[Mercy] Failure To Communicate

[John Doe]

The cargo ship landed on Mercy, right on schedule. A few militia troops huddled near the doors of the ship, ready to gather the much needed supplies to support the war effort. About half a dozen soldiers impatiently waited for the ship's doors to open, as several more freight ships began to appear in the distance.

As the doors slowly unlatched themselves, the soldiers began to sense an uncomfortable smell. They began to look around as they sniffed the air, attempting to identify the smell. After the door's final lock was open, the militia turned back to the ship. It was quiet for a few seconds as the door stayed unmoving. One of the soldiers turned towards his comrades and broke that silence. "Does that smell like... smoke?"

As if on cue, a large crashing sound came from the inside of the cargo room. "Fuck!" The militia immediately stepped back and readied their riffles, aimed at the cargo doors. Another crash came again, rocking the entire ship. "Fucking fuck!" The militia took another step back as they kept their weapons steady. A third crash. "God fucking damnit!" With a final crash, the cargo doors flung open. Doe tripped out of the ship and fell face first onto the ground below. "Motherfucking!"

With their weapons fixed on Doe, the militia squad inched towards the facedown stowaway. Doe turned himself over on his back, and put his fist on his forehead. His shades were still intact, though slightly uneven from his tumble earlier. Both his suit and overcoat had various stains scattered about, smudged and reeking of alcohol. With his other hand, Doe ran his fingers through his short black hair, disheveled and having the slightest hint of women's perfume. "God damn, I feel like shit right now." John lurched forward, now sitting up as the militia moved closer.

"Freeze!" the largest of the soldiers yelled out. His deep voice boomed over the incoming ships that began to dock around them. He took another step towards Doe. "Put your hands up!"

Doe chuckled before asking "Well which is it?" His grin quickly returned to a grimace as he stood up on his knees, patting the dust off his suit. "Listen, pal, I've got a big headache right now, so I'd appreciate it if you shut the fuck up." Doe stood up completely and rubbed his forehead with his hand. He turned to look at one of the militiamen that was in front of him. "Ya got any smokes?"

The large soldier yelled again. "Sir, I told you to put your hands up!" He made a small jabbing motion with his riffle, trying to relay a sense of haste in his order. "Now!"

Doe turned around to directly face the man shouting at him. "Geez, you guys are like a broken record with that shit." He started walking towards the man, balling his hands into fists. "What's next? 'You're under arrest?' Fucking clichés." Then Doe leapt at the man before hearing a loud bang.

A shot zipped past his head as Doe stopped midstride. "He said to put your hands in the air, asshole!" This voice was much softer than the large militiaman. Doe turned to his side to see a small soldier. This militiaman was certainly a pipsqueak, if he ever saw one. Couldn't be an inch over 5' 2". The small soldier readied her weapon again. "The next one's going through your head!"

"Holy shit." Doe remarked, lowering his hands back to his sides. "Is that a woman?"

"Fuck you!" responded the small soldier. She shifted uncomfortably for a second before repositioning her rifle. "What if I am?! Hands up!" Doe grinned before obeying her orders, slowly raising both arms into the air and then placing them behind his head.

Doe looked back over to the large militia. "Tell ya what, you can arrest me, as long as she's the one to put on my cuffs."

[Chubbs Story Account]

John Doe is handcuffed and led away to the 'brig,' which ends up being nothing more than a low-to-the-ground cargo container with bars. Essentially, a glorified doghouse. The structure and door are of simple iron; a strong punch should blow it out. A single guard keeps watch, but seems rather apathetic about it.

No details are given. No one knows what to do with him; war is all around and a stowaway is the least of their concerns. And yet, John is locked away, and handcuffed.

[Mr. Zhu]

It was interesting to think how positively powerful the East City Mafia was not just within Earth, but the entire Universe as well. Even though Zhu was at a pretty high post back in Earth, he had no idea that ECM was involved with inter-planetary trade and crime organization. The knowledge of such only made him more impressed by Black, and now he was interested in the abilities of the twenty elites that were with him.

"Alright," proclaimed Zhu Zhi, recovering from a massive headache from the leftover opium high, "as the commander of this ship, I hope you all realized that you're going to be under direct command of me, and at the very least learn my name!"

Everyone sat at attention and looked towards Zhu Zhi. They were all very well trained, much like soldiers that are just about to go to war, their mindset knew that the invasion was a very similar thing in context anyway.

"My name is Zhu Zhi. Now I'm not gonna establish any ranks or anything on this ship, but I want you all to know that I am the commander in this ship," Zhu Zhi authorized as he paced around the twenty men, "I'm not interested in learning your names either, this isn't introductory time, I just want you guys to know that you're here for me, and for me only. If any one defies orders, there's only one way out."

He put his hand towards his throat, and made a slashing motion along with a little sound effect. In order to maintain control of a brigade or a fleet, you had to establish what Sun Tzu called 'Authoritarian Power,' and in order to establish that power, if anyone were to defy him he'd have to have them executed to keep everyone in place. That was one of the many things he learned from studying history extensively in the Forbidden City.

All of them sat still, very aware of the fact that Zhu Zhi was put in charge, and they were forced to take his commands no matter how reluctant and disapproving they were of doing so. However, a good thing that Zhu Zhi noticed was that there were no private chatter amongst his soldiers. They were either all separately trained and picked from different sectors of ECM's territory, or they were very well disciplined. In that case, either of the two scenarios would be beneficial for him. If they were all separately trained, that means they have no likeness between each other so no emotions will be involved, or if they really were highly disciplined, they'd be easier to manipulate. Zhu Zhi had always fascinated power.

"We're due to land in ten minutes, sir!" the navigator alerted the rest.

"Alright men, now I'm sure you all know the first rule is to slap on that seatbelt and leave the LAVATORIES for your own safety. I don't need anyone dying before the battle begins."

He closed his eyes and awaited arrival. The impact was light and not uncomfortable and the aircraft was landed with extreme expertise, he recognized that the pilot was also an extended member of the twenty elites that he was granted, along with the pilot and himself, there were a total of twenty-two men on board, and a total of twenty-one men that were under his command.

"We have to move fast everyone, unload your personal belongings and equipment and we shall start looking for land to settle."

At the command, everyone began to do their own thing, either packing up their belongings or taking charge of food and other equipments. They weren't supplied with anything but food and water by Black, no heavy duty artillery and kevlar armor, it seems they weren't headed towards a conventional war, but more of a free-form type guerrilla warfare. Zhu trusted Black's instincts, and as long as these guys were his elites, they must've had some other killing potential that didn't involve guns and knives.

In order to keep the squad's unity, he had to employ his old methods of training the Emperor's personal guards. Military training was not his favorite thing in the world, and of course in a squad full of arrogant and individually able men, it was hard, but the fact that his troops didn't seem to chatter or act nervously about going to war showed that they were well-trained and able warriors. That made his job a lot easier.

"Alright lads, let's go land hunting!"

[John Doe]

"You couldn't get anything bigger?"

Doe sat cross-legged inside his small cage, his hands still bound behind his back with handcuffs. The container stood about 3 feet high, forcing the stowaway to sit in place. The cage had a solid iron plate on the top and bottom, held together by a row of grey bars that surrounded him on all sides. His personal prison was held inside the spaceport's basement. Despite being such a large spaceport, the basement was surprisingly small. A single bulb hung down and illuminated the dank room. The stairs leading up into the facility were rickety and made of rotting wood, which was strange in such a high tech day-in-age. Even under such short notice, Doe had to hand it to the militia; they certainly knew how to make somebody feel at home. "On some planets, this could be considered cruel and unusual punishment."

Doe looked up at his guard, the female militia who arrested him. She sat near Doe's cell on a small stool, her arm resting on her leg as it supported her chin. Her rifle was still strapped around her shoulder, but she was staring at the wall with a blank stare. She hadn't been on guard duty for more than an hour, but to her, it felt like days had gone by. She turned her head towards Doe and shrugged. "Having to watch you is truly cruel and unusual."

The prisoner leaned back against his iron bars and made a small smirk. "Ouch, your words really cut deep, you know?" The soldier sighed, and returned to staring at her wall. Doe took the chance to give himself a better look at her. The woman was definitely a shrimp, even by a woman's standards. While sitting on the stool, her legs were barely able to reach the ground. The uniform seemed a few sizes too big for her; her sleeves covered her hands and the hem of her pants were touching the floor. It was hard to tell what her body looked like underneath her outfit, but Doe figured she was at least a B, for sure. Doe could barely make out her name from where he was sitting, but it seemed to be "Mary Sue." She had a camouflaged cap on that tried to compress her hair into a ball, but Doe could see a few strands of her bright red hair trickling out of it. She kept her face in a pout, her youthful cheeks still resting on her palm. Definitely in her late teens, he thought. Doe shook his head in disappointment. "I bet you could be a real looker if you spruced yourself up some."

Right after his statement was complete, Mary threw her stool at Doe, who leapt backwards as far as his cell allowed him to. Her face went red and her cheeks puffed up in an instant, almost like she's heard that line one too many times. Doe looked straight back at her, and then erupted into a fit of laughter. "Didn't take you as the sensitive type, yahahaha!" He began to kick the iron bars as his jackal-like laughter continued. The guard took a deep breath before picking up her stool and returning to her position. As the suit wearing prisoner settled down, he leaned towards his captor and rested his head between the bars. "Oh come on, you can't stay like that forever you know. How else are we going to pass the time if we can't enjoy some friendly conversation?"

Mary sighed again and turned her back to the man. "To think, I could be out on the front lines right now..." she muttered under her breath.

"Oh." Doe remarked, sitting straight up. "Are you some sorta tomboy?"

"Will you shut up!?" She reached for her rifle to try an intimidate her prisoner. Doe grinned, but he remained silent. After a brief moment of silence, Mary calmed herself down and tried to explain her position. "I come from a big family, 6 brothers and 3 sisters. Our parents died when we were little, so we've been taking care of ourselves for our entire lives. When this war started, all my brothers volunteered to stop these invaders, leaving me and my two sisters alone on Earth." She paused for a moment and looked off into the distance, presumably towards Earth.

"We are a resourceful bunch and can get by without them around, but..." Doe leaned towards his guard, feigning interest. "I couldn't stand by and do nothing! I might be a girl, and a small one at that, but I can't leave the fate of the universe up to my brothers. I have to help, in any way I can."

Doe started to clap. "Bravo, great speech!" He put his hand up to his mouth in a vain attempt to whistle. "Encore!" Mary grunted and turned back towards the wall opposite Doe, regretting that she even tried to open herself up to her prisoner of all things. She didn't want to have to listen to him anymore...

...

...

"Wait..."

The realization came to her at that moment as he jumped out of her stool and turned around. As she feared, Doe was sitting in his cell, both hands in the air in front of him. Mary grabbed the rifle of her shoulder and took aim. "How'd you get free from your handcuffs!" she demanded, making sure that the safety was turned off.

"I learned a few tricks in my travels." He leaned forward as he clenched an iron bar in front of him. "Like this one." Right on cue, the grey bar started turning red. It began to glow as heat radiated from Doe's palm. Mary took a step backwards as the bar started to melt, forming a small puddle of hot metal on the ground below. In a few seconds, the bar was completely melted, and the prisoner stood up and crawled out of his cell. "How was that? Free at last, am I right?" He started to walk towards the guard as his grin expanded into a beaming smile.

Without pausing to ask any more questions, Mary pushed her finger against the trigger and fired a round straight into Doe's head. He fell backwards and fell to the ground, his black shades falling next to him. He creepy grin remained as blood oozed from his wound and onto the ground below. Mary gave a relieved sigh and she put her rifle back to her side and turned around to report this incident to her superiors. The stowaway was dead. As she walked towards the stairs, she turned around once more to be sure of his demise.

Doe was standing two feet away from her, blood still covering his face. Mary fell back onto the stairs from the shock as Doe began another, deeper laugh. The wound on his forehead began to close and he carefully placed his shades back on his head. "Did I forget to mention that I'm immortal?"

[Chubbs Story Account]

@Mr Zhu: The world keeps spinning.

@John Doe: The sound of the gunshot, combined with the general ruckus, has alerted the guards, who are steadily arriving. With each passing second, the situation will become more dire.

[John Doe]

"What? Is there something on my face?"

Doe continued to stand over the shocked Mary, who was still taken aback from her former prisoner's shocking revelation. It didn't help that Doe kept rubbing his hands across his face with his own blood. The young woman covered her mouth and turned away from the immortal, making a soft gagging noice. Doe stopped his horror show and let out a short chortle. "I have to say, it never gets old." He leaned his head down and eyed the outside of his overcoat. Doe scanned it front to back, poking a spot here and there before happily sighing. "At least I didn't get any grey matter on it. That shit takes weeks to come out." He looked back down at Mary, and offered her a bloody hand with a tooth filled grin. "Need some help?"

The soldier swatted his hand away and scrambled away from Doe on all fours. Mary reached the corner of the tiny basement and turned herself around to keep Doe in her sights. All sorts of thoughts turned around in her mind. What is he? He could melt a cage with his hands, what should I do? I can't kill him, what do I do? What the fuck am I supposed to do!?

Doe continued to stand on the foot of the stairway, scratching the back of his head. He seemed almost as confused as Mary was. "Ya know, I could have sworn that there would be more guards showing up right about now." He then jumped in place and swirled around towards the door, mimicking a martial arts stance as he jumped. His smile beamed with anticipation. Doe couldn't wait to deal with the huge horde of...

Nothing.

"How disappointing." Doe sighed, lifelessly returning his arms to his sides and then plugging them into his overcoat pockets. He turned his attention back to Mary, still shuffling about in the corner. She made an audible squeak. Doe couldn't help but laugh. "Underneath all that false bravado is just another timid little girl huh?" He rubbed his face again, removing most of the crimson juice from his visage. "Well, I don't mind at all. We can still screw."

As if timed perfectly, a small squad of militiamen burst down the door to the basement, aiming their guns at Doe. He turned back towards the doorway, which was now swiftly being blocked from an increasing mass of soldiers. "Fucking hell, guys! Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Freeze asshole!" a familiar voice rang out. The large militiaman from the cargo ship stood at the point of his men, all staring down Doe with rifles at the ready. "Just give me a reason to shoot, comeon!"

Doe breathed in and out slowly and gave a small shurg. He turned his head around back towards the cowering young woman. "Tell ya what, Mary. You can sit tight right there. Once I'm done with these guys, we can have some fun together, alright?" With that, Doe pulled out two large pistols from his overcoat pockets. The soldiers and stowaway both took their aim at one another. A short cackle escaped from Doe before being drowned out by the sounds of gunfire.


***

The militia had set up their command center inside the spaceport's control tower. Several dozen soldiers were crowded within the hub, operating consoles that controlled the flow of supplies and troops that were arriving every few minutes. Even more militiamen started to pile into the already cramped control room, shoving into idle soldiers as they past them.

Amidst the hectic state of the militia stood one calm and unmoving figure. This figure was dressed with a highly decorated camouflaged uniform, three stars resting on both shoulders. The general stood tall, nearly seven feet, and loomed over his subordinates. His grey hair was combed back neatly, hidden underneath his helmet. He stared at his men with dark blue eyes, which had seen the deaths of thousands of men. The general reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair cigars. He broke both of them in half, and placed each of the four halves into his mustached mouth. He lit all four cigars before returning to his stern and stoic state. Across his breast was his nameplate, which simply read "Fightmaster."

In that moment, several more militiamen forced their way into the control room. They each ran up towards General Fightmaster and gave a quick salute with a "Sir!" The old general turned his head towards the men before returning his attention to the consoles, simply acknowledging their presence. One on the soldiers stepped forward to deliver his message. "General, there has been reports of gunshots within the D sector, and several men have been found wounded or dead." The soldier took a moment to take a breath before continuing. "We believe this was caused by a prisoner we had captured earlier. What are your orders?"

Fightmaster plucked each of his cigars from his mouth between his index and middle fingers. He exhaled, filling the air around him with a plume of smoke, then turned around towards his men. They stood at the ready, anxious for a command to be given. The general laughed with a deep, throaty voice. He then placed his cigars back into his mouth before stepping towards his subordinates. "Sound the alarms, gentlemen!"

Instantly, the militia around him activated the alarm systems. The intercoms had erupted into a loud wail, invigorating men all across the spaceport into action. Soldiers poured out of their bunkers and began to ready their weapons. As the siren continued its screech, the general sauntered over towards one of the consoles around him. He reached down and pulled up a microphone to his face, inches away from the hot cigars. "Alright boys, there's a rat who got out of his cage. Dead or alive, boys. Dead or alive."

[Chubbs Story Account]

A full-scale alert is sent throughout the Militia Communication channels, throughout all of Mercy-sei, with an accompanying image of John Doe taken from a security camera.

*ALERT* This individual is wanted for murder and treasonous acts. His motives are unknown; he may be an agent on behalf of the Invaders. Treat with extreme caution. Apprehend if possible, kill if not.

[Mr. Zhu]

"Sir, it seems that we have signs of enemy settlement on the outskirts of our camp."

Zhu Zhi came to the middle of his steak dinner, before elegantly putting down his fork and took his napkin to wipe away the sauce. He looked up at his informant, the pilot of the ship and the navigator. Apparently he was supposed to be some kind of expert on planetary travel and navigation, one of the reasons that Black actually kept him around, because he was clearly not a combat artist. Definitely not.

The man stuck out from the crew like a stick in a puddle of mud, he was not well-kept, a belly hanging out from his torso, and really flabby skin. Not the athletic type definitely, not unlike the rest of his crew, which consisted of twenty well-built and burly men who were firm and disciplined. Zhu kind of liked this guy, he was different than the others, he actually spoke and not only did shit through commands, it was like he had a mind of his own while the others didn't quite.

"Very well," Zhu folded his hands together and played with his thumb, "have you scouted out their settlement? Are you even sure it's an enemy settlement?"

"They're humanoids sir, but I'm unsure if they're human or not."

"What about intel, have you looked through their military standings and settlement resources?" inquired Zhu. He was keen on invasion now that he had found other forms of living in this planet. It didn't quite matter if they were human or not, he needed a place where he could form a base. Even if the settlement consisted of allies, he needed to take the place to form his foundation so he could prepare for the invasion of the enemy when it really came. He needed to conquer real residence in order to establish his own army, plus prisoners of war always came in handy.

"Not yet, sir. As it stands I've yet to look into the situation of their intelligence." he informed.

"Well, we'll need the information in order to contemplate infiltration," Zhu Zhi said as he scratched his chin, "what was your name again?"

"Desmond sir."

Lifting his head and standing up, he looked to the rest of his squadron and projected his voice, "I know everyone is eager to go to war, and I assure that we will."

Everyone lifted their heads up as if Zhu Zhi called for commands of "attention," directing their beady eyes towards the acclaimed leader. They had pretty much accepted Zhu Zhi as leader now, he may not be as authoratative as Black, but he held his weight when he spoke of commands.

Most of his elites were happy with hearing that they were heading into battle, many of them signed up to go through such rigorous training for when the Mafia would head into war. This was a war. It may not be a full scale mob war, which concerns interest conflicts, but this was something that could threaten Earth's well-being in general. It was somewhat important.

"I'll need an Espionage squad and a Sabotage squad," Zhu appointed, "I'll need the Espionage squad to report to Desmond here, and the Sabotage squad is going be under direct command of me. Now I'll need ten volunteers for these positions. Any takers?"

Many of the elites were eager to get their hands on participation and volunteered their help to become the special ops. It was simple, he needed the espionage to collect and bring forth military, technology and resource info, while he needed the others to plunder, kidnap, loot and steal. They were his secret police, they were his special ops troopers, he was going to run this war right.

Zhu Zhi went through the volunteers and handpicked his ten men. Desmond was still dumbfounded that Zhu put him in charge, and he looked determined to impress Zhu. After all, it was basically as if Zhu appointed him as second-in-command, now that's a huge responsibility. Zhu figured as much, he knew Desmond was more than capable because of his good awareness of scouting around for settlement in the first place, while others put together camp. At a time like this, he needed someone like him who was able to take charge by his side.

"Well then, Desmond," Zhu Zhi readied himself for command, "you are going to take both teams to the enemy settlement, and you are all going to do the respective jobs you've assigned. As of now, I don't want to see too much hostility so Sabotage, I want you guys to help Espionage as of now. Only loot if you see no one, I will give you guys more commands as Desmond reports back."

Everyone nodded, and the troopers collectively all emitted a general excitement of stepping into the first stage of this war.

"Got it?"

They all looked at each other with grins of excitement; of course they did.

[John Doe]

The entire facility was alive with vigor and gusto as waves of militia ran down the halls towards Section D. For the first time since they have arrived, these volunteer soldiers were finally in red alert. Some faces flashed with fear of an upcoming battle, others twitched in anticipation. Regardless of the individual feelings of these troops, they moved as a single huddled mass towards their target. The war was about to hit them, right then, right there, whether they were ready or not.

"...damn..."

Leading the pack of militia was a grizzled, orange-skinned humanoid. He raised his fist up as he stopped his pace, promptly crouching to his knees. Following suit, the remainder of his unit skidded to a halt as well. As soon as they stopped their hustle, the militiamen could overhear someone muttering down the hall.

"...ou've...idding me!"

The militia group's leader, the orange-skinned sergeant, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small photograph. The picture was taken on one of the many security cameras positioned around the station. It showed a black-haired, suit wearing asshole. He was smiling towards the camera as he free hand was positioned in front of himself, his fuck finger extended. The other hand was busy grasping a pistol that shot deadly at the militia in the background. Several soldiers laid face down on the floor around the smiling maniac. The sergeant crumpled the photo with his fist and stuffed it back into his pants pocket. The enemy was clear.

Turning back to face his men behind him, he raised his hand up in the air. He pointed towards two soldiers closest to him, then struck his index and middle finger out and trust his hand towards his eyes. Military code for "Watch my back." The grizzled vet turned back to the front, where he knew the target was waiting. He inched forward, still on his knees, doing his best not to make too much noise. He reached the corner of the hallway. The dug into his pocket yet again and pulled out a small mirror. It was a bit of a cliché, but it was effective. He placed the mirror on his combat knife with some string, and slowly peaked it over the side.

Doe was crotched over a militiaman's corpse, lazily digging through the man's belongings. After a few seconds, he violently shoved the corpse away, visibly pissed. "I've capped off dozens of these guys, and none of them have any fucking cigarettes!" Doe shot back up to an upright position, resorting to kicking the uncaring body in frustration.

The sergeant watched silently from his corner. He wasn't very keen on watching this vagabond desecrating his comrades, but he was a professional. Always strike when the time was right. The old soldier was just waiting for his target to slip up, to make one false move. Patience.

After a few minutes of waiting, the old sergeant got his chance. Doe pulled out his pistol and examined it for a moment. The shades wearing man then removed the magazine from his weapon to check the ammo. The sergeant acted, springing out from his hiding spot. Rifle poised, he took aim and fired a single round. The bullet struck Doe's pistol, making it fly from his hand and down the hallway, still littered with fallen soldiers. Two more militiamen rounded the corner as well, and all three men aimed their weapons at Doe. The orange-skinned sergeant coolly grunted to Doe. "Game over, come in quietly."

"Oh, there's more of ya. Great!" Seemingly unaffected by his odds, he grinned towards the trio of soldiers. "Listen, do any of you have some smokes? I could kill for a cig right now." The three soldiers stood steady, unflinching at his request. His smile slowly faded as more soldiers massed up behind the trio, and Doe was staring at a force three dozen strong. He exhaled through his, black smoke escaping through his nostrils. He looked behind himself and started speaking again. "No? Then how about we play a game?" He balled up his free hand into a fist, fire forming around it. "It's called 'Catch.'"

Doe threw the magazine up towards the huddle. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as every member of their ranks watched the cartridge fly towards them. They didn't take notice that Doe had his fiery arm extended. "Catch." A orb of flame emerged from his arm and towards the crowed group of soldiers. The narrow hallway trapped them like rats as the fireball hit the clip of bullets. The explosion instantly engulfed the orange-skinned sergeant, as the rest of his men flew off in all directions. The entire building shook and the walls around the soldiers bent and split out. Doe admired his destruction from afar, nodding in approval as a heap of rumble came into view from the smoke.

A cocky grin returned to Doe's face once more. "Don't hate the player, hate the game!" With that, Doe walked down the hallway, picked up his gun, and went on his way.

[Chubbs Story Account]

@Zhu: The world keeps spinning.

@Doe: The world keeps spinning.

[John Doe]

A few hours had passed since the explosion rocked the structure of the building. The command center was ablaze with confusion and contempt against their saboteur. Men were shouting over the intercom, while others scanned the security monitors. They didn't know who this guy was, what he wanted, or even why he was there. But they all knew one thing for sure; they wanted him dead.

General Fightmaster sauntered through the sliding metal doorway. His face was constantly contorted with a strange half-grin, half-snarl. The commander reached his post in the heart of the clusterfuck of confusion and chaos. "Status report, boys. Where is our rat hiding?"

A spectacled militiaman sprang out of his chair and saluted his commander with a "Sir!" He quickly struck his middle finger at his glasses before placing his arms at his sides. "We, uh, don't know sir." He paused a moment, expecting an outburst from his superior. The general stared wordlessly at the man, prompting the soldier to continue his report. "He doesn't show up on camera, and our patrols have not caught sight of him. He seems to be laying low after causing that explosion, sir!"

"Can't find him? Heh!" Fightmaster pulled out three cigars from his side pocket. He twisted the tops of the cigars off, then plugged the ends of the tobacco rolls together. He stuffed the long, mega cigar into his mouth, lit the tip, and puffed out a tornado of smoke that literally made the spectacled soldier wheeze and pass out. Ignoring his subordinate, he turned around towards his idle men, standing behind him. "Alright boys, let's smoke him out!"

***

Years of footsteps had laid out a beaten dirt road. The road lead deep into a bright forest. Oak trees hung their branches high along the pathway. The trees seemed to have arched themselves in a way that welcomed those who entered. Morning dew glistened on the grass, which hoped around the trees. Sunlight hung high above the woodland area. The white clouds jumped in front of the sun to shade the forest for only a moment. Underneath the protection of the branches, light barely penetrated the thick, leafy stocks of the trees. The shaded dirt pathway lead on through the forest. It dug deep into the woods until it reached the center.

Inside the hub of the forest was a circular patch of flat grass. A single, young sapling was mantled in the middle of the open patch of grass. It only stood a few feet above the green grass around it, but it was adorned with thin limbs that extended out from its sides like a pair of arms. The uppermost part of the sapling had a bulbous shaped stem, the very top of the plant covered with leaves that bejeweled the crown and drizzled down the back like a head of hair. The sapling itself was like a small child, standing, arms spread, welcoming visitors. A gentle wind blew by, swinging the arms of the sapling around. Almost like it was dancing.

The sun returned from its rest in the azure sky above. Wind breezed along the brush, and the trees waltzed around the forest. The leaves had changed from their usual green shade and had been painted into beautiful magenta, orange, and amber foliage. Flowers awakened from their slumber and rose from the ground, decorating the grassy field with roses and lilies and tulips and chrysanthemums. The forest was alive.

Doe was high as fuck.

Things, and Doe, were spinning all around the room. He had snuck into the bunkers after causing several dozen deaths and an explosion or two. As he figured, some members of the militia had a "stash." It was Doe's civil duty to relinquish this "stash" from the militia for the greater good, of himself. At first, all he wanted was a few dozen cigarettes and maybe a beer or two. Then he found something better.

"OH MY GOD THE WALLS ARE MELTING!"

He found a nice fat roll of weed stuffed in the corner of the "stash." Right next to that was innocent strip of paper inside a plastic bag. Like any sensible citizen, he popped this piece of paper into his mouth. He then picked up the marijuana roll up and, with a snap of his fingers, lit the stick and puffed away. The result was...

"THE WALLS ARE CHOCOLATE BARS, YAAAAAAAAAA~!"

Doe leapt up and reached out for the walls. His mouth hung open with a stupid smile, drool escaping from his unfastened jaws. He slammed his face against the dark, creamy wall of chocolate delish. "Words" seemed to spew out of him. Beautiful words that captured this thoughts and feelings perfectly.

"EAYMEGOONAHEAUTYAOAP!"

The noise from the building brought the attention of a pair of nearby soldiers. They burst into the room to see Doe lying on his back on the ground, arms stretched towards the sky of marshmallow clouds. Doe rolled his head around the floor, making strange gibberish and his palms opened and closed in the air.

"Why are the giraffes so far away!?"

The soldiers slowly cocked their heads towards each other before shrugging. They walked over and lifted Doe's body by his limbs, and slowly made their way out of the room. "Whoever this guy is, Fightmaster wants to see him."

[Chubbs Story Account]

The world keeps spinning.

*BUFF* Cannabil [One Cycle, Sixth] - John Doe is high as fuck. His Endurance is doubled and his Agility is halved.

[John Doe]

A dozen mighty iguanas heaved and hoed the man through the hallway of ripened tomatoes. A constant giggle escaped from Doe's clutches, forming into balloons riding waves of snow-white crystals and turquoise elephants. A single, consistent thought could not be formed while raindrops of peppermints and xylophones fell from the gumdrop sky.

"This guy is getting heavy." One of the iguanas had spoken out to his brethren. It arched itself away from the legs it was carrying, placing them on the ground. "Let's take a break." The others followed suit, and slithered Doe down like the ragdoll he was. He fell on floating glass saucers, and ascended towards the clouds above. Flocks of sheep roamed past the hazed, suit-wearing gentleman. As Doe admired the beauty of the drove, he turned his head to spot a single rocket-shaped kite, hovering by his side. As he reached out to grasp it, the kite soared away. "Ok, let's go." The lizards returned their hold of the man, and returned to their stride.

***

"My throat is a robot."

A muted, wheezy laughter gushed out of Doe, still stuck in his stoned stupor. The soldiers who had been hauling him stared forward, unamused. Only a few minutes had passed since they found him, but Doe hadn't made it a pleasant time. He constantly spewed gibberish while wiggling about, trying to reach out for the "dancing cheeseburger antelopes" he saw out in the distance. Both of them had considering just shooting the saboteur and calling it a day. As they reached the metal doors of the headquarters, the militiamen sighed with relief. Doe continued his breathless laughter.

Right on the mark, the metal doors opened wide to reveal the imposing General Fightmaster, standing in front of a platoon of troops. He paused mid-stride when the pathway revealed the young soldiers blocking his way, carrying the nearly unconscious Doe by the limbs. On sight, the two men dropped the suit-wearing prisoner on the ground and positioned their arms in a salute. Doe landed on the ground with a thud, and made a muffled moan.

"Ay thunk Ay bweat mah tawngun!"

Doe rolled around on the floor with his hand over his mouth, mixing quiet whimpers with stifled cackles. The commander looked down at the mess of a man, still flopping about absurdly. Fightmaster pulled out the picture of the intruder, eyeing both the man and the still image before turning to the two saluting militia. "This really the rat who's been destroying my station?" They nodded in unison.

"PEEEEEEEEEEEPS!"

The general and his men jolted their attention to the man in the dark suit, his sudden outburst catching them off guard. Doe lurched up from his rested pose and launched into the air. Both feet slammed into the floor, creating a crater around himself. He looked around himself at the colorful creatures eyeing him, giant bird-like candy creations. Each one wore the same solid, black eyes. Red, yellow, green, and blue beaked beasts crowded all around him, continuing their blank stares. A large, mustached peep stood forward, sprouted a cigar from its beak, and spoke. "Get em boys!"

Doe had the munchies.

A peep felt bare knuckles drive into its plushy skull, as white, marshmellowy goodness spewed out from the depression that was once its head. Doe wasted no time as he leapt towards another candy creature, driving his head forward and into its stomach. The bird coughed up its insides and collapsed to Doe's side. Another peep ran towards Doe, suddenly sprouting a bayonet from its squishy exterior. It trust it forward, but missed its target. The overcoat ripped as Doe plunged his fingers inside the peep's eye, pulling out its black, button-like eye. Doe popped the marshmallow eye into his mouth and chomped down. White goo dripped from his mouth, and he nearly gagged at the taste. "Ugh, you guys out of season already?"

The peeps rang out cries of war, firing out candy corn from their beaks. The kernels barraged Doe from all sides, ripping through his. The man pulled out both pistols from his overcoat and returned fire. The wad of candy critters fell in a pile together. He spun around and fired carelessly, spraying bullets all around. He was only stopped by a fist that entered his face. Doe flew backwards and crashed into the wall, and was face to moustache with the large general.

Fightmaster yanked a cylinder shaped device off of his belt. He pressed the button on the top of the capsule and tossed it into the air above him, exploding into a comical cloud of smoke. After the smoke cleared, a large cigar, nearly as long as the general was tall, feel from the plume and landed in the officer's arms. Fightmaster swung the cigar around him like a bo staff, before resting it by his side. "Alright, now let's see how you fare against somebody your own size, boy."

[Chubbs Story Account]

The world keeps spinning.

[John Doe]

"Who you calling boy, boy?"

Shades still intact, Doe lurched out of the collapsing crater that held him in place. The old man threw a decent punch; knocked the weed right out of him. Doe stuffed his guns back into his overcoat, which was riddled with bullet holes and bloodstains slapped himself in the face a few times and shook his head around. Sobered up, the man swayed his arms in a circle and arched his neck side to side, cracking them both. Preparations finished, Doe proudly glared back at Fightmaster. The suited saboteur flung out an arm towards the general, palm up and fingers extended. He tugged the fingers back a few times, towards his persistent grin.

"Bring it."

The mustached general brought it, thrusting his cigar-staff at Doe's head. He sidestepped to the left and threw a quick jab with his right. Fightmaster pulled himself back, blocking the punch with his surprisingly solid cigar-staff. Continuing with his momentum, the general brought his weapon above him and swung it down. Doe crossed his arms and caught the elongated cigar with his forearms. He held the long shaft in place with the back of his hands, and started chuckling. "For a grey-hair, you move pretty quick." The commander scoffed and threw Doe off his rod. Both combatants hopped back and prepared their fighting stances.

"Don't get too cocky," the old general began, "I'm just 'warming' up." Fightmaster flicked his wrist and a large, golden lighter popped out from his decorated sleeves. He Unlatched the case and pressed down on the wick. A two foot pillar of flame emerged from the golden lighter. The mustached commander waved the flame over the tip of his cigar-staff. It emitted a plume of dark black smoke as the ashes formed at the end of the giant cigar.

Doe stared at the ground, arms crossed and muttered to himself "You stole my line..."

With the smoke ignited, Fightmaster dashed at his foe again, the burning pole leading the charge. Doe reached out his hands to intercept the attack, grabbing the cigar-staff by its tip. Pain, and a lot of it, throbbed in his palms as the lit end of the large tobacco roll forced Doe backwards, skidding across the floor. The general pushed the staff against Doe again, forcing him to let the weapon go. He stumbled back, furiously shaking his hands around as he blew on them. The skin around his hands were scorched red, burnt all the way down to the muscle below. His fingers became numb, his hands like lead blocks negligently fastened to his arms.

"Where's that arrogant attitude now, huh?" The general took no time to continue his attack, sweeping the large cigar roll at Doe's legs. He jumped up, barely avoiding the attack. Still in the air, Doe counterattacked by swinging his arm at Fightmaster's head. Unable to shape a fist, the man instead struck with his forearm, knocking the general's helmet away and revealed his grey and scruffy hair. The commanding mustache grumbled, then tackled Doe's stomach. He flew back and slammed into the ground below, tumbling back a few times before jumping back onto his feet again.

Fightmaster followed up swiftly, swirling the cigar-staff into Doe's face. Dark smoke reeled about him, temporarily absorbing his head in a mask of black smog. Doe hacked and flailed his limp limbs around, staggering all over the floor. Fightmaster took the chance and drove the cigar's smoldering tip into Doe's chest, scorching straight through his flesh and bone. The old general then lifted the man up with his makeshift staff and threw him to the ground. He crashed face first, his head colliding with the plain tile floor.

"Heh heh heh..." The barely audible snicker escaped from the floor where Doe's face was pressed. He plucked his head out from the hole like vegetable, a thin layer of dust and debris covering his facial features. Cracks spread from the lens of his dark sunglasses, struggling to remain attached to his mug. What remained of his stomach was a barren cavern where is insides used to be. The dark suit he cherished was charred and tattered, thin strips of the black cloth draped over his gapping wound. Doe snorted, spat out a wad of blood at the ground in front of him, and continued his quiet laughter. "Didn't think I'd have to lose my threads cause of a guy like you. I misunderestimated you."

The grey-haired general kept his distance as he spun his giant cigar over and over around a single arm. "I don't think you understand, boy, but you've lost. Your hands are burnt and your innards are ashes. What are you going to do? Bleed on me?" He leaned his head back and echoed his throaty guffaw down the hallway. "Boy, I ain't got time to bleed!"

"Neither do I." Doe flashed his arms in front of him, showing off his palms and all their scalded glory. That's when the skin started to move. It grew and expanded over the grey, burnt muscle and bone, creating new skin. Within seconds, Doe's hands were as good as new. Smirking, he reached underneath his scorched clothing and rubbed his bare stomach. Tan, toned, and in perfect condition, just like he was. Satisfied, he patted his abdomen and beamed back towards Fightmaster. "Ta-da!"

The general didn't bat and eye at Doe's demonstration. "Regenerator huh? I've dealt with your kind before."

"You have, huh? How about this then?" Hands and body renewed, Doe clenched his fists and pounded them together. Waves of energy formed around them as he clenched, tighter and tighter. When the Ki began to solidify on his hands, he spread them out away from him. A bright blaze coiled around his hands and arms, engulfing them in a heated fury. "My name is John Doe, you ruined my suit, prepare to die."

[Chubbs Story Account]

The world keeps spinning.