Major Karnage (33 page)

“Oh come off it, Major,” the young one said. “You’re the original. I’m just a copy. You should be the one to live.”

“That’s a load of horse shit and you know it. You’re just as much
me as I am. Maybe even more so: you’re me in my prime. I’m me
on my deathbed. Old and worn out like a broken-down race horse.
You’re a goddamn thoroughbred. Not an ache in your body. Don’t act
like I don’t know, cuz you know I fucking well know—and I wish I
didn’t know, but too bad, because I do!”

The young one scowled. He balled up his fists. “It ain’t right.”

“None of it’s right,” the old one said. “We shouldn’t both be
here. We didn’t ask for this. But here we are. We gotta assess the
situation, and the situation is clear. You got the youth, the vitality,
the experience . . .” The old one couldn’t bring himself to finish his
thought.

The young one looked up, and finished it for him. “. . . and I got
no Sanity Patch.”

The old one nodded. “That’s right. You don’t.”

The young one stood up. He smoothed down the front of his
uniform, and nodded.

“You do us proud out there,” the old one said.

The young one saluted his older self. “You sure as hell bet I will.”

“Good. We got that settled. Now how do we get you out of here?”
The old one said.

The young one jerked his thumb at the door. “Looks like the lab
is in some kind of hangar. All kinds of tubes and tanks and cloning
shit everywhere.”

The old one saw the picture the young one was bringing up in
his mind.

“And hardware,” the old one said.

The young one nodded. “Military hardware.”

“Buncha hoverball flightpacks along one wall.”

“Right by that open skylight.”

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Now there’s a stupid question.”

“It may be stupid, but I’ll be fucked if we don’t try and have a
conversation like real people, and not like . . .”

The young one looked towards the door. “Not like them.”

“I’ll distract Mayhem,” the old one said.

“Really piss him off,” the young one said.

“To get the attention of all of ’em,” the old one said.

“I’ll get to the flightpacks.”

“Head for the skylight.”

“Get the hell outta here.”

“Get to Dabneyville.”

“Defeat the squidbugs.”

“Find my troops.”

“Find Sydney.”

“Do you know how you’re going to do it yet?” the old one said.
“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“No,” the young one said, “but I’ll figure it out.”

The old one looked over the young one. “Yeah, you will.”

The young one reached down and shook the old one’s hand. The
touch was electric. They pulled away from each other, and nodded.

“Good luck, Major,” the old one said. He wanted to salute.

The young one saluted for him.

“Good luck, Major,” he said.

Karnage looked back at his older self, and nodded. “All right. Here
we go.” He banged on the door, and it opened.

Twenty Patricks stood in the middle of the room behind General
Mayhem.

Karnage jerked a thumb at his old self. “He wants a word with
you,” he said.

Karnage stepped out of the way as Mayhem wheeled forward.
The Patricks followed close behind. Karnage stepped back, allowing
them to pass. He shuffled towards the wall. None of the Patricks
were watching him. They were all fixated on the old Karnage.

“So?” General Mayhem said. “Have you considered my offer?”

“I have,” the old Karnage said. “And you can shove it up your ass.”

Karnage saw Mayhem’s neck stiffen; his voice remained neutral.
“Can I?”

“You sure as hell can,” the old Karnage grinned, baring yellow
teeth. “What did you think, General? That I’d want to kiss and make
up after all those people you killed? That I’d find it in my heart to
forgive the Butcher of Bereznyi? The Terror of Tatvan? The Siberian
Slayer?”

The flightpacks were mounted on a raised platform just beyond
the cloning tanks. Karnage inched towards them, keeping his eye on
the Patricks. One of them clenched a gloved fist.

“You’re a monster,” old Karnage said. “You can try and hide all
you like behind your shiny medals and little pretty stars. But that
don’t change the fact you’re a cold-blooded killer. I did what I had to
do because it had to be done. You? You did it all because you got off
on it. You’re no hero, Mayhem. You’re a goddamn sociopath.”

Karnage inched himself up to the platform, and unstrapped a
flightpack from the wall. He watched the back of Mayhem’s head
shake slowly. “You Carpathians are all alike, aren’t you?”

Handsome and dashing,
Karnage thought.

“Dashing and handsome?” old Karnage said.

“No,” Mayhem’s voice slowly turned into a low growl. “Naive,
short-sighted, and incredibly out of your depth, you ungrateful little
carpy
.”

The Patricks moved in tighter around Karnage; their anger was
palpable.

Old Karnage smiled, nodding. “There he is. That’s the General
Mayhem I know.”

Mayhem jabbed a shaking finger at old Karnage. “You know
nothing
about me! Just lies and half-truths and propaganda fed to
you by your superiors! Nothing about my struggles. Nothing of what
I’ve been up against. You—”

The base of the flightpack scraped along the floor. One of the
Patricks turned, and caught a glimpse of Karnage out of the corner
of his eye.

“Stop him!” Mayhem shouted.

The Patricks turned and raced towards Karnage. Karnage tried
to strap into the flightpack, but a Patrick tackled him to the ground.
Karnage’s world became a frenzied maze of gloved hands and angry
gritted teeth shouting, “Stop him! Stop him! Stop him!”

Karnage lay on the ground, his face pressed into the floor. A sea
of shiny black boots stretched out before him. Between them all, he
could just catch his older self’s face.
Sorry, old man,
Karnage thought.

It’s okay, kid,
the old Karnage thought.
You did your best.

Mayhem looked at Karnage, then back at the old Karnage. “So
that was the plan, was it? You keep me busy while your partner goes
for help?”

Karnage felt lips near his ear. “A nice try, Major.”

Another Patrick from somewhere in the crowd spoke: “But I’m
better than you.”

Mayhem smiled. He toyed with the joystick on his wheelchair.
“Still, I shouldn’t be too surprised. Admittedly, I was expecting a
lot from a
carpy
like you. I had such high hopes, Major. I had hoped
. . . ah, but it doesn’t matter now, does it? There’s nothing going on
behind those defiant eyes of yours, is there? Just empty, primal rage.
You’re a vacant meatbag. Good for spare parts, but nothing else.”

The hair on Karnage’s neck stood on end.
What does he mean
spare parts?

“What do you mean spare parts?” the old Karnage said.

“Your mind may be unwilling, but your body is quite strong.
While not quite as effective as providing a new host, we can use your
genetic material to repair artifacts in the clones.”

“Like a patching material,” said a Patrick.

“Or spackle,” said another.

“The technique isn’t perfect,” Mayhem said, “but it should bring
the error rate down to tolerable levels. Just think, Major. Instead of
a partnership, it will be a hostile takeover.”

“Quite hostile,” said a Patrick.

“Very hostile,” said another.

“Your strength combined with my mind. Mayhem & Karnage.
Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Much better than Karnage & Mayhem,” said a Patrick.

“Much much better,” said another.

“But first,” Mayhem said, “we must dispose of the old material.”

Karnage heard a bullet click into a chamber above his head.

“No!” The old Karnage struggled against his bonds. “Let him go,
Mayhem! Or I’ll—”

“Or you’ll what, Major?” Mayhem leered. “There’s nothing you
can do. Look at you.”

“Struggling,” said a Patrick.

“Helpless,” said another.

“You’re done for, Major,” Mayhem said. “Finally beaten. There’s
nothing you can do to change that now.”

The old Karnage glowered at Mayhem. “You wanna bet?”

“I suppose you have an emergency backup plan, then?”

“I do,” the old Karnage said.

Karnage looked up, as the realization of what the old Karnage
was about to do sank in. His heart thudded in his chest.
No, Major!
Don’t do it!

Sorry, kid,
the old Karnage thought,
it’s our only choice.

“And whatever would that be?” Mayhem said.

“Just two words,” the old Karnage said. He locked eyes with
Karnage. “The War.”

The War!

Karnage’s mind filled with violent images. Fire-tinged hate
billowed up from his belly, like napalm pouring out of guts.

The War!

He burst out of the pile of Patricks. Screams and chauffeur hats flew in all directions. He let out a cry of primal rage as he
remembered . . .

The War!

He charged across the hangar towards old Karnage, who was
struggling in the wheelchair against those same visions. Patricks
leaped out at Karnage. They tried to grab him, to throw him down.
Karnage’s fists flew, clearing a path through the mob. He broke noses
and snapped wrists with barely a thought. Screams of indignation
and howls of pain poured out all around him.

He jumped up onto the wheelchair. The momentum of his landing
threw the wheelchair backwards through the cargo container until
it slammed into the wall. The blow knocked the metal door shut
behind them. Something clanged against it, and shouting and
banging from the other side confirmed that it was stuck.

Karnage ripped the restraints off of the old Karnage, whipped
him out of the chair, and threw him against the wall.

“Don’t talk to me about
The War!”

The old Karnage’s eyes were shut. His teeth gritted. Karnage felt
him straining against the violent hallucinations running through
their shared mind. Old Karnage’s Sanity Levels rocketed upwards.
The old man’s mind reached out to his through the chaos and the
flames:
Cookie, Velasquez, Heckler, Stumpy, Koch, Sydney. Cookie,
Velasquez, Heckler, Stumpy, Koch, Sydney. Come on, kid. Concentrate.
We can stop this. Think, kid. Think! Cookie, Velasquez, Heckler, Stumpy,
Koch, Sydney. Cookie, Velasquez, Heckler, Stumpy, Koch, Sydney. Come
on. We can do this.

Karnage tried to focus on the chant.
Cookie, Velasquez, Heckler, Stumpy, Koch, Sydney. Cookie, Velasquez, Heckler, Stumpy, Koch,
Sydney.
He could feel it pushing through the noise and the fear.
Cookie, Velasquez, Heckler, Stumpy, Koch, Sydney. Cookie, Velasquez,
Heckler, Stumpy, Koch, Sydney.

That’s it, kid. We’re doing it. We’re doing it!

The visions slowly pulled themselves apart, replaced with the
faces of each of his missing comrades.
Cookie, Velasquez, Heckler,
Stumpy, Koch, Sydney. Cookie, Velasquez, Heckler, Stumpy, Koch,
Sydney.

The last of the visions spilled away, and Karnage let go of his grip
on the old man’s neck. The old man’s Sanity Patch went silent. They
looked at each other and smiled.
We did it.

The container door banged open behind them. A Patrick appeared
in the doorway, holding a gun. “No!” Mayhem screamed. Another
Patrick knocked the gun down. “We need the meatbag,” he hissed.

“Follow my lead!” The old Karnage grabbed the wheelchair and
charged forward, ramming through the crowd of Patricks like a
battering ram. Patricks flew in all directions, some diving out of the
way, others knocked away by the onslaught of the chair. Karnage
followed close behind in its wake.

“Get to the flightpacks,” the old Karnage barked.

Karnage headed for the platform while the old Karnage ran with
the chair towards the cloning tanks.

“Protect the tanks!” Mayhem screamed.

The Patricks raced after the old man, but he slammed the
wheelchair into the base of a tank, knocking it down. It smashed
against the floor, spilling its underdeveloped contents across the
concrete.

Karnage jumped onto the platform and grabbed a flightpack. He
turned and saw the old man go down in a sea of Patricks.
Go on, kid.
Get outta here!

Karnage nodded and strapped himself into the flightpack. He hit
the hoverball activators, and they hummed to life. He rocketed up
towards the open skylight above.

Pain exploded out of Karnage’s shoulders. The hoverball bucked
and spun out of control, and he crashed back down to the platform.

He writhed in agony on the platform, the flightpack pinning him
to the ground. He felt like he’d been hit by twin shotgun barrels.
He could hardly breathe. The pain grew worse, coursing out of his
shoulder blades in hot waves. It felt like he was being torn apart. He
caught something squiggly from the corner of his vision. He looked
over his shoulder.

A pair of tentacles hovered in the air above him.

He followed their squiggling length down, and was horrified to
find them attached to his back, squeezing out between his shoulders
and the flightpack.

He caught the eye of the old Karnage, who was pinned to the
floor under a mob of Patricks. They all stared in horror at Karnage.
Mayhem slowly backed his wheelchair away until he hit the far wall.

Karnage locked eyes with his older self, and the realization of
what was happening hit them both at the same time. He wasn’t just
missing the Sanity Patch on his neck.