, but one Heartland could never pass up. Because they said the government was unsettled and eager for a change of regime. Could he defeat Durn in a straight up fight? Probably not, but there was more than one way to usurp a monarch.
It was a long walk, but he better get started. He was already behind schedule and only by a miracle would he get to the airport in time.
Chapter 16: The Short End of the Stick
“Please put your tray back in the upright position.”
Cricketer groaned and rolled his neck. No one was a fan of intercontinental travel, but Cricketer’s choice of the window seat in row 17 meant that he had spent the whole time wedged between the wall and a man the size of a rhinoceros. It was just another bad choice in a long line of poor decisions. There was no denying it at this point, things just never went his way.
His first memory was at his fourth birthday when someone put one of those absurd cricket stick, bat things before him. He should have picked the basketball, at least then he would have someone to play with. Oh how things could have gone differently.
When Pokemon came out, he spent his night starting at his Digimon cards. When his Dad let him bet on the second Giants Patriots Super Bowl, he put every cent he had on the Pats. He’d voted incorrectly on every election and the college he chose stopped offering his major a week after he payed for his first semester. Call it luck, call it bad decisions, for whatever reason he was always making the wrong choice and always suffering for it. He had had enough.
This was where he’d turn it all around. Sometimes you had to make big moves to shake things up and, frankly, he couldn’t imagine anything bigger than killing the most powerful man in the world and taking his throne. Sure he’d never killed anyone, but some creative use of bad luck might change that. Intentionally setting himself up for failure might just mean that he’d be able to turn a curse into a blessing.
All he had to do was do everything the wrong way. He had a hard time explaining it to himself, but it made sense in theory. Right? RIGHT? All he knew was that things were going to turn around. He felt bad that Durn would get caught up in this whole business, but he just couldn’t live another day like that. It was time to make his own luck.
Writer: Mizenhauer
Editor: The Spirit of Tzuyu
Graphics: Hexhaven
