Jun 19, 2020

Chapter 9 - The Killer Awoke Before Dawn

Poison Well was crowded as usual. There was no hour on the ship's schedule when the Poison Well did not cater to the workers moving from shift to shift. The small bar's 24/7 operations often did a number on the management that kept changing, but the quality of the drinks remained abysmal even after multiple management changes. It was often said that in the Poison Well, you did not buy a drink, you merely borrowed it for a while. Which was actually true. The water filtration systems in the urinals worked well enough to recycle enough water for next batch of brew. 

X2 knew all this and he was still getting drunk on beer that must have passed through his own body in the past. He looked at the remaining credits in the app in his HUD and cringed. He only had enough for a single meal every other day till he got paid next week. He didn't feel like it mattered and he ordered another beer from the menu on his table. 

His empty glass got swallowed by the table and a new one popped up, filled to the brim and sweating off the cold vapors. X2 picked up the glass and gulped down half of it. Every drop felt like acid in his belly, and all he could see in front of his eyes was his hand on her ass and his tongue inside her mouth. It made his heart ache and his head hurt with the pent up rage. X2 wiped off a stray tear that leaked out of his eye and gulped down the rest of his beer. The alcohol was getting to his head and he knew he was going to make decisions that he would regret later. 

His credit app pinged and now he was in red. One meal every two days now. 

He ordered another beer. 

When X2 woke up next morning. He had no memory of how he had reached his hub. The pain raged in his head like there was an army of goblins hammering away inside his skull and his belly ached for a different reason. He raised his hand to his head to massage away some of the pain. The sticky feeling made him wince and he opened his eyes. Panic flared up in his chest like a plasma flame. Blood on his hand, but he was not hurt. Whose blood was that? The toolbox was there by the side of his bed. He opened it up with his foot. The screwdriver inside was the color of dull rust, drops of blood and flesh congealing on the metal. 

The door to his hub slammed open. 

She was standing there. The girl from missile control. Shock and horror writ large on her face. Her overalls splashed with red like some artist had played a prank on her. 

"It's him!" She screamed as a hand reached forth and grabbed the girl, pulling her away and the hulking form of a military police officer appeared in the door frame. The officer took one look at the blood on X2's hand and the blood on the screwdriver in the open toolbox. 

He shook his head. "You fucked up, kid. You fucked up big time."

The taser prongs slammed into X2's chest and as he convulsed under the jolts of electricity, he smiled thinking of what he had done.

Jun 18, 2020

Chapter 8 - Meat Grinder

The first thing Raster noticed was the silence. The animals all around him were watching him. Waiting for him to move as the large animal ground the spear deeper into his mech's shell. The searing heat from the point of the spear was uncomfortable at this range but Raster had been through worse.

If only he had his gun here, this would have been over in the blink of an eye. But now he knew he would have to do it the old fashioned way. He put a hand on the face of the animal that was now slobbering against his face shield and pushed. Next, he got his leg on the torso of the huge man and shoved him off his mech. The spear went with the man and Raster was looking at the fallen form of the beast staring murder at him.

He should have stepped on his head and ended it right there. But sometimes, you have to make an example. He snatched the spear from the man's hand and grabbed the shaft in his hands. The servos in the joints of his suit whirred and the wood splintered like it was made of clay. A collective gasp went up from the crowd of tribals gathered around them.

Then the animal was on him again. His big fists punched into the shell of the mech, his fingers reaching in and pulling at the plates of the shell, his animal growls of hatred and anger fueling his efforts to dismantle the mech with his bare hands. Raster tried to grab the moving shape of the animal but he was all over the mech, almost as if he had a sixth sense to pulls and dismantle the mech in places that might be the weakest. And the bastard was fast.

Raster grit his teeth and a sliver of pain from his injury reached him. The suit compensated by adding more painkillers to the mix of chemicals in his veins. He heard the beginning of a slow chant going up in the crowd gathered around him. They were slowly moaning in their animal tongue and the chant was picking up speed. It was an uncomfortable and grating sound to hear and for a moment, Raster got confused. He took a step sideways and slipped in the gore of two animals that he had pulverized through his jets when he had jumped here.

The mech started to fall. The gyros in his suit worked to stabilize him. Raster didn't panic. He moved his sword hand, slamming the steel point first to act as a crutch to stop his falling form. He knew that once he was on the ground, it might get a little difficult to get back up again. And he did not plan to get on the ground.

He tracked the animal clambering all over him, pulling and punching his mech. So far, he had not been able to do any damage, and his punches to the shell were only irritating. There was no pattern to his movements, only guided by some inner compass, he kept the attack going on.

Then Raster activated the jets in his boots and his mech shot forward into the crowd of tribals that went down like bowling pins. The sword in his hand cleaved many in half, blood splattered his suit like pouring rain. The suit stabilized itself and then the animal on his back slipped. Raster's hand shot out to grab the man by his leg. He lifted the man high and slammed him face down into the ground. His sword fell in another swoop, taking off the man's hand from his wrist with a meaty crunch.

Raster flipped the man over with his foot and raised his sword high to take off his head. Still, there was defiance in those dead eyes and grin to shame the devil on that face. Raster felt his anger solidify like a block of fire in his belly. He grinned back and his sword hand moved on its own.

"Stop." Tiberius' voice halted his hand with the blade an inch from the animal's neck.


"Leave him. Kill the rest of them."

Inside his suit's dented shell Raster grinned.

He would get to make an example after all.

Chapter 9 - The Killer Awoke Before Dawn

Jun 10, 2020

NEW BOOK -- Sea Dreams and Other Mistakes

Hello, my one or two constant readers. I have compiled some of the stories on this blog in this collection. These stories are old, new,  heavily edited, and pasted right from the drafts as well.

There is a total of seven stories in this book. Short, but not too short. You can get done reading in an hour maximum.

I have tried to refrain from my usual juvenile tone in writing fiction and tried somewhat of a serious tone. No doubt, stupid and silly fiction will always be at my heart, but these are serious times. So.

Anyway, as always, if you can buy it, that's great. The amazon link is here

If you want a PDF, an ePub or a mobi file, drop me a line in the comments with your email and the format you want, or use the contact form on the website to send me a message.

I'd really appreciate ratings, reviews, or even addition to your reading list on Goodreads. The Goodreads link for the book is here.

Appreciate the support!

Now back to the usual fuckery!

Jun 7, 2020

Chapter 7 - A Mountain of Flesh and Bones

"Fucking animals" Raster snorted on the common channel as he smashed his fist into the ground to make space for another poison pod. 

Tiberius III saw the tribals come running down into the valley where his team was sweeping away signs of life by throwing poison pods deep into the ground. They needed to clear it all so that the machine engines could be planted here instead of the vegetation. They had seen the tribals coming for them quite some time ago. But they did not care. The insects were easy to  crush under their steel clad feet. 

"I think I can take on about a hundred of them, easy. Without even spending any ammo." Raster's grubby voice spoke through the common channel. 

"I am betting a tenner if you don't spend a single bullet and take down a hundred." Said Nysha, one of the three female marines in the squad. 

"Say goodbye to the tenner then, Ny. I am switching off my bullet feed. This would be a good warm up."

"Keep the chatter to a minimum, team." Tiberius spoke on the common channel, "we need to clear this area for the machine seeds. I don't want the higher ups breathing down my neck for any delay on this."

"Got it boss, just a little bit of fun." Raster didn't sound apologetic or ashamed at the minor rebuke from their team leader.

"I am adding a tenner to the bet, too" Tiberius said, with a hint of a smile in his voice. 

Raster raised his arm up in the air and unlatched his primary machine gun from his left arm brace. He let the gun fall to the ground, along with the spare magazine to reduce the weight on his person. From his back, he unhooked the large piece of steel that only he carried out of the whole team. 

"Oh, fuck," Nysha whispered. Someone else whistled and they heard sound of laughter from another marine. 

"I'd tell you good luck, Raster." Nysha said, "but I don't think you will need it."

Raster activated the jets in his shoes and took an almighty leap toward the hoard of tribals heading for him. 

Just flesh and bones, he told himself as he reached the apex of his leap and started to drop, right towards the center of the big flood of humanity that was coming for him. 

He landed on two of the tribals that were staring at him with their mouths agape. They were pulverized under the force of the jets from his feet. Raster slammed into the ground, digging deep furrows in the dark brown mud. At once the tribals were around him, shaking their spears at him and barking in their unintelligible animal tongue. He turned around in a slow circle, the long steel in his hand, and found out the biggest and tallest of the tribesmen. The man did not reach Raster's height in the mech suit, but the animal was nearly seven feet of height and built like a small house. Raster knew that for all his size and height, the animal would not be fast enough. But he needed to kill the biggest of them, and this one would have to do.

Raster pointed his makeshift sword at the man and called him forward with his other hand. There was no fear on the man's face and Raster quite liked him for it. Not many men stood in front of a mech-suit and not shit their pants. But this man moved like a panther, parting his tribemates like a jungle of brown and green. His spear tip seemed to glow and there was a deadness in his eyes. Raster let the feed from his optics go to the shared com channel, and at once the rest of eleven were with him, watching this tall animal advance towards him. He walked tall with his shoulders back, not a hint of fear or hesitation in his demeanor. 

They might speak different languages. They might worship different gods. Their weapons might be different. But some things were the same between men past the pages of history and time. A fight was a fight. Even if they were grossly unmatched. All Raster wanted to do was make an example and then slaughter the rest of them. Maybe once he got done with the tall tribal, rest of them would scatter. He knew he would hate to chase and hunt them one by one. 

Skiz walked out of the crowd of his tribe as they all moved aside to give him space. The metal clad god that had jumped in midst of them called him forth. For once in his life, Skiz felt no fear, his blood ran cold in his veins and his eyes could see deeper into the metal that the god was wearing. How the plates of metal overlapped each other. How lightning raced in different parts of the suit. How there was a suit within the suit and then the man who hung in the shell like a fruit, ripe for taking. His naked feet on the earth told him of every vibration that took place in the great machine shell. He saw the huge length of metal that the god held in his hand. He knew that it would be dangerous, only if it got close. 

As casually as moving his hand to swat an irritating fly, Raster moved his arm and swung the steel to cleave the tribesman. Skiz saw the huge piece of steel swing for him and time slowed down. He could feel the vibrations of the air molecules. The heartbeat of the god was a tinny sound in his ears. He took a breath, released it, and the steel was still years away from him. The point of his spear glowed bright in the slow timeline. 

On the collective feed, Tiberius felt it in his gut that something unprecedented was about to happen as he saw Raster swing the sword. 

Skiz moved. 

One step forward and he was inside the swing of the sword. He angled his spear where he knew the plates of metal covering the god were the weakest. The glowing point of the spear was almost painful to look at now and he buried it deep inside belly of the machine god. The spear went through, shearing through the metal like it was termite eaten wood. 

Time returned to the regular speed and Raster had just a fraction of a second to move his head sideways as something bright and hot came for his face, slicing through the skin and bone of his face, scraping an eye socket and searing his right eye, effectively blinding him. The suit's emergency medical program kicked in, pumping Raster full of painkillers and adrenaline to keep him from passing out in shock. 

Raster opened his remaining eye and saw the tribesman's face right next to his face plate. The man's eyes were still dead, but there was a grin on his face. 

Raster grit his teeth. 

This was going to be interesting. 

Far away, a worried Nysha loaded up a thermal missile on her arm and aimed for the position where Raster's mech stood impaled by the tribesman's spear. 

Her com channel chirped and Tiberius' voice was serious in her ear. "Stop. I want to see where it goes."

Then, on the common channel, "Stand back everyone. We will only watch this."

The wolf gene in his DNA rebelled against his warrior ethos on seeing hurt inflicted on a pack mate. But Tiberius squashed it down. He was going to see this to the end.

Jun 2, 2020

Chapter 6 - That Girl in Missile Control

X2 checked out the readouts on the screen. Their team had made landfall and they were going to clean up the local populace soon. Nothing he had not seen before, nothing he would not continue to see as time went on by. He swiped away the battle report screen and switched to the shipwide intranet to check the duty roasters. 

He saw her name on the list. She was due for duty at her station at 0100 Ship Time. X2 blinked to focus on the time in his retinal implant. It was 1247. Thirteen minutes. If he was fast enough, maybe he will catch her in the lift. 

He ran out of his hub, picking up his toolkit on the way and strapping it across his back.

With the toolkit on him, he would at least have a valid reason to be in the same lift as her. His mind raced to calculate how much time it will take him to reach the lift that would take her to her station. Then he had to make his way to his station as well. 

It was going to be close and he could not afford a strike on his record. Under no circumstance could he be late to report to his station. But he wanted to see her too. If only for a minute. Only a glimpse. Even a breath in the air where she passed would tide him by. 

X2 knew he was cutting it really close. But he also knew the ship like the back of his hand. At least the areas where he was allowed to go. He almost crashed into a passing cart as he ran, but at the last moment he moved to the side. His momentum carried him into the wall. He slid across the surface and pushed off into the direction where he might have a chance of seeing her. Someone waved at him, probably another crew member from his shift, but he didn't stop to see who it was and raised his hand in a wave back. The ship's galleries became a blur around him as he ran. His lungs cycling the fetid, recycled air, his arms and legs pumping as hard as he could move them. He risked checking the time again. Eight minutes to 0100. He guessed, she would be at least few minutes early for her check in. He would make it. 

His mental map told him that he was close. He turned a corner at speed and almost froze in his tracks. An Alpha stood there, motionless and still as a statue. Fear crushed all thoughts of seeing the girl from X2's mind. His throat went dry, his heart beat even faster than it was beating earlier, and sweat erupted from his face. 

The Alpha moved his face an inch to look at X2. "Move, worm," he spoke and it felt like X2 got another lease of life. He walked fast and then ran like a scared rat. 

An Alpha in his part of the ship? They never came down in these sections. He realized he had lost precious 30 seconds in his encounter with the behemoth. It felt like a week while he was frozen in fear. 

X2 licked his lips and reoriented himself towards the lift section. Another corner and he could see the lift. Had she already taken the lift? Was she going to come to her shift today? Would he even be able to see her? Tension curled around his guts like heavy smoke. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. The tension did not go away. 

He opened his eyes and there she was. 

Tunnel vision and the rest of the ship disappeared around him. He was hanging there in empty space, orbiting her like a satellite, trapped in her gravitational pull. She came closer and X2 felt like his heart would tear out of his chest like a missle and explode at her feet. 

She moved for the lift and X2's feet moved of their own accord. Then he was with her in the lift. There were others in there too, but they did not matter. He was breathing the same oxygen as her. He felt like he would die right there. The lift reached its destination and she brushed past him, leaving a residual smell of ink and cheap perfume in her wake. 

X2 stood there, watching her as the doors of the lift closed. As she walked into a man's open arms. As her lips met that man's mouth. As his hand snaked around her waist and gave her ass a squeeze. As she smiled and punched him playfully in the shoulder. 

The lift's doors shut. 

The universe ended. 

May 30, 2020

Chapter 5 - Godkiller

Skiz still remembered the claustrophobic feeling from the shaman's hut. The smoke he had inhaled in that hut was not any natural smoke. It felt like there was something stuck in his lungs and every time he took a breath, that something took more hold of him and his own ability to understand and act felt diminished. 

Even with the lightheaded feeling in his head, Skiz knew he had to act bolder for his tribe. All his warriors were looking up to him to lead them in the charge against the invaders that had dropped from the sky on pillars of smoke and flame. The rest of villages had also sent their chiefs with a pick of their best warriors. While many of them chose to lead from behind the lines, Skiz would not do anything like that. He meant to lead from the front. If there was blood to be spilled on the battleground, he would rather he was the first to bleed. 

He had counted the invaders. There were twelve of them. He knew that the numbers were in his favor, but he had doubt that the odds were in his favor. Skiz gripped his spear tight as he heard the booms of the invaders landing on the earth of his home. One by one, twelve loud sounds, like thunder and falling trees. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw the shaman scuttle out of his hut. The old bastard squinted in the bright sunlight of the day, quickly dropping a hood on his face to shade his eyes. He held a stone tray in his hand with a small mountain of white powder. From beneath the hood, Skiz could see the smile on the bastard's face. 

"What is this, Shaman?" Skiz nodded toward the powder on the tray. 

"This is battlelust, honored dimwit in chief. Tell your warriors to take a pinch of this powder and inhale it. But only a pinch and nothing more."

Skiz was doubtful, but he took the tray from the shaman. "Why should I?" he hazarded. 

"Because if you don't, we are all dead." The shaman turned around and hobbled towards his hut. Skiz stared at the small mountain of white powder on the tray. Then he lifted a pinch to his nostrils.     

His second took the tray from his hand, took a pinch and passed the tray on to the next fighter in the line. 

Skiz squeezed his eyes tight and then opened them wide as a wave of lightning hit his brain and his blood boiled in his veins. A rage against all that was wrong exploded in his belly, traveled up to his lungs, traversed the tunnel of his throat and galloped up his tongue and exited his mouth as an animal yell. 

His ears were pounding with blood, or he would have heard the yells of his fighters joining in with his howl. He raised his stone-tipped spear and pointed to the place where the invaders had landed. 

They might be gods, but even gods died. He had faith in that much at least.  

May 27, 2020

Chapter 4 - Landfall

Sub-orbital drops were nothing new for Tiberius and his pack. 

But every time the bay doors opened and the empty void between them and the planet below greeted them like an open maw, it made his belly sink. 

He rose through the fear and fell into the atmosphere every time without any complaints. The friction heat of the atmospheric entry turning his exoskeleton suit a burning orange. Once they were clear in the atmosphere, the jets engaged and the suit cooled down with thermobaric shells that exploded all around them, balancing the whole squad for landfall. 

This planet was like all the others they had landed on and their orders were simple. Exterminate the native populace and prepare the landmass for rehabilitation. It was but a small step in the winning of the war that was being fought in the skies above them. 

Tiberius III landed with a soft whump as the jets in his suit engaged on sensing proximity to the ground. He felt the right leg of the suit vibrate uncharacteristically and made a mental note to ask the techs to take a look at it once they were back in orbit. 

One by one, the whole team came online as the network nodes re-established after the atmospheric entry.

"Team, groups of four. Onus, Raster, and Skull, you are on me. Spread out in spear formation and let's clear this son of a bitch."

A rudimentary map of the landscape appeared on his HUD as the network nodes spread out with the team moving away from each other. He could see the location of each member of the team as a green blip on his screen. Each set of four suits moving away in formation. 

The planet's vegetation was similar to what they were growing on their ships in the orbit. The large trees with wide leaves to gather more sunlight than their smaller brethren. Inside his suit, he could not feel the oppressing humid heat of the outside as the cooling systems worked to their optimal capacity. In the years gone by, the operatives used to cook in their own sweat in these suits, but now comfort was the name of the game. The gun turrets mounted on his shoulders and forearm shields moved with abandon seeking heat signatures and any targets they could decimate. So far, the locals had not shown up, but Tiberius III knew it was only a matter of time. 

Their entry through the atmosphere would not have gone unnoticed. 

He saw movement in the corner of his HUD. Somewhere from the east. 

He didn't realize, but a smile had crept up on his face. 

They were coming. 

May 26, 2020

Chapter 3 - Teeth

The slap cracks across his face like a thunderbolt. 

A sliver of blood snakes out of the corner of his mouth and drips on the mud floor of the hut. He is on his knees in front of the shaman, head bowed, eyes staring into the smoky gloom of the hut. The herbs burning on a brazier in the corner sting his nostrils every time he takes a breath. 

The shaman stares at him and then slaps his other cheek. 

His face is numb but not even a sigh of protest escapes his lips. 

"How dare you?" the shaman's voice croaks in the silence of the hut. The crackle of the flames in the corner add to his misery. 

He says nothing. 

"How could you think we will give up in the face of steel and thunder? Do you think the gods have abandoned us yet?"

He says nothing. 

"We will stand our ground. We will not step back. If they have to gain an inch, they will have to snatch it from the jaws of death."


The word falls from his lips like a hammer, his voice rough like gravel, torn with pain and anger. He needs to say no more. The question demands an answer. 

It's the shaman's turn to stare at him. The stare turns into a rotten toothed grin. 

"How, he asks. Why? with magic."

In a blink, the hut is filled with a light so bright that even the warrior is forced to shield his eyes with his forearm. The light creates afterimages on his closed eyes in which he sees the shaman turn into a wolf, a tiger, a lion, an eagle, a dragon and several other shapes that his primitive mind cannot decipher. The light is almost painful now and he stumbles out of the hut on his arms and knees. The afterimages make his eyes water and he rubs his eyes to get some sort of vision back in them. 

The torrent of blazing white light still pours forth from the hut. He dares a look into the darkness of the night and sees twelve blazing forms falling towards the planet. They look like meteorites but in his scared heart, he knows what they are. 

He hears the shaman cackle madly from inside the hut and he hopes that the magic would be enough. 

May 24, 2020

Chapter 2 - Gods Among Us

Tiberius III flexes his fingers in the power glove. The forcefield around his fist crackles with a violent energy. The machine system around him slowly fixes the secondary armor on his body, bolting it in places and tightening it to keep his enhanced body protected against the ravages of driving a suit that would act as a primary armor.

In the years gone by, the tech department handling the war had done everything to minimize the damage to human operators. From using mental links to going for android replacements inside the steel suits, but nothing compared to the level of efficiency brought in by a live operative inside the suit. After all, they all knew that the only way to win the war was to be more efficient than the enemy. 

Tiberius III did not give a single fuck about what the tech boys thought. He was an old school warrior who believed that enemy needs to be looked in the face before his bullets take their head off. He believed in ancient notions of honor on the battlefield. He knew in his heart that winning this war would take the heart of a lion and the courage of a man who has run out of plans. As long as there was an option of retreat, they would not win. But he was also a warrior who knew how to follow orders. When he was told to kill, he killed. When he was told to retreat, he retreated. His beliefs did not stand in the way of his duty. He still wondered on the trips back to base how he would have handled things had he been in charge. 

The machine around his head pings as it puts the helmet on his broad head and he knows the time for doubts is gone. Now it's time to follow orders. Now it's time to kill. Now it's time to become the holy sword of their gods. The magnetic hooks of the crane attach to his shoulders and lift him up to lower him into the steel encaged machine. His hands and feet latch into place in the exoskeleton and the display comes alive with data readouts and summaries of important systems doing a test run. 

In the corner of the screen, he sees eleven of his brothers and sisters come online. The pack instinct fills him up with pride and a sudden desire to unleash hell on anyone who'd dare to threaten his pack. Tiberius III takes a deep breath. The big machine shudders in anticipation of the commands he would relay and the hell he would unleash. 

"Ladies and gentleman," he whispers into the vox channel, "the killing hour is here. Godspeed."

May 23, 2020

Chapter 1 - Cockroach

The screwdriver is slick in X2's hand. Blood, sweat, and grease make the tool slip in his grip and no matter how many times he wipes his hand on his dirty overalls, it's always the same story. At times, he feels like the machine is bleeding into his hands and only if he could twist the screws tight enough, he might be able to stop the bleeding. 

His earpiece crackles. 

"Is the suit ready, X2?" His superior officer has a tone dead voice. But he can sense the urgency in the clipped cadence of his voice. 

"Almost," he replies through gritted teeth. He is done. He is almost done. Another turn of the screwdriver and the nut is fixed in place. As tight as he could do it. He stabs it once with the screwdriver for good luck and hopes it will hold in the heat of the battle. 

"I am done, sir" he replies to the team leader. 

X2 stands back to admire his handiwork. The screw he tightened holds the shell plating in place to act as a shield against anything from enemy spears to plasma bolts that the team leaders might encounter in the heat of the battle. He lovingly strokes the shield plating, whispering a prayer to the gods of blood and oil to bring the machine back safely to the hanger. 

A rotating siren snatches him out of his reverie. The loading time is here. X2 scrambles to collect the rest of his toolset so he can get out of the way while the loading teams set up the machines for the next step. The siren gets more urgent and louder. He knows what's coming next. His tools are in his box. X2 picks up the box and makes a run for the lift doors that will start closing soon. He is still a few feet away from the lift doors that are showing signs of movement. He speeds up, but he knows he is not going to make it. The doors move closer to each other and in a fit of desperation, X2 slides his tool box towards the closing maw of the lift, hoping against hope it will not slide all the way in. 

The toolbox jams the lift doors and that extra second is all X2 needs to slide his way inside the lift and snatch the toolbox from the straining doors. The doors close down with a hiss. The pressure outside is equalized and inside the lift, his ears pop. He would have been in trouble if he had not made it to the lift. His superior officer would have his hide for delaying the loading process. The lift moves up towards the barracks and through the glass window, he sees the loading team float towards the assembly of humanoid machines that are ready to be joined with the neural network. Tired, he slumps down on his bottom, like a sweaty slug against the metal wall of the lift. 

X2 does not know the reason for the war. He does not know when the war started or when it will end. He does not know who is winning or who is losing. All he knows that he is a small cog in the colossal machine and it is his job to keep turning the screws. 

May 21, 2020

2020: Year of the Plague

As is tradition, this is a non-story post to tell my non-existent readers that I am still alive and well, contrary to the beliefs of my enemies and those that want to see this blog go down into the gutter. Well, that's not happening on my watch. 

What is happening on my watch is the extensive lockdown that's caught the world unawares and bent it over the so called barrel. The world economy is in shambles, our leaders are irresponsible and corrupt, and the so called human beings that surround us are stupid and impatient. Which should not surprise anyone, because what else the fuck were you expecting?

I am no stranger to wholesale misery on this blog. Hell, I have probably written about worse things, but when it happens in real life, it hits differently. To be honest, this whole Covid-19, Coronavirus, the Rage of Batman thing was probably in works and we all had it coming. And if my pessimist mind is thinking on the right lines, there are going to be other things this year that will pale in comparison to Covid-19, but they will be a pain the ass anyway. 

Sure, one can say that these little pain in the ass things happen every year, but it will hurt more in the ass that's already been opened up like a rotten watermelon by the virus. How much pain can the world take? We shall see any which way. 

There are often talks about cancelling 2020, but I don't think we should. This year will be the wound on the decade that will scar badly, if it ever heals. And it will take a long fucking time to heal. In the meanwhile, we will deal with shit like designer masks, all-equipped bunkers for the super-rich, and social distancing from everyone that we know on a no-need-to-know basis. All I know is that the world got a little bit more painful and interesting than usual. 

But you are hanging in there, right? What other choice do you have? We are all stuck here with each other. At least till some country develops a Covid-19 vaccine or Elon Musk finally ships some of us to Mars.