Gord Zajac - Major Karnage

Flaherty turned to Johnson. “I call it the Sanity Patch. This is just the prototype. I designed it myself. Think of it as a sort of sanity fail-safe, if you like. It’s tied directly into the central nervous system. It scans the major’s brainwaves for indications of violent tendencies. There’s a tiered system with a number of different warning thresholds. Currently the major is rated at Lemon Breeze. That’s pretty good for John, actually. The thresholds move all the way up the colour spectrum to indicate his state of mind. The scale runs from Snow White to Tricycle Red. Fortunately, John has never hit Tricycle Red. The furthest he has ever hit was Frosty Pink. And that was plenty close enough for our liking. Wasn’t it, John?”

“Eat donkey dick,” Karnage growled.

“What happens if he hits Tricycle Red?” Johnson asked.

“Tricycle Red activates the fail-safe. The subject is terminated before he can cause further harm to himself or others.”

“Terminated?”

“He means if I hit Tricycle Red, my fuckin’ head blows off,” Karnage said.

“Is that true?” Johnson asked.

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but yes. The subject’s spinal cord is severed from his brain. It’s not as barbaric as it sounds, really. It’s a worst case scenario, something we work diligently to prevent. Don’t we, John?”

“You’re nuts,” Karnage said.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Flaherty winked at Johnson.

“I ain’t the guy implantin’ explosives into people’s brains!”

“I wish you’d stop looking at it that way, John. I’m trying to reintegrate you back into society. You have some extremely violent tendencies that simply must be addressed before anything of the sort can happen.” Flaherty turned to Johnson. “Come along, Johnson. Let me show you the O.R.”

Flaherty headed to the door, expecting Johnson to follow. Johnson didn’t. He took a few steps towards Karnage and put a hand on his shoulder. “I just want to say how much I appreciate the sacrifices you made for us in The War.”

The War!

Karnage’s eyes bulged. His heart hammered in his chest. The War!

The entire room dissolved. Karnage’s vision filled with flames, crumbling buildings, and death.

The War!

Rage pulsed through his limbs. The straps binding him to the bed bulged. There was the faint sound of tearing.

“Johnson! Get away!”

Karnage’s bed straps exploded in all directions. His right hand whipped up and grabbed Johnson by the throat. The Sanity Patch sent electric jolts shooting up his spine. He didn’t flinch. The Patch’s cheery voice informed everyone that Karnage’s sanity level was now at “Peachy Keen.”

Karnage slowly sat up, lifting Johnson into the air. His voice hissed through his teeth as the remaining straps gave way one by one with a loud snap.

“Don’t…”

Snap!

“…talk to me…”

Snap-snap!

“…about The War!”

With a final snap, Karnage erupted from the bed. He lifted Johnson high into the air. Johnson grabbed futilely at Karnage’s wrist. Johnson’s face was beet red. The Sanity Patch crooned “Tangy Orange” as Skyscraper and Mammoth charged towards Karnage. Karnage turned to meet them, smiling crazily.

Battle! This was what he knew. He kicked the bed with his foot towards the charging nurses. Skyscraper dodged out of the way as the bed slammed into Mammoth, knocking him down. Skyscraper whipped out his stun gun and stabbed it at Karnage. Karnage deftly sidestepped Skyscraper, tripped him and pulled the stun gun from his fingers. He slammed his knee into Skyscraper’s back, and slammed the stun gun into the base of his skull. Karnage gave him full blast until Skyscraper’s screaming and flailing subsided into silent fish flops.

The major rose up just in time to catch Mammoth full in the gut with the stun gun. He juiced him hard, all the while keeping a firm grip on Johnson’s throat, whipping him around like a rag doll. Once Mammoth stopped moving, Karnage threw Johnson up into the wall, pinning him by his neck. In the back of his mind somewhere, he was conscious of alarms blaring and Flaherty screaming for security. A voice at the back of his neck whispered that he had just hit “Sharp Cheddar.” Karnage didn’t care. They could ring their alarms and call their security and blow his head off. None of that mattered. Karnage’s entire world had shrunk down to just him and Johnson.

“You want to talk to me about The War? I’ll tell you about The War. New Baghdad. 1-1-5-2-5. Urban warfare on a grand scale. You ever been at ground zero while a whole city block is crumbling around you? I have. I lost thirty men that day. Benneli. Kahr. Mossberg. Weatherby. I’ll never forget their names. The only reason any of us survived was we were holed up against a column in that underground parking lot when it came down on top of us. I had thirty thousand tons of steel and concrete pressing down on my chest. You know what that’s like? You know how that feels? It feels a lot like having your throat crushed.” The pressure increased on Johnson’s throat. “Like that. Real slowly. Millimetre by millimetre. The life slowly sucked outta your body. Every few minutes, you hear a fresh snap—like that one. Your veins bulge out—just like that. You want to breathe so bad, but you can’t. You know why? Cuz Uncle Stanley’s gone and dropped seventy-five megatons of radioactive shit on your head. And all you got is one pinky you can use to dig you and your buddies out. You want to talk to me about The War? I’LL TELL YOU ABOUT THE WAR!”

A pair of taser barbs lodged into Karnage’s neck, and 40,000 volts of electricity coursed through his body. He spasmed and gritted his teeth. His fist refused to let go of Johnson’s neck. Johnson’s body quivered and flailed from the charge. A second set of barbs lodged into Karnage’s thigh. Another 40,000 volts joined the chorus of the first. Karnage let out a yell as he fell to one knee. His grip on Johnson’s throat loosened, and the other man fell to the ground, gasping. Something wet and broken rattled in the back of his throat.

Karnage looked up. Four nurses stood over him, each armed with a taser. His mouth was full of the taste of blood. He grinned. “Is that the best you got?”

Two more sets of barbs shot out and caught Karnage in the chest and bicep. Karnage laughed like the madman he was as 160,000 volts of electricity plunged his body into the peaceful depths of unconsciousness.

Karnage lay in a pit of darkness. A single shaft of pale light shone on his head. He felt the familiar pull of the straitjacket on his arms and crotch. He was back in the Hole. Home sweet home.

The Hole had been specially constructed just for Karnage. The walls were soft and yielding, yet slick and smooth enough to prevent any kind of solid grip. The room was just wide enough to prevent him from bracing himself against opposing walls and climbing up. The height of the walls was somewhere around two or three stories. They’d done their best to make it escape-proof.

But Karnage knew better. Nothing was escape-proof. It was all a matter of time. He’d escaped from worse places than this during—

The War!

Sand and heat and bullets and flames. Crumbling bombed out buildings givin’ Uncle Stanley the perfect cover. Snipers snipin’ your platoon, one wide-eyed recruit at a time. Blood flowin’ like cheap whiskey at Happy Hour. Privates screamin’ for mothers and fathers, wives and sisters and lovers and brothers. None of ’em listenin’. None of ’em there. Nobody but your dying buddies and the bloodthirsty enemy hidin’ around every corner. Death from above, below, and everywhere in between. Tanks versus pistols. Choppers versus bayonets. Machine guns versus fists. Everybody’s dying around you, but you keep your head down and you do the job. Kill or be killed. Kill or be killed. Faster, soldier! Kill-kill-kill!