Chapter 1

“Felix never wanted to be a soldier. Since he finished basic training, he had been certain each day would be his last. On four of his missions, Felix was one of the ten or less out of a 200-soldier company who made it back. His body was only a bit better than average, and he’d seen hundreds of men stronger and tougher than him perish up close. His mind and emotions could only handle what typical people were capable of. He wasn’t a genius or highly educated. Blood disgusted him and he was at least mildly afraid half the time he was awake. He was physically healthy, but at his third yearly checkup a psychiatrist quickly noticed his post-traumatic stress, depression, and severe anxiety. He also diagnosed the mental state Felix entered when he put on his exoskeleton power armor as ‘Severe Rage Disorder with Schizophrenic Psychosis and Psychopathy.’ Felix just called it ‘The Engine’. Technically, he was insane and shouldn’t be in the military at all. Unfortunately, he was such a marvelous killer the officers above would never grant him a discharge.

The Engine kept him alive through three years of gory and horrific battles because it didn’t care. It didn’t care about his fear, his comrades, the mission, his pain, or even survival. The Engine had kept him going because all it felt was hatred of the foes in front of him. It loathed and despised them personally, fiercely, and individually. The Engine’s single and irresistible drive was to DESTROY the HORRIBLE MOTHERFUCKER in front of him, then move on to the next EVIL BASTARD. In The Engine’s murderous malice; it would plan, decide, run, jump, stab, throw, punch, and shoot; logically and almost perfectly. It did all of that, while the rest of Felix hid and cowered inside himself. Time after time, thousands of times, the monstrous portion of his fractured personality slayed and mutilated his enemies. It only bothered to keep Felix alive because it needed his body to kill the next DESPICABLE SONOFABITCH.

A week after the health exam, other than Felix, his whole battalion was wiped out. 938 men and women died in less than an hour, but yet again he survived, barely. His seventh major trauma surgery lasted thirty hours. The doctors were able to reattach his right leg, and replaced his half-shredded right lung. He’d been the single and only survivor on either side. Once his painkillers were removed the next month, the psychiatrist gave him some pills to calm his nerves. Two weeks later, he returned to combat status. He was promoted to Sergeant Major in a newly formed battalion, and only the next morning it was time to fight again. He swallowed hard and willed away the tremors in his hands, while he methodically put on his powered exoskeleton.

He usually felt The Engine’s intense fury approaching when he first touched the armor. Sometimes it took longer, and he started getting angry as he climbed in. The last time, it hadn’t arrived until he reached for his helmet. Today, he latched his helmet in place, checked his weapons again, and walked toward the teleporter room. He clenched his fists trying to summon it. He cursed, he screamed, he kicked a toolbox hard enough to leave a dent.

He even bit his lip until he tasted blood, but it wouldn’t come! As the officer behind him shoved Felix into the teleporter, he realized the awful truth. He was sane, and alone inside his head.

The Engine had abandoned him!”

Scary, right? Also pretty fucked up that he wants to be crazy. The book ‘Armor’ by John Steakley? I thought I dreamed it up, but I guess I read that a long time ago and remembered. Excellent stuff, even if somebody else wrote it. I think I’ll buy a copy and read it again.

If I can’t use that, how about this opening line... “Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away...”

Lucasfilm? What’s a Lucasfilm? Okay, okay. How about...

“Once there was a winter that lasted a whole generation. People were born, lived, and died; all in darkness. That was when the undead came for the first time.”

Somebody wrote that already? Game of what? George RR who?

How about this? “It was a dark and stormy night.” That’s been done too? More than fifty times? Crap!

I guess if all else fails, there’s a chance the truth might work. “When I went to bed on the night I turned fifteen, I shut off my bedroom light and found a dim glow coming through a small hole in my bedroom wall. I heard moaning as I peeked through it, and discovered my mother was a prostitute.”

That’s sexually disturbing, but true and totally original. I bet it grabbed your attention, too. Are you ready for more truth, since that’s all I have at the moment?

“I held my penis in my hand, shaking it, as I peeped through the little hole in the thin wall between our trailer bedrooms. I watched Mom’s head bobbing and her long and curly red hair swaying, as she sucked off our next-door neighbor, Peanuts. His real name was Nathan, but I saw the reason for his nickname. I was only halfway through high school, but my dick was significantly longer and my testicles were twice the size. He was close to finishing and asked, ‘Please, just this once? For another twenty?’ There was a look of disgust on her face and the head of a small dick between her lips as Mom nodded. ‘Thank you! Yes! AAAGH!’ He pulled his cock out of her mouth and jerked it, squirting white slime all over her face.

I’d experienced many wet dreams myself, and sprayed some joy juice into an old sock most nights, but I quit masturbating and recoiled in disgust. I cringed and silently mouthed, “Eeeew!” as I crawled in bed. It was worse when I heard a “Click!” and saw a flash through the hole, then another “Click!” and another flash. He was taking pictures!

I fell asleep trying not to think about the repulsive scene I’d just witnessed.

When my little step-sister Mirabelle and I got home from school the next day, we were quite hungry. Mom had married and divorced three times, and I thought I was lucky to only have one sibling, err ... step-sibling. Shockingly, my Mom had met her Dad on the day of Miri’s mother’s funeral, and slept with him that night. Since we were about to be evicted, Mom and I moved in with them only three days later. Miri and I didn’t like each other much at first. She mourned her dead mother loudly and often. I was frustrated she only wanted to mope around and cry for half a year, instead of doing anything fun. We had gradually learned to get along by the time our parents divorced only two years later.

Anyway, since I was hungry, I went to ask what was for supper and saw Mom’s bedroom door was closed. I heard grunting and her bed was squeaking. I turned and saw my sister right behind me. Since she was only fourteen, I wanted to spare her from what I’d discovered the night before. I repeated the lie Mom had told us, and we’d believed for years, “She’s helping one of her friends exercise, Miri. Let’s go see what’s in the fridge.” I rested a hand on her shoulder and turned her toward the kitchen.

She opened the refrigerator and complained when she lifted the large kettle’s lid. “Potato soup again? We had it last night, and twice last week!”

I commiserated, “Three times last week. Other than that we only have celery, tomato juice, or grapefruit. Let me look in the cupboards.”

“Wally, why can’t we have something good for a change? I’m sick of soup or chili! Rice and beans is so boring, too!”

“You know we’re poor. Stewed tomatoes, cranberry juice, beets, lima beans, more cranberry juice, dried out marshmallows ... AH HAH! Mac + cheese!” I showed her the box.

“It’s generic, not the good kind. But I guess it’s better than potato soup again.”

I looked under the counter but there was only a cookie sheet, tiny soup pan, and a big cast iron skillet. I sighed. “And nothing clean to make it, either. I guess we go hungry, or it’s dishes time again.” I looked at the mounds of dirty dishes on the counters, and the dirty bowls on the table from breakfast and last night’s dinner.

She repeated my sigh, then mourned, “Sucks the dishwasher’s been broken for weeks!” She sighed again, then continued. “Okay. I’ll wash, you dry.”

I started filling the sink with hot water and teased, “I want ‘em clean. You dry.” I tossed a dishtowel over her face and she playfully swatted my butt with it.

By the time the kitchen was mostly clean and I had the macaroni cooking, Mom walked out to the living room with a tall skinny black guy. He had on jeans and a t-shirt showing a large pot leaf and ‘It’s medicine.’ His dark hair was in shoulder-long Reggae-style braids. I’d seen him a few times before, working at one of our town’s two convenience stores. He smiled at me. “She say yah birday yesserday? Wa gwan! Awright, mon!” He pulled a five-dollar bill and a wrapped condom from his pocket. He thought a moment and handed me both. “Fine a fun lil’ chickee, mon.” He chuckled and I smelled pot smoke. He patted my shoulder and kept giggling as he left.

Mom saw the mac + cheese box and yelled, “That was tomorrow’s dinner! How many times do I need to tell you! Eat what’s on the top shelf of the fridge, leave the rest alone!”

I argued back, pointing at her hand. “We can get something better. You have money. Frozen pizzas are only a few bucks, and that’s a fifty! We could even order GREAT pizza!”

“I need some more vodka and I’m almost out of cigarettes. And the electric bill is due next week!” She grabbed my hand, which was holding my five bucks, and held it near my face. “Use YOUR money! It’s about time you start paying for things!”

My mood changed to anger mixed with sadness. “But it’s my birthday present! You didn’t even get me anything.”

“I got you a trailer to live in, beds, heat! You two never appreciate anything!”

“Maybe we’d appreciate good food, if you didn’t smoke and drink all the time!”

Mirabelle loudly interrupted, “Hey! It’s boiling over!”

I turned and quickly shut off the stove. Water went all over the stovetop, but luckily only a few noodles escaped the pan. I drained the macaroni, then mixed in margarine and the cheese powder. We were out of milk. Mom looked out a window and exclaimed, “Shit! Chuck’s early! Save me some. I gotta get ready!”

As my sister and I ate, one of Mom’s other ‘friends’ walked into the kitchen with his hands behind his back. Miri exclaimed, “Chief Chuck! Yay!” She jumped up with a smile on her face. I liked Chuck, too. He was nice and even gave us treats or small gifts sometimes. Mom saved smoking her special stuff for the times Chuck, Manny, or the black Jamaican guy came over. She only went in her room and smoked first when Chuck visited. She shared it with the other guys.

He looked at me and held out a large shoebox. “Happy birthday, champ!”