Johnny Nightwalker: Guardian’s Duty

***

On the ground, people and the Guardians fought the terrors that Omega had unleashed. Dogs, cats, squirrels, birds, every able bodied beast or reptile fought alongside humans. Casualties were mounting. Though they had the sheer numbers and cunning, it wasn’t quite enough.

Then, there came the other handlers. Teleporting in from around the world, all ready to lend their hand in defeating the almighty Omega. Some launched missiles, while others hurled balls of fire. One shapeshifted into different animals much like Snake had. Every handler that wanted to break free from the Agency and lead a normal life had come. Johnny felt a surge of pride.

However, Omega had other plans in mind. He had taken note of this incursion and had motioned his own counterattack plan. The earth began to shape into rocky behemoths. Metal debris combined and metallic killing machines. The air became acrid and toxic, quickly making those weakened only weaker; dying or collapsing. Water pooled together and formed massive blobs that deluged human and animals; drowning them in waste and blood.

“We’ve got to do something!” Chico said as he watched more and more of the horrors form and slaughter around him. “Johnny’s power isn’t enough!”

Red looked around at the fallen. “Lads and lassies…it’s been a pleasure.”

“If we’re going to go out, let’s do it with a bang, no?” Pierre readied a pack of explosives to himself.

“We know we can’t go back to our old selves… it’s inevitable. Perhaps—perhaps this is how it was supposed to be,” said Chico sadly.

“Aye, it was nice knowin’ ya. If we ever meet again…we’ll…I’ll buy ye a pint,” said Red as he gave a pat to Chico and Pierre.

Nearby a familiar yelp was heard. Rottie the Rottweiler had fallen. There wasn’t much of her pack left anymore. There weren’t much of any of the handlers either. The Guardians and the remnants of earth’s forces were diminishing quickly.

“Boys…” said Pierre.

“Farewell…” they all said together.

***

JOHNNY “NIGHTWALKER” IS AN ONGOING A.B.NORMAL PUBLISHING EXCLUSIVE STORY BY ROBERT J. S. T. MCCARTNEY. CHECK HERE FOR MORE POSTS.
Previously

The Synthetic Prophecy

The Synthetic Prophecy

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

 

 

“Many years ago, I was blessed with a vision. Whether it was by an almighty being of the cosmos, my creator or whatever the sort was beyond me. It was a vision I discarded as being nothing more than just a mere dream. I was five or six…so I never took it as being a prophecy…or an event to come to pass. Most science fiction, dystopian, or post-apocalyptic stories have something similar. I chopped it up to being nothing more than an influence by something I had once seen on the television.

Then it came to pass…

One afternoon, I was traveling with my mother. We were running errands; the basic kind, you know. We had ventured to the local grocery store. As we had exited the vehicle and neared entering the establishment, the sirens began to sing…

People shrugged it off as another test of the Emergency Broadcast System. Then, inside the store, all the TV’s, all the monitors, all the cell phones, everything cried and warned with the coming end. An attack was made. The target? Our location along the West Coast. People ran. Panicked. Cried.

I looked up and saw them in the bright azure sky streaking towards us like rebel burning diamonds against the daylight. I felt my stomach sink. My hands had begun to sweat in my mother’s grasp.

A voice chanted, “Initiate Evacuation Protocol: Disembark. Repeat. Disembark.”

One by one, then dozens, thousands, millions…people dropped to the ground. I, myself watched as my body dropped to the ground. I looked over and saw my mother’s body drop limply upon the ground. Everyone flew up into the sky, a blue-white streak against the azure grain. We watched as the missiles struck the ground, the buildings, and reduced everything to a fiery crater. War had come. We were the first to be hit, and we certainly wouldn’t be the last.

We spiraled through the cosmos; flying by stars, buzzing by planets…Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, so far away from the sun, watching the Earth become a mere speck. Until then, we arrived. A new home. A new hope. Here.

We all awoke to our new mechanical bodies, synthesized humans. Robots. The Singularity may have saved us…or rather given us a way to escape death. However, back on Earth, many were trapped. Left to endure the war that took place. It is only a matter of time until it follows us here.”

The now young man appearing synthetic human opened his eyes and stood up before the crowd around him. “Surely, we could try to outrun our demise…or we can embrace a destiny where we fight back, survive. When they come—and they will, we will be waiting. We will return. We will reclaim our home planet. They will call us ‘alien’ but eventually, they will see…” He reached down and took up a foreign weapon. “We are more human than they are. We will save those left behind.”

The Scientist and The End of All Things

The Scientist and The End of All Things

By Robert J. S. T. McCartney

He sat in the chair for a while now. He hadn’t moved much since he was told the news. He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t much of a surprise, so to speak. The nightmares had been increasing lately. The pain of loss was too real, and he didn’t—he couldn’t handle that now.

He was so close. So close to being able to correct the neurological damage that had been done to his daughter years ago, a taxing result from the car crash. The seizures were relentless and had been unforgiving. It wouldn’t matter now, though. Still, all he wanted…was to watch his little girl walk and to hear her tell him she loved him. Now? Now he felt he never would.

“Mr. Colley, I am afraid I need to have you clear the room. We are experiencing an abnormal increase in trauma situations and are in need of grievance rooms. I do apologize for asking,” said the male doctor.

Mr. Colley nodded and sighed heavily, running his fingers through his black hair. He sniffled and wiped his eyes occasionally. It still hurt.

“You’ll want to get her affairs in order. It…it won’t be long now,” the doctor said sympathetically.

The doctor’s words cut him to his very soul, and such, as he walked out into the hallway, he collapsed onto the ice cold tile. Hospital personnel and people rushed around him. He felt alone. So alone in the eye of the hurricane.

“You need to get a grip, John. You need to be strong. Not for you, but for them. So what if they said she’ll die soon. If it were you, what would you do?”

I’d go out swinging. I wouldn’t roll over and go quietly to my grave. 

”Then find your balls, John. Dig deep and find your fucking balls, get up, and get back to the lab. Finish it. Who cares anymore?”

You’re right.

John got up off the floor and with purpose, left the hospital in haste.

John worked tirelessly in his lab. He had phoned his wife, letting her know of his sudden departure from the hospital.

He had a purpose. He needed to be vigilant. He knew no one else would exactly understand. His methods were unorthodox; a controversy in the States. Stem Cells. These, though, were engineered through biological manipulation and engineered with nanomachines to help speed up the brain’s recovery; and accelerate the development of new healthy cells. They repaired damaged tissues, reconstruct damaged nerves. A dream made a reality.

No testing had been done though. At least, not in humans.

John gathered up the syringes and made his way back to the hospital. His daughter would be administered the doses at the safety of the hospital. Just in case. After all, he had signed all the waivers and disclaimers.

“There’s a high probability that this won’t work, John,” warned the woman doctor.

“At least I’m giving her a fighting chance,” snapped John.

The doctor sighed. “Sometimes it’s better just to let go.”

“Not yet. Not until she’s old and had a chance to live.” John replied sternly.

“What about those that die young? What of them?”

John’s eyes were fixated with purpose as he administered the first dosage. “They were not in my hands. I cannot fight for everyone.”

After several weeks, the administering of the treatment was a success. The Occupational and Physical Therapists and her parents watched her walk on her own. Cognitive function dramatically improved. She had become much more independent and self-sufficient. John was beside himself.

The world and the universe, though, saw otherwise. War was on the horizon. Tensions were rising and meeting an unthinkable end was beginning to become more of a reality. No peaceful resolution could be reached. No side could give way to diplomacy. Civil war would begin to break out. A revolution would begin. The people had had enough.

As John watched the news with his family he knew the end would come, sooner or later. That, even in the marvel of science, he had only prolonged time.

Borrowed time…

John worked tirelessly in the nights. He had fancied quantum physics, space and time for a long time. He had an idea. It might prolong the inevitable but at least, at least he could spend whatever time that this device, this idea could grant.

Time stop isolation. At first, he thought just to his home. Then he thought his town. Then he decided the world. If it as all going to go to hell, he’d at least let some of the other families have extra moments.

On the Day of the End, John gathered his wife and children.

“I love you,” he told them all and hugged them tightly.

“I love you, daddy,” his kids told him.

He cried tears of joy. Ever since having heard the words for the first time from his oldest. He never wanted to take them for granted, let alone be her last. She had made so much progress. So much to live for. Now, now it was the end of all things, all things humankind.

The bombs were fired, dropped, set to explode. John pushed the little red button, initiating the time stasis field all over Earth.

The bombs never went off. Time and the Earth stood still.

Eventually, the universe had begun to collapse. A long passage of time went by. The ultimate end came and went in the blink of an eye. A beautiful and merciful death of humankind in the light of a glorious dawn. The contagion, contained and isolated, just like he wanted.

The End

Excerpt From a WIP [Work in Progress] Piece of Mine.

What follows is a small excerpt from my epic dystopian novel (that is still a WIP). It is a rather large novel, one that will most likely be broken up into parts (while a super mega ultra rare edition will be. . .all parts in one.).

OK, here’s a hint at how massive it is right now. 600+ pages and I have 20 or so pages of outline. It’s in its raw form; unedited, not revised. Just. Raw. *boom*

Anyway, this particular addition is something I came up with the other day and as such, it has found a place within the novel, which serves as a sort of backdrop. A society that is controlled via nanomachines. Where the rich live in biodomes and the poor in slums or radioactive wastelands. Where lies and fear are spread continuously to help control the weak.

It’s up to a group of rebels to take on the organization that overthrew the world’s governments from their original rule and to free the people whose minds have been warped. Can they rebuild society, though? Can they remake the Earth? Or is it all just a fantasy?

It’s Hell on Earth. Here. Now.


Malthus turned his attention back to the computer monitor. His eyes tired from staring at the screen of variables and formulas for so long. Hours upon hours. The calculation was everything—it meant. . .everything.

They have to be exact. Precise.

He felt a vibration in his pocket. Another disturbance. There was no time for more of those.

The computer screen went black. Anger set in. A mighty fist hammered the keyboard.

Malthus sighed heavily. The generator probably finally went.

Then, on the screen there appeared a ghastly man, an old friend and lab partner of his. “Malthus,”

“You—you? It can’t be.”

The man spoke again. This time, his tone more melancholic. “This is a pre-recorded message. I pray when you receive this, you know what to do. Play it. Share it. It is time.”

The man cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

“My friends, I have a confession I would like to share with you.”

“You see, I cannot contribute to society anymore; for what it stands for, the people that are placed upon such high pedestals, that will send us to our certain doom. What I can do is call for us to rebel.”

His eyes opened; an inferno raged within them. “Rebel, friends.”

“Let us lead each other into unity and overthrow the corruption that is now. Let us purge this idyllic idiocy that casts its horrible shadow of death and our demise.”

The man’s voice grew louder, almost shouting. “Rise up.”

“Rise up from your decrepit chair of lives lost. Shed the shackles of debt and control. Rip off the blindfold of lies and deceit. Remove the earplugs that kept the truth from ringing in your ears!”

“Be free,” he shouted.

The fire in the man’s spirit raged on, behind his words, and in his voice. “See your brothers and sisters; for we all are of one race. Cast aside the labels: of prejudice, race, religion, sex, and profession. Let the truth ring; let it resound throughout the land! We will not be slaves! We will never be subjective subjects to a corrupt and unruly society and government!”

“We must be fleet-footed, truthful and just. For our enemies are numerous and vast. We must make examples of those responsible.”

His tone changed to a cautionary tale. “Be wary, friends, for there are brothers and sisters who are oppressed and fear for their families and loved ones. We must protect them, our neighbors, the sick, the poor, and our children.”

The man took in another deep breath, while a tear ran down his cheek. “Let our voices carry truth. Let our final cry be heard! Let the world know, we are no longer dumb, deaf or blind to the corruption that plagues us! And we shall strike down those that oppose the will of the People.”

“Enough!” said a stranger in the video recording. “He’s said enough. Now, make an example of what we do. . .to traitors.”

The defiant man breathed heavily. His spirit raged on. “We are the beacons in the dark! We are the Torch Bearers!”

A gunshot resounded and the man still sat up. Focused. Fixated.

The man shouted at the top of his lungs, “WE WILL NOT BE CONTROLLED!”

Gunfire erupted on the scene, and then the man, along with whoever was present were engulfed in flames.

Malthus stared at the screen and stopped the recording. He grinned to himself. “My friend, you did it. You really did it.”


I hope you enjoyed that small piece and that you potentially, look forward to the final product. . .when it gets done. Hoo!

More to come and all that fun stuff. Right now? Dinner! I gotta make this BBQ pulled chicken. 😉

Until next time.

RJM

Expectations

What are your expectations? It doesn’t matter if it’s in business, life, a career, sex, your spouse (or significant other/mate), food, eating out, a new video game, your president, your government, etc.

Where did you set the bar? High? Low? Somewhere in the middle? Do you set certain expectations high in your list that only you know about?

With people nowadays, you can see something like:

“10/10. Would bang again.”— Internet Troll

“Drove like a snail in rush hour traffic. Wouldn’t recommend. 1 star.”— Anon Uber App User.

or maybe something like:

“They looked great but was horrible in the sack. Also found out now I have The Clap.” — Anon, Booty Call App User

I mean, we have a president that uses Twitter to influence others; ratings can go up or tank at a single whim.

This leads to the next point: Reviews—they’re similar you know. In fact, they’re mostly just the faux mask that covers “expectations.” You are reviewing your expectations and addressing those expectations of an establishment, book, place, person, etc.

Some folks nowadays can’t function very well out in the world without the strong opinion of “the elite.” You know the folks that are on Yelp that say “Elite ’15, 16, 17,” and so on? Or “highest reviewer” accredited to their username via Google+.

No, I am not one of those folks.

There are tons of horrible people, sure. However, there are a lot of good people in the world too. We’re humans. It is expected. You can sort and sift through reviews and you get a glance—a glimmer of what type/kind of person someone is. Not only by their history of visits, purchase history, and the sort but by how you are being told how they interacted with whoever they are reviewing [this also constitutes an establishment, customer service, etc.].

“I had a bad experience here. They threatened my fish.” — Anon

“Food was horrible. I wouldn’t even consider bringing it home and giving it to my dog.” — Anon couple; I actually overheard this one.

There are millions of reviews out there. Those who feel the need to make a point. Those who must feel the need to feel needed. Those that seek others satisfaction.

Ah, the Digital Age.

The Internet is a wonderful, yet, scary place to be on. You have an insurmountable wealth of knowledge and tools. Yet we spend hundreds to thousands of hours watching cat videos. Fragging people [Nothing wrong with that, game on! And yes, that is me being bias.]. Stealing other peoples’ identity. Hacking elections. Ousting pedophiles that have horrible images on their computer drives. I can keep going.

Technology has changed us—humanity. The human race. Technology knows no racial bias (except maybe console versus PC; Sony vs. Microsoft, .etc but that’s reaching at best.). It knows what we have programmed it to be. What we want it to be. What advances we want. Cures. Curse. Death. Damage. What can we do to inflict unto others? The good intermingled with the bad and vice versa.

You may ask, “What the hell does that have to do with expectations? Why did you bring up reviews? Who the hell threatens a fish?”

Well, we expect a lot. So much from businesses, people, schools, etc. Our family. Some men expect women to put out on the first date. We expect food to be hot (or cold) and served at our preference. We expect to be put first, high up on a pedestal. Some people expect their religion is right and is superior to another person’s. We expect the loser to go home crying. . .with a participation trophy. We expect too much—as a society, a whole. It’s a path that can—and will—lead us to our downfall. We cater too much, while not giving a damn about consequences. Enter your “keyboard warriors,” cyber bullies, trolls, etc.

Great expectations.

We are not a community that is so transparent. Well, we are. . .when it comes to greed. But that’s another lengthy discussion, though. We’re not a close-knit community that really backs each other up, helps one another without expecting something in return, gratification, or simple enough—money.

Technology has sped up our dehumanization and desensitization. When we are able to truly modify our bodies as cyborgs and/or androids, will a person even care about anyone else? Would we still exist as being. . .human?

That “eternal salvation” of uploading your memories and consciousness to the Internet (Transcendence on crack), while say, a meteor that will destroy mankind indefinitely here on Earth, but elsewhere in the galaxy or universe, we are beamed via satellite signal to space and wake up in new sleek android models. It was just a few seconds in delay to us, but in actuality, it was a hell of a long time.

I digress. Simply put, times have changed. The radical evolution of societal influence and lack of actual human interaction, the lessening of empathy, lack of sympathy, morals tossed out the window, common sense that is now rare, and so on.

We often like to say that we are the superior race, especially, when it comes to man versus beast. However, are we really that much better? Cool—poseable thumbs, a large neocortex, “alleged capabilities of complex problem solving, and operating weapons of mass destruction.” Sure, I guess we are. I suppose I would say that sardonically, because I know even after we are all gone, Nature will go on without us. It has for millions of years and will.

Sure, I guess we are. I suppose I would say that sardonically because I know even after we are all gone, nature will go on without us. It has for millions of years and will continue to.

You can consider this, I suppose a young person rambling on. Perhaps. But would you disagree? That there are a lot of issues that are presented here that are of importance and relevant, that are just tossed aside like everyday refuse? Swept under the rug. Dismissed and barred from public discussion because it’s a “no-no” and would make someone else upset and they might break out the whips and chains [Not the good kind either.].

Suicide, depression, anxiety, PTSD [Post Traumatic Stress Disorder], bullying, all of these and more are getting quite out of hand. As a sufferer of one of these many. . .side effects. . .I’ve made it my way of life to explore them, help others, learn other peoples’ stories and experiences, and even just listen. We all bleed the same. We all break. When, how, and why, though will come in to question.

So, you will see posts about suicide. Depression. Anxiety. PTSD. Other mental health issues and such. Writing is my therapy. It’s my way of sharing with others. Though it may be fiction in some ways, you do not have to feel silenced, judged, oppressed. With how news, media, and press are getting gagged, misinformation everywhere, etc. What’s next? Writers of fiction and non-fiction are hunted? We’ll see, right?

While I hope to entertain people, make it my career, provide expectations, get reviewed—I do it for myself. Do you want to know who my most cynical critic and ball-breaking is? It’s me. Granted, I am changing that way to not giving a damn completely, it’s still a process. I want to write just for the pure enjoyment I get out of doing it; being a god amongst men and women, creating worlds, life. In the very same manner—becoming death, chaos, a destroyer of worlds and relationships.

I could go on and on. . .though I would like to know: what are your expectations in life right now?

I will end with one of my favorite quote from the movie Legend with Tim Curry and Tom Cruise.

“The dreams of youth are the regrets of maturity. Dreams are my speciality. Through dreams, I influence mankind.” — The Lord of Darkness; Tim Curry

I wish you all well. Be safe and take care. The world is a mess. . .but it is a beautiful mess under all those bandages.

RJM

 

P. S. While I reintroduce some works, I invite you to check out a free ebook on the Kindle store: Abnormal Side Effects. If it’s not free for your region, then I invite you to a free copy here.

Feel free to talk with me, too. I don’t bite. Too hard.