IV

WONLAY
This... is bad. This is VERY bad, Wonlay thought to himself. Many had tried to kill him before, but this particular assailant was actually GOOD. Professionals the world over had tested his mettle, but none had even come close to making him break a sweat. Has my time finally come? Has God finally tired of my wretched existence and sent the angel of death to claim me? Wonlay's chest heaved heavily as his thoughts raced and the bullets flew through the church hall. They ate hungrily into the old marble pillars and walls, like tapeworms with a taste for mortar. Loud reports rang as slugs pierced through the wood of the pews and did grave damage to the once beautiful church. Sacrilegious bastard! How dare he come into God's house to take me! Wonlay was lying on his side behind a pew somewhere near the back of the hall, his body weight resting on his elbow. His suit had chaffed a little and developed dirty patches in his effort to dodge the hail storm of bullets. He had scampered further into the church as his attacker had sent lead his way. If only he had his two Match pistols, then maybe this asshole would atone for his sins. But Wonlay always left his tools of the trade when he went to pray or confess his sins. He looked up to the ceiling of the building solemnly, seeking some kind of hope. The meticulously painted images of the saints stared down at him. He wondered whether they stared with sympathy or with contempt. He had brought ruin to God's house.
JUGBEH
"C'mon man! I need the stuff! You know I'm good for it!"Said Jugbeh, "Work has just been difficult, you know? Global recession and all".
The skinny chemist looked at Jugbeh over the bridge of his spectacles. He had a smirk across his face that clearly questioned Jugbeh's integrity.
"James, how long have we done business?"
"Three weeks, maybe less."
"Yeah! And in that time, have I ever betrayed you? Have I ever not been good on my word?!"
"Three weeks is not enough to say whether your word is good or not," replied James. "Besides, you're still behind on payments for the last consignment."
''And I WILL pay you! With interest even! I'll get work soon. You want me to kill you? Is that what you want?-For me to just kill you, and rob you of your entire stash here?"
"You can't kill me," James said in a confident and even arrogant tone, "You know I'm the only person in town that can hook you up with amphetamine this good. Nobody can supply you with paranoia-less Speed. That other junk these wannabes sell will make you lose your mind."
Before Jugbeh could open his mouth to reply, his cell phone rang.
"You see!"He exclaimed to James. "This should be someone offering me some work now! Gimme a sec," he said with one finger pointing in the air.
"Hello,"
"I understand you are the best at what you do, Mr. Jugbeh."
"Well hello to you too Darth Vader!-" The voice on the other end of the line was distorted to hide the caller's real voice. Jugbeh hated when potential clients did that. It made him think of spineless kidnappers calling innocent victims and demanding a ransom. It came with the territory he guessed.
''-And that all depends on who's asking," Jugbeh continued.
''I represent a very large and wealthy organisation, Mr. Jugbeh. We are looking to recruit people with 'talents' such as yours. If you are selected, your remuneration will be considerably hefty. And you will no longer need to obtain your amphetamines from illicit laboratories."
Jugbeh knotted his eyebrows and looked at James in suspicion," Did you tell- -"
''I have sent someone of your caliber to test your skills. He should be at your location shortly. You are to defend yourself and attempt to eliminate him, for he also is being tested. If you are successful, we will compensate you accordingly and contact you requesting your services soon. Do you accept?"
Jugbeh looked at the stimulants on the chemist's desk. He wanted the amphetamines, heck, he NEEDED them. He stroked his chin a few times and put his hand on his waist, arm akimbo. Jugbeh usually did that when he was contemplating something or when his high was leaving him.
"I don't have much of a choice now, do I?" Jugbeh asked.
"There is always a choice, Mr. Jugbeh," the deep distorted voice said on the other end of the line.
"Then I accept,"
"Good."
The line cut.
As Jugbeh put his phone inside his pocket, the hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and the swinging doors to the lab burst open. What followed next all happened in a flash. A dagger whistled silently past Jugbeh's ear and struck the chemist in between his eyes. Blood trickled down to his chin. If Jugbeh had not used his agility and moved quickly, the dagger would have easily peeled off a good portion of his face. Jugbeh leapt over the chemist's counter pulling out a Desert Eagle .50 from inside the holster tucked within his leather jacket, and fired a number of rounds in the direction of the invader, all in one swift motion.
GOMA
Goma held his large cup of freshly brewed Cowboy Coffee delicately as he walked from the café to his car. He was still angered by the phone call he had received earlier. The man (or woman) with the altered voice had given him more of specific orders than made him an offer. The voice said Goma needed to attempt to kill a certain man, a man probably as good at killing as he was. Goma had snickered at the thought; no one was as good as he was. He had only accepted the job because he wished to prove to this disrespectful voice that claimed to represent a higher power that his skills were unmatched. He could have cared less about the money or the future work promised.
"Higher power," Goma mused to himself. He was taken back to his days as a C5 operative. There he learnt that higher powers and authority meant nothing but badges, patches or stripes. Authority was just an excuse for megalomaniacs to demean those in lower ranks. Goma had expressed his rejection of hierarchy by showering fists on his commanding officer. He was immediately relieved of his duties. It was only natural that he later got into the business of ending the lives of various politicians and authority figures around the world.
He sat in his car and took a sip of his coffee almost religiously. Goma closed his eyes, savoring the heavenly taste and aroma of his strong brew. Coffee was no ordinary beverage for Goma; he considered it a magical elixir. Its only drawback was that he got the shakes when he held his sniper rifle and he hadn't had a fresh cup.
When Goma was done with his ritualistic sipping, he drove to the church where the voice had told him he would find his target. He parked his car close to the entrance and then began to clean his A.K 47 rifle. He wiped it carefully with the precision of a surgeon. It was not a very accurate weapon for his line of work, but it was excellent for sending messages; Loud and clear messages. Goma looked through his tinted car windows to observe the situation. It was almost evening and there was barely anyone attending mass. Perfect.
BADUK
"Hello, Mr. Baduk."
"Who is this?"
"That is of little relevance right now. What is is the fact that I know that you are capable of breaking a man's arm in four places with just one move," the voice said.
Baduk was silent for while.
"Why your voice sound funny?" He said in his East Asian accent.
''Another irrelevant question. What is of importance is that I can have all your criminal charges dropped. I can absolve you of your crimes," the voice said," you can be a free man. But on one condition."
Baduk remained mute.
"You have been doing small insignificant jobs for meager pay Mr. Baduk. The people I represent are looking for someone with your expertise. Kill one man for us and you will hit the 'big time'."
''When and where?"
"Today. As soon as possible. Your target is conveniently located across the street from where you are. He is currently purchasing some amphetamines or 'Speed' from a failed pharmacist that operates an illicit laboratory. The entrance is down in the alley opposite your gym. It may be locked, but that shouldn't be a problem for you."
Baduk thought it over, "Free man?"
"Yes Mr. Baduk, freedom for you and with all the benefits that come with it."
''I take job then."
"Good. Be warned, he is no easy mark. We will be in touch if you are successful."
The line cut.
Free man? Baduk tossed the thought around in his head for a while. He had never truly been free. He felt as though he had been running his whole life. Whether it was from cruel workhouse masters, the police or foster homes; running was all Baduk had ever known. Now all he had to do is kill a man and he would be free. Easy enough. He had hurt and killed many men before. Baduk was not good at many things, but he was definitely good at inflicting pain and bringing death when the situation called for it.
Many people had made false promises to Baduk. He had no reason to trust the demonic sounding voice, but he had nothing to lose. Besides, 'free man' rolled off his tongue well. He liked the sound of it. He sipped his can of 'Amp' as he quickly walked across the street to where he had been instructed to go. It was his sixth can that day and he was buzzing. He came to a locked wire gate and climbed over it with cat-like speed. Memories of valiant but failed jail-breaks in his time in China came flooding back to him. O' what whippings he and his companions had received.
Baduk navigated his way through the alley and into an old dilapidated building. Deep inside it, he could hear and see a large man in a leather jacket heckling a smaller man in spectacles. Baduk smiled and pulled out his trusted dagger.

                                        
                                                                    Lo Strikes again!

Sky High Origins-The Evil: Meaningless is more

The Microsoft Windows logo bounced from one end of the screen to the other. He stared blankly at it as the thoughts in his mind swayed like the open sea. Shouldn't there be more to this existence? He thought to himself. Was my life meant to be meaningless? Was I destined to be shackled at this office desk, imprisoned by my job and serve this sentence until I wither into nothing? My life spent serving others, yet providing no kind of satisfaction.
The chatter of fingers typing away at keyboards and the steady hum of the computers had been the soundtrack to his life for a long time now. The same song, day in and day out. All meaningless. He likened it to the monotony of the songs on that MTV his son liked so much. And all for what? To slave at his small desk so that his superiors could pay him his meagre salary and go on lavish holidays? Fat executives always appraising his performance, telling him he needed more passion and flair for his job. 'Passion' he thought. A word created by fools to mask the insignificance of their existence. 'Passion'. His wife had spoken of it as well. She had said their marriage had lacked 'passion'. So they tried for another child to try and bring more 'passion' into their relationship. When he first held his daughter, he felt something close to emotion. But not love or affection. Regret maybe, he wasn't certain. But he felt he had brought another into this world to suffer a purpose-less life. A life like his. A life of no meaning.
The phone at his desk rang. It was Human Resources and the manager had asked to see him. He got up and left his cubicle, almost dragging his feet on his way to the H.R office. He wasn't a very tall man,and he had a lanky frame. His peg-less trousers fit perfectly and matched the sweater he wore. His wife had insisted on picking out the clothes he was to wear each morning. In his opinion,it was all very pointless. What was the purpose of clothes but to hide our nakedness?-the only truth to who we really were. Perhaps there would be more to all this if humanity bore its true self. Instead we choose to cover ourselves with costly designer fabrics and portray false personas he thought. What a sad farce the human race is.
His face showed no indication of what went on in his mind. It was a blank canvas and had been that way for most of his life. He hadn't had many, if any friends over the years. Some remarked that he was 'boring'. Who were they to pass judgement? Who were they to measure his personality by their own flimsy standards? To stand him trial on some drastically flawed charges.
He pushed his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose and knocked lightly on the door of the H.R office.
The Human Resource manager spoke in length about his recent performance. About how meaningless reports had been delayed by him and how the obese bastards claimed he had not been performing well. How could they judge him? He thought. He wished he could poke out their eyeballs and suffocate them all with their overly priced ties. Wished he could staple their thick rubbery skin to the boardroom table and let them starve there. The voice of the Human Resource manager faded out as he lost himself in his macabre fantasy. These horrid products of his imagination had become frequent and many lately, they even dared to be entertaining. A smirk was creeping up in the corner of his mouth when the manager's voice brought him back to reality.
"You're bleeding," the manger said. There was a trickle of thick black liquid snailing down from his left nostril to his upper lip. From where the manger sat, it looked like a blend of clotted blood and mucus. But when he used his handkerchief to wipe himself,he noticed it wasn't blood or mucus. He excused himself and rushed to the gents.
At lunchtime he always sat and ate at a park bench that was opposite the office building he worked from. The sound of vehicles and voices of the populace rode the air. He chewed his food thoroughly and observed the people as they went about their empty lives. He believed they were motivated by trivial beliefs. Money. Fame. To provide for their families. All meaningless. If they were to all die in the end,no memory left of them; what was the point? Traffic was sluggish during lunch hour. He gazed at the people in their cars and taxis, rushing to get back to work or whatever their inconsequential destination was. After all,the only true and final destination was death,wasn't it? Death was the only thing promised to mankind and its immaterial existence. Then the only fair thing was to burn it all down. Watch them all burn to a crisp while their flesh popped and sizzled like the fat pigs they had become. And when there was nothing,maybe the world would implode in its own nothingness. Something close to a smile planted itself across his face. He had amused himself. He couldn't remember the last time he was amused.
Something dropped on the paper bag in his lap that had held his sandwiches. Some black goop. Bird droppings he thought. Cursed birds. But the dripping continued. It was coming from his nose. He quickly grabbed his handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his nose. The thought of seeing a doctor did not cross his mind. He did not trust doctors.
His supervisor did not seem to believe him when he said he was not feeling well and asked for the rest of the day off. He explained to the man that even the H.R manager could verify that he was not well. He was the one that had noticed the nose bleed he had had earlier. The supervisor looked at him and did not say a word, but his expression spoke volumes. He excused him reluctantly.
When he got home,his wife was surprised to see him. He had never taken the day off or fallen sick before. He explained that he was actually feeling better then but would take the day off anyway.
He sat in his chair,letting his mind drift. The television was on,his wife had been watching one of those mind rotting reality T.V programmes. How was it that these people could gather massive audiences and viewers,when it was clear they stood for nothing? Even though he believed standing for something only gave people false hope. False hope that there was sense in this senseless life. Because even those that claimed to stand for something,were only disillusioned cripples. Leaning on the crutches of such fickle conviction.
He got the remote and flicked through the channels. Everything was the same-Pointless, and without reason. He stopped on a news report. Wonderman had saved a factory full of workers from their demise. As usual he had flown in when almost all hope was lost. Wonderman had swooped in and saved each and every worker at lightning speed,leaving them somewhere safe. He plucked a burning transformer with his bare hands and put out the inferno that had spread with his breath. Where would the world be without Wonderman? The reporter had asked.
Wonderman,he thought,only lengthened people's suffering and disillusionment when he rescued them from sure death. He only delayed the inevitable. Stupid Wonderman.
His phone rang. It was the someone from work. As soon as the person from the office began to speak, his daughter started to cry. She wailed so loud he could barely hear what the person on the line was talking about. But he soon realised what the woman was saying to him. All she was doing was sugar coating the fact that he had been fired. Using stupid words. He simply told her he understood.
His wife came in from the kitchen holding the screaming baby. She said she had to cook and it was his turn to watch the baby. His face was blank. He gently took the baby from her while she continued to speak. She talked about how various groceries needed to be bought and how he needed to spend more time with her and the children. She was trying hard to talk over the sound of the baby crying.
He swayed the baby in his arms from left to right in an attempt to ease her crying. His wife shouted on. He kept silent. He was reminded of his childhood;that distant memory of his father and mother arguing. They had made his life miserable. He looked at his daughter's face as the tears streamed down her soft cheeks. No,he declared in his mind. She would not live to suffer a meaningless life. No one would. He then held the child by her ankles,turning her upside down. He lifted his arms higher and her screams got louder. The wailing stopped suddenly when he let go of her ankles and let her drop to the floor with a thump. His wife was at a loss for words as she fought to grasp what had just happened. Only the commentary from the news report on Wonderman could be heard in the room. He stared at his wife. A thick black slime snaked its way from his left nostril. It swayed and dangled in the air like a King Cobra about to strike. And it did. It struck through her throat and exited the back of her head covered in blood. She could not scream,she only managed to gurgle the blood coming up her throat and out of her mouth. He withdrew his black tentacle.
What is happening? He thought to himself. What is this feeling? He hunched over and dropped to his knees as vomit came from the depths of his belly. But it was not vomit. It was more of the same black goo that had been coming from his nose. It seemed to flow like an endless fountain and then covered him entirely. His hate for the triviality of this life had come alive and spewed from the depths of his very being. When he got up,his whole body was covered in the black ooze. Tentacles stood and dangled in snake-like motion all over his body.
The news report on the T.V went on about Wonderman's miraculous feats. How he had saved the people from danger countless times. Not anymore. HE would put a stop to it. HE would end humanity's suffering. As he thought this,the blackness within him festered and he grew in size. He grew so large he crashed through the roof of the house.
Steven Evans left his house a new man. A new being. HE would cleanse humanity of its meaninglessness.

Illustration by the deathly talent that is Lo.

From Zero to Hero

'From Zero to Hero'. I first heard or read that tagline in the synopsis for The Mask, staring Jim Carey. If you ask me, that's one of his greatest roles, and one of my favourite movies of all time. Jamie Kennedy should be shot dead for that sodomisation of a sequel he made (Son of The Mask). I wonder why Dark Horse agreed to put that stupid movie out. But enough about that...
I had first typed this on my phone from the office at this temporary job I got. Most people would be glad to be doing nothing and just 'socialising' on Facebook or Twitter. So would I usually. But recently I realised I lose because I CHOOSE to. Whether consciously or not, I choose to lose. For example; I would like to be a professional writer someday soon. I've been told I need to write everyday if I'm to get better at it. But I usually come up with excuses; I have no inspiration; I'm tired; I need to watch some T.V first....the list is endless. I choose not to write and therefore I choose to lose. Another example is how I'd go out at the weekend and just let all the good looking girls slide. I like girls, especially pretty ones :). But if you really know me, you know I'm a shy person. I can make conversation with some, but I don't go in for the kill. I came out of a long term relationship a while ago (still nothing but love for you mami!) and I think I got too comfortable in it. I'm afraid to step out of that comfort zone. That's another story though. My point is, I choose not to step to that girl I can tell is checking me out too. Therefore, I CHOOSE to lose.
We sit down and let shit happen to us too often, instead of going out there and happen TO shit. And we choose not to take the blame for it. I didn't do this because I didn't have enough money. I didn't do that because I don't know how to. Excuses. Go borrow some money! Go learn how to do that! Be proactive you bum! We are so satisfied with basic things and the status quo. We don't want to expand our horizons and make the most of our lives, careers or whatever it is we do.
I sat at that desk because I chose to lose again. That job was crap and made me realise I really don't want to be an accountant all my life. Accounting is crap. I have no prior work experience, and maybe it all gets better with time; but still, I realise I want little if anything to do with this line of work. People had told me to use it as an opportunity to gain work experience until something better came up. That 'you have to start somewhere'. I say we aim low. Not to toot my own horn, but I am talented. I know with the right mentor-ship, the right information and some hard work I could go places. I can't be stuck here taking orders from Davis! I have a world to either save or take over, I can't be here!
Recently I came to the resolve that I will do my best to write everyday and improve my skills (not that I will publish a new post everyday! Easy you fiends!). And believe it or not, a number of things have been happening and been set in motion. After I collaborated with Lo and published Sky High II: Sky is the Limit, my blog reached its highest page views ever. Some may argue that page views are nothing to go by,but they still flatter the crap outta me! Almost everyday after my resolve, I have seen my Twitter Timeline flooded with links to resourceful stuff on writing and self improvement. Coincidence? I think not. I had sent a couple of emails to a local magazine on doing some freelance writing for them a while ago, I only got one response from the three I sent. One morning, my mother calls, telling me she found the same magazine on the shelves (I had asked her to get it for me before I'd sent my emails so I could see what type of articles they publish). I almost said no, but I thought,what the hell? So she got it. Barely hours later, I received a response from the magazine, and turns out, a good friend of mine is sub-editor there! I sent them two pieces and they are supposed to review them. Not convinced? Well, about a week later, I received a call from a guy telling me that he heard I could write and would like to meet me. He came over to the digs and explained to me that he and some well known names have a project to make and publish a comic. They were looking for some script and story writers and he was there to recruit me. (He was putting together an elite team I thought. On some Avengers shit! My good buddies Lo, Jay a.k.a Dagger, and Nunu have also been recruited by the way.). So now I'm supposed to attend a workshop to brainstorm with the same people and make Zambia's first kick-ass comic! If you are still not convinced I was meant to write, you should go suck an egg.
So I have decided that from hence forth,I will not lose. I will take up whatever opportunity I can. I will open doors for myself. I will do all in my power to make my situation work. If all goes according to plan, I'll find a good accounting job and save enough to leave the profession. I will also use my other talents to broaden my horizons. There is no creativity in accounting and I am wasting my time here. It may take some time and definitely won't be easy,but I will wear my own mask and go from zero to hero! #GetWitItOrBlow