2717 – we’re all connected by manic-numb-hate networks. El meditates under the degrading remains of a whale that lays supine across the width of the Mojave. the world’s forgotten what evil was. she plays [▷]earthquake_00.anm in her head. psychic reel crackles w/ soft reverberations. she’s watching a vision of the earth being swallowed up by a great cataclysm, washed of its ignorance & numb hate within hours. other, more beautiful women elsewhere were using their imaginations to vividly let sedan-sized radioactive mutant insects tear them into shreds & fuck the remains. disgusting! they peaked the possibilities of physical living long ago.
earthquake_00.anm ▷ one more time. ▷ one more time. ▷ one more time.now all they do is laze around a compound in the desert trying to stimulate themselves under trances & occasionally being sadistic to the post-hell animals. El lived in an anarchist commune vaguely positioned around the former base of a (now totally suicided, lol) death cult. revolting notions of freedom & meaninglessness & aimless living dominated her life. the deep evils of the earth had long melted under bio-weapons specially designed by a team of American ultra-nationalist scientists. diseases named XXX-F*CKDVLFLU & shit like that. sometimes in her visions she liked to play the role of illuminati authoritarian. commanding every single person’s life from behind shadows & blurry schizophrenic images posted online. she could have been a natural tyrant. Soviet beautiful. she was born 700 years too late. when awake she usually stared off at the concrete walls of the compound. sometimes she sat on top of them w/ an anti-materiel rifle equipped w/ depleted uranium bullets. blowing apart the skulls of bus sized, but docile, deer that trot along the horizon.
she has the HUD of an ancient first-person shooter video game tattooed on her thigh. a true sigil of power! nobody knows what game it’s from anymore. an artifact lost to time & Infinite Paradisio Warfares. we have a year & not the name. 1993. El has black hair, like the color of Kansas grass nowadays. an amphetamine look to her eyes. she rarely ate. 115 lbs. 5’9”. a girl withering away for sensations.
they dealt in bullets blasted w/ radiation. the compound, named MOUNTAIN, was refitted to be a munitions factory. the commune itself, this terrible tribe of dreamless psychic nomads that peddled in death-dealing overpowered irradiated calibers, designated itself THE OASIS MOUNTAIN DIVISION. a collective of women channeling powers granted to them by thoroughly MKULTRA’d ancestors from centuries ago. ancient people broken down & designed for vaporizing enemy combatants in foreign hot zones. a company of loyalists [EX level], serving the purposes of extreme capitalism, had unwittingly blessed the future hopeless.
the main customers for OASIS MOUNTAIN were mercenaries from Old Cali, the FRAG COYOTES. no one really needed killing anymore, and nobody really needed money anymore [no need for currency when every girl was free nowadays], but still hired guns got work. usually jobs for killing random ppl the client didn’t know. there’s an euphoric perversity in sending a hitman to kill the pedestrian. they took no payment, it was a contract of killing desire. all you had to do was tell one of these pro ronin who to off. perma-death decimation for the civilian. there’s no respawns here, bitches. body counts racked up of nothing but non-combatants. the mercenaries would come to the MOUNTAIN w/ dufflebags full of glass containers w/ captured yokai inside. there were spirits that didn’t get to be eradicated by patriot viruses. excommunicated from wherever the demons & angels went.
El & her cadre melted these loathsome & unmoored phantoms down in knife-shaped molds. astral-tempered flechette rounds. El went on an Infiltration Op w/ the FRAG COYOTES once. its a ritual performed w/o a client. many factions had developed a tradition that, when one of their squad was headshot from 600 yards away or some shit, they would perform a rite to the unholy pseudo-deity of endless massacre.
the infiltrations were slaughter. hateful & stupid. El wanted in. she’d never killed a person before. never seen blood just splatter all over the fucking wall like chunky grafitti. vandalism you can’t take back. El wanted nothing more than to do irreparable things. something the rain can’t just wash away.
El flicked on a device capable of wicked darkvision. she listens to the mechanism over her eyes whirr statically. hell yeah. El’s witch pretty now. the squad approached an airstrip covered in vibrant pink mosses & vines. golden skulls glittered in numb moonlight on a boundary fence that surrounded the airfield & its sparkling terminal. encased in barbed wire crowns, they cried crude oil onto the ground. they knew the mercs were here to fuck some shit up.
that depressed & worthless & not-beautiful girl El pulls the charging handle of her rifle. its a collector’s item nowadays. an M4A3. the squad leader motions for the rest of them to move up to the terminal entrance.a bonfire crackles inside. thru the windows we watch hapless communists, pale & emaciated, burn deformed deer bodies. horns cracking under heat. squad leader pulls down the black bandana from his mouth & lets his snake tongue out. down past his chin it drapes itself. forked & all lol, freak. he’s ready to lap up some gore. the tall, misshapen grasses brush around his back. framed like a king by alien vegetation. he rips off a small canister hooked to his chest rig. pull the pin & toss in the terminal lobby & listen to the hiss.do you know what melting flesh sounds like, from a distance?
he commands us forward in a dead language derived from several central European dialects that fused together in a great ball of nuclear fire. language as aberration. let’s fuck them up.
El crushed her boot down harder on a lady vampire. 2,0000 newtons of pressure. enough to keep her down. ribs halfway to splitting. being undead’s a bitch, ain’t it? vampiric communists! El laughed at the fantasy spurting up blood under her boot & pulled the charging handle–it’s only right to make her first kill & this girl’s second death look cool as fuck–and got ready to smell the sulfur.
her face felt hot. sweat evaporated against the air lit to fuck w/ the sounds of gunshots [bang bang bang!!!] & decimation & knives sliding into spines [ka-shink!!!] & El’s sweat dripping on concrete. can you squeeze the trigger, you stupid fuck? take the step into Hell’s gates? you better be ready to deepthroat evil, slut, because it’s the only love you’ll know soon enough. if only El had the psychically-linked firearms of the mercenaries! they didn’t have to think to pull the trigger, their lizard instincts did the shooting for them. no guilt required!
claws scratching the floor. four strong legs–one hissing with diesel power & gears grinding–approached her at 75mph. El heard the animal leap. hahahahaha. she didn’t even try to raise her rifle. teeth snapped around her neck & flesh began tearing like paper. shred that shit. sounds of vertebrate cracking as El fell to the floor w/ a wolf’s jaw tight around her throat. revenge AMSR, she figures. the mouth begins to close. 10,000 newtons of force. the last thing El hears is teeth meeting teeth and her arteries, free & boundless, spurting aimlessly across the ground.
sand, tinted pink w/ boiling intent burns against El’s cheek.dreaming of a nine-headed snake glowing with xenon tunneling through her skull. gateway sigils painted on the inside of her eyelids. she jerks awake.
El returned to the crime scene. that massacre tableau. reeked of dried & burnt organs. this always happened. she had awoken w/ her cheeks burning against sand, tinted pink w/ hostile intent, and jerked herself up. dreams of a nine-headed snake glowing with xenon tunneling through her skull. she had managed to pull herself up, & begin a full sprint towards the terminal a few miles south. fuck the fatigue. she needed to see it. last time this happened, there wasn’t anything left over but half her liver & a crushed pelvis. damn.
there it was. El’s raven hair, matted in blood & organ scum, was splayed across the ground. she stared at herself, head separated & done bleeding, a few feet away from her body flat against the terminal floor. jesus christ. j-horror type mood. like looking at a hex’d mirror. she used her boot to turn the head towards the ground. the Frag Coyotes had already moved on. ritual’s been fed. time for them to move on to more innocent targets. all that was left in the building, windows full of glitter from the desert sun, were a bunch of half-eaten & half-fucked & half-dead vampire corpses. Marx can’t protect you against roving hit squads, i guess, lol. didn’t even have any claymores set up. dumb as shit.