Myocardial Infarction - Untitled

Untitled

Chapter I - The Day of Mourning

Guadelupe peered outside the cabin’s murky window. The sounds of gun shots echoed outside, and he saw that the ground was littered with corpses. The cool steel of Guadelupe’s musket pressed hard against his cheek, as he took careful aim at a crouching enemy soldier, taking cover behind a smoldering wagon.

Guadelupe had left with a group of comrades to flank the enemy. He was the only survivor, surrounded by enemies retreating to what they thought was an unoccupied cabin. Caught out of position, his only option was to coordinate with the next offensive and hope to break out in the confusion. Guadelupe was sweaty and dirty from his escape from the frontlines. Sweat dripped from his brow, dribbled across his musket, and wet his trigger hand, making his grip damp and uncomfortable. He gripped tighter, feeling the metal and bone pinch his flesh.

He envied his target’s condition. The white boy, no older than 21, had a thin film of sweat on his forehead, but looked much cleaner. The boy soldier wore a neatly pressed white dress shirt, tie, and black dress pants, indicative of his kind. He looked completely out of place in the ragged battlefield. Guadelupe heard his army’s trumpets and squeezed the trigger. Be it child or not, he was a vile Mournman, a heathen of the highest degree. A choking spray of ash and flame erupted from the muzzle, unleashing a lead ball of death upon the child scarcely thirty meters away. Alas even the grasp of death was not instant for the youth for the unreliable projectile penetrated straight through his shoulder instead of the intended head. Even as a master of the bow and arrow, Guadelupe could not grasp the trajectory of this newfangled weapon. The youth, with a pained expression, pulled the trigger on what seemed to be an arquebus rather than a musket. Guadelupe instinctively ducked to the side of the cabin window for cover, but two seconds later the heavy round impacted somewhere along the wooden wall, inert.

There was no time to dally, Guadelupe realized, as he fervently attempted to reload his weapon. Before he could finish, there was a heavy bashing sound at the door, but rather than panic, there was only clarity. With a deft movement, he dashed to the other side of the door just as it crashed open. “For Urah!” cried the Mournmen as they charge into the cabin, but what awaited them was the cold steel of a bayonet. The one closest was skewered in the chest, the intertia of the man's charge colliding with the terrible force of Guadelupe's lunge. The sound of crunching bones and squelching flesh were drowned in the chorus of Mournman shouts. The bayonet erupted from the back of the man's perfectly starched and ironed shirt, showering the other three Mournmen in a mist of blood and terror and reversing the now limp body's trajectory at the point of impact.

Guadelupe released his grip on the musket and dashed up the collapsing man's torso as the other Mournmen stumbled backwards through the cabin door. Guadelupe kicked off powerfully from the man's head and let out a deafening battle cry. He brought both arms up over his shoulders to pull out his two razor-sharp tomahawks, bringing the right one down just in time to cleave a second Mournman's skull in two.

As Guadelupe landed on the now-unidentifiable Mournman's body, a third Mournman regained his balance and began a mad charge with saber in hand. As Guadelupe struggled to free his right tomahawk from the dead man's flesh, he pivoted to bring the left one up to meet the Mournman's blade. The force of the impact knocked Guadelupe off balance and sent him sprawling toward the bloody grouse named Mickey Mouse whose wicked beak tore through his cheek.

Guadalupe thought, what would Jesus do, and had his other cheek eaten too.

He cried in pain, there was no gain, from losing half your mouth again!

He couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't get back in his killing groove.

The Mournman cried “Urah!” with glee, until he took an arrow to the knee.

He stared at it in great surprise, when 2 arrowheads sprouted from his eyes.

The Mournman fell, dead as a nail, when Mickey Mouse began to wail:

“This sudden death, 'tis not the norm! Who hath unleash'd this arrow storm?”

Not only was 't a talking bird, but also versed in Old English words.

Hidalgo swiftly regained composure, and sought a position with less exposure.

For the door was open, the cat out of the bag, the cabin soon set upon by Mournmen hags.

Running like wind while cradling his mouth, Hidalgo soon found cover in the south.

He now started a search behavior, to find out who was his mysterious savior.

At last he saw, 'twas none other than Audrey, his friend and an archery trained compadre.

Joining Audrey and an allied band, twas now time to reclaim the land.

But they were struck with dread and dismay, so great the Mournman hordes today!

“Just in time for morning brunch,” said Guadalupe as he stared hard at the cheeky grouse that had followed them to camp. “Mercy on me,” screamed the grouse, “for ye cheeks tasted delightful.” With a blow from his tomahawk, Guadalupe felled the head of his antagonist, and made a nice split roast out of him.

In the camp was Captain-Pastor, whose name was Father Young, and to the regiment he proclaimed that “our Mournmen foes shall fall. They prey on the souls of their conquered by mourning their fallen husks and send our essence to eternal damnation. Let us pray to our Boss for all that he has given us and that he protect us against the heathens.” A chorus of confirmation rang out, with deafening shouts of “for the Boss!”

As night fell the Young Regiment was joined by several others and their numbers swelled to the point that taking on the Mournman horde beyond the mountains was not an impossible task. So upon nightfall the Utheran army crested the hills to meet the Mournmens and it turns out they were expecting the company. Holy light erupted as the clergy of both sides started to channel Miracles and the war trumpets of both sides rang out with the charge of infantrymen. Holy fire erupted from chastity belts worn by Mourning Purifiers, making prayers to shield from corruption.
A dread buzzing sound issued, and Mournman cavalry rode in from the east on chrome plated motorcycles to flank Young regiment's left. The Father stared down an oncoming biker, emptying the 35 round magazine of his machine pistol into him while yelling at the top of his lungs. Tragically this drew the attention of a Mourning Sniper.

Time slowed for Guadalupe, watching in horror as his commander was blown to bits and set aflame by a burst of 3 high caliber white phosphorous shots. The sniper then mourned the Father's soul to eternal damnation. Driven to despair Guadalupe faced the sky, arms outstretched and tears streaming from his eyes.

“O mighty manager of the nine departments, come to my aid! Protect our jobs from these unprofessional heathens!
Take us through a day in the life of...THE BOSS”

At this a helicopter arrived over the raging battle.
It lowered a rope from which a tall man clad in a black 5 piece suit and aviator sunglasses slid down, making a perfect 3 point landing.
The men cheered, for it was the Boss. He began to
TALK TO CORPORATE
LIKE A BOSS
MICROMANAGE
LIKE A BOSS
PROMOTE SYNERGY
LIKE A BOSS
PERFECT HAIR
LIKE A BOSS
MAKE SOME BINDERS
LIKE A BOSS
FULL OF WOMEN
LIKE A BOSS
HEAD OF STATE
LIKE A BOSS
RULE THE WORLD
LIKE A BOSS

The Utherans cheered as the Boss finished his dramatic entrance to the battlefield, amidst conflagrations of holy fire, curtains of machine gun rounds, and the occasional lead ball from a musket. The Boss spread his arms and shouted, “My children! Long have you suffered, and hard has the suffering been! I understand your pains as well as I understand the righteous Utheran code: ring loud Heaven’s bells as we hammer down our foes unto the wooden door of Purgatory! And that is why I have come to assist you today.”

The Boss pulled a book out of his jacket, and held it open in front of him. With a smile, he removed his aviator sunglasses. The Utherans gasped. The Boss was renowned for his green eyes. Today blue, mourning eyes stared at them.

“But now I offer a different code”

He began to recite steadily, “And all thy children shall be taught of the Lord, and great shall be the peace of thy children. I am here to bring you the Lord’s peace. I am here, my children, to mourn your suffering!” he cried delightfully. Rivers of cash streamed from the Boss’s sleeves. Utherans screamed as brimstone and hellfire sprang forth from the currency, engulfing the field of battle in the screams of forsaken souls. The Boss laughed maniacally as one by one the Utherans fell to his jets of death and their souls descended into the damnation of mourning.

“NO! THIS CAN’T BE TRUE!” screamed Guadalupe from the cover of an Utheran battlewagon. As he was projecting in anguish, five Mournmen Elders jumped out of the Boss’ helicopter in their Mournmen battle suits, making perfect landings each. With their Holy Avenger Mk II Gatling guns, they made quick work out of the rest of the Utheran army as Guadalupe could only watch in rigid horror.

Just when all hope seemed lost, over the horizon came two more gunships, one of the Superintendent and one of the Undersecretary. With a burst of their primaries, the Boss’ helicopter went down in a smoldering clump. Two Holyfire missiles impacted near the Boss’s location, obscuring it in dust. “If there be Utherans left, pray, for your prayers shall be answered.” As Guadalupe knelt and prayed his body was shrouded by light and lifted by an unseen force towards the escape hatch of an Utheran gunship. The very air seemed to sing at Guadalupe’s ascension

. Guadalupe then realized to his horror that there was actually singing in the air. He could recognize that voice anywhere. It was the pop hit sensation: Rick Astley. The higher ups had Rick-Rolled him…

Any dumbass from Guadalupe’s troop could tell what the transmission meant. They had been abandoned. No reinforcements would come, their communications had been cut, and their supply train had been informed to stay away from the area. The LuoGenHu Headquarters had ditched them. They had been forsaken. As soon as Guadalupe came to this realization, he fell to the ground behind Audrey as Audrey slowly became petrified. Audrey’s face contorted with pain as he stretched his arm to ready an arrow.
“I….”
“feel…..”
Guadalupe started tearing up and yelled, as he realized Audrey had just saved him from Mourmon royal weaponry: the Ender Beam.
“SPIT IT OUT ALREADY! YOU CAN’T DIE, YOU CAN’T DIE YOU can’t… die…. don’t……. don’t….. “
The boss stood outside the fortifications. He was wearing his favorite battle dress uniform which had a target spray painted on his chest.
“so.……….”
“aimless…”
Audrey fell as he loosed his final arrow completely missing the target, falling to the cold hard ground. Over him Hidalgo knelt, fists clenched. “NO!” he cried. “I refuse to accept such a stupid joke as your last words!”
Audrey smiled weakly as the last of his strength seeped out.
“I knew. . . you were trouble. . when you walked in.”
“There's still so many places we've never been!”
“So shame . . . on me now . . .oh, oh, trouble, trouble, trouble. . .”
He faded off as the rest of him petrified. Guadalupe was about to reply when another Ender Beam was fired his way. He barely escaped the ensuing destruction.

“What a touching love story!” the Boss laughed while emerging from the dust clouds and rubble, completely unscathed by the missiles.

The higher powers had betrayed him. Guadalupe now knew that the fate of the war rested in his hands alone. He looked down and realized those hands held Audrey's bow, grabbed subconsciously before he left the body. He remembered what Audrey had told him when they first met:

“The Archer, Guadalupe. It's who I am. I can sense that you have the gift as well.”

Audrey had been a mentor to him, like a father, but with his passing, Hidalgo was left to carry on his bow and legacy.  He was the Archer now, and decided to call upon his last resort: the Archer's Creed.

“I am the bone of my sword; I shall not fold.
The doubt in my blood burns like fired obsidian coals;
It leads me to the door of the nether.
It challenges my fortitude;
Yet it is the ultimate test that reveals the strength of my dogma.
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear none…”

His courage broken, Guadalupe chanted the Psalm of Battle as he focused his mind on what he could only do at this point: live. Eyeing the rides of the fallen Mournmen cavalry, Guadalupe already knew what he must do. He dove behind a large rock, pulled his bow into full draw and shot at the still jeering Boss. The projectile was caught between just two fingers.

“Your faith, IS… NOT ENOUGH, HAHAHA!” laughed the hysterical boss as he blanketed Guadalupe’s cover with his flaming bundles of currency, filling the air with heavy black smoke. He dropped the remainder of his powder keg into the hellfire and watched as it exploded into thick smoke. With a roll, Guadalupe rode the force of the blast towards the closest motorbike.

With a single deft kick Guadalupe righted the ride and started the ignition. Using the remaining momentum, Guadalupe mounted the bike. Praying while he flicked the handle, he sped away into the forest. Guadelupe could hardly believe what was happening. He pressed on with his motorcycle, whizzing past branches and over roots at breakneck speed, each of them greater than the last. The whole forest was swimming now—a collasal force of nature as old as any passage out of the Great Book. Yes, he is our last hope, Guadelupe thought. The balance of faith must be restored.

Guadelupe pressed onward, gunning the engine for every last horse of its power. He flew off a rock and into the air, trees swirling about him furiously in a tornado of bark and foliage.

He landed in the middle of an all-out-war. The tornado of trees had become a whirlwind of sand, obscuring all vision. The faint sounds of PKs and AKs and OKs crackled sporadically from all sides, giving Guadelupe yet another reason to seek cover.

As he hit the ground, his motorcycle spun out from under him, flinging him off. He landed on top of a sticky red corpse. The man was bearded and wore a dishevelled turban that doubled as a scarf in the sandstorm and hot desert sun. Guadelupe was stunned: We're not in Urah any more.

How could the land of Joz be so inhospitable?

He remembered why he had come. I must find Jozus. The wonderful wizard of Joz.

Follow the white rabbit…

As this thought came to his mind, a white rabbit stood before him, atop the corpses of several knights.
“Arthur! USE THE HOLY HAND GRENADE!”
To Guadalupe’s right, a man dressed in golden armor primed a grenade-like device and threw it at the bunny. The bunny caught the grenade in its mouth and jumped towards “Arthur”. The grenade detonated and the force of the explosion pinned Guadalupe to a large cactus. Shards of stained glass struck his eyes, hands, and feet, crucifying him to the plant. This caused Guadalupe to slowly lose consciousness.

By the time Guadalupe woke up, he was surprised to have not been killed. Unsurprisingly, Guadalupe was unable to see, and could not feel anything in his arms; however, he could tell that we was restrained to a chair.
“WHERE AM I? HOW AM I STILL ALIVE?”
He could hear people talking near him.
“Keep him under, the operation isn’t done yet”
“Hmm, this one is strong, the sedatives were supposed to last until tomorrow”
“Well, then double the dose”
Guadalupe’s consciousness faded. When he awoke once again, he found himself in an underground facility. Then he saw it: the mark of the agnostic… On the table next to him lay the white rabbit, its body half mammal half machine. Its metal jaw detached from the head, and was undergoing polishing. “Wait, how can I see when my eyes were pierced by glass?” Guadalupe pondered as he observed his surroundings. Suddenly, a jovial man with sparkling white teeth, a perfect light brown beard and flowing brown hair stood above him. Guadalupe almost punched the man in reflex, except he forgot his arms were still restrained to the chair.

“Who are…?”

“I am Jozus, the wizard of Joz and I know why you have come.”

“Wha…?”

“No need to say anything, I know everything.”

“H…?”

“I’m not really omniscient, I can just read minds.”

After he waited a pause for Guadalupe to regain his composure, he unhitched Guadalupe’s restraints.

“Through modifications, your body is now more resilient than a cockroach and tougher than two year old beef jerky. I know of your quest to restore the balance of faith and so I shall aid you on your quest.”

He took out and showed Guadalupe a book with the mark of the agnostic on the cover, titled “the book of true faith”.

“To be truly strong, you must know both doubt and faith…”

“But…”

“No need to doubt your faith, but people who profess they can guide you to there. Who is a Pastor, or the boss, to teleport into this room!?”
Jozus recoiled as a flickering image of a tall blond woman appeared next to him, tinted blue.
“A hologram? I thought we were shielded from projections!”

With a poker face, the woman spoke.
“My name is Thurman, and I am a representative of the new Utheran Mournman Alliance.”

“Alliance? My people would never agree to-” Guadalupe was shushed by Jozus.
“Quiet! Do not let them know we are here,” he whispered.

“It's too late for that, rogue wizard. We know that the last Utheran soldier is in your custody.
The Alliance demands that you surrender the rebel to us and return control of your stolen facilities to the former owners. If you fail to comply within 1 hour, we will mobilize to extract the prisoner and take Joz by force, leaving both of you to the Boss' tender mercies.  There is no way out. I will not repeat myself. The clock starts now.”  The image vanished.

Jozus leapt into action, helping the disoriented Guadalupe to his feet.

“No time to explain the rest. We must leave this place now.”
“What about the rabbit?”
“Can't be helped. Follow me.”
They ran through winding corridors going ever deeper until they came to a large wooden door. Pausing for a moment, Jozus flung it open, revealing a large wardrobe packed with fur coats. The air was strangely cool, as if a draft was blowing through. Guadelupe reeled.

“Hey, wait a minute. I've read this book before! We enter the wardrobe and exit the other side to a magical land of talking lions and evil witches.” Guadelupe grew more excited with every step. “Soon we'll be having lunch with traitorous fauns, receiving deadly weapons from Santa Claus, and feasting on the entrails of—”

Guadelupe slipped as he passed through the last row of coats, landing hard on... ice? He spat out several teeth and massive globs of blood. “F/UC! Why the hell do you keep an ice rink in your wardrobe?!”

Jozus laughed a celestially benevolent laugh. “This isn't Marmia, silly mortal. It is impossible to determine whether such a place exists.” Jozus flipped a light switch on the wall.

Guadelupe scrambled to get up, but fell flat on his face again. Resigned, he looked around the room on his belly. Guadelupe had heard of places like, but had never seen one. “Is this... a cryo-chamber?”

Jozus turned to look at Guadelupe, his perfect eyes twinkling in the dim light. “Of course, I've been preserving all of the characters of the Great Book!”

Jozus pressed uncomfortably close to Guadelupe, exposing him to the two-week-old scent of unwashed holy man. Despite Jozus’ dazzling smile and well-combed hair, his stank was unbearable.

“Um, Jozus, could you please stop doing that? It’s making me uncomfortable” asked Guadelupe, as politely as possible.

“JOZUS DOES AS HE PLEASES! Well, not really. It makes Mournmans uncomfortable too, which makes it the perfect defense against prying eyes.”
Towering twin doors of ice opened, grating. Air rushed into the opened chamber, pulling Jozus and Guadelupe in with gentle fingers. Billowing vapor blinded Guadelupe, but he could hear Jozus’ assured chuckling.

“In this vault, my son, lie the greatest heroes this land has ever known! That old Boss of yours wouldn’t last one round against the mighty-”
The turbaned man lay face up on the ground. His glowing red eyes glinted like rubies through the mist, glaring at Guadelupe. His blood, splattered in a misshapen starburst, wet the feet of broken ice sculptures.

Jozus sputtered and spat in confusion. Jozus stepped right over the turbaned man, as if he did not exist, and cradled a ruined, icy arm.

“David! And Joshua! And Peter! Who could have done this!”


His question was answered quite violently as a man with an icepick and sledgehammer flew across the room and turned into bloody slush on the icy wall.

“No! Jonathan!” screamed Jozus, who seemed to recognize the man before he was liquefied.

At the back end of the chamber walked out a solitary tall figure, clad in a thin cloth garment with large earlobes and tranquil eyes. The bone piercing cold did not seem to bother him the slightest.

“Calm yourself my friend, for he was a traitor. He sought to destroy our bodies before we could be resurrected.”
His tone of voice was soothing, a frightening juxtaposition with his violent technique.

“That technique!” exclaimed Guadalupe, eyeing the stranger with awe.
“Yes, it is the Gouda palm.”

On that note several other oddly dressed and oddly poised figures emerged from the makeshift entrance of the inner chamber to form an organized formation, each one emanating a surpassing aura of truth.

Amongst the figures emerged one with prodigious facial hair.

“We must hurry before the last Utheran bastions fall,” said he.

With a nod, Jozus lead the crowd to another, massive, chamber, this one housing an equally massive gunship.

“This is The Flying Brick, our greatest attempt at matching the terrible might of the Mournman air forces so many have fallen to. This, my friends, is our ride to the capital.”
“But it's barely finished!” The hairy man objected.

“We have no choice. Even now teams of Elders are encroaching on the facilities. We can't hope to meet their ground forces head on and still reach the Utheran bastion in time. Spirits, prepare for deployment!”
At his command ethereal creatures swirled around the chamber, activating various support machinery. The gunship sported blinking lights and the whirring of hydraulics. A landing ramp descended and the Host of Heroes rushed aboard.

Gunfire and explosions could be heard from above as the Mournmans invaded. The dreadful sounds of twisting metal signaled the building's imminent collapse.
“Everyone else get on, I will hold the fort for as long as I can!” The hairy man sprinted back out of the room to buy them time. The roof split open and the ship's engines roared to life.
Jozus revealed a secret passage to Hidalgo.
“Our path is set, but yours may yet change. This door leads to safe haven. You know our plan has a slim chance of success. Will you join us, or seek another way to save your people?”