Armageddon Hyde in The Chosen and the Damned Read online

  Armageddon Hyde

  in

  "The Chosen and the Damned"

  by

  Valentine May and Joseph Terra Jr.

  © 2018 Valentine May and Joseph Terra Jr

  All rights reserved, except as permitted by fair use and copyright law. For permissions contact: [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover art by Patrick Tsao www.patricktsao.com

  Table of Contents

  Part One: Stranger in town

  The Flying Camel

  Sheriff's Office

  Heading Out

  The Battle of Buttfuk

  The Battle of Buttfuk - II

  Jailbreak

  Dr General

  Finally, some Good Luck

  Part Two: City of Sin

  Family Dynamics

  Roses are red, Violet is rude

  Setting the table

  For Dessert, we have Moral Dilemma

  (INTERMISSION)

  Part Three: Buttefuqed

  Working for the Man

  Aligning the Synergies

  Product Demo

  Industrial Espionage

  War Games

  Someone Leaves Town

  Hippies, Hippies Everywhere

  Tea... and a Visitation

  Part Four: Rescued?

  I was told there would be cake

  Oh, come on!!!

  Bob's Bogus Journey

  Return to the House of Todd

  Worst. Mob. Ever.

  Salty

  Epilogue

  The Chosen and the Damned

  Part One: Stranger in town

  “Excuse me? I didn’t quite catch that last part.”

  The Flying Camel

  Hghhh...

  The bartender stopped in mid-sentence and appeared to have a small seizure. His face flushed, and the LEDs in his nipples began flashing green. "Hghh..." he said.

  The woman looked at him, nonplussed. This interview was not going as expected.

  "Excuse me? I didn't quite catch that last part."

  "Oh yeah," the bartender said. "The war between Angel Falls and Buttfuk's been going on for a while now. Been really, really bad for the drug trade. But luckily I know this guy..." He trailed off, looking at the woman as if seeing her for the first time. "Oh hey, nice hat," he said.

  The woman was dressed in a dark gray trench coat that covered her from neck to ankle. Heavy leather boots caked with dust poked out from beneath the hem, and one of those old-style high-necked blouses could be seen peeking out the top. The whole ensemble was topped by a broad-brimmed black hat. It was a cool hat, the bartender thought: it was stylin'. He could see himself wearing one just like it - maybe with some leather pants...

  "Stylin’," the bartender said. And then, moments later: "Hghhh..." He leaned over, gripping the bar for support, LED'd nipples pulsing furiously. "Sorry," he said. "Damn thing's going crazy today. Would you like a drink, a whore, some methamphetamines?" The woman looked at him silently. "We also do bar snacks..."

  The woman gave a very small sigh. "Let them fall into their own nets," she murmured, "while I pass them by."

  The bartender looked up at her. "You what now?"

  The woman ignored him and gazed around the room. It was early, and the saloon was empty but for the two of them. The bartender looked about forty, bearded and shirtless, a battered top hat perched on his head, a pair of goggles perched atop the hat. His nipple LEDs appeared to be pulsing in time with his heartbeat, which was alarmingly irregular.

  There was a printed sign on the wall with the heading FLYING CAMEL - BAR RULES. It read:

  • No fingers, no service

  • No babies

  • Dick is not allowed on the bar

  • No holding down Leeroy and cutting off his toes with a buck knife because he didn't pay for his share of the weed

  • No lighter fluid

  And below that, a handwritten note, scrawled in red sharpie:

  • Dear Costumers: We can no longer accept cloud money as this currency is unreliable. If you need quarters for the Jukebox, please ask your friendly wait staff!

  The woman glanced over at the jukebox, which was playing softly. Old-time music, last century, but not the good kind of old: this was sinful stuff, all about drinking and humping and yelling bad words. There was a pool of some unidentified liquid by the juke box; a plastic yellow warning sign had been set up next to it. The text on the sign was faded to the point of illegibility. There was a door in back of the bar, half open, and the woman could see a small, dimly-lit room beyond. The room was empty of people, but she could see padded tables inside, and what looked like... swings?

  The woman shook her head and turned back to the bartender. "I'm looking for a friend of mine," she said. "A young woman - nineteen years of age - long, curly red hair. You'd know her if you saw her. She dresses... very immodestly."

  The bartender's eyes lit up at the mention of a woman. "Oh," he said. "You got a picture?"

  The woman's glare was hard enough to cut through the haze of whatever recreational substances the man had indulged in this morning. "You'd know her if you'd seen her," she repeated. "She's fallen in with a bad crowd, and I've reason to believe they came this way. Have you seen her? Or know of anyone who has?"

  The barkeeper frowned and scratched his beard. "What kind of crowd are we talking about? We get all kinds in here..."

  "She is traveling with a man in black," the woman said, saying the words with obvious displeasure. "Black suit - black shoestring tie - big, vulgar gold ring upon his finger. He may also have been flashing an old bible around, depending on how much he'd had to drink."

  The bartender's eyes lit up again. "Ohhh, The Bible! I love The Bible, man. You know, sometimes I like to take a bunch of edibles and read the gospels? And it is trippy, man. You ever tried reading the gospels high? It's like - "

  "Mister," the woman said evenly, "Have you ever tried having your head rammed repeatedly into your own bar with your arm jammed so far up between your shoulder blades you could scratch the back of your own skull?" The bartender stopped short; his eyes came slowly into focus. "The man I just described," the woman said. "I need to know if you've seen him. Think carefully."

  The man frowned, paling slightly beneath the woman's cold stare. The LEDs slowed down, their beat becoming almost regular. Their color flickered for a moment, going from red to yellow and then back again. "Oh god," the man muttered. "Not now... oh, man, not now... concentrate, Duncan, concentraaaate..." He looked up suddenly. "Wait, wait! I think I might have seen him. I was at the sheriff's office the other day, when they hauled me in for... uh..." he glanced at the woman, studying her face. "Yeah, not really relevant. But there was a guy there like you described, talking to some Mexican guy."

  The woman got a hopeful look. "Had he been arrested?"

  "No - I don't think so. He wasn't cuffed. But he said something that caught my ear... about talking to God, or something like that? It sounded cool."

  The woman's head snapped toward him. "Talking to God. Are you sure?"

  The man flinched, nipples flickering a nervous shade of yellow. "Yeah... I'm sure. Well, pretty sure. I'd only done a little bit of weed that day, so, you know... pretty sure."

  The woman released him with her eyes and gazed thoughtfully into space. "That crazy son of a gun," she said. "What is he up to?
" Her eyes snapped back to the bartender. "These two towns," she said. "Angel Falls and... the other one. You say they're at war? Over drugs?"

  The man nodded. "Oh, yeah - open warfare. Battles in the desert, bombs going off, the whole thing. Buttfuk's had the trade round here sewn up for a while now, and Angel Falls are trying to take over." He looked at her sadly. "Bad scene, man. Why can't people just get along, you know?"

  "And these towns are west of here..?"

  "Yeah, just a few miles up the road. Not that I'd be caught dead going there now, you know, what with the violence and all - "

  "Thank you," the woman said abruptly. "You've been most helpful." She turned as if to go, then stopped, looking at the man reluctantly.

  "I have to ask," she said. "What's with... those?" she gestured at the LEDs. "Do you have some kind of medical condition? I'm not very... up on the technology here."

  The bartender laughed. "Nah, man - medical condition? Hell no." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's an ROI. I had my boy make it special."

  The woman frowned. "ROI?"

  "Random Orgasm Inducer," the man said. "And this baby is truly random - none of that PRNG shit here - we're talking quantum level randomness, baby! You can wear it for years and years and never know when it's going to hggggghhhhh......" He gripped the edge of the bar and dragged himself up, gasping for air. He looked at her with a certain interest. "You in the market? 'Cause you know, I can probably hook you up..."

  "And you will shake the dust from your feet," the woman muttered, "as testimony against them." She turned wordlessly and headed for the exit.

  "Hey," the barman called. "Hey!"

  The woman paused, one hand on the door.

  "That was like, intense, man," the man said. "Total guru shit, man - that thing about ramming my head into the bar? That was deep, man. That really changed my perspective on the world. What's your name? You gotta tell me your name."

  For a moment he didn't think he was going to get an answer. The woman held the door open, as if to leave, but then she turned and looked back at him.

  "I was named Armageddon," she said. "For the day of my birth."

  Sheriff's Office

  Armageddon gets a clue.

  The Sheriff's Office was open plan. Half the ceiling lights were missing, giving the place an odd, shadowy feel. There was a row of wire mesh cages along the back wall. One of the cages was full of shelves; its door was labeled EVIDENCE. Another was full of electronics: Armageddon saw flat screens, a number of large batteries, and some kind of device with pedals. The objects in the second cage were covered in dust, and there was a sign on the door which read DO NOT REMOVE DIGITAL ITEMS FROM THE FARADAY CAGE. Both the cages were padlocked shut.

  At the front of the room, where Armageddon was standing, was an old metal desk that said RECEPTION and a row of wooden benches. The benches were currently occupied by a trio of fallen women.

  "Black suit? Shoestring tie?" The Sheriff nodded. "Ooh - you must mean Mr Price! Yeah, he showed up right after we hauled in Fritzie Sombrero; came in as his spiritual counsel, of all things." The Sheriff chuckled. "Fritzie usually operates closer to Butfuk, so I can't say what brought him out this way. Or what he thought he was doing with those armadillos..."

  Spiritual Counsel? Armadillos...? Armageddon opened her mouth, but before she could get a question out the sheriff continued.

  "Anyways, when we went to set the 'dillers loose, that's when we found the bodies."

  "Bodies?"

  "Yep, bodies. Half a dozen of 'em. Various stages of decay. We've been having a hell of a time trying to identify them. And then we got word from Buttfuk that town board wants a full investigation on account of the manner of death. As if we have time for that, what with the True Sings trying to rewire our networks and the Bursters undoing their handiwork and both sides taking a poke at each other any chance they get." The Sheriff's voice dropped. "Plus, we got Revenuers sniffing around..."

  Armageddon finally managed to get a word in. "This man - do you still have him in custody?"

  The sheriff looked nonplussed. "Oh, no. We wouldn't lock Fritzie up for that. Being drunk, naked, and in possession of multiple armadillos ain't a crime, it's just stupid. We brought him in as a courtesy, so he wouldn't end up as coyote food."

  Armageddon looked aghast. "Wait - you found bodies, and you let these men go?"

  The Sheriff blinked. "What do you mean, these men?"

  "The two men we were just talking about! Fritzie and Price!"

  The Sheriff looked rather shocked. "Mr Price? Why on earth would we detain him? He's an upstanding gentleman, doing fine work with those less fortunate than ourselves..."

  Before Armageddon could ask any more questions, the door to the office banged open. A deputy entered, dragging a man who was clearly under the influence. The man could barely stand, mostly being supported by the deputy, and drool was running down his chin.

  This galvanized the fallen women who had been sitting on the benches. The tallest of them leapt to her feet and shouted: "That's him! That's the man who robbed me!"

  The second woman darted in and slapped the semiconscious man, who made no effort to fend her off. "You!" She shrieked. "You dirty dog! Where's my money?"

  The deputy let go of the man, who staggered into the reception desk, scattering paperwork and sending a cup of coffee tumbling. One of his flailing hands briefly connected with Armageddon and tried to grab hold. Armageddon took a couple of quick steps backwards. The Sheriff watched, looking rather amused by it all. "Miss, would you take a seat over there? We'll be with you as soon as we're done here."

  Armageddon seated herself on the bench furthest from the brouhaha. Only after she'd sat down did she realize that she was sitting uncomfortably close to the third woman.

  "Well, hello there, honey," the woman said. "You looking for some fun?"

  Armageddon wrinkled her nose. "Fun? What kind of fun?"

  "Any kind you want, honey." The woman licked her lips and leaned further in. Her bosom pressed against Armageddon's arm.

  Armageddon scooted to the far side of the bench. The woman leaned back and laughed.

  "I guess you're not the fun type. But maybe I have something for you anyway... if you have the cash."

  "I could have something for you in the from of a fist in the eye," Armageddon growled.

  "Woah there, honey! Don't be so excitable!" The woman reached into her ample cleavage and drew out a card. "This is what I'm talking about. I got it from your, ah... friend... Mr Price. And it can be yours - for a price."

  Heading Out

  Nothing but static...

  Twenty dollars for a business card - Lord save us. This investigation was turning into expensive work.

  Armageddon stepped on the gas, and her pickup went roaring out of town. There was a line of nice houses on the outskirts, pretty old wood buildings now strung with trip mines and barbed wire. Near the edge of town was a shopping center, one of the new-fangled ones that had been built around the time of the Burst. It had a big chain grocery store with armed guards standing at the door, a gas station with HOME GROWN BIODIESEL painted over the old logo in large green letters, and the burned-out shell of what had once been a bank.

  She thought about stopping for fuel, but she had enough to last a few days in the back of the truck, and she wanted to be quit of this den of sin as quickly as possible. The next town would have a gas station, she was sure. She stamped on the accelerator, pushing the needle up towards 80. At the very edge of town there was an old cell phone tower. A large sheet of plywood leaned against it, on which someone had spray painted the words BELIEVE, AND YOU WILL BE SAVED.

  Armageddon sniffed: they had gotten the quote wrong.

  The great wide emptiness of the desert was like a balm to Armageddon's soul. The road was in pretty good shape, just a little cracked in places, and it shot out straight west as far as the eye could see. She gunned the engine, chasing the setting sun. As she drov
e, she dialed idly through the radio band - you never knew who might be broadcasting - but for now she found nothing but static. She shut it off when she reached the dial's edge and hummed a little hymn as she drove. The sun sank towards the horizon, turning the few raggedy clouds the color of flame.

  Hellfire, she thought, what are you up to? And what have you dragged my cousin into? Lord, if you're listening, please protect Cherry from this reprobate.

  She called Hellfire Price to mind with some reluctance. Hellfire - a looming shadow in her life; a plague on her thoughts; a man she had not seen face to face in close to three years. Blue eyes, hawk nose, chiseled cheeks. Smarmy smile hovering over a ridiculous butt-chin. Just the thought of that smile sent a shiver of revulsion though her, but she had seen other women - more than a few - melt like butter before it. She remembered Cherry, a much younger Cherry, talking about how much she liked Hellfire's blond, curly hair. It was beautiful, she had said, giggling shamelessly. "Lord save us, Cherry," Armageddon blurted out loud. "How old were you? Thirteen? Noticing men and calling them beautiful." When Armageddon was thirteen she thought the most beautiful thing in the world was her Daddy's .500 S&W Magnum.

  "I should have seen it," she told herself. "A man like that is always watching for the lamb that strays. Hellfire - if you've done her harm, I swear I will introduce you to the Lord personally." She trailed off, muttering. She wished she hadn't thought of Hellfire. She hated thinking about Hellfire. He was the most infuriating jerk she had ever met, and she wished she hadn't been the one they set on his trail. But as the old saying went: if wishes were horses, they would be an abomination in the eyes of God.