{Devil be damned, Devil become, Devil belong, yet all the same here. Sleep, sleep, go the parry strike, for the attacker saw it not. For the Devil be there to taunt yah, ho the Devil will make it yer last. Haste, haste, comes the counterstrike, pray it be a light slice. Or be damned to Davy Jones’s Locker, yet which the Devil will allow thee to be in... This is an independent post, yay! So no contest entries, just a fun ole story involving our favorite Grunts and The Agent. For those that keep up with my serialized content (for the New Angel Saga in particular), this is pre-Void interaction so The Agent isn’t named Octo yet. Regardless, there’s a ton of stories I can involve The Agent in like how there’s a million DooM WADs and HL/HL2 Mods. So there’s fun to be had there and I want to flesh out It as well... Today’s music-aides: "Lament of the Sleeping Philosophers" [1.] "Descent in Cerberon" [2.] and "Stardust Crusaders" [3.] (E:Z2, Quake 2 and Jojo's Bizarre adventure OST).}

Apparently this “Non-Objective/Representational” art thing exist, took a stab at it.

- Insurgency Aide -

[1.]

Funny, what even is that word?... funny was my service with It, funny my service with these taskers, funny my service with transportation. Yet none that tickle my funny bone. So again, what is the word funny? But I digress.

A half- was it even a half-year ago? I’ve stopped counting the hours, being in so many galaxies with some many differing taskers with so many debriefings, what would even be my standard but mere seconds on a clock? Well what seemed a half-year was when I was merely an occultist scientist that meet and was saved from these slugs for metal tubes for eyes, metallic limbs for arms and a gas-mask as a breather. Apparently called the Shu’ulathoi - now they are my brothers whence they had once wanted to haunt me down. Yet, I learned that they’ve been a fragmented species and they refuse to comment further on that matter. A half-year ago, I was pecking writing in my journ- Christ it’s just a Diary!

What even is all this; my field was limiting and I learn more as a debt cleaner - sorry a debt-payoff guarantee - for It as I help payoff Its debts to past agents. I... do I even know who I am? I’ve had my entire conceptions torn down like a recruit in bootcamp, and now I slowly am being rebuilt. Heh, I can’t even think myself in my old terms - this armoured coat, this Mauser and my boots can ID me better than my skin, my phallus and my bearded face. When I hear even the common talk of differing galaxy folk, I’ve had trouble keeping up ‘til I dropped my old limits of gender and accepted how dependant ‘twas on so differing an economy and so differing a society that was built around that.

Can I call myself a he? But so calmly can I rely on the barrel on the gun to tell me I am here. Can I even be called a human? But with these boots on, I can still remain functional and be of use. Can I even claim to know what I know? But this armoured coat can contains all my history and struggles safe and snug... with all that, I managed to convince It to keep me pronounless, to call me not human and to not treat me as a know-it-all. My species-being having been severed, these new changes have rather been ecstatic.

All these cultural things severed from the Social Spirit of where I used to belong, all these ideological norms challenged and shown to be reactionary, all these fears made into small peves and all these heavenly dreams a saintly desire. I must say that past me would have killed me, not from fear but that I constitute as a challenge to all that he knew that I know now to be merely a limited pocket. Heh, guess I lapsed again but I guess that’s long overdue when waiting in between paying debts for It and staying on an old train moving in some black galaxy of flashing lights. The sight, even if self-same, was always eye-catching with all the dancing lights, accompanied by the flying stars, the occassional metereor that makes the tram sing as it quakes in fear and maybe a pale dot relaxing in the chasm of space.

Well, I must cut my Diary thoughts short and humour doing another debt repayment. Equiping my coat on, cocking my Mauser to where it clicked in pain, blousing my trousers unto the boats and hoisting OM14 gas-mask, I open the cart door and see the ever-familiar sight. Sparkling, spinning and shocking, what a galaxy hopper that be for sure. But I find it funny, where is It now? It at least would brief me - turning around I saw my familiar friend and gave It a smirk which I know It was cracking one back for me.

"So, I guess another debt can be payed off now."

"Indeed Agent, but I say you’ll live an old memory. Though not a farce or even close to that, the act will resemble our first meet up. But the figure be a mere Grunt, their services are invaluable. For a mere Grunt, they would’ve made you scratch your eyes out if you haven’t done so many payments for me this far. But, like a paradox itself, they are cute and shall be so when you see it - only because you’ve seen what I seen. But pit them to your spiecie’s cutest and you will soon feel grossed. Remove the cutest - and you would adore these Grunts. They are cutest of all dæmons, yet the deadliest and most feared in the Dæmon World. Thus why no holy text references them, they’ve shamed the worst and held up high the best."

"Yah hast never been this direct with me... oddly sounds like no debt repayment, more a saving mission."

"And a chance to see your home again. This Grunt, which goes by the same pronoun as you I must say, is in dire straits. By the time you have been recruited by me, your home as I’ve been told been ravaged by a wave of revolutions and insurrections. Where our Grunt fits in is that they found themselves in back alleys in the middle of a crime. Of course, this Grunt found some MPs, or Military Police, harrassing a destitute proles, and they took it upon themself to rip and tear with their bare hands."

"And they couldn’t send in a Shu’ulathoi for extraction? But withal, I like this Grunt here. They doing a good amount of justice if that’s what’s ringing in mój ears."

"Well your ears lie not, after all they do have literal jester bells. In fact, all Grunts have a jester bell to commemorate someone I rather talk later about. I don’t have to repeat the talks about Chaos et Ordenis again - Chaos, or Jevil, been their specie’s saving figure when they’ve had their species consumed by The Void. Resisted for the many long and harrowing dances they did, and they won their freedom. Now, it's time I return a certain favor back to the Grunts, they've been particularly useful to say the least - or so when the pool of good agents ran out."

"So, where do you figure they be at right now - that being the Grunt."

"They, well I guess their backdoor is still open."

"Hey it phased colours, yer sure the hopper's safe?"

"I tweaked some... things."

"Silent on thy tongue I see."

"We don't get to choose what we are at liberty to say, but always on how we deliver it. Or so goes the person who dodged so many assassination attempts that it made farce the best of the best assassins."

[2.]

As much of a pawn I was to It and whatever debts had to be payed back, Fortuna gave me the best of the service lottery as It did always drop comments on other contractors like it. Hopping into the portal, lights beam around and hug my eyes - truly I was blind despite possessing sight. But, for however long I was there, I further wondered why no other contractor was like It at least as a baseline. With an expansive Universe, surely there'd be one good contractor - so say I as I might as well stare into that lone good one's eyes. But the time for remorse is over as the light stopped pervading my eyes and I finally was unblinded. Feeling the wind collapsing with me down to the dirt Earth below, my arms searched all over my back for the para-shoot string. And so surprise lifted me up high to the air, the wind stopped collapsing with me, the Earth slowing down it's run towards me and I left to see the orderly night-coloured landscape with its pockets of chaos dancing about.

Pulling and tugging on the strings, the para-shoot obeyed and steered more towards more unto farmlands. My eyes relayed the descent into Cerberon. I must commend that the path taken by the Grunt was, as It would describe as well, chaotic - yet equally so orderly whence the whole picture was put together. I must say, they did a good job on their one-person rampage across the entire city. But like all things, the origins of society seems to be a funny past time area to struggle in - the farmlands was dancing high with the flames with the smoke leaving as they got exhausted from shredding the landscape. Peering back to the city, conflict still seems to rage but my extraction concerns the Grunt who became an overnight sensation to this Government.

Inching closer to the ground, the painting became sharper: the pure annihilation of mechanized infantry, the disarmament of entire MPs, cars pummeled and helis decommissioned permanently. Yet I saw more racing towards the black hole of Death, my voice box couldn't but laugh at their annihilatory suicide. But my mind cracked a wiser joke upon the fact that whoever Grunt worked with had seen a great distraction in them and well the Grunt still pays off well in how many ever hours have been clocked-in so far. But getting closer, I saw different uniforms and my body shaked hard, but soon eased back to steering the para-shoot as I humored some joined the revolutionary suicide to spare the insurrectionists more time and face less counter-resistance in their way to capture the city. But still I descend into Cerberon.

Two hundred feet near the ground and having the safest speed to land, I still followed the precautions and combat-rolled upon landing. Dusting off the dirt, my body thanked me with a small shock before easing back down. Unclipping the binds and chucking the para-shoot to the side, I unholstered my Mauser and began tracing the new center of destruction if the Grunt relocated by now. Seeing the war-scape, a certain flair for red definitely redressed all the green in the ex-greenscape. I rather keep quiet about the bodies, as they were like their mechanical counterparts: functional parts dismembered, insides now smolder or full of lead, some pierced with their own guns and the rest squeaking as they transition to their eternal slumber. A hand latched and squeezed my leg, I cocked the Mauser and aimed at the direction of the hand; only a straggler remained and their body not so much a survivor, but they breath and talk so fine.

"Y-you crazy, those Insurrectionist scum and their new Pet will rip you apart!"

"MP, I had my fair share of gruesome-n-terrifyin' beasts. Be glad I be here to extract them."

"The whole group without being caught!"

"No, the Grunt - group's been dead for a while."

"You in-insurrectionists and da-amn changing things w-when all was fine before."

Silencer squeaking that it been fully installed, my Mauser squeaks two doses of lead to the MP. The arm's grip unclutched, I wriggle it away and steadied my path. My ears picked up and played the sounds of Death from a far, the war-cries for the fallen screeching the air and insane profanities to both the Insurrectionists and The Agent. Closing in, my arms and legs tag-teemed to climb over the high wall; my lungs and arms screamed in pain, but soon thanked me as I reached the top... Just before aching immensely upon realizing the climb doww would be equally vampiric with my energy. Or so my body thought as my eyes saw a giant haystack to plummet to - and so I did and my body rejuvenated me back to action.

I began closing hundred paces to the door, the body-count here was light if any. Fifty, still light and I can see the door wide-open. Twenty-five, more corpses but of to be suspected in this military parade. Twenty-five became ten, then five, then one and soon I slipped in without problem - yet my awkwardness restrained my legs for the longest time before my mind chucked awkwardness to the helm's edge. Minutes before I entered, the war-scape quieted to sparks of broken tanks and helis; so they gave me courage where the flight of bullets had stolen. Low-crawling my way around, I ducked under the stairs and saw two MPs race up the stairs and each step proudly pronouncing their location as they pain to elevate the reckless fouls.

Tagging along, I soon heard the wooden railings screaming of it's ripped limbs due to no thanks to a reckless MP battling my supposed acquaintance. I swear, feral-canines were a better partner to tag along with; at least they kill the target with some humility, the Grunt had fun as I could hear those jester bells singing as they swing about. Yet the bells became muffled and I rushed to the room, my eyes already incriminating the suspect as my arm took charge to give the final punishment. With a round to the head, the jester bells sang again as the Grunt chucked the corpse through the window - oddly perfectly through the small window. Then they about-faced and CQC-hugged me, the deadliest and most unblock-able move. Though my arms self-interrogated themselves on the prospect of returning the favor, my mind forced the decision and forced them to wrap on the Grunt. They were certainly a jovial bunch with how I felt their arms squeezing me tighter.

"How can I ever repay thee?"

"W-well, certainly I wouldn't mind another minute of this. After such, exfiltration has to be enforced - your family is worried sick, or so I heard."

"Well I'm honor'd to continue this holy gesture... But I can't fault them for being sick, for I am sick to and this blood lust had kept eme goin'. Yet I can only go so much before I no more can dish out what I normally can, for that I deserve to give thee a bigger reward."

"I guess I understand why you Grunts are called cute-"

"Hush now, thou hast not seen real cuteness-"

"Well I did, but that doesn't subtract your cuteness outright."

"If I could only exist without this mask, I could show thee how red I dare be. But, let's go; I have to change this filter before my gas-mask becomes defunct."

"I noticed you have a torn poncho and a spiky hat."

"Come, we can talk-n-walk. Anyways, my hat? why augments unto my cap that allows me to spear the enemy. My poncho? perfectly fine, it deflects pure peckery back at the enemy."

"Peck-"

"Dost thou need a lingual lesson?"

"Heh, if only It taught-"

"It! Oj me Flyin' Dutchman, 'tis an honour to see the Agent of It. I see thou hast not skipped any parts, good that thou thinks ahead of time. Anywho, my love fo' thee must wait a bit, fo' oure loves fo' usselanan must shine with this final batch sent at me."

"I hear nor see anything? Where it be?"

"Why, the back-door- kak, follow me!"

"What's so dangerous about it?!?"

"Not that part, I want to give it a warm welcoming gift. 'Tis near the holy day of giving anyhow- ah, it should be auidible to thy ears any second."

"And so yahh host high your hat and let that eye fear not in cowardice."

"Ah! So I can blind the enemy indeed, for my eye-piece shall steal the light and command the BEAST to slow down!"

"Com- wah ah!"

[3.]

Indeed, the BEAST was coming through - the ground didn't yelp in pain for nothing. The high wall shriek as they get shoved aside like brittle wood to human feet. The house? Soon singing the fire dance as it slowly became ashen. My lips whisper a question, but I get only told that they've been a recent development. But the hushed answer soon clicked with my mind as I felt the silk string and a gust of black-puff zipping to the other side. Their bells singing, I knew they crossed the chasm and were ready to enable this plan - I swear I might as well cross the chasm on this tight rope as well. But the awe of seeing the BEAST flushed my mind of petty memories and I held on tight as the Earth shook with every step it took. The final shake being that of its body slamming onto the war-scape of which it partakes in without care.

Those bells ringing and singinging, I saw the Grunt floating in the air before plummeting to land their first strike. The BEAST jolted in reaction, but the Grunt darkened as as to hide to hide the brutal slicing and dicing from my poor eyes. However, the noise of slowed speed began tormenting my ears as the BEAST was moving as if the wind was liquid! But the bastard deserved it as my eyes captured one of the arms tugged into the radial cloud of ashen-puffs and soon learning how to fly high before digging into the Earth upon landing. Upon the final gasp, the BEAST accepted it hath no control over its death and allowed the Great Helmsman to take their demented spirit on board.

"Be that all of them?"

"For this night, all the BEASTS have been dispatched off. This was the last one fo' sho'. Hey I see It."

"Well, took yah long enough."

"I've watched, and I always did, and enjoyed the spectacle... But the time to exfiltrate is now... please, Grunt, the others are growing sicker."

"Hey ho, It! I even began to slowly lock up, but but they art fortunate to have others as I grow sickly without their love."

"Well, Agent and Grunt, step right up."

A galaxy hopper ripped open right behind It and the Grunt gave a CQC-hug to It before leaving. It's hands gestured me to simply walk through - so I complied and found myself with It in their home. The Other Grunts saw both of us and began dancing their lil' chaotic dance, the recovered Grunt tackles me and CQC-hugs me again.

"Ye Grunts really do-'

"Care for those that help us, what be the problem in that?"

"I guess nothing- hnnng. H-hau. Mój lungs, they've overcompress'd."

"Ouree best quality other than ridding the Universe of crass and calming those that need it. But, human, we're sorry we can do no more than this. So please, as oure gratitude 'til we can fix a better reward."

"A plushie, it's so... cute. But where am- I actually know where I can stowe it. I think it's a perfect enough of a gift."

A simple bow bow proceeded from the entire mass of Grunts, all returning to their labours. Labouring, but with a sense of pride I thought I would never see once again. It placed Its hands on my shoulders and we returned back to the old train without problem. Seeing the smile, I returned it back and It went off to places unknown as It sparked away. Sitting down, I pulled out the plushie: much like them, but condensced in this chibi-form that I have yet to comprehend why it produces utter cuteness. But I guess the name is self-evident on that part, without failure most of the time - so I simply hugged it and tucked it away in a pocket... Heh, it'll serve well if I'll deal with children, the perfect pacifier when the time arises.

When that time arises I suppose.

-----------------

So two things before I go off: Jojo and bizarre adventures, and C.H.U.D. The former, love watching it all over again - surprised this is only the third Jojo reference I made. The latter, a Slavic word for strange/wondrous but also a term used for a 1984 movie featuring "Cannibalistic Humans" as well. Take those two as yah will.

Anyways, what's the end blurb today? Well actually it's just a third item but with more than a sentence dedicated to it. So, insincere question that I demand a sincere answer to: what do ye readers think of my works? I'm being serious while insincere - what a cocktail that is - as I ask this. What do ye readers think of my works? We don't suffer an RC-crisis anymore, so yah can comment. We also got all the time in the World to discuss on how I treat the narrator as not this describer but as an orator - even when in the first person. We also can go on about my psychology and how things aren't created in a vacuum - of which I seriously uphold when I flip off the "Death of the Author" people who fully take seriously that ideology to heart but forcibly go outta their way to scream at people for thinking what they think.

So I ask again, with serious insincerity: what do yah think of my works? I like people talking in the comments below, the community of readers is important in the health of the community of writers. That and I just want to interact with the whole World Wide Web (what "www" stands for). In the age where we are free to communicate across the World in minutes, we should be promoting long conversations as we would have in real-life. To find unity in what we like and to discuss on what we dislike. To laugh and blush, as we analyze and critique some incidents in the works online. No one can survive in their style, but surely yah cannot fault them in thinking what they do type down. Unfortunately with a screwy language like English, what is standard today shall become mockery tomorrow - what dictates our care sincerely befalls to the behest of sounding right: both in being pronounceable, and being logical correct and valid when all is said and done. So again, with the current state of things informing my insincerity, I seriously ask: what do yah think of my works?

The Shambler Saga

@theironfelix - Two-hundred years and counting

@theironfelix - The Rebel Compound

@theironfelix - What remained after

@theironfelix - Runaway Convict

@theironfelix - Scouting for Danger

@theironfelix - A ponderous choice

@theironfelix - A step towards hope

@theironfelix - Escape by pier

@theironfelix - Aftermath

@theironfelix - The Second battle for Vicksburg

- Where this story would fit at this point of time -

@theironfelix - Ides of March anno domini 21XX

Cited images

My sketchy sketch attempt at Non-Objective/Representational art, I rather zentangles.