Gord Zajac - Major Karnage

A squiggly screech pierced the air. Everyone stopped what they were doing, except those with cameras. Their lenses searched back and forth, as if looking for the source of the noise. Karnage found himself doing the same.

A young boy came running down the street. “The Worm is coming! The Worm is coming!”

The hairs on Karnage’s neck stood up. He turned his camera towards the end of the street.

Another screech poured across the compound. It was followed by a chorus of drums. Their deep, pulsing beat throbbed through the air. People thronged to the edges of the street, staring eagerly into the distance. Karnage joined the throng. People happily moved out of his way when they saw his camera. He joined the other shooters at the front of the pack.

Flickering lights and dancing shadows played across the street in the distance. An enormous shadow writhed into view, making giant squiggling patterns against the surrounding houses. Dancers twirling flaming batons moved in time with the drums and the wriggling shadows on the walls. Their writhing caused the flames to write in huge, angled squiggles. The shadows grew closer, and finally, the beast emerged from the darkness.

The Worm was the size of a bus, writhing and wriggling as it squiggled down the street. A single horn protruded from its head, wobbling erratically with each thrust. The light from the flames reflected off the body in long, fluid sparkles. It was as if the beast was covered in tinsel. And as it grew closer, Karnage realized that it was.

Dark shadows of human feet could be seen just under The Worm’s body. A whorl of cardboard teeth spun inside the worm’s open mouth as if on casters. Circling the beast was a man on a bicycle that looked like the bastard child of a tuba and slide whistle. A giant piston bolted to the rear tire ran into what looked like a bagpipe bag attached to the end of a giant tuba bell. The rider blew into a mouthpiece mounted above the handlebars. An oscillating squeal blasted out of the tuba bell: the same damn noise Karnage had heard earlier.

Karnage nearly spat in disgust. Is this what it was all about? No aliens? No worms? Just a giant parade float and a mutant slide whistle?

A jagged noise tore through the crowd that threatened to rip the pavement from the road. The worm dancers lost their balance. The slide whistle cycle went crashing to the ground. A hushed silence fell over the crowd. Even the crackle of the bonfires seemed to die down.

A voice from the crowd shouted, “Spragmos has come!”

The crowd broke out into a cheer. The dancers jumped back into their dance, more energized than before. The parade picked up its pace, and the crowd fell in behind and followed them. Karnage stayed with the throng. For better or worse, they were heading in the right direction: toward the emergency generators.

At the heart of Camp Bailey was the Weapons Testing Facility: an exact replica of the Godmaster Crater. This artificial canyon was the military’s testing facility for the latest in Spragmos Industries’s military-grade weapons, hardware, and explosives. It had led to the facility being known as the WTF or the What-The-Fuck, as in “What the fuck was that?!”

Orange creeper now grew from the top of the WTF. It had been neatly trimmed back to expose the mile-high SPRAGMOS lettering etched into the mountain’s side. Giant bonfires illuminated the lettering from below. Karnage was overwhelmed by its primal majesty. If he hadn’t known about the WTF’s history, he would have sworn it was built to be a temple.

As they approached the WTF, people broke out into spontaneous song. To Karnage’s ears, the lyrics sounded like gibberish, punctuated with repetitive chants of “The Worm is the word! The Worm is the word!” followed with more gibberish. It had all the annoying catchiness of an ad jingle. Karnage caught himself humming along at one point. He vowed in that moment to track down whoever wrote it and knock out every one of their teeth before breaking a number of specially selected bones in their body. He stopped himself from determining exactly how many and which ones before he set off his Sanity Patch.

The creeper on the buildings grew thicker as they approached. The buildings here looked like little more than giant hills of creeper and pinkstink. He felt like he was tracing the vegetation upriver to its source. Was it alien in nature? Or a military experiment gone wrong? He didn’t know. The only thing he knew for sure was how much it stank. It smelled like a giant mountain of burning metal, plastic, and tar.

The creeper was trimmed back in a wide semi-circle around the entrance of the WTF. The giant bonfires framed its massive doors. As the crowd approached, the doors opened, and the parade made its way inside.

Just beyond the bonfires, Karnage saw the emergency generator building. It was adorned with pinkstink garlands. A pair of sombre men stood outside the doors, wearing long dresses and leis made of pinkstink and creeper. They carried what looked like shepherd’s hooks with stylized worms on the ends. Karnage pegged them for priests. A long line of Spragmites were lined up outside the building. As people made it to the front of the line, they would kneel before the priest. The priest would place a hand on their heads, mumble something, hand them a slip of paper, then let them into the generator building. After a few minutes, the person would emerge, and the next would be allowed in.

Karnage decided his best bet to get inside was to get in line and wait his turn. He took a place at the end of the line. The woman in front of him was reading a book. The front cover showed a bluehaired man wearing a bowler hat stroking his chin. The title read, “Awaken The Worm Within.” The woman looked up from her book at Karnage, and smiled.

“Hello,” she said.

Karnage gave her his best imitation of a smile. “Hello.” She cocked her head. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“Funny. I was thinkin’ the same about you.”

She gave a sheepish grin. “True enough. I mostly come on Arbiter’s Day. I find the line is just too long otherwise. I know we’re supposed to come more often than that, but… well, you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

Karnage winked. “Won’t tell a soul.”

“Thanks.” The woman extended her hand. “I’m Reshmi.”

“John,” Karnage said. He shook her hand.

“How long have you been following The Worm?”

Karnage shrugged. “A while now. You?”

“Only a few months. But it’s really opened my eyes to how things work, you know?” She held up the book. “I used to be so confused about things, but now…”

“It just all kinda falls into place, doesn’t it?”

Reshmi beamed. “Yes! Exactly!”

They were now at the front of the line. Reshmi knelt in front of the priest. The priest placed a hand on her head. “Are you ready to awaken The Worm within, child?”

“I am, Presbyter.”

The priest nodded, and handed her the slip of paper. “Go with Spragmos, child.”

Reshmi winked at Karnage. “See you later.”

Karnage gave her a nod and a smile. Reshmi disappeared inside. The priest gave a disapproving gaze to the swell in Karnage’s crotch. Karnage adjusted the material to hide the bulge of the goober grenade on his belt.

“May The Worm be with you, Prez Bitter,” Karnage said.

“And also with you,” the priest said. He looked ready to say something else, but Reshmi reappeared.

“Fancy seeing you again so soon,” Karnage said.

Reshmi smiled. “I was going to go check out the Finale.” She gestured towards the WTF. “Would you like to join me?”

Karnage smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Great!” Reshmi did her best to look unexcited, failing miserably. “I’ll just be waiting out here, then.”