Thursday, October 22, 2009

The Power Wagon

I worked on the 1945 power wagon. A new diesel engine, transmission, and some special electronics that make it impossible for anyone other than me to drive the beast. This truck is going to be big and powerful. With six tires, two in the front and four in the rear on two axles, it looked impressive.


The streets would have to get by on their own tonight. After working all day and patrolling the streets after dark over the previous fortnight, it had finally caught up with me. I need sleep.

Bubba's Bar and Grill

It was two in the morning in the city I protect. I had already broken up seven muggings, two beatings, and pulled mad pit-bull off its master. The later had me fighting both the pit-bull and its master, after he felt I was too rough with his pouch. Being punched and bit by both dog and master, I walked away, only to hear the master screaming for me to help get his dog off him once again. I kept walking.

I was hungry. I removed my Mirrorman garb and stepped in to an all night diner, ?Bubba?s bar and grill.? The bar part was closed, I rarely drank so that didn?t matter, but tonight of all nights I could have used a single malt straight. Instead, I settled for a big Bubba burger no cheese or mayo and water. Bubba?s was on Main street in Huntington Beach, near the coast and far enough away from the zombie zone that I could relax. Bubba wasn?t in, but the late night cook and waitress were. She had jet black hair, pulled up like and puffed up like the pin up model Betty Page. Her unhealthily skinny body spoke of drugs, but I knew Maggie and drugs were not her vice, she was anorexic. Chuck the cook was big and burly, a remnant from Americas past he was a living breathing piece of nostalgia, complete with a scarcity of tattoos picked up at tropic ports of call during his service in the Navy.

Generally it was quiet here, and by that I mean crime was rare, but every since the dregs of society were forced to leave the zombie zone, crime had gone up in what was once low crime areas. Even the movie stars weren?t safe, several had been attacked, and many were now seen escorted by armed bodyguards. It was only a mater of time, before they chose to leave the state. I couldn?t blame them, if people have the means I would encourage them to leave. I was going to stay around, I wanted to see the zombie zone given back to normal humans. But how? I didn?t have the answer to that and neither did Maggie. She was disgusted that the zombies were given free reign of the area, and she freely voiced her opinion every time I walked in.

I tried to explain to her the root of the problem was with the government and their policies. But she wouldn?t believe it, she had been an Obazy supporter and was loath to accept that she had made a poor decision. But now as bits and pieces of America were given away to the zombies and more and more money and rights were being stolen from the citizens she was slowly waking up to the fact. I hoped her and her kind woke up to the fact before they ended up on the dinner table of a zombie horde.

L. A. is dying

My city has a tumor in its heart, a cancer that is threatening to destroy the host, destroy the state, destroy America.

The government, more so, the members of congress in their infantile wisdom have handed over a large portion of Los Angeles to the Zombies. It has been named the zombie zone by elected officials and zombie homeland by the degenerate half dead monsters that infest it. Explained to the public as a way of reaching across the aisle and finding common ground on which to base human zombie relations, the zombie zone is a huge blow to humans. With one sinuous line of the governor?s pen, and the president Obazy smiling over his shoulder, a large swath of Los Angeles was given over to the zombies. The creatures flooded the area within days, and the humans that failed to leave beforehand were as cattle at the slaughter. Some humans remained behind to fight for their property, given away by the government without their consent or recompense; others did not have any means to leave, or anywhere to go. The feeding frenzy of the zombies was and orgy of screams heard all around the perimeter of the zone, yet most of America sat secure in their homes, blissfully ignorant of the happenings in the heart of L.A., denying that it could ever happen to them.

Some citizens learned of what was happening, and in their outrage they went to their representatives in congress begged and demanded that something be done to help those trapped in the zombie zone. Their pleas were ignored. Other citizens begged for congress to send in the National Guard, and once again, congress remained resolutely silent.

Within days, the zombie zone was declared human free, eradicated as if they were offending vermin. Some few humans clung to life and learned how to survive and fight in the zone. However, they were seriously outnumbered and lacked much to defend against the walking dead.

I could not sit by any watch this horror without attempting to help, so I snuck in to the zone.

Throughout my career as a costumed crime fighter, I haunted the night and protected those that ventured into that world. But night in the zombie zone was death for a normal human, so I explored the zone during the day, avoiding darkened areas, as I quickly learned this is where the zombies rested and would awaken at the lest amount of noise. I found that most zombies stayed in large groups and hunted as if in packs. But some, for what reason I cannot fathom, chose to be by themselves. It was one of these monsters I came across, and learned how to tune my fantastic goggle to read what I could from their near black soul. It was from this beast I learned what it took to kill a zombie.

After my foray into the zone, I realized I would need a better mode of transportation than walking on foot. I went home and bought a 1945 Dodge power wagon and began making some modifications.

I am the Mirrorman, I protect humans, I protect good citizens, and I hunt zombies. Your doom or triumph will be at your own hand.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

A Thug, a Lady, and Casings

I fought with a thug last night. But he was different than all the rest. He was hunting for me.

The night was busy. I jumped from one location to another breaking up crimes. Pimps beating there girls, punks robbing anyone they happened to come across. The gang wars I didn?t get involved with, I figured it would be better if they got rid of on another. Then I came across the well dressed lady in a bad part of town. She looked like an exec from a big time firm, and she was being assaulted. The punk had been slamming his meat fists into her face for a few moments before I was able to get down to the street. And when I did, he turned to me and smiled a missing tooth grin, before saying, "It?s about time you showed up." I was set up, so I expected the blow that was coming my way, letting it hit me in the jaw I went with the punch and rolled out of the way far enough the punk couldn?t get another punch off without having to take a few steps in my direction. The lady was staggering to her feet with the help of the wall propping her up, her once pretty face was starting to puff from the beating, but she was still an unknown piece of the puzzle. I couldn?t look into her eyes to see what side she was on; I was busy with the thug.

The punk was just about on me, he was big, very big, and slow. I fainted left, then dove right and swept his feet out from under him. He fell on his back with a loud thud. I straddled him, and grabbed his collar with my left hand and started beating his face like it was a whack-a-mole at an arcade. Something caught my ear, and I stopped beating the punk. He was laughing. I shook him, till his eyes opened and I gazed into his soul. He laughed even harder, ?that won?t work with me, I don?t have a soul.? The punk knew my secret. I let him drop to the ground and walked toward the lady. She looked up at me with a crooked smile, "My boss will be pleased, we learned more about you tonight."

I walked up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders, "Who do you work for?" I said shacking her furiously. She only laughed, when the sound of gun fire forced me to drop to the ground a second shot came on the heels of the first, followed by the dull plop of the bullet hitting flesh, I looked up to see the tiny hole in her forehead and blood spattered graffiti on the wall behind. She rested against the wall for a second before her lifeless body slid to the ground.

The thug was starting to get up when another shot echoed in the night and he fell to the ground.

I dashed into a shadow and looked for any movement that might give away the shooter. Nothing broke the still of the night. I ran across the parking lot toward the place I thought the shots had come from. Sirens were wailing in the distance and I knew I only had a moment before the place would be crawling with police. I put on thermal vision goggles and scanned the area. In a planter box along the street I saw two faint heat signatures glowing. I ran over to the box and looked close. Two casing had fallen onto the dirt and momentarily heated the ground. The casings were gone. Only two casings? I had heard three shots. One shot caused me to drop and then one each for the lady and thug. I focused and thought. The first shot had come from the left of where the last two shots came from. I ran that way and found a small park like area with trees, and grass and bushes. I scanned the area but no heat signatures registered. Suddenly a blue glow caught my eye, something below ambient temperature. I went to it, and their in the grass was the heat impression of a casing, except this impression was cold, very cold. I looked at the scale on the side of the display. Minus one hundred degrees, dry ice has a surface temperature of minus one hundred and nine. What was this?

Suddenly my nightly haunts, protecting the innocent from the criminals of this city had become something more. I was now a target. But who was after me?

I had rattled the criminal element enough that they finally sent someone out. I was interested; the nights were becoming much more exciting.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

A New Arrival

This city, My city, has a new protector of the night. I watched him from several blocks away. He sat hunched on the roof of a five story apartment building, watching the streets below. At first I thought I was watching a thug looking for a mark; after all, the signs were there, dressed in black, hooded, watching the street diligently. I was surprised when a man was attacked by a gang of youths, and the black clad protector dropped along the wall to the street, and saved the man from the youths. He fought with a conservation of force shared only with masters of the martial arts. This character is worth further study. I have been haunting these streets for years, and no one has ever came to the defense of the good citizens. This is a first.

I have made further progress at uncovering those behind the trafficking of human flesh for feeding the zombies. They are linked with the same people that have been promoting and protecting prostitution in this city. I was given a name by an informant, a girl that lost all her family to the cruel machinations of zombies, who was forced into prostitution. The name was Cheryl Bomagato. From what I have found out she is a Union representative for city workers. I haven?t been able to find a link between her and the zombies or prostitution.

I am the Mirrorman and when I look into the faces of prostitutes, I see zombies. Where did the zombies come from and how is it that they have infiltrated the highest levels of government? This city shivers with unknown fear, while the country moves, as lemmings to the sea, inexorable toward a cliff.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

The last act of an individual

Today I saw the last act of brave individuals. I saw the last act of someone who knows what it means to take responsibility for ones actions. I saw professionalism and individuality at the highest level. John Galt would have been proud.

I saw the Captain of a destroyer; take the initiative and authorize the use of deadly force against pirates that held a U.S. Citizen hostage.

The Captain should be rewarded as well as the SEAL?s that did the job. But they will not. In this world and the environment we now find ourselves. Individuality is not rewarded, professionalism is not rewarded. Nothing but crime is rewarded. In a year the pirates will the ones winning the day.

Today I saw the first steps of the teeth being removed from the military. Within two years pirates will be holding U.S. Naval ships for ransom, their crews be-headed and the government will give more and more to the pirates, with nothing given in return.

The power and force is being taken from our military, the power is being transferred to environmentalist.

My city is all but lost. My country is next.

I am the Mirrorman. I see in the heart and soul of men. I know longer see individuals; I see a perverted communal thought.