The Killer God

Written by Matthew Shute

The Killer God.

(Ok, this is just a dark, homicidal fantasy-tale that I won't attempt to justify in any other terms. A meditation upon madness and delusions of grandeur, perhaps - or a blood n' guts horror story where the (alien?) bad guy wins. Hopefully, the randomly extreme violence will be balanced by the insane humour - yes, much of this is intended to be comedic, as you'll probably gather. Anyway, you'll either love it or hate it... or just be indifferent to it.)

Contents:

1. Monday Morning
2. Siege One
3. Dash
4. Swerving
5. Convergence
6. Siege Two
7. The Rest of Time



1. Monday Morning

I woke up and jumped out of bed. I snatched a pair of identical handguns from the bedroom drawer where I kept them. Both pistols were fully loaded with hollow-tipped rounds. Because there was going to be a long day ahead, I armed myself with enough additional ammunition to start a small war. There were a number of grenades lying around on the green carpet; I picked up six of them and attached them to my belt. I took a Samurai Sword from under my bed and slung it into position at my back. Lastly, I grabbed selection of combat knives and strapped them into place around my waist.

Ready to take on the world, I went outside.

Beyond my front door, it was another typical summer morning. The suburbs were just awakening. Everything looked delightful under the cloudless blue sky. The sun was low, casting long shadows all over the cracked pavement. Due to the early hour, the signs of life were few and far between. The quiet road running parallel to the row of houses had no cars running on it at that moment. All was reasonably still. Birds sang.

I filled my lungs with cool air, and exhaled with genuine pleasure. The world was a beautiful place to be.

As I contemplated the day ahead, my mood soared.

The weight of the guns in my palms felt good.

I was ready to have some fun.

Another deep breath. I surveyed the terrain. After a moment or two, I saw what I was looking for.

There were three people waiting at the bus stop outside my house; all on their way to work, I suspected.

The first commuter was a man who appeared to be in his early thirties. He was a white Caucasian with brown greased-back hair and an expression of disdainful arrogance on his long face. An executive of some kind, he wore an immaculate suit and tie, a gold Rolex on his wrist. Here, at the graffiti-daubed shelter, he looked entirely out of place. His BMW had probably broken down and so he was resorting to public transport because there was no alternative. He stood carrying a black briefcase, staring impatiently out at the road, and looking uncomfortable.

The second character at the bus stop was a middle aged black man who looked more like a council street-sweeper than an executive. In addition to a dark gray pair of trousers, he was attired in a huge purple pullover that obscured anything he might have been wearing underneath. He sat on one of the plastic benches, whistling a merry tune to himself and generally daydreaming (probably about some clothes without dirt or holes in them).

The third commuter was a short (not much taller than a dwarf, in fact) young white lady with a face resembling that of a bulldog. She wore a gray skirt, a white blouse, and a black blazer. She held a small leather handbag, and stood not far from the man with the purple jumper.

I stood outside my house for a while, enjoying the atmosphere of anticipation, wondering who to kill first.

I strolled slowly towards the bus stop.

Commuter number three, the bulldog-lady, was the nearest to me. I lifted my left hand, aimed my gun at her, and fired.

The weapon went BAM! and jerked, releasing my first lethal projectile of the day. The violent recoil made for a pleasurable sensation in my wrist and palm.

For the woman, death came swiftly. She was facing away from me so she did not see the Grim Reaper racing towards her. My bullet impacted on her right temple, blowing a fair sized hole into her skull. The wound sprayed blood, and she staggered sideways, awkwardly. By the time the echo of my shot faded out, she'd collapsed in a heap on the cool concrete.

The richer man and the poorer man gasped in disbelief, their wide eyes darting from the dead woman to me and back again about five times or so.

I began to laugh, amused by the comic display.

The black man was getting shakily to his feet, looking at the fresh corpse, clearly shocked and horrified. At the same time, the white man began to run away like a coward.

Raising my right hand this time, I fired at the suit of the fleeing gentleman.

My second slug propelled the craven wretch harshly forward and he landed on his face with a dull thud. There he lay, his spine severed, paralyzed and bleeding. Later, perhaps, I would silence his screaming and whimpering at my convenience.

At last, my eyes fell upon the remaining survivor. When he met my predatory gaze, when he realized that he was the only person at the bus stop who remained fully intact, he bravely-but-foolishly ran at me, snarling. He came fast and was upon me in seconds. Just as he reached me, I pressed both guns against that purple garment of his, and pulled both triggers simultaneously.

The blast was almost deafening. It sent the stranger sprawling backwards. He landed on the hard concrete, dead or dying.

I scanned him for life-signs. There were none.

A strong, distinctive aroma reached my nostrils just then; a mixture of gun smoke and charred flesh, a subtle hint, almost nothing. It was not all that unpleasant.

The paralyzed man in the suit began swearing loudly, shrieking the name of a deity and begging for his mother.

Humming, I looked around.

It was early so streets were virtually empty. However, my unsilenced shots had been extremely loud. The whole neighborhood had probably been stirred by the gunfire. Soon people would be locking their doors and calling the police. After that, all hell would break loose.

As if to confirm my theory, a vague silhouette appeared in a bedroom window two houses away, overlooking the scene of carnage. I stopped humming and fired three shots at the window. The figure slumped out of sight with a short scream that was barely discernible through the noise of exploding glass.

"Nosy person," I said quietly.

After another couple of seconds, I decided to get moving.

All I needed was a car.

My eyes came to rest upon a blue Volvo that belonged to my next-door neighbor (whom I disliked very much). Some additional seconds later, after mercifully slaying the whimpering executive with twelve precisely aimed kicks to the skull, I smashed the side window of the Volvo with the butt of my gun and climbed inside to hot-wire the vehicle. I dropped my guns onto the dashboard and set to work. Moments later, I was off and away.

Being an excellent driver, I was soon zipping along at a steady seventy miles per hour. This may seem excessive but I was not particularly worried about crashing and hurting anyone. Such was my skill behind the wheel, there wasn't much chance of hurting myself either.

As I drove, I checked my watch. The digital display read: AM 7:21 (14). Since leaving my house, only three and a half minutes had passed. Already four people were dead.

Not bad going.

Looking to make my score five, I scanned around for another victim. There were a few cars on the road ahead and I considered ramming or firing upon one of them. Then I noticed an old, crooked man in a heavy brown coat getting ready to cross at the traffic-lights up ahead of me.

Demonstrating my superb driving ability, I put on speed and swerved to hit the old codger full-on before he got halfway across the road. An instant before I ran him down, he turned toward the car and froze, utter panic filling his rheumy eyes. An instant after that, he tumbled across the car bonnet and bounced off onto the tarmac with broken bones and possibly a few ruptured organs to boot.

An early riser, I mused with a dry smile.

At my rear, a car horn blared long and loud.

I glanced into the rearview mirror. A woman in a blue Land Rover, some way behind me, was swerving to avoid the old fellow in her path. Her attempts were in vain. Her vehicle ploughed over the old chap, crushing him under the thick tires. More cracked bones. More ruptured organs. I was fairly certain that the Land Rover had put an end to any chance of survival the man had enjoyed.

My score: five.

The Land Rover skidded dangerously to a halt. I slowed down. The driver was a blonde woman, quite attractive in a gaunt sort of way. I pulled my Volvo to a grinding standstill. Out I stepped, a gun ready in each hand.

The woman was in a state of shock, I observed as I approached. She sat rigid in a state of disbelief and denial, shivering and rubbing her arms distractedly. There was a wild look in her eyes behind the glazed surface; fear?; revulsion? I couldn't tell.

Within yards of the lady's car I halted, aimed with both guns, and peppered the windshield with ten or more shots.

Accurate marksmanship is another of my numerous skills. Every bullet except one found the target, brutally cutting through gummy glass, flesh and bone. The creature in the driver's seat shook as each round pounded her in the face and body. The glass smashed in several places and turned red. The interior of the Rover was splattered with wild gouts of human plasma.

Nice.

I did not stop to admire my work but returned to my car. Inside, I reloaded both guns. Then I sat in the driver's seat for a short period of time, thinking. Specifically, I wondered how long it would be until the area was swarming with armed police. I wondered where I ought to be when they did arrive, what the ideal location for a siege would be.

After a while, I shrugged and stepped back out of the car. Who cares? I thought. Any house will do.

With that in mind, I got out and strode up to the nearest house, number 43. Not ideal by any standards, but it would do.

The door was dark blue. I knocked it and waited. While standing there, I slipped my guns into the holster around my waist.

A fat, middle-aged gentleman answered the door. He wore thick glasses, a string vest and some shorts. His hair was black and greasy. His teeth were a revolting shade of brown. All in all, a rather repulsive specimen.

I reached behind for my sword, pulled it from its sheath, and brought it down hard on the obese human thing. The blade hit his left shoulder, cutting easily through flesh and bone, severing the arm. Just as he started to scream, more in shock than in agony it seemed, I swiftly sliced through his fat neck. The sword traveled effortlessly through tendons and gristle. His scream ended abruptly. The decapitated head slid off, rolled a short way down the hall, and came to a stop on the sepia carpet. I kicked the headless body in the torso region. It landed on the floor with a thump, blood escaping from the neck and shoulder stumps.

I performed a brief sword-parry, purely for effect, and let out a satisfied sigh. I wiped the sword clean, using the dead guy's vest as a rag, and returned the deadly instrument to it sheath.

Suddenly: a surprise attack!

From somewhere, a Doberman sprinted at me, barking. It came fast, a sleek blur of shiny fur and razor-sharp fangs. If my reflexes had been any slower, the vicious beast would have ripped out my throat with its teeth.

I saw no reason to hurt the Doberman. Utilizing my power over animal-minds, I said "stop!" in a stern, commanding tone, held out my palms in a gesture of peace and stood my ground.

The dog skidded to a halt at my feet, squinting and mewing instead of biting and clawing me to a pulp.

"Good boy," I said, noting that the dog was the proud owner of a penis and a pair of testicles, confirming his gender. I patted his head and ushered him out the front door, closing it behind him.

Sounds of movement reached me from upstairs so I rushed up onto the small landing. Four closed doors led off from the landing. The creaking and shuffling was coming from the one directly ahead of me. I kicked the door open and strode into a pink-decorated bedroom.

A woman in a pink night dress was down on her knees in one corner of the room, rummaging around for something. Before she could turn to confront me, I ran to her, grabbed her head in both hands, yanked it sideways so that her neck twisted and snapped.

The move either killed her or paralyzed her. I was not initially sure which.

I dragged her by the hair out onto the landing.

Dropping her, I opened each of the other upstairs doors in turn, scanning each for living organisms, To be more specific, multi-cellular life-forms. Homo Sapiens in particular. Finding none, I raced downstairs, checked the front room, living-room and kitchen. Again, no humans so I returned to the landing once more.

The woman in the nightdress was still alive, although a little on the stiff side. She was whimpering. I grabbed her by the hair again, pulled her with me into one of the two bedrooms overlooking the street. It was the larger of the two rooms, decorated in shades of orange. The colour gave me a warm feeling inside and led me to think of good times. It had one large, flat window that gave a nice view of the quiet road below and took up most of the far wall. I dragged the stiff lady to this window and hurled her through it with all my strength. The impact was thunderous. Glass exploded outwards. She completely demolished the window in question, and fell face-first on her own front lawn with a shard of glass through her windpipe.

Score: seven.

Next, I called the police.

"COME QUICK!" I bawled down the telephone at a bewildered operator. "SOMEONE IS IN THE HOUSE! THEY'RE TRYING TO KILL ME! OH MY GOD! QUICKLY! HELP ME! OH NO! PLEASE! GOD, NO! PLEASE! STOP IT! NO! STOP!"

Then I cut the line, ripping the 'phone from the wall. I didn't need to give the address. All 911 calls are automatically traced when a connection is made.

Satisfied, I lay back on the bed and gazed out of the window, waited for the authorities to arrive.

I relaxed and waited for the siege.



2. Siege One

The police arrived quickly and in force. I saw them setting up outside the house, police vans pulling up, armed squads getting out. Helicopters were also turning up on the scene. It somewhat surprised me how effectively the police had responded to the situation. I was actually quite impressed. Yet, when I thought about it, the cops had surely been inundated with calls since I'd started massacring civilians earlier, back at the bus stop. Leaving trails of corpses behind me, I'd hardly been very subtle, had I?

Before long, snipers would be set up in the houses opposite. Also, it wouldn't surprise me if a SWAT team approached from behind, coming across the back garden.

I grinned. This was going to be fun.

To initiate the proceedings, I took a hand-grenade from my belt, pulled the pin, and tossed it through the smashed window, down at a squad of cops climbing from one of the vans.

It was a fine shot, my internal range-finders and angle-processors working to perfection. The grenade went off with a boom at just the right moment, killing at least three of the cops, probably maiming several others. As if that wasn't enough, the blast also wrecked the van, damaged it beyond repair and set it alight.

I chuckled, sincerely delighted with my work.

That would show the pesky little critters what they were dealing with.

The critters in question responded back with a string of approximately twenty shots, none of which hit me. I dodged down the room and out of the door, crouched on the landing, exhilarated by the boldness of my tactics.

Shouts of panic and frustration echoed up to my auditory system. There were also a fair few shrieks of agony and despair mixed in with those- the results of my grenade attack, no doubt.

"What a day," I commented.

I inched my way downstairs. Halfway through my cautious descent, I heard a voice over a loudspeaker say, "GIVE YOURSELF UP. YOU ARE COMPLETELY SURROUNDED. YOU HAVE NO CHANCE OF ESCAPE."

I quickened pace, clearing the remaining stairs in a few smooth strides.

Then I heard the smashing of glass somewhere in the house and my superb olfactory system detected a slight scent in the air:

CS gas!

Coughing and spluttering, I ducked into the small storage room under the stairs, pulling the door shut behind me. Inside the dark, claustrophobic space I wheezed, feeling the effects of the chemical agent my enemies had used. My eyes ran, leaving my vision slightly blurred.

I sneezed.

I waited.

I hoped.

Then I grimaced as the door flew open without warning. It took a fraction of a second to register the figure in the doorway. He or she wore bulletproof body-armour and a gas-mask. He or she had an assault-rifle aimed at my chest.

With one quick movement I managed to direct the weapon away from me just as the goon pulled the trigger. I got firm grip and held the chattering semiautomatic clear of my precious body.

Ears ringing from the gunfire, I kicked my foe once in the abdomen and once in the navel. A silly mistake, more reflex than anything. Neither blow had much effect through the firm, protective padding of the suit. Using my feet for leverage, however, I somehow managed to wrestle the rifle from my faceless adversary.

Leaning backwards for room to maneuver, I pressed the nose of the assault weapon against the expressionless mask and fired five high-velocity rounds into its interior. Blood and nebulous brain-matter sprayed both me and the tiny room in an eruption of horrific carnage.

I dropped the rifle and reached for my holster.

Another enemy appeared in the hallway. He or she saw me and fired.

I sidestepped into the corner, avoiding the potentially terminal barrage.

I waited for a pause and fired back. My twin pistols barked. The goon took three head-shots and collapsed against the wall, smearing gore over the floral wallpaper as he or she sank into a slumped position.

More voices. Gunfire. I crouched back into my dark corner, coughing up phlegm. I cursed the fact that the gas-mask I could have stolen was not only ruined in the functional sense but it was also full of brain and skull fragments.

Yech!

I aimed, lining up my guns where I expected the next heads would cross my line of sight. But it didn't happen. Instead, the devious little critters threw or fired another couple of gas grenades into the tiny room where I was cornered like a caged animal.

"You bastards!" I shouted. My voice broke with a cough halfway through "bastards" so that the word was spoken with three syllables. Bas-cough!-tards.

The humans replied with a series of gunshots.

Coughing worse than ever, fearing an agonizing death of asphyxiation, I dived out of the room, firing mid-dive like a hero in an action movie.

Unfortunately, it didn't have the desired effect. My guns were out of ammo and only responded with dry clicks. Surely that mistake should have resulted in an abrupt end to my existence. Luckily for me, however, all three of the creatures in the hallway were too bewildered or amused by my "tactics" to exploit the vulnerable position I had put myself in. The pathetic trio didn't manage to hit me with a single shot, although one of them did fire. When I landed, I got up, vaulted over the banister and sprinted up the stairs, cursing my stupidity with the guns.

At the top, I pivoted on my heel and waited for my pursuers to show their concealed faces. At exactly the right moment, I lobbed down a primed grenade. In a truly amazing show of incompetence, the goon in front actually dropped his rifle and caught the thing! It detonated in his hands, blowing him and his companions to pieces. The blast also blew out the front door and brought down some of the wall and ceiling. Even I felt the ferocious explosion, several meters away on the upstairs landing. The tremendous force of it and the searing heat on my skin reminded me of how careful I needed to be with the explosives.

Leaving the devastation behind me, I ran to the front bedroom. At the doorway I bumped into yet another enemy who had somehow managed to get upstairs. Narrowly avoiding a terminal injury to the head, I sidestepped, whipped out my samurai-sword and bisected the oaf, all in one elegant movement.

In the room, I crouched beside the bed and reloaded my pistols, just in time to catch another cowardly fool sneaking through the doorway. I pumped bullets into his or her mask.

Cautiously, I approached this new corpse with a view to adding its rifle to my armory, only to glimpse another four operatives crouched at the doorway. Even as the first gas grenades rolled into the room, I leaped sideways and emptied both pistols into these dull-witted henchmen.

Exasperated with the sheer numbers I was being forced to fight, I reload my pistols, stole one of the assault weapons and took lots of ammo from the dead filth at my feet.

Unfamiliar with this variety of rifle, I decided to test out its range and accuracy. I crawled, commando-style, towards the window, flinching with each shot from the marksmen who were now in place over the road (man, these people were fast). I popped my head up enough to peep over. Police cars, vans and ambulances filled the road. A fire truck was also rumbling onto the scene, sirens blaring. Police officers and paramedics swarmed below like ants.

Lowering my head, I gave my new weapon a brief examination. It appeared to be a fairly top-of-the-range item. Allowing myself a smile, I chose the safest position I could find and began some sniper-duty.

First, I concentrated on the enemy marksmen. This turned out to be quite a fruitless task, and I only managed to neutralize two of them. Second, I randomly shot down at the cops and corpse-pokers, cutting through their ranks swiftly and effectively. While doing this, I found myself going into a little daydream.

It was a familiar fantasy based upon a story I'd read. In it, I had managed to conquer the whole world and most of the human population was incarcerated in vast dungeons that I had built, unwilling subjects for my gigantic torture-chambers, experiment-labs, and rotting-corpse-pits. The rest were slaves and apprentices who would obey my every whim without hesitation. It was a fantasy that happened to be my overall goal and mission in life. And after dominating the world, the rest of the galaxy would be next.

I soon snapped out of the daydream when I heard a floorboard creaking somewhere quite a way behind me. I whirled around and blasted the two goons striding through the doorway into oblivion.

My score: thirty two.



3. Dash

I decided it was time to get out of the house. The surroundings were beginning to depress me and I feared that, ultimately, my position would be overwhelmed by the amassing hordes. Pockets bulging with ammo-clips, I skulked over and picked up a footstool from one corner of the room. It looked old but sturdy enough for what I had in mind. I took it out onto the landing and placed on the floor under a hatch in the ceiling that I had noticed earlier. I stood on the stool, flipped open the hatch, and climbed into the loft space above me. After re-closing the hatch and pulling a heavy box over it, I looked around for another opening. Finding none, I made my own hole in the surface above and navigated my way onto the roof.

A powerful feeling of vertigo menaced me. Not having time to appreciate the view, I ran blindly, dodging bullets, and jumped off the roof. I braced myself for impact, landed on the soft grass beside a garden pond, rolled into standing position, and sprinted as fast as I could towards a neglected shed at the end of the garden.

Bullets hit me; one smacked my left thigh and another penetrated right shoulder. The hits shook my body off balance but I managed to keep my footing. The wounded areas went numb. Fortunately, both rounds went straight through and did not cause too much damage, but I would perhaps need some medical attention later if I got the chance. Perhaps. Probably not.

It would depend on the rate of acceleration at which my powers increased.

Doggedly determined, I ran with all guns blazing. Having to fire mid-sprint hindered my aiming ability a touch. My shoulder-wound didn't exactly help matters either. Still, I managed to kill the four cops who stood by the old shed and one of the two who were ducked down beside a garden hedge that ran along the right side of the garden.

In the short time it took to reach the shed, my wounds had started to throb painfully. Blood seeped into my clothing. I noticed that I was limping very slightly and the gun in my right hand felt heavier than it should have.

With any luck I would soon have a chance to eat, rest, and tap into my amazing powers of regeneration. Soon, I would never need to eat or drink again: unless I wanted to.

At the end of the garden, I smashed my way through a fragile, rotting fence, and came out in a scruffy alleyway -really just a dirt track- at the back of the houses. Four armed cops were climbing out of an unmarked vehicle that they had managed to squeeze into the narrow space to park it.

One was a tall blonde man who's jaw-line looked as though it had been chiseled out of solid stone. Next to him was a short, fat man with dark hair and a bushy mustache who wore a chunky wedding ring. Behind him was a lithe lady with auburn hair who looked around twenty years old. At her side was a thin-faced woman with an aura of stern authority and piercing gray eyes - she reminded me of a school teacher from back when I was sixteen; a school teacher who had hated me almost as much as I'd hated her.

They all went for their guns.

My guns were already drawn. They began to bark and spit their deadly payload.

The blonde guy went down with his throat blown out. The short mustache-wearing gentleman took a hollow-tip in the head which scattered his cranium all over a nearby fence. The twenty(ish) year old took a shot in the heart which killed her almost instantly. The woman with gray eyes also took a shot in the chest, the force of which propelled her into the same fence that was splattered with the married guy's neural tissue, her face rubbing into all that muck as she went down.

"You can't stop me," I told the corpses.

Then I heard the helicopter.



4. Swerving

The helicopter came in fast, seeming to bear down upon me where I stood frozen in the alley.

"Shit," I muttered. "That's all I need."

I raised, my good arm and aimed my 9 mm. Working out the distance, angle and speed of my target, my plan was to shoot its pilot in the head. Concentrating, I fired. The shot missed. I cursed loudly. I recalculated and fired again. The glass cockpit of the helicopter smashed, but this second round again missed the pilot by quite a way. "Damnit," I rasped. I recalculated again. Fired again. Missed.

Like some vast swooping metal beast, the thing was coming closer - at speed.

Bravely, I held my ground. Once more, I gathered all my concentration and fired. The glass shattered inward again, but this time my efforts were rewarded by an attractive star-burst of dark red. Almost immediately, the airborne vehicle began to plummet.

"Yes!"

Satisfied, I swung open the door of the abandoned car and sat myself behind the wheel. I started the engine and threw the car into reverse (just then, the sound of the crashing helicopter reached me, a furious sonic blast, the impact obviously tremendous - I wondered what the chopper could have hit to create such a roar). Emerging backwards from the alley, I straightened up on the road and sped forward, tires squealing in protest.

The road was in chaos. Vehicles were everywhere - roughly half were the ordinary morning traffic, brought to a halt by the conflict of the day; the other half was made up of the combined emergency services (a few cops were already running in my direction, some firing their weapons). To get through it all, I kept my new car on the pavement, racing through the buildup easily, running down one or two police officers and a few pedestrians on the way.

When a bemused young man with a white T-shirt and a generous mustache bounced off the front bonnet, I laughed and shouted, "Hey, watch where you're walking, asshole!"

Soon I was out of the worst of it, but instead of relaxing I increased my speed. I wanted to get as far as I could before roadblocks were set up at every junction. I decided to head southeast towards the city. I had a contact in the downtown area who I suspected would be willing and able to help me out of my predicament. Also, my quest to reach Transformation would be made easier if I could enlist some help. So, desperate to make it, I held foot down on the accelerator, pushing the car to its limits.

Sirens behind me.

I glanced in the rearview mirror. Three cop cars a SWAT van were surging forward, hell-bent on bringing me to "justice". Overhead, another helicopter had locked onto my position with its variety of sophisticated camera equipment - heat-sensitive viewing modes and such like devices.

I took a right, screeching down the block at a near-suicidal pace. I took the next right, then a left, then another left, then a right again, grimly determined not to get caught. I knew I didn't have much chance of evading the chopper, but I could at least stay as far ahead of my ground-based enemies as inhumanly possible.

Keeping my car steady on the pavement, mowing down peds at an alarming rate (after the thirteenth, I lost count), I traveled seven blocks east and then took a right. Four blocks down, I took another left. My would-be captors were falling further and further behind (with the exception of the helicopter) and I was nearly at my destination. I screeched right, down Harvey. When I reached the T-junction at the end, I took a left onto Pine. Halfway down Pine, I pulled to a halt, dashed out of the car and ran into the Green Willow Motel, the seedy residence of my associate Louis. Ignoring the protests of the aging desk-clerk, I grabbed the key to room 13 from behind him (his feeble attempts at prevention proving futile), ran through the door near the counter and up the stairway beyond. Room 13 was near the end of the gloomy corridor. I inserted my key into the lock, turned it and threw the door open.

"Louis, get out of bed, you lazy shit."

Louis grumbled and pressed his face harder into his filthy-looking pillow.

"Quick, Louis," I said. "I need your help."

He mumbled a plea or a threat. "Leemie alone, man. I'm trying to sleep."

It was the growing sound of the approaching sirens I could hear through a nearby open window that made me grab Louis by the hair and drag him to his feet. "Get yourself ready, Louis. It's all about to hit the fan, my good buddy." I gave his face a firm, hard slap to liven him up.

"Shit, what now?" he muttered.

I threw him a pair of jeans from the dirty floor and said, "Cops, my man. Lot's of 'em."

"Cops? Why the fuck d'you lead 'em here?"

"No choice. There're too many of them for me to fight off alone."

Louis just stood there looking half asleep.

I gave him another hard slap. "Better be quick, Louis, unless you want to end up full of bullets and holes."

The Sirens were getting louder with each passing second.

Without saying another word (but with an annoyed shake of the head), Louis pulled on the jeans and reached into his bedside drawer where I knew he kept his Uzi. He grabbed the weapon and quickly stuffed several magazines of ammo for it into the pockets of his jeans.

"Take this, too," I said, throwing him the assault rifle I'd appropriated earlier.

He caught it in his free hand and placed it onto the bed. "Ammo?"

"Here," I said, and gave him what clips I had on my person.

Loaded with clips, Louis grabbed his jacket from the foot of the bed, put it on, and slipped into a pair of black Adidas training shoes. Then he slung the shoulder-strap of the assault rifle over his left shoulder.

"Alight, Uzi-lover," I said, "Let's get to work."

Right on cue we heard car doors slamming and, a few seconds later, footsteps racing up the motel stairway. It sounded like a whole army of cops.

"Ready?" I inquired.

A sharp nod from Louis.

We strode into the corridor and opened fire on the team who had just reached the top of the stairs. Too late, they tried to retaliate, never quite getting the chance to take aim. They went down under a brutal hail of lead, the machine gun seeming to cause the most damage to bone and flesh. I kept firing, longer than I really needed to, lacing the vanquished opponents with about six more bullets than actually necessary.

The echoes died down.

"Good work," I complemented.

"Are they all dead?"

I shrugged. "Let's see."

We walked over to the heap of bodies. One operative was squirming among the tangled mass of limbs, whimpering quietly. I reached for his head and twisted it as hard as I could, breaking the neck. "Let's not waste any ammo," I mentioned, as if in explanation.

"What now?"

"Huh?"

"What are we going to do now?"

"Oh. First, we're gonna get the hell out of this little dump you call a home, Louis. Then we're gonna go and have some fun. Sound good?"

It was Louis' turn to shrug. "Whatever."



5. Convergence

As we stepped out of Green Willow, Louis began firing at the cop cars that were converged around the motel. A lucky shot into the engine of one of the vehicles caused it to explode. The car detonated wildly. This caused an explosive chain reaction, blowing up all the cars that were close enough to each other to be caught in the collective blast-range. The overall explosion was so powerful that it knocked us backwards into the motel.

"Shit!" Louis exclaimed.

I climbed to my feet. My face felt singed. "Good work. That's taken out another SWAT team and a bunch of cops. Just be careful, though. You could've killed us."

Standing up, Louis nodded. "Sorry about that."

Once again we stepped into the street. The smoking wreckage, the remains of cop cars, vans and passing civilians, was a spectacular testament to the destructive powers of an unremarkable-looking fellow by the name of Louis.

We began walking northward.

"Louis," I said. "Here's the deal. The time of the convergence is upon us. Remember what I told you about? Well, it's happening now. I can feel my powers growing with every passing second, but I need you to cover me for as long as possible. I need your protection while I'm still vulnerable. Okay, buddy?"

"Yeah. You know me. I've always got your back."

It was true. In all the years that I'd known Louis, he'd never once let me down, despite the fact that he was a loser in most other respects.

"You'll be rewarded for this, Louis, I promise you. When I'm in charge of this place, there'll be a place for you at my right hand. The population will be your plaything."

"Thanks." Louis said. "But... are you serious? What powers have you got?"

"Hmmm. I'm not sure yet. Let's see..."

Concentrating, I closed my eyes and held my arms out by my sides. Sure enough, I started floating above the earth, unsteadily. It was a paltry display, but was enough to show that the laws of physics no longer quite applied to me anymore. I opened my eyes, and let myself drop back to earth.

"There you go. Slight levitation skills. Some accelerated healing... But these little feats are just the very tip of the iceberg. In a few hours time, I'll be like a god. In a few days time, I'll BE a God."

"Shit, this is cool. Will you be able to raise me from the dead, if I die trying to protect you?."

"Maybe. I'm not exactly sure. However, if I die before I get powerful enough to kick these humans to hell and back, we'll never know. Let's both try to stay alive."

"Okay."

Then my enhanced hearing detected some distant sirens. "Let's move."

We ran down the block. A red Ford was parked in somebody's driveway. I smashed the side window, opened the door and climbed into the driver's seat, opening the other door for Louis. After hot-wiring the vehicle, we were rolling.

I drove the car in a rough northeasterly direction. All the time, I could feel my power growing a little more each second. Slowly but surely, my transformation was taking place.

It wasn't long before we were pursued by more police vehicles.

"Where're we going?" Louis inquired.

"The Penitentiary," I told him.

"Good move."

Pushing the Ford to its top speed, I swerved around trying to hit pedestrians. Every so often, it was necessary to make a detour to avoid roadblocks. I was beginning to be able to sense where they were before they even came into sight.

We sped through a commercial district, through a grotty industrial zone, and then onto a wide area of waste ground that the maximum security prison was located upon. There, we skidded to a halt, jumped out and began firing on the police cars. We managed to make a few kills instantly. The survivors pulled their cars to a halt, and jumped out and began shooting. We managed to kill the first wave with minimum injury (I took three bullets, Louis took one in his leg), although more vehicles were coming. Some of them were unmarked, indicating agents of some kind. Before the week was out, we'd probably end up with the Armed Forces after us... but by then it would be far too late.

We ran towards the large, intimidating structure. It was a huge, gray building, well fortified, with much razor-wire and some watchtowers. As we ran, snipers in the watchtowers began firing at us. Maybe they'd been warned of our possible appearance. Before they could get off three shots, I managed to pick off each of the snipers. Yes, my powers were certainly growing by the second. The rate of increase was far greater than what I'd anticipated. At this rate, I'd be a God in no time!

By the huge, iron entrance, we paused to reload. Then I told Louis to hold onto my back, and I climbed the sheer, vertical surface without much effort.

From the vantage point of the gantry, we could see the prison grounds below. The convicts were in the yard. They sat and stood in groups, their own little cliques. Some were lifting weights. Others were smoking and talking. They looked a suitably unsavory bunch. All were either rapists, murderers, armed robbers or anyone else who fell into the category of "highly dangerous".

Immediately, we began killing guards and throwing them down off the gantry. They splattered down onto the courtyard, leaving their weapons for the prisoners to pick up. It took less than thirty seconds for a full-scale riot to break out. Promptly, the convicts turned on their keepers. The results were bloody.

"I'VE COME TO RELEASE YOU ALL!" I shouted. My voice came out louder than a booming loudspeaker. Cheers echoed up from the courtyard. Seeing a hundred or more "worms turn" was a pleasurable sight indeed.

With Louis holding on for dear life, I jumped off the gantry and sailed down onto the courtyard. I landed on my feet and began to supervise, to organize and orchestrate the rebellion. With my iron leadership (I killed whoever didn't obey orders - they soon learned), it took all of two minutes to purge all guards from the yard and surrounding areas.

Then, efficient as a military unit, we stormed the corridors, killing anyone found wearing a staff uniform. The attack was so sudden, unexpected, brutal and ruthless that they didn't stand a chance.

I said to one of the convicts, "Lead me to the highest security area. Where do they keep all the real Hannibal Lector types?"

"They keep all the REAL psychos in isolation cells, below C-wing."

"Lead me there."

While my new army battled to purge the remaining guards, Louis and I followed the convict down to the bottom level of C-wing. The cells down there contained some of the worst criminals alive. Most were top-grade serial killers.

Grinning, I opened each of these cells one by one, and introduced myself. Some of the occupants tried to kill me, but after displaying newfound strength and tolerance to physical abuse, after looking deep into their sick minds and commanding them, they knew their savior had come.


6. Siege Two

It was an army, and a disciplined one. From the moment I took command, telling these convicts that I was here to save them, I had complete devotion. Those unwilling to serve me were killed quickly and harshly.

My followers and I had a big problem. The law enforcement agencies had all gathered outside the prison complex, en masse, ready to storm in and kill us all. There were 215 prisoners who had been united under my banner. Outside there had gathered something like five hundred men. All of them were well equipped, armed to the teeth.

I told Louis what to do, and placed him in temporary command. The idea was to get those with sniper skills to man the watchtowers, protected by body-armour stolen from the dead guards, and equipped with sniper rifles. The rest were to take to the walkways and prevent anyone climbing into the prison or coming in via helicopter.

Leaving them to their work, I retired to a quiet cell with a pair of pliers and a large meal from the kitchens. I used the pliers to remove the various bullets that had found their way into my body. Then I ate the meal (eggs, bacon, English muffins, toast, fried tomatoes...) and washed it down with two cartons full of fresh orange juice. Finally, I lay down and stretched out on the bunk. I was fast asleep in seconds...

During the sleep, I dreamed of distant planets, legions of space-crafts engaged in some kind of an epic battle. I dreamed of unbuilt palaces and strangely colored skies with orbiting moons...

When I awoke, it was night. Louis was standing over me.

How long had I been sleeping?

I stretched, yawned, felt better than I'd done in my entire life. "Louis. Good to see you're still in one piece. How's the siege going?"

Instead of answering he said, "Your... your eyes..."

"What?"

"Your eyes..."

"Louis, for fuck sake, what about my eyes?"

"They're... glowing."

I turned so that my face was a few inches away from the wall. Indeed, my eyes cast a strange, multicolored aura across the surface.

"And look at your skin!" Louis said.

Looking at my skin, I saw that it had become hard and gray. Touching my own hand, I knew instinctively that my flesh had become solid stone. I stood up. I towered a foot and a half over Louis. Previously, we had both been the same height. I noticed that I had also suddenly become far wider than he was. I saw that my clothing lay on the floor in a torn heap. I must have undressed myself while sleeping. This was awesome.

"Louis," I said. "At last, the time has come. You will be a loser no more. The World is ours."

With that, I strolled out.

...

Levitating above the prison, I saw that the battle was not going well. Most of my "army" had been decimated. Invaders were encroaching everywhere.

The first thing I did was to fly up to the various helicopters that hovered around. I grabbed each by the tail-end (the blade having no effect on my rock-skin) and threw each to the ground, using them as missiles against those who would uphold the laws of society.

That move scattered the attackers somewhat. Against those who survived the bombardment, I sent from my fists a black vortex of swirling needles and razors. The attackers all screamed and died. Then I picked off each of those who had managed to gain access to the prison complex itself. These, I crucified along the walkways, making crosses out of melted gun metal. My followers would not need guns anymore, I told them. My remaining disciples all heard this and understood.

With the attackers vanquished, I held an assembly. My followers stood in neat rows, down in the courtyard. I gave them a brief-but-decisive sermon, explaining that my power would grow and grow, but that those who were most loyal to me would be spared my wrath. Each follower then had to sacrifice something of himself, a lip, an eyelid, a nose, a finger, some small thing of their own choosing. They were given knives and told to cut off some small part of themselves, any they wished. Those who hesitated were instantly condemned to be tortured, raped and killed by the other followers.

By the end, only twenty five disciples remained, not including Louis.

Then I told them to begin the construction of a Grand Temple, using the prison as a foundation. They were to get on with this while I was out conquering America.

Louis was exempt from all this, of course. He was neither forced to cut his ear off or to work on the temple. As it was, he decided to stay and oversee the construction of the temple, anyway. He had found a new vision. He wanted to try his hand at architecture.

Leaving them to their own devices, I flew off into the night, bringing down any helicopters I saw on the way.



7. The Rest of Time

The same night, I went and landed in the middle of the city, among the sprawling shopping precincts and office blocks. I was quite a sight, a huge stone monster with glowing eyes. I just stood and waited. Very soon, a considerable crowd gathered around me. Most of them judged me to be the product of some special-effects team, I believe.

When a worthy crowd gathered I gave them a sermon, telling them that they all had to accept me as their Total Master or die in pain.

Many laughed at this... until I pulverized them on the spot, spraying the crowd with gore.

With that, the crowd tried to flee in terror. I roamed casually, grabbing one person at a time. After all, the World was now my own playground, so there was no rush.

I destroyed a few shops, brought some office-blocks down. I impaled many in the streets who refused to fall before me and worship. Some of those I killed, I brought them back to life as hideously disfigured creatures with a taste for human meat. Each of these warped monsters was as powerful as at least twenty men.

I had decided to act in much the same way as the mythological Biblical God: "Do as I say, or accept the punishment. Worship or feel my wrath."

Once again, some police came to "arrest" me (what a joke). This time I stayed where I was and casually destroyed them, cutting them up with flying lances of black ice. Helicopters came swarming around; I brought them to earth. People shot me; the bullets ricocheted harmlessly away. Exploding grenades did not even sting. My strength and resiliance were still growing.

After four days of this, the USA was virtually at war with me. When I destroyed all the special agents they sent to kill me, Martial Law was declared and the Army was sent in to destroy me. Tanks came at me; I repelled their firepower and crushed them, throwing some of these tanks into the sides of buildings. Fighter Jets converged upon me, Maverick Missiles blazing; I blithely crunched each up into a ball of metal, an threw them. Waves of soldiers tried to get close to me; each wave was brought down under hails of acid, fire and bone shrapnel that flowed from my fingertips.

The television news coverage of this was intense. Very soon, large cults, devoted to me, began to spring up across America. Some claimed I was the Devil. Some claimed I was God. Some even said that I was the Second Coming of Jesus!

On day five, I took matters into my own hands; I flew to the White House, efficiently killed all in my way, and took the President of the United States as my prisoner. After some torture (mental and physical) I got him to bow before me on international television and kiss my feet.

The shock-waves resulting from this gesture reverberated across the planet. I began broadcasting to the World that I was the new God, and that all who didn't worship me would be killed in hideous ways.

World Unity did not come easily. Firstly, although I now basically controlled America, there were many who were opposed to my rule. Therefore, I broadcasted a message that my followers should immediately kill all those who were against me, or be Judged unworthy themselves. This caused an immediate civil war between my followers and my enemies across the Globe. Whole armies were sent out to destroy me; I swiftly vaporized them. Militias were formed in opposition to me. I crushed the bones of each man woman and child among these groups. Flocks of Christians came to use the Power of Prayer against my "Satanic Presence."; they came with their holy water and their crosses and candles; I laughed at them, and had each of them crucified on a wooden cross - a nice, traditional, Christian way to do things.

Various Islamic countries declared war on me, and fired nuclear bombs at America. Each of these bombs I caught and ate, absorbing the nuclear energy. Afterwards, I had the culprit countries purged of all who were against me, overseeing the slaughter personally.

There was also much opposition from Russia and China. They fired their atomic bombs (which I caught and ate). By way of a response, I had the rulers of every country in the World executed live on television. The members of every government and political party in the World were placed inside huge, steel crushers, and squashed into mush. This sent a very clear message to the vast majority - accept me or die. After all, if Presidents and Prime Ministers were not safe from me, then who was? The message that "Resistance Is Futile" eventually got through the skulls of every man woman and child. I had all governments replaced. Instead, there was a total, despotic rule. All major cities were razed and rebuilt according to my wishes. The center of my civilization was the Great Temple that was once a prison. Now it was a golden palace, the center of government for the entire planet.

My coming to power resulted in the death of 78% of the World's initial human population.

Leaving the Earth under the temporary control of my friend Louis, I then blasted off into the depths of space. My goal: to explore and dominate.

Before leaving, I gave Louis, and the World as a whole, one simple message:

...I Will Return...