The Business of War
Orchestrated By C.M. Rich (Magnetman)
Stage 4
By Rich
Iron Blizzard
Location: Wichita, Kansas, USA...6 Weeks since the onset of War...
“Alright, Hal. Once you complete this round, bring ‘em on in and we’ll send out the next shift.”
“Hal” was Harold Baker. Or “Sergeant Hal” to his squad of Wichita-stationed Marines, as he was so-named.
“Roger.”, he sighed back curtly to the voice on the other end of the headset. Like his squad mates, Hal was pretty disenchanted with his assignment. Here he was, a talented up and comer in the US Army, and he was stuck here, in the middle of nowhere guarding…what?
Nuclear silos.
“Leftovers from the Cold War.”, he called them. “We’re guarding leftovers, and there’s World War Three going on everywhere else.”
He signaled the rest of his team that it was almost time to go home. Another few blocks and they could all resign themselves to a night of boredom, waiting for something interesting to happen. They were a group of “battle addicts”, as they were named by their platoon leader. Maybe that’s why they were shipped out to this meaningless place.
The war had been going on for nearly a month now. The most action they had seen was on MMN, outside of a riot involving pro-Shutdown citizens and Cossack-supporting lunatics a few weeks ago.
For the most part, this small-time town had been left untouched in the war, even as large parts of America was being devastated.
Wichita itself had been evacuated weeks ago as a precaution. This was, after all, a “nuke town”- an attack here seemed almost inevitable.
And yet, it was eerily quiet.
The streets were empty, completely devoid of life during the “golden hour” of town activity, when most families would be out getting a meal together, or shopping, or whatever the hell normal people do with their time. Sergeant Hal had always been very distant from that kind of life.
Then came the static in his ear.
“Base, repeat last trans, over.”, Hal asked.
All he received was more static.
“Dammit…”, he spat as he looked over to his grunts, who also seemed to be hearing the static. “Radio’s whigged.”
“Probably just that time of th’ month.”, “Surly Andy” sneered. He was the “tech head” of the group of six. At least it got a laugh out of the rest of the group.
“Cut the shit, Andrews.”, Hal barked. “We’ll joke when we’re in the mess hall. Let’s get through this last round, first.”
“Hey, Sarge…”, Private Clocker suddenly called. “Check it out.”
“It” was a storm about two miles away, over the downtown theatre district. However, something was very odd about this particular storm, despite the clouds threatening rain all day.
“Pretty damn small rain storm.”, Andrews pointed out. “Fuckin’ weird.”
Hal’s eyes sharpened. “Base, this is Baker. We’re gonna be a bit late.”, he cautioned.
He still got nothing.
“Hey…You feelin’ this?”, Clock uttered with bewilderment.
The half dozen men could definitely feel something. They felt as though they were being pulled towards the storm, which was now completely obscuring the area on the horizon. Andrews checked his watch, only to note something odd.
“Hey Sarge, check it out.”, he showed the disgruntled leader his watch, which had both hands pointing directly towards the storm. And it sure wasn’t one in the afternoon.
“This might be some serious shit.”, Hal announced to his team. “Do NOT hesitate! This area is red, so if someone’s here, its their own damn fault if we happen to shoot ‘em.”
Deftly, the team swept in towards the storm. It wasn’t long until they were right on top of it.
“You taste that? Its like lickin’ a battery.”, Private Whitmore complained.
“Shit…Might be a dirty bomb.”, it suddenly occurred to Hal. “Reports speculate that sloppy nuclear weapons might leave this kinda taste in your mouth as it kills you.”
“Aww, shit, man!”, Andrews cursed as he began spitting.
“Don’t bother; that’ll do you no good.”, Hal admonished. “’Sides, I ain’t no scientist, so it might not even be a dirty bomb. It’s still pretty weird, though.”
“What do you wanna do, Sarge?”, Clock asked, concerned about his own wellbeing.
“Radio’s still out.”, Hal mentioned. “But I still don’t want to take any chances. We gotta know if this is just some weird ass storm, or if its something more serious. Alright, or priority here is to recon- we’re gonna have to get any intelligence on this back to base in person, don’t fuck up and die on me. Stay close, and stay frosty, gents.”
Wandering deeper into the storm itself, the group realized how unnaturally calm it was.
It wasn’t so much of a storm as it was a fog.
Clock swiped his hands across the air, grabbing some of the atmosphere-clogging material. Opening his hand, he showed it to his sergeant.
“Metal?”, Hal questioned. “Is it chaff?”
“Well, it’s functioning like chaff. This is probably what’s screwing up our radios.”, Clock explained.
“Team, this is quite possibly the work of an enemy force, if this is deliberate.”, Hal quickly informed the rest of his team. “But do not engage them.”, he reminded.
“What could they want?”, Andrews whispered. “The silos are pretty far away from here.”
“This might be a diversionary tactic.” Hal rebutted. “Meant to get our attention while they go after the silos.”
The group continued forward until they came across one more phenomena.
“Hey…What the hell?!”
Whitmore’s question matched that of his other comrades. It wasn’t every day an entire block’s worth of buildings was…gone.
Well, not really gone, per say. Just smashed level with the street. Super compacted.
“Well, this is definitely-…Who’s that?”, Clock interrupted himself.
Down the street, a distinctly human figure could be seen in the metallic haze. Strangely, it made absolutely no movement, and appeared to be peering right at them.
The squad collectively looked to their sergeant. Hesitant, he urged them to follow him.
Even more cautiously, they lurked forward, finally reaching within fifty feet of the somewhat small man.
“Check it out…Dude’s floating…”, Andrews noticed.
“Guy’s probably a fuckin’ robot.”, Whitmore countered. “Which could mean…”
“Attention trespasser!”, Hal called to him. “You have exactly three seconds to ID yourself!”
The floating figure gave absolutely no response, and continued to float in a hunched-over posture, his eyes closed, as if concentrating or in deep thought. Bits of loose metal debris clung to his body at various points, glistening.
Hal steadied himself, leveling the barrel of his semi-auto with the trespasser’s head.
“One…Two…Three…Alright, smoke ‘em!”
The rest of the squad opened fire on the free floating creature. Bullets ricocheted every which way, some narrowly missing the Marines, but not a single one even nicking the offending being.
The Marines collectively reloaded.
“Fuck! What do we do now?!”, Andrews grumbled.
Suddenly, Andrews was yanked away in mid magazine change, pulled towards the being by his left hand.
He stopped, suddenly, straight in front of him. And that’s, when the trouble began.
The small man, who appeared to be Japanese in origin, looked up and opened his eyes. Black eyes, with dark grey irises. They stared soullessly into Andrews’s own.
Without a single word, Andrews’s life was nearly ended. Somehow, the blood within his body boiled out of his face in an instant, barely allowing him time to wail in anguish.
The being still hadn’t made a move with his own body. He floated there, his limbs hanging lifelessly from his frame.
The Marines entered a state of horror, unable to comprehend the situation before them. After all, what kind of training is there to help you deal with…that?
Bits of metal began to collect on Andrews’s corpse, and sickeningly enough, it began to writhe and twitch on its own, despite its head being shredded beyond recognition. It turned to face his old teammates, with a marionette-like gait, began a tortured walk back towards them.
Hal was the first to fire, followed by the others. In only a matter of seconds, what once was their combat buddy a few seconds ago was a mass of meat smeared across the ground and across the face and body of his murderer, who still observed motionlessly. Not even his face had changed expression.
“Sarge! Let’s get the fuck outta here!”, Clock urged, already running ahead without his superior’s order.
He too was killed in a matter of seconds as a mass of metal moved through his body, rendering him lifeless and mostly formless.
Above the unflinching being, metal had collected high above, and was now taking shape. Before the screaming Marines, something that could be called a dragon formed, and with a silent yell, it was alive.
And staring straight at them, hungrily.
“So…What do you think?”, Mesmerman confidently questioned his ally from a few rooftops away.
Puffing away at a cigar, the skull-faced Cutman nodded in approval.
“He’s got some creativity there. I like it.”
Mesmerman laughed, high and chillingly. “Yes! Yes, he does!”
“With that pesky humanity gone from his mind, Magnetman has reached his absolute potential. With that much power, he has crossed over beyond being a mere weapon- he is now a force akin to a natural disaster!”
“A disaster that we have full control over!”, the puzzle-like visage added. Let’s see the RPD handle this!”
“Kyehehe…That’s the interesting part…Wouldn’t you agree?”
--------------------
Slave of Addiction, A monster...Your friend...
It was dim where I was, where “here” may be.
Somehow, the lighting wasn’t my main priority. Not even finding out
where I was, or who I was for that matter, meant anything to me.
Replacing those needs was one single…obsession. It was jammed into
my mind, and there was a horrible, gnawing sensation in my very center.
It was as if I were caving in on myself, and deep down, I knew this
hunger could never really be satisfied.
Something kept me from moving. I wasn’t bound to anything to my knowledge.
Yet, there was some…force keeping me from moving from this slab,
or whatever I was lain across.
“Seems as though you’re awake…”, came a voice from just outside of
my field of vision. “The reset took longer than I expected.”
It was a cold, metallic voice, rich with confidence in his words.
The faint sound of gnashing metal and the scent of oil seemed to
accompany it.
“Wha-….Ahhhhgh….”. I tried to speak, but every time I tried, the
hunger seemed to deny me breath.
“Hmmm…Seems as though your new addiction has taken root nicely.”
“Ahhh….Addict…?”
“You probably can’t remember a thing…can you?”
“Nnn….gh….”
The “voice” finally stepped into my line of sight. He was very…familiar.
I knew this man. I knew…that he was no friend. This skull-faced person…was
my…enemy?
“I have to hand it to you,”, he commended me, strangely. “You have
a tougher will than most. I had to resort to a number of methods
to wrangle you under my will, hence your lack of memory, as well
as your…hunger…”
“My…hung…aaugh….What…is it…?”
In the dim room, the skeleton man held up a canister of some sort,
and the ache in my chest reacted. It felt as though my core wanted
to leap out and snatch it up greedily.
“This? This is plutonium.”, he informed me. It felt strange that
I desired such a thing so badly. “And it is what will drive you.”
“I need…it…”
“Indeed you do!”, he chuckled, enjoying this. I certainly knew he
wasn’t my friend now, but he had what I wanted so bad. “Without this,
you’ll die a horrible, horrible death, my friend.”
He turned around and I could hear the clicking of several keys. In
a few seconds, I felt a sensation in my limbs, and I slid from the
table and onto the ground.
I was so…weak. I couldn’t stand up, and I could barely even force
my head upwards to look at him. He taunted me with the canister,
waving it slightly as though he were going to drop it.
“This…is all you need to know, my boy. I’ll give you a little bit
of what you need, you go out and do a few simple errands and you’ll
get more. Nothing could be simpler.”
“What do you…want?”, I ask, feebly reaching upward for the canister.
“Ohh…A few cities destroyed here and there…”, he proclaimed nonchalantly.
“And with this, you’ll have more than enough power to do so.
Oh, but don’t look so glum, my boy! Once we win, I’ll fix you. You
won’t need this plutonium anymore.”
“Fix me now! Auuugh!!! It hurts!!”
He crouched in closer to me, nearly face to face. “That would be
the point. Leverage, if you will.
You’re a very rebellious mind, ‘Ben’. Even I couldn’t completely
wipe out that filthy mind from Heatman’s carcass, and I need that
power to finish this little war. So, I gave you a nice little addiction
to keep you under my thumb. Fail to live up to my standards, and
you’ll suffer like you never thought possible.
In short, do as I say, and you’ll keep living…whatever it is you
want to call it.”
“Give…me…”
The monster chuckled again, and he held the canister up to my chest.
Something strange happened- the sensation that the hunger in my allowed
the canister in. The sound of metal sliding across metal rang out.
And then, the hunger…melted away.
The drowning sensation went with it, along with the dreadful cold.
I felt warm…ablaze.
Actually, the dimness of the room gave away to a new light. It didn’t
take me long to understand that I, somehow, was the source of the
light.
“This is…my power?”, I asked.
“It is a small taste.”, he explained, holding up a hand in front
of his eyes to shield them from my light.
“It feels…good!”
“Kyehehe…I can only imagine, my boy…
Now…About those errands…”
--------------------
