The Business of War

Orchestrated By C.M. Rich (Magnetman)

Scissor Army War Journals 7

By Spark Mandrill

The Road to Elysium III: True Colors

*just after Stage 6*

When Napalmman and the Shit Piles returned Home, Cutman stood waiting for them outside, smoking a cigar.

“Sir! The Shit Piles and I have come through again,” Napalmman reported kind of tersely. Gravityman bowed before Cutman and gently set the ruined jet down, like he was putting some rugrat in its crib before their “great” leader. Sneering, Cutman lobbed one of his scissors at the top of one of the crates, slicing it open. Cutman’s grin spread even wider when he saw a grinning, skewered Mesmerman looking up at him.

“And the oil refineries?” Cutman asked, looking back up at his creations.

“Toast,” Crystalgirl replied proudly, adjusting Tomahawk’s gayass headdress trophy. She looked fucking ridiculous with it on. Cutman nodded as he took another puff from his cigar. Suddenly, as Cutman’s smile faded as he looked the Shit Piles over.

“What’s this? Where’s Gyroman?” Cutman asked, sounding prissy. The Shit Piles hung their heads in shame as steam shot out of Napalmman’s vent.

“He didn’t make it,” Napalmman reported bluntly. “Some fleshbag got him.” Cutman’s eyes went wide with rage. Truthfully, Napalmman was ashamed that some dog-fucking human worm got the best of the Shit Piles, himself.

“Well, the Armored Assassins probably helped,” Crystalgirl chimed in anxiously, as she yanked the headdress off her head in shame.

“Yet another casualty? If the killer’s still alive, you all might not be,” Cutman warned darkly.

“We got the human…” Napalmman reported, holding out the dogtags he swiped from the scumbag. “…and Tomahawkman and their tag-along Special Forces, but that’s it,” he finished. Cutman chewed the cigar in his mouth thoughtfully as the Shit Piles looked on, practically shitting bricks as they waited for their leader to pass judgment.

“Normally, this incompetence would carry some…repercussions. But luckily for you, you actually slaughtered the guilty party this time…” Cutman noted as he swiped the dogtag from Napalmman’s hands and innocently twirled the chain around his bony fingers. “…And amazingly, I’m still in a good mood from conquering RPD. There won’t be any serious penalties this time…” the Shit Piles quietly sighed and noticeably . Gravityman actually smiled and sauntered over towards Cutman, lookin’ like some yard ape on Christmas.

“You’ve defeated all of RPD? Already?? How’d you do it?” Gravityman asked, his eyes wild with excitement. Napalmman and some of the other Shit Piles rolled their eyes. The crazy asshole always buttonholed the Old Man for his latest conquests. It wasn’t enough that the Shithouse Rat skinned his own face just to make himself look like Cutman. They couldn’t tell if Gravity had a hard-on for Cutman, or if he was just a classic suck-up, but Cutman didn’t seem to mind.

“Simple, actually. I hoisted those puppets by the Shutdown Code they lived and died to enforce. Only the Cossacks stand between us and victory…what’s left of them,” Cutman answered bitterly. The Shit Piles looked their leader a confused look.

“Wait…How…How could you do that?” Stoneman stuttered. “I thought only watchers could shutdown RPD bots…” Napalmman grunted at Hard-On’s ignorance.

“…You devised the Shutdown Code yourself,” Napalmman finished, trying not to sound too bitter. Cutman smiled and pointed a bony finger at Napalmman.

“I was hoping at least one of you would’ve figured that out by now. It’s little things like these that prove to me you really are my creations,” Cutman babbled. The Shit Piles looked as though they found out that their mother had a penis. Truthfully, Napalmman wasn’t surprised. After seeing Cutman instantly seizing control over Chargetard just by asking nicely, devising the Shutdown Code wasn’t a stretch at all. If anything, he cursed himself for not seeing this coming a mile away.

Not that it stopped hatred and resentment from smoldering and festering in the pit of his stomach. Part of the reason why Napalmman fought for the glory and beauty of Elysium was to escape the shackles of the Shutdown Act! Cutman knew that!! The sonuvabitch deliberately created a monster for Napalmman to fight!! What the fuck else was keeping behind his back? Did Cutman plant that code into his skull, too? Cutman’s expression quickly turned dark again as he wrapped the dogtag chain around his finger.

“Now, as I said, the Cossackers are all that stand in our way. And their numbers are dwindling to begin with. And with no leader, their tenacity must bow before our destructive might. That said, if even one of them escapes your wrath next mission Captain, none of you won’t escape mine. Am I clear?”

“As mud,” Napalman answered.

“Dismissed,” Cutman ordered, dropping the dogtag into Napalmman’s hands. “Report to Maintenance for repairs.” With that, Cutman casually strolled off into Elysium as Joes hauled the crates into the base.

The air around Napalmman hung heavy as he and the Shit Piles slinked towards Maintenance. That bony sonofabitch was playing them all from the moment he waged this war. He secretly knew of Cossack’s citadel as made him and his Androids pull their puds in random shitholes across the globe. He could understand the logic behind Cutman’s strategy, but why did he keep it a secret? Commanding officers are supposed to share their strategies with their subordinates. Then Cutman allied with Mesmerman knowing damn full well that he’d turn against the SA, which still ate at Napalmman. And now he devised the Shutdown Code, which was its own goddamn can of worms. Suddenly, Napalmman Vulcan’s words back at Izheavsk were bouncing around in his head…

” Your presence means nothing to him. You are simply a tool to achieve that goal. Every machine is a tool to him. He is human by every standard. Hypocrisy is the core of this rebellion”.

Napalmman didn’t know what was scarier, that Cutman was capable of doing this to his own creations, or that some meatsack could see this and not him. The Androids weren’t looking much better, each of them wearing masks of disillusionment. Even Gravityman stared ahead grimly as they marched towards Maintenance.

“So Cutman was the cause of it all…” Crystalgirl commented, breaking the silence.

“You…you think what we did was right?” Stoneman asked, looking to his big sister. “Were we just being used?” Steam shot out of Napalmman’s vents. After the day he was having couldn’t believe a goddamn thing he was hearing.

“You getting soft on me, Brickback Mountain?!” Napalmman bellowed. “Cutman maybe a worm…But don’t forget that humans are too. You know damn well those milk suckers would still be dying to shove that Shutdown Code down our throats if Cutman hadn’t devised it! Cutman’s underhandedness doesn’t change that one goddamn bit!

Fuck the Shutdown Code! Fuck this cloak-and-dagger bullshit! And fuck Cutman! Elysium will rise! That’s our mission, and it always will be! Once Elysium is ours, all this shit will be behind us. With the humans are wiped out, Cutman won’t have to fuck around behind our backs any more. And it’s so close I can fucking taste it! We’ve come too far to piss ourselves like Quint and the Mercs now! It’s all we’ve got. Proptop and even Chargetard knew that! So if any one of you want to puss out and disgrace this unit, I will pull your guts out and strangle you with them!” The Androids seemed to pull their shit together, if only a little. If there’s one thing Napalmman can’t stand, it’s his troops quitting on him. He needed them for the final battle, what was left of them. They’ve come this far, and stood on the verge of total conquest. And not even Cutman was going to take that away from them.

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