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.

Tired

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.

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.

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.

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.

WHO IS JOHN GALT?

I saw the question spray painted on the wall of an abandoned building today. Someone in the depressed slums of this city knows how to read. Either that or the question has taken on a new meaning. But for anyone who has read the book Atlas Shrugged, the question I s cry for help, a rage against what is happening, a scream for help.

Obazy is not John Galt.

John Galt believed in the individual and their ability to survive and thrive, to invent and innovate, to do good.

Obazy doesn?t believe any of that. He believes the government needs to take care of the people, to control them, to tell them what they can and cannot do, what they can accomplish, and how much any one person can have. He believes and is building an oppressive government, which will steal freedom in the name of benevolence.

I know who not John Galt is.

Equality and Subjugation

This city is a toilet. It reeks of long suffered ignorance and hate, disguised as tolerance and political correctness.

If you keep shaking the bottle, eventually it will explode. I smack the bottle every chance I get.

There can only be discrimination when one group uses their influence over another and on the dark streets I haunt, that influence is paraded about like card checks at a union meeting. Equality is a utopian dream of socialists. Forcing equality subjugates everyone to the enforcers.

The meek parasites scurry about afraid of their socialist handlers, afraid they may bee seen to have a little more than their neighbor. Equality will destroy this city, in many ways it has already.

Indoctrination of the Youth

The city is hot. The temperature has slowly increased over the past few days, but that hasn?t stopped me from my chosen evening watch. Only a few weeks ago fires raged North west of here, fueled by unpredictable winds. People are starting to wake up to the hell this country is heading toward. I can only hope enough will wake up to the fact in order to stop the increasing tide of government control.

Our youth is being indoctrinated to believe all capitalism is evil. They are being fed a diet of poison at the public schools. Before long kids will be turning in their parents for misdeeds against nature or animals, perhaps one day it will be a crime to have meat more than once a week, and some unlucky parent trying to raise a healthy young child will be turned in. Unfortunately it is not to hard to imagine, a young kid happy that they had meat twice in one week and telling a school friend, and that friend telling the teacher. The next sound would be the parent hearing the verdict of the judge.

This country is not the one I was born in. I put on this costume to protect the innocent against criminals. I don?t know what side I?m on any more. When it become illegal to have meat more than once a week, should I start stalking the kitchens in the neighborhood? No. I will never in crouch on the personal liberties of an individual, I?ll leave that to our government.

You may think I?m joking about having meat more than twice a week, but I?m not the seeds have already been sown. The youth in the public schools are already seeing videos produced by activists with one purpose in life, to see a government that controls every aspect of our lives. The video is out there its called ?The Story of Stuff?, and it?s dangerous it gives kids the wrong idea of capitalism, it tells them that having things is bad, that being warm in the winter and cool in the summer is bad, that having food to eat is bad.

Sometimes I have to stop myself and laugh at the absurdity of this country.

We can only have meat once a week, but already in congress they are passing a bill to set aside more meat for the zombies. They say this will keep them from killing normal humans. Appeasement didn?t work with Germany and it won?t work with the zombies. With the pro-zombie congress and president, normal humans are in dire straits.

I am the Mirrorman, when I look into the soul of a normal human, with a wife a kid and a job. I see fear.

New World Order

Last night was hot; the city sweltered in the early spring heat wave. Most of the inhabitants were still trying to hold off on using there air conditioners, since the weather soothsayers on the evening news said a drastic cooling trend was only a day a way.

The night was dark; the waning crescent wouldn?t rise until early morning. It was a perfect night for me to patrol the streets, and root out crime. The only thing is the thugs didn?t cooperate, the streets were empty. The lack of johns had hookers abandoning there corners, clubs were quiet, and no sound from the parks.

The night was too peaceful for this dark and degenerate city. I didn?t like it, but there was nothing for me to do. I pulled out papers I had printed from the internet concerning the New Deal put forth by President Roosevelt, and started reading through them.

A quote by James Paul Warburg struck me as appropriate for the current day, and an ominous prediction of the future. Speaking on Feb. 17, 1950, to the United States Senate Committee on Foreign Relations he said, ?We shall have World Government, whether or not we like it. The only question is whether world government will be achieved by conquest or consent."

I?m starting to believe that my fight against the zombies may be in vain and that the New World Order may be the real enemy. Obazy does everything he can to coddle and the zombies, but are they the real threat to this country. Seeking to tie the dots to an organization bent on controlling the world with a global government, may be beyond the abilities of this costumed crime fighter. But I may be brought into the fight against my will, as I watch our constitution eliminated piece by piece, and our economy handed over to the government in the form of bailouts and stimulus packages. I can only wonder when the citizens, so burdened by debt, will stand up and scream out their rage. Herein lies the apex to the crisis, will the collective conscious of the masses demand help from an all powerful government or will they demand freedom from the tyranny.

I don?t know what the answer will be, for I am the mirrorman, I can tell what one man will do when I look in his eyes, but I cannot read the whole.

I will abide my time, and watch. I will make notes. Eventually I will connect the dots.

Perhaps I have already been brought into the fight. Perhaps.

When Atlas Cried

I just finished reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand for possibly the tenth time. The book has never seemed more relevant in any time that it does today.

As I chase down crime and violence in the streets, I connect the dots back to the root cause of this modern day plague. I look deeper than the dysfunctional family; I look to the dysfunctional administration that is currently driving the nation to a collision course with anarchy. Obazy Mouch, in his attempt to gain equality for the zombies by nationalizing everything that was once the backbone of this countries economy, has enslaved millions to his skewed ideology of what is best. He has taken away desire and replaced it with apathy, removed allegiance and replaced it with obedience, and perverted loyalty by requiring a test to prove it.

No more can a young kid think that the way to get ahead is to work hard, start a business work harder and reap the benefits. That is an outdated way of thinking, the kid now must think of doing the minimum, and being held on an equal footing with everyone else. It is evil to try to get a head of others; it is evil to make money. Only the omniscient government is able to manage companies, and people.

Obazy is enslaving the normals and the zombies with every speech he makes every law he signs, he pisses away the rights that were ours as if they meant no more to him that the fly buzzing around his head.

I continue to seek out crime and injustice on the streets, even though I know the cause. And now I seek out something else in my nocturnal haunts, I have begun a new quest a quest for John Galt.

I am the Mirrorman. I see what others fear.

Who is the Mirrorman

Many people want to know who I am. Beyond the costumed crime fighter, people want to know my true identity. Since I have put a dent in the pocket books of professional criminal, they are the most desperate to find out who I am. The law enforcement officials are just as eager to know who I am, and put me behind bars.

Why are these two diametrically opposed groups in agreement when it comes to knowing who I am? Perhaps it is to prove that I am merely a man and nothing more.

Who am I? It is easy I am a man born in American and until recently I was a free citizen. I am a man born from the ideals set for and debated in the federalist papers. I am who Alexander Hamilton saw when he envisioned a free America. I am a man who works to better himself with no help or handout from anyone or any government, I demand freedom. I am a man who believes in the equality of all men, and if this tenant was truly believed throughout the world, there would be no wars, no famine, and no need for a government of any kind.

Who am I? I am the man you want to become, before you are told that you must pay for other citizen?s lack of motivation and drive, with your own money. I am the man you want to become, before you learn that you exist at the behest of a government.

Who am I? I am you. I am the Mirrorman.

Obazy has troubles with his teleprompter.

The dreadful Obazy lurches to his feet. The cameras are bright and hot, but he maintains a smug smile. He can?t let his zombie blood show through, it is too soon for the public to know that he is half human and half zombie.

With practiced calm he walks to the podium focusing on maintaining his composure in front of the cameras. His mind is blank awaiting the teleprompter to give him the words he will speak.

?I would like to welcome Mr. Obazy to our great country. Here in Russia we have long believed that socialism is the path that leads to??

The president of Russia leans toward Obazy, and speaks imperfect English.

?You are reading my speech.?

Obazy looks at him, with a blank stare, before looking back to the teleprompter.

?leads to communism. I would like to add that Mr. Obazy.?

The Russian president looks up to the ceiling as he realizes Obazy is clueless. In that instant he realizes America is ripe for an invasion.

Mirrorman Journal

The city is lost, even those few souls worth saving, have been corrupted. I call them ?malignant allies?, those that still claim to be true humans, but their views have been so changed by living among the zombies that no difference exists anymore. I have no fear I will suffer the same fate, I don?t live among the zombies, I live where none dare, I live on the fringe of death. I look into the eyes of zombies and I see darkness, where the malignant allies see a semblance of life, I give see none.

I am the Mirrorman, and the evil of the zombies cannot harm me. They fear to look upon my mask, and see their true being, not the walking dead, but just dead.

I am the Mirrorman and I reflect the true nature of all that look upon me.

Mirrormans Journal Feb - 2009

The den of evil has become a bastion of vice. Low life punks, small time drug dealers, and anarchists are now the honored guests in board rooms and the cabinets of leaders.Freedom has lost its meaning. Freedom of choice is nothing with out discipline.When you give up discipline you hand authority to the government to make laws and enforce them, because you lack the discipline to do what is right.A psychologist looks into the souls of men and sees the evil that is there. I'm the Mirror Man, I show it back.