Gord Zajac - Major Karnage

“All of them!” the second shouted.

“They’ll pay!” cried the third.

Mayhem stopped coughing, and beamed. “I’ll leave you two to get better acquainted,” he said.

“Give you time to get to know yourself,” said the first.

“To discuss your options,” said the second.

“Who knows?” the third one said. “You just might start to see yourself in a new light.”

Mayhem spun his wheelchair around and left. Once he had passed safely through the door, the three Patricks let go of the Karnage clone and pushed him into the room. Karnage felt his clone’s rage at this treatment. The Patricks filed out the door. The last of them turned back a moment. “Please, feel free to take your time,” he said.

There was a loud metal clank as he shut and locked the door.

The two Karnages eyed each other suspiciously.

“So,” the old one said, “you’re me.”

“And you’re me,” the young one said. “Apparently.”

The old one could feel the young one’s scepticism. “You don’t believe them.”

“Would you?” The young one leaned against the container wall. “Shit, one second I’m fallin’ through space thinkin’ I’m gonna die. The next I’m wakin’ up in some kinda goddamn lab full of these Patrick monkeyfuckers, all gushin’ and gawkin’ and sayin’, ‘Hello, you.’ Christ, it’s enough to make a man sick. And then they’re makin’ me look in a mirror and… well, shit, look at me. I’m fuckin’ young again. All handsome and clean shaven and got all my hair and none of its grey—and I’m wonderin’ what these crazy monkeyfuckers have done to me, and they’re tryin’ to tell me that I’m some kinda goddamn clone! And then I hear this voice in my head sayin’ that these Patricks are all General Mayhem, and suddenly I can see the resemblance and I figure for sure I must be dreamin’, but the Patricks keep tellin’ me I’m not, and then they start pushin’ me across the lab sayin’ ‘This way, this way’ and they stick me in here and…” The young one looked down at the old one.

“And here I am,” the old one said.

“And here you are.” The young one ripped off the chauffeur’s cap and loosened his collar. “I feel like a goddamn monkey in this thing.”

He eyed the old one’s straitjacket enviously.

They stared at each other, wondering what the other was thinking, trying to ignore the presence in their head that they knew was the other’s thoughts. They could feel each other’s suspicions: the distrust. It made it that much harder to voice them. Why articulate what doesn’t have to be said? They were thinking separately and yet the same. They could almost see themselves through each other’s eyes, a kind of double vision that made them both a little nauseous. They tried to block it out.

“What’s your assessment of General Mayhem?” the old one said, pretending he didn’t already know the answer.

“Batshit insane,” the young one said, pretending that the old one didn’t already know.

“You know what we have to do,” the old one said. The young one nodded. “We have to get out of here.”

“We have to save our troops,” the old one said.

“Cookie.”

“Velasquez.”

“Heckler.”

“Stumpy.”

“Koch.”

“Sydney.” They were both surprised at how their hearts had jumped slightly at the mention of her name. They looked at each other.

“We have to get back to Dabneyville,” the young one said. “We have to stop the squidbugs,” the old one said. They grew quiet. The sounds of their joined thoughts filled the silence. Dark things spiralled and swirled in their consciousness. Things that couldn’t be spoken, otherwise they wouldn’t be able to help anyone. Not even themselves.

The old one spoke. “You know we can’t live like this.”

The young one nodded. “It’s too much.”

“One of us has to die,” the old one said.

They looked at each other, then spoke at the same time: “It should be me.”

“Oh come off it, Major,” the young one said. “You’re the original. I’m just a copy. You should be the one to live.”

“That’s a load of horse shit and you know it. You’re just as much me as I am. Maybe even more so: you’re me in my prime. I’m me on my deathbed. Old and worn out like a broken-down race horse. You’re a goddamn thoroughbred. Not an ache in your body. Don’t act like I don’t know, cuz you know I fucking well know—and I wish I didn’t know, but too bad, because I do!”

The young one scowled. He balled up his fists. “It ain’t right.”

“None of it’s right,” the old one said. “We shouldn’t both be here. We didn’t ask for this. But here we are. We gotta assess the situation, and the situation is clear. You got the youth, the vitality, the experience…” The old one couldn’t bring himself to finish his thought.

The young one looked up, and finished it for him. “…and I got no Sanity Patch.”

The old one nodded. “That’s right. You don’t.”

The young one stood up. He smoothed down the front of his uniform, and nodded.

“You do us proud out there,” the old one said.

The young one saluted his older self. “You sure as hell bet I will.”

“Good. We got that settled. Now how do we get you out of here?” The old one said.

The young one jerked his thumb at the door. “Looks like the lab is in some kind of hangar. All kinds of tubes and tanks and cloning shit everywhere.”

The old one saw the picture the young one was bringing up in his mind.

“And hardware,” the old one said.

The young one nodded. “Military hardware.”

“Buncha hoverball flightpacks along one wall.”

“Right by that open skylight.”

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Now there’s a stupid question.”

“It may be stupid, but I’ll be fucked if we don’t try and have a conversation like real people, and not like…”

The young one looked towards the door. “Not like them.”

“I’ll distract Mayhem,” the old one said.

“Really piss him off,” the young one said.

“To get the attention of all of ’em,” the old one said.

“I’ll get to the flightpacks.”

“Head for the skylight.”

“Get the hell outta here.”

“Get to Dabneyville.”

“Defeat the squidbugs.”

“Find my troops.”

“Find Sydney.”

“Do you know how you’re going to do it yet?” the old one said. “Which part?”

“All of it.”

“No,” the young one said, “but I’ll figure it out.”

The old one looked over the young one. “Yeah, you will.”

The young one reached down and shook the old one’s hand. The touch was electric. They pulled away from each other, and nodded.

“Good luck, Major,” the old one said. He wanted to salute.

The young one saluted for him.

“Good luck, Major,” he said.

Karnage looked back at his older self, and nodded. “All right. Here we go.” He banged on the door, and it opened.

Twenty Patricks stood in the middle of the room behind General Mayhem.

Karnage jerked a thumb at his old self. “He wants a word with you,” he said.

Karnage stepped out of the way as Mayhem wheeled forward. The Patricks followed close behind. Karnage stepped back, allowing them to pass. He shuffled towards the wall. None of the Patricks were watching him. They were all fixated on the old Karnage.

“So?” General Mayhem said. “Have you considered my offer?”

“I have,” the old Karnage said. “And you can shove it up your ass.”

Karnage saw Mayhem’s neck stiffen; his voice remained neutral. “Can I?”