C'mon in, take yer shoes off, and set yerself down. Here you will find comics, cartoons, musings, rants, . . . whatever strikes my fancy, or "Spins my Plush", so to speak.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

The Day After . . .


The appointed time came far sooner than 387 had hoped. For his failure to apprehend the rebels, and the death of 1, he was to face punishment in Drakon's name. Two guards came to his barracks as the sun rose over what were once the Himalayan Mountains, although they had long since lost the majesty that had once made them seem unconquerable.

As he stood and went out into the courtyard to honour his master, 387's thoughts drifted back to that moment in the sewer when his eyes gazed upon the child. He had only seen one female genie before--although several of the female rebels were rumoured to have physical prowess thought to be beyond natural achievement--when, as a child, he had glimpsed a girl in the academy across the street from his own. Although against the rules, he had snuck through an opening in the front gate. The guard likely would have noticed him if not for a sudden commotion in the yard across the lane. A female, apparently about his age, actually used a bio-blast, similar to his own, to blow an opening in her gate that mirrored his own exactly. But while he was quite comfortable with his ability, she seemed almost . . . frightened by it. She stumbled out into the street, screaming in pain and terror. Immediately the guards at both gates fired their own blasts. The girl was reduced to ashes, and the image burned into 387’s mind. It wasn't the first death he had witnessed, but he had never seen such terror in the object of the kill.

"How sad," he had thought; not that she had died, but that she did not believe that her life energy would live on, empowering Drakon.

So why had he been unable to stop the rebels once he had seen the child?

He stepped in front of a row of his fellow officers, Drakon's Jury, and realized that now his turn had finally come to honour and empower Drakon.

Drakon's Jury consisted of 24 "predator" genies. Each of them had one mangled claw for a hand, and rather than for a bio-blast consisting of electromagnetic energy, the nails of the claw could actually be fired from their natural position. Covered in toxins, the target of the claws was drained of life relatively slowly and painfully, so as to insure that the victim knew that this was punishment for failure--a penance to Drakon, not a gift.

387 watched as 24 misshapen hands rose towards him. The jury formed a semi-circle about him and took up his entire range of view.

"All goodness comes from Drakon," the courtyard prayed in unison.

"All goodness comes from Drakon," 387 repeated aloud.

An officer standing on a deck overlooking the proceedings extended his right arm upwards, "Aim . . ."

387 looked upon the jury, willing to accept his fate as a true soldier of Drakon. Strangely, images from his past flooded into his mind; he remembered his days as a youth, training in a courtyard much like this one, pairing off with other future soldiers to battle one another hand-to-hand. How many times had he imagined facing a terrifying alien or reprehensible rebel, and taking the evil to hell with him for the greatness of Drakon. He remembered when his bio-blast first emerged. How only the markings on his hands had indicated his future potential until his seventh year, when the energy erupted from his hands. It startled him at first. And the pain! But soon his friends had surrounded him, and so many cheers made the pain fade quickly. If they hadn't been there, though, he might have been just as frightened as that young female in the street. And he saw the angel's eyes again. He looked out on his assassins and saw those eyes on the young girl from the street as she stood between him and death.


120 talons flew from their gauntlets only to meet the concrete wall surrounding the courtyard. It was a simple back flip for 387 to clear the wall. He had not been restrained, for no one was foolish enough to run. One bio-blast ripped through the outer fence surrounding the installation. Sirens and alarms echoed across the open field that was home to the structure, and the officers responded as quickly as could be expected, but they all knew 387; knew that his love for Drakon made his death something that he greeted not only willingly, but joyously. And so it was that only a few flesh wounds managed to draw the runner's blood as he dove into a rocky chasm at the edge of the field.

Gasping for breath, one thought raced through his mind. That was his daughter, and he would not let her die like that girl in the street. Not with the terror that he had seen. And more, he just had to see those eyes again. Because in those eyes was goodness--a goodness beyond even Drakon.