Chapter 27: Cleanup, Aisle L

No one waited for Leo as he crawled his way back to consciousness. He came to in the med-tube, the technician offering a hand to help him up. He batted it away. He was a Reaper, goddammit, he didn’t need any help.

He snarled as he remembered the fight. He’d got him good – but he’d still ended up on the losing end. He had made the mistake of thinking the asshole was down and out. He hadn’t expected him to get up. He hadn’t expected him to be so strong, either. He’d thought his love tap to the cocksucker’s jaw put him out – he sure seemed out of it when he lifted him by the fucking throat. He should have just snapped the fucker’s neck like a twig but no – he had to play with his food. After the satisfying crunching sound as he threw the dick-sucker against the wall, he was sure the guy was down for the count. He turned to Robicheaux to gloat.

Big mistake. One he’d never make again. From now on, he’d make sure to kill the motherfucker first. Snap his fucking neck.

He thought his enhancements were enough to kill the little cunt. Fucking AI had told him it would take a while and some work to achieve maximum muscle mass – but he hadn’t listened. No, after his fucking workout where he was lifting double what he’d ever been able to before, he thought he’d been unstoppable.

He wouldn’t make that mistake again either. No, he was going to train fucking morning, noon and night. He was going to be the biggest, strongest motherfucker this goddamn shitty fucking organization had ever fucking seen.

Luckily, everyone thought the pansy had sucker-punched him again.

He pulled his clothes on, his face a snarl of rage. It was almost too much for him to do up the buttons, his fingers trembling and unconsciously flexing and clenching into meaty fists. He rolled his shoulders and ground his teeth together, chomping at the bit to get back to the gym and work out until he collapsed.

He walked through the halls of the Marine warren, heading for the gym. He could feel the eyes of every person he passed, could feel them staring at him with disgust. He knew they were judging him, knew they were revolted by the very sight of him.

“He fucking sucker-punched me,” he screamed to one passing Marine.

The Marine hadn’t even noticed the guy before he’d screamed at him. He was hurrying to his duty station, late in relieving a guard. He didn’t know the Marine in front of him - but he could tell he wasn’t too long out of enhancement. Gunter wasn’t quite as big and bulky as a normal Marine.

“Dude, take a pill,” the passing Marine scoffed, dismissing him and hurrying on his way.

“FUCK!” Gunter yelled. Everyone fucking knew. Everyone knew the fucking Navy puke had beat him. How could they have not heard the fucking dick catcher had sucker punched him both times? It must have been fucking Dunning. Or maybe Robicheaux. One of those goddamn pissants was spreading fucking rumors. Well, he’d deal with their fucking asses, too.

As his walk went on, he started stalking through the halls, his arms akimbo and his face simply daring someone to even look at him. Most just gave him a wide berth – they’d seen ‘enhancement crazy’ before and knew it would eventually pass. Probably.

Gunter made it to the gym and was happy to find it empty. He had been told the dangers of working out alone – but he was a trained professional. He’d been a fucking trainer, goddamn it. Those rules didn’t apply to him. None of these fucking rules applied to him.

He started with the weight bench, bench pressing two-hundred seventy-five kilograms easily. He worked the weight until his arms felt rubbery – then added another forty-five kilograms. Over and over he lifted the weight, straining, working his arms and chest until he could barely lift the weight anymore.

He moved on to tricep extensions, then clean and jerks, then butterflies and then to yet other exercises. He moved on and on, his body sheening with sweat, willing his muscles to get bigger and stronger. When he tired of weights, he moved on to the heavy bag – seeing Gebel’s face on the bag and pummeling it with every fiber of his being. When he tired of the bag, he moved to the speed bag, then to sit ups, then pushups. He worked his body as hard as he could for two solid hours, until he collapsed against one of the walls.

“Private Gunter, your current course of action appears to be counter-productive,” Artemis started. He wasn’t able to finish.

“Mind your own goddamn business, you fucking talking hat,” Gunter snarled, his anger rising once again. It was enough to bring him back to his feet – and back to the weights and barbells.

Sergeant Bork entered just after an hour later. The man’s eyes were cold and calculating. He watched the private – and knew they’d pushed Gunter too hard. There was a crazed look in the Private’s eyes, and it was obvious he was trying to push his body too hard too fast. Whether his mania was a result of the added aggression endemic to the Marine enhancements or to salve his fragile ego against his recent failure was anyone’s guess.

Gunter finally noticed Bork and his face took on an angry sneer. “What are you looking at?”

“You don’t talk that way to me,” Bork spat. “I’m your superior and it’s insubordinate. I could heave you out the fucking airlock for that.”

“You’re not my superior,” Gunter growled. “None of you fucking pussies is. I’m the best goddamn Marine in this fucking base. I’ve got two fucking tours in the goddamn sandbox behind me. I should be a goddamn officer!”

“Well, you aren’t,” Bork snarled. “Until you are, you will treat me with fucking respect or I will have you killed, do you understand me?”

Gunter’s eyes narrowed and he grimaced, his teeth bared and grinding.

“I said do you fucking understand me, private?”

“Yes,” Gunter growled.

“Yes, fucking what?” Bork yelled.

“Yes, Sergeant,” Gunter spit out finally.

“Good,” Bork rumbled. “It’s not my fucking fault you’re such a fuck up. I think we may have made a mistake with you. You’re not Reaper material. Maybe we should just trade you. Try to find a service more your speed – I think the Civil Service may be able to accommodate you – maybe an easy job like picking daisies or something.”

“I am Reaper material,” Gunter growled, his voice sullen.

“Really?” Bork spat sarcastically. “Twice you’ve gone up against a fucking Navy puke and twice he’s handed you your ass. You’re a goddamn embarrassment, is what you are. We’re the fucking laughing stocks of this entire system – all because of you.”

“The faggot sucker-punched me,” Gunter barked.

“He sucker punched you?” Bork asked incredulously. “Twice? I can see maybe the first time – but twice? You knew he was a fucking sucker-punch artist the second time – and you let him do it again? Are you fucking brain damaged, Private? Are you fucking stupid? Yeah, the first time I could blame it on the Navy puke – but the second time is all on you. If someone fucking sucker-punched me and I found myself in a position to fight him again? No way I’d let him do it to me a second time!”

“I’ll make this right,” Gunter snarled.

“How?” Bork spat, shaking his head. “Why? There is nothing you can do to make up for this, Private. Sucker punch or not, he beat you. Get over it. There are no rules with what we’re fighting. When you take on the Sa’arm, they’re not going to show you what they’re doing. They’ll kill you any way they can. My job is to make sure you’re prepared for them – and right now, I’m looking like a poor ass trainer when a non-enhanced Navy ensign can beat up my recruit.”

Bork shook his head. “I’ll talk to the Lieutenant – try to buy you a third chance. Don’t let it be a mistake, Gunter. Stay away from the guy. Fly low. Under the radar.”

When Bork exited, Gunter went insane. Weights and bars went flying and he even attempted to rip a weight machine out of the floor. All he managed was to bend and twist it, however. The failure only spurred his rage higher – he bent the bars before tossing them and started hammering the heavy bag with punches that were too fast to be seen cleanly by the naked eye.

“I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him!” Gunter screamed loudly, hammering his fists into the bag. “I’ll fucking kill him and then I’ll rip off his fucking head and then I’ll skull fuck him and then I’ll...”

The tirade went on for some time. Gunter’s screams were constant but repetitive, circling around the various ways he was going to kill Gebel and the various ways he was going to fuck his corpse. His impotent rage kept him going, kept him working and fighting long after his muscles had enough.

Bork waited outside the door, using the AI to listen to his new recruit. He growled. This wasn’t good. He should not have antagonized the man. He just felt so ... useless. Helpless. He was a sergeant in the Marines – he shouldn’t have lost his temper.

Yes, the upgrades made you aggressive at first – it was something with which everyone had to come to grips. It shouldn’t be like this, though. Gunter shouldn’t be this bad.

After a few minutes, when Gunter’s screams and shouts started to get repetitive and re-iterated how Gunter was going to rip Gebel’s head off and skull fuck him, Bork left. He headed for the Lieutenant’s office, troubled and concerned. The Lieutenant was a genius – but he’d made a mess of this one.

If they were going to stand a chance of Gunter becoming a stable Marine – much less a Reaper – they were going to have to start over. Ride out the tide of Gunter’s aggression and then approach him from a different vector. Maybe insulate him from everyone else. Basically, do exactly the opposite of what they’d been doing.

There were some positives, although he had to look hard to find him. While undisciplined, Gunter did have talent. He had a good amount of drive. He’d never seen anyone work as hard as Gunter.