Meanwhile, on the outskirts of town, in an abandoned goth metal club, now used as a military base, things were happening. Military things. Things that the military does. When they are militarized. You see what I'm getting at, right? ANYHOW, down deep in the bowels of the pits of the depths of the secret underground passageways lining the Earth, under the city of Hightown, is where our story begins.
General Numenmyer was busy, toiling away at his toiling task of toil. As he preformed this toiling, military task of militarized toil, he was confronted by a Private. Yes, a Private, the lowliest of ranks. Yes, nothing more than a peon, moving straight forward to victory, and one step diagonally for the kill. Yes, not but a simple grunt, meant to do the meandering tasks that the higher ups felt was no business of theirs to perform. Private Atkins, was his name, and his job was this… Informing the General of a certain situation going on in Experimental Lab B-23.
Private Atkins was a rather thin, young lad. His sandy hair in a neat cru cut, and his bright blue eyes, a little less that nervous, but a little more than relaxed. He had just joined the army about a year ago, and had since been thrust deep into the military depths. He has seen things that no mere civilian could ever see. It dawned on him that if he ever left the army now, they would be forced to ensure his silence. Probably in means not to his liking. As he hurried down the corridors, and hallways, he thought about what his life was going to be like. Surely, he couldn't live normally now. No wife, or kids. Heck, no home really, except what the government supplied. As long as he was serving his country, he figured, that was all just fine with him. He walked through a door, on the right, and found the General.
Private Atkins saluted General Numenmyer, and when the salute was returned, he stated what he was there to state. "General Numenmyer, sir! I am here to inform you of a certain situation going on in Experimental Lab B-23, sir!" His rigid stance made him seem not so much of a man, as a foul mockery of the human form. Or perhaps a wooded board, I haven't decided. In any event, he stood there, awaiting the General's reply. His eyes, while fixed directly in front of him, quivered ever so slightly in anticipation.
The General stood up. General Numenmyer was a strapping, handsome 6'6" man, with mocha skin, and a thick, black mustache. He had a penchant for cigars, and was usually found, chomping away at one. His hair was slick and grey, and he kept a comb in his pocket, in case of emergencies. He eyed Private Atkins up and down, noting the slight fidgeting of body, and shifting of glance. "What might this situation be, that you need to interrupt me and my work?"
Private Atkins gulped. He wasn't sure if the General was toying with him, or if he really was angry about the intrusion. Private Atkins swallowed his fear once more, and mouthed out the problem. "It's our newest prisoner, sir. He's starting a rebellion."
|
|
