When Mitch O’Connor’s spacecraft touched down on the world of Stardust, he couldn’t believe how small it was. It truly was a retreat for an introverted hermit like Marcus Edge. The door to the pod-like spacecraft opened and Mitch clunked down the stairs in his spiked metal power armor while carrying a gauss rifle that was bigger than his own arms. “Oh, this is too easy. Too damn easy!” he said to himself.
Stardust wasn’t the most complex world in the galaxy. Smallness aside, it appeared to be a jungle land complete with coconut trees, dirt trails, tall grass, plant life, just your everyday nature trail on planet earth. Even for a planet this tiny, Mitch still had a problem finding his target Marcus Edge. It didn’t help matters that the space mercenary was stomping around on the ground in his gigantic metal boots. Then again, his job didn’t require a great deal of stealth, so he didn’t dwell on it much.
“Marcus Edge!” shouted Mitch through an amplified microphone inside his space helmet. “I know your ass is around here somewhere! I’m feeling pretty good today, probably because toasting your little world is going to be the easiest thing I’ve ever done! So here’s what I’m going to do, Marcus: I’m going to give you the chance to get your hermit ass off this planet so that when I burn down the plant life and kill all the animals, you won’t have to be a part of it. My boss at World Corp wants to turn your little home into a vacation getaway. It don’t look like much of a vacation right now, buddy boy. It looks more like…”
Before he was allowed to finish his oratory, Mitch O’Connor’s legs were snatched up from underneath him and he hung upside down on a vine. He was so far off the ground that when he dropped his rifle, he couldn’t pick the damn thing back up again. “Oh, you’ve got traps now?” he said. “Well, I got news for you, smart ass: I’ve been doing this shit for a whole decade and ain’t no vine going to stop my ass from burning everything in sight!”
His boldness turned to fear when he found himself face to face with a Venus Fly Trap, the owner of that tight vine. This particular plant had teeth the size of railroad spikes and blood oozing from its mouth like a waterfall. Mitch’s lips were vibrating and his eyes widened at the sight of this monster. And then he went back to being bold when he said, “Wait a minute! Why the hell am I scared of a goddamn plant?”
With his metal space helmet, Mitch O’Connor unleashed a powerful head butt to the Venus Fly Trap, loosening a few teeth and spraying some more blood, but more importantly, loosing the vine’s grip on the mercenary’s legs. Mitch plummeted to the grassy ground below, but his metal armor protected him from injury, so he pretty much picked himself up, dusted himself off, and found his rifle again.
“Is that all you got, Marcus? Some stupid plant? Oh, this is going to be easier than I thought! And I’m making millions off of this job! It’s like Christmas came early!” boasted Mitch.
“Don’t be too sure of that, you disgusting human!” said the busted up Venus Fly Trap in a raspy voice. With Mitch watching in awe and horror, the plant morphed into a human being wearing bear skin clothing and a raccoon cap on his head. This was him alright: Marcus Edge, hermit druid.
“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, huh? You want to put up a fight? Well, goddamn, man, you’ve got one now, bitch!” shouted the soldier for hire when he raised his gauss rifle and opened automatic fire. That many plutonium bullets would have been enough to shred a normal human being into dust. Hell, the surgeons would need a microscope to put his sorry ass back together again. But when the storm of bullets ended, there was no corpse.
Instead all Mitch O’Connor got was a deafening bird squawk right in his left ear. Marcus, who now morphed into a parrot, continued to blast his windpipes in his opponent’s ear and double the man over as he got a headache. When the druid believed his adversary had enough, he flew off into the sunset and left Mitch to clutch his aching head.
The sudden drop in volume inspired the mercenary to aim his rifle and unleash another rainstorm of violence upon his opponent. The shredding impact only resulted in one feather this time. On measly little feather.
“What the hell’s going on here?!” Good question, Mr. O’Connor. What was going on was that Marcus Edge had now morphed into a charging rhino. The tank-like beast barreled and stampeded his way across the grass and knocked a few trees over. With little time for his opponent to react, Marcus gored Mitch and sent him flying backwards several feet, knocking a few trees over himself.
That power armor was a blessing for Mitch since he had just survived a high drop and getting spear tackled by a rhino. But now the mercenary was feeling the pain. He was so exhausted from these attacks that he took longer than usual to get up. He crashed into trees, for god’s sake. Trees! Yet he continued to be brash and cocky in the face of danger.
“Is that all you got, you son of a bitch? What are you going to change into now, a small puppy? Are you going to bark your way to victory?” yelled Mitch.
Changing from a rhino back to his human form, Marcus slowly approached his nemesis and said, “No, I’m not going to do any barking today. That’s been your job since you landed on Stardust, you asshole.”
With Mitch watching in awe of his opponent, Marcus continued his speech with, “You know what I detest about the human race? You people think you have the right to conquer whatever the hell you want. You did it on earth with pretty much every group of people that wasn’t white, including Indians and Africans. That’s all you guys do: just take, take, take. You have some oil? I’ll take that. You have human rights? I’ll take that as well. Is that supposed to be impressive? To who, exactly? Your mother? Your father? Your trophy wife? The president himself? How many more people have to die before you’re finally satisfied with the things you already have! You make me sick! You all make me sick!”
An uncomfortable hush had fallen over the scene and then Marcus laid into Mitch some more, “That’s why I came to Stardust: to get away from it all. And now some space jockey like you decides to come to my world and sell it to some rich asshole? Let me fill you in on a little secret, buddy boy. Stardust isn’t just any tiny planet. It’s the product of my own imagination. As long as I keep being creative, I can manipulate any part of this world I want while you only have that stupid rifle to overcompensate for your small penis. To put it in words even a money-hungry thug like you can understand…you were screwed the minute you stepped foot on my world.”
This would have been the best time for Mitch O’Connor to get back in his spaceship and tell his bosses at World Corp to shove it. Just leave now while he still had his peace of mind and still had his health. But instead he decided to keep playing the role of an arrogant jerk-ass. He yelled, “You worthless piece of shit!” prior to opening fire yet again.
Except this time it wasn’t just plutonium bullets. It was also fireballs, ice sickles, lightning bolts, biological sludge, and laser beams, all of which were hidden compartments on his rifle and all of which were necessary in doing his job to destroy entire planets to get them ready for flipping.
After unloading a cataclysm of agony that Armageddon itself could never produce, Mitch didn’t even check to see if there was a corpse this time. He just dropped to his hands and knees, breathed deeply, and laughed his ass off. “I got you, bitch! I got you this time! And there ain’t nothing you can do about it!”
Mitch was so busy laughing his way to insanity that he didn’t realize he was sinking in a mud pit. Even when the mud was completely covering his space helmet, he couldn’t have cared less. It was when he was underneath the mud pit and into a cavern of filth that he realized what was going on. The realization hit him even harder when Marcus was standing there with his arms folded saying, “What took you so long?”
“No…no…this ain’t happening, man! This ain’t happening! Don’t you ever fucking die, man?!” screamed a deranged Mitch O’Connor.
Marcus laid a hand on his invader’s metal shoulder and said, “Old druids don’t die. They just get better.” With Mitch shedding tears of defeat, Marcus Edge transformed into a gigantic grizzly bear and started chewing and mauling his way through the metal armor, which at this point was a lot like opening a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli. Oh, the meat sauce inside was going to be so worth all this rage.
Showing posts with label Mitch O'Connor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mitch O'Connor. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
Hanging Around
***HANGING AROUND***
For the past two weeks, my brother James and I babysat the puppies and kitties while my mom and step-dad Dale went to North Carolina to do some remodeling of their future retirement home. These two weeks would have been an awesome time to get some serious creative work done and so far, so good. I gave Andy Peloquin’s “Blade of the Destroyer” novel a four-star detailed review and did the same to Carl Hiaasen’s “Star Island” book. I also participated in two WSS contests and that’s why “Nail Bomb” and “Kill, Cut, Scalp” are in my Deviant Art gallery. I snapped some toy pictures of Daniel Bryan, Roman Reigns, Homer Simpson, and Wario. I drew pictures of Katie Evans from “Froggy Smacks” and Machu Throatslash from “Ascension”, both stories a part of the Poison Tongue Tales anthology. I wrote a four-star review for a WWE match between The Prime Time Players and The New Day that took place at this year’s Battleground pay-per-view. I edited the shit out of an American Darkness story called “It’s Okay For You to Love Me”. And last but not least, I FINALLY pumped out the first chapter of Blood Brawl, which used to be called Dungeons & Dragons: Hair vs. Hair, but has since been changed.
You probably think the main reason for telling you all what I did over the two weeks my parents were gone is so that I can brag and get my jollies off. As much as I love to let my arrogant side every now and then, that’s not why I’m writing this journal. This journal is titled “Hanging Around”, which if you look it up on Urbandictionary.com is just a synonym for idling or doing very little. Truth be told, it doesn’t take a great amount of time to do all of the creative tasks I did in those two weeks. Snapping pictures takes literally a few seconds while writing a short story or novel chapter can take anywhere between half an hour to a full hour.
Yes, I got a lot done, but what about the downtime in between creative work? Most people fill this time up by doing chores, going to their day jobs, or hanging out with family members and friends. While it is true that I had a lot of chores to do to maintain this two-story house and keep the animals happy, the chores are also super easy to do and don’t take very long, so that’s even more downtime that I have between creative projects. Closing this gap seems like an easy thing to do at first glance. Okay, so I’ve edited an American Darkness story, so my next project to hop on is writing a chapter of Blood Brawl.
Except it doesn’t work that way, at least not in my world. You know what I do during my downtime? Plenty of things that would constitute “Hanging Around”: napping to new age music, checking my online messages, dinking around on Face Book, and walking around my house like a zombie while talking to myself (usually reciting dialogue from Clerks or Pulp Fiction). So basically, instead of being a relentless worker, I am a professional zombie.
While I’m frying my brain on Face Book and snoozing despite not being tired, I’m doing something that brings all of this idling to light: waiting. I’m waiting for my mental energy to be restored. Only with maximum mental energy can I plow through my creative projects. Anything less and I just crash at the first few words of the story. For years I’ve tried to figure out the secret to my mental exhaustion and I have many answers: sleep apnea, schizophrenia medications, bad diet, minimal exercise, and an aversion to low barometric pressures. That’s a lot of things I have to fix just to be active and alert 24/7. But the one thing that outweighs all of those other problems is my sleep apnea.
Sometime when Mom and Dale are home, I fully intend to make an appointment with a sleep clinic to see if I need a breathing mask or not. I probably do, but the clinic visit is just a formality. Until then, I have to admit that I feel guilty about watching my time go by. I have no excuses. The reason I don’t get much done is because I’m literally sitting around doing nothing while waiting for my brain to stop being an asshole to me. As someone with a strong work ethic and an even stronger creative urge, this makes the guilt more powerful.
But you all have told me over and over again that I don’t need to feel guilty over not getting everything done at once. I sound like a broken record when I talk about mental energy, but that’s because I can’t thank you guys enough for taking that weight off of my shoulders. I hope you can continue to support me now that you know I’ve been spending most of my free time “hanging around” instead of relentlessly working.
I’m actually thankful I don’t have a day job right now. Even with my sleep apnea-induced mental tiredness, I’d still have to work an eight hour day doing presumably boring work just to pick up a paycheck. To those of you who have you are enduring the corporate grind, you have my empathy, my love, and my thanks. I don’t know how you do it, but I have all the respect in the world for you.
I do have plans to get some creative work done after Mom and Dale get home tomorrow. Bulldozing my way through unedited American Darkness stories is a top priority. Writing the second chapter of Blood Brawl and introducing Ivan Blackstone to the story is another top priority. Before those two things, it’s a new week at the WSS contest and the prompt suggestion is “Different Worlds”. Here’s a synopsis of my eventual story this week, which is called “Stardust”:
CHARACTERS:
Marcus Edge, Morphing Druid
Mitch O’Connor, Space Mercenary
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Stardust is a world different from our own.
SYNOPSIS: Mitch is hired by an intergalactic corporation called World Corp to colonize planets by killing off the inhabitants and burning the plant life, thus getting them ready for rebuilding into the CEO’s image. Mitch has been doing this kind of work for a whole decade, but when he goes to a hermit’s planet called Stardust, he finally meets his match when the one person he has to kill is a shape-shifting druid named Marcus Edge. Marcus can change into any kind of earthen animal from a wolf to a bear to even something as annoying as a deerfly. During the battle, he reveals that the reason he became a hermit was because of his disgust with the human race.
I do have bursts of energy every now and then and I’ll always have free time of some kind. Come hell or high water, these projects will be done and they’ll be done the right way. You hear that, American Darkness stories? The Hate Train is coming for your asses! Hahahahahaha! The only reason I’m calling it the Hate Train is because it’s also the name of a Sanction VIII song and that was the first band that played on the night I went to see Cavalera Conspiracy in Seattle this past May. And as long as I’m making references to obscure metal bands who probably don’t venture outside of the Sea-Tac area…
(Points to American Darkness) This is what I stand for!
(Points to Stardust) This is why I fight!
(Points to Blood Brawl) This is what I live for!
Prepare to die tonight!
We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“The Miz is WWE’s version of Right Said Fred: he’s a one hit wonder.”
-John Layfield-
For the past two weeks, my brother James and I babysat the puppies and kitties while my mom and step-dad Dale went to North Carolina to do some remodeling of their future retirement home. These two weeks would have been an awesome time to get some serious creative work done and so far, so good. I gave Andy Peloquin’s “Blade of the Destroyer” novel a four-star detailed review and did the same to Carl Hiaasen’s “Star Island” book. I also participated in two WSS contests and that’s why “Nail Bomb” and “Kill, Cut, Scalp” are in my Deviant Art gallery. I snapped some toy pictures of Daniel Bryan, Roman Reigns, Homer Simpson, and Wario. I drew pictures of Katie Evans from “Froggy Smacks” and Machu Throatslash from “Ascension”, both stories a part of the Poison Tongue Tales anthology. I wrote a four-star review for a WWE match between The Prime Time Players and The New Day that took place at this year’s Battleground pay-per-view. I edited the shit out of an American Darkness story called “It’s Okay For You to Love Me”. And last but not least, I FINALLY pumped out the first chapter of Blood Brawl, which used to be called Dungeons & Dragons: Hair vs. Hair, but has since been changed.
You probably think the main reason for telling you all what I did over the two weeks my parents were gone is so that I can brag and get my jollies off. As much as I love to let my arrogant side every now and then, that’s not why I’m writing this journal. This journal is titled “Hanging Around”, which if you look it up on Urbandictionary.com is just a synonym for idling or doing very little. Truth be told, it doesn’t take a great amount of time to do all of the creative tasks I did in those two weeks. Snapping pictures takes literally a few seconds while writing a short story or novel chapter can take anywhere between half an hour to a full hour.
Yes, I got a lot done, but what about the downtime in between creative work? Most people fill this time up by doing chores, going to their day jobs, or hanging out with family members and friends. While it is true that I had a lot of chores to do to maintain this two-story house and keep the animals happy, the chores are also super easy to do and don’t take very long, so that’s even more downtime that I have between creative projects. Closing this gap seems like an easy thing to do at first glance. Okay, so I’ve edited an American Darkness story, so my next project to hop on is writing a chapter of Blood Brawl.
Except it doesn’t work that way, at least not in my world. You know what I do during my downtime? Plenty of things that would constitute “Hanging Around”: napping to new age music, checking my online messages, dinking around on Face Book, and walking around my house like a zombie while talking to myself (usually reciting dialogue from Clerks or Pulp Fiction). So basically, instead of being a relentless worker, I am a professional zombie.
While I’m frying my brain on Face Book and snoozing despite not being tired, I’m doing something that brings all of this idling to light: waiting. I’m waiting for my mental energy to be restored. Only with maximum mental energy can I plow through my creative projects. Anything less and I just crash at the first few words of the story. For years I’ve tried to figure out the secret to my mental exhaustion and I have many answers: sleep apnea, schizophrenia medications, bad diet, minimal exercise, and an aversion to low barometric pressures. That’s a lot of things I have to fix just to be active and alert 24/7. But the one thing that outweighs all of those other problems is my sleep apnea.
Sometime when Mom and Dale are home, I fully intend to make an appointment with a sleep clinic to see if I need a breathing mask or not. I probably do, but the clinic visit is just a formality. Until then, I have to admit that I feel guilty about watching my time go by. I have no excuses. The reason I don’t get much done is because I’m literally sitting around doing nothing while waiting for my brain to stop being an asshole to me. As someone with a strong work ethic and an even stronger creative urge, this makes the guilt more powerful.
But you all have told me over and over again that I don’t need to feel guilty over not getting everything done at once. I sound like a broken record when I talk about mental energy, but that’s because I can’t thank you guys enough for taking that weight off of my shoulders. I hope you can continue to support me now that you know I’ve been spending most of my free time “hanging around” instead of relentlessly working.
I’m actually thankful I don’t have a day job right now. Even with my sleep apnea-induced mental tiredness, I’d still have to work an eight hour day doing presumably boring work just to pick up a paycheck. To those of you who have you are enduring the corporate grind, you have my empathy, my love, and my thanks. I don’t know how you do it, but I have all the respect in the world for you.
I do have plans to get some creative work done after Mom and Dale get home tomorrow. Bulldozing my way through unedited American Darkness stories is a top priority. Writing the second chapter of Blood Brawl and introducing Ivan Blackstone to the story is another top priority. Before those two things, it’s a new week at the WSS contest and the prompt suggestion is “Different Worlds”. Here’s a synopsis of my eventual story this week, which is called “Stardust”:
CHARACTERS:
Marcus Edge, Morphing Druid
Mitch O’Connor, Space Mercenary
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Stardust is a world different from our own.
SYNOPSIS: Mitch is hired by an intergalactic corporation called World Corp to colonize planets by killing off the inhabitants and burning the plant life, thus getting them ready for rebuilding into the CEO’s image. Mitch has been doing this kind of work for a whole decade, but when he goes to a hermit’s planet called Stardust, he finally meets his match when the one person he has to kill is a shape-shifting druid named Marcus Edge. Marcus can change into any kind of earthen animal from a wolf to a bear to even something as annoying as a deerfly. During the battle, he reveals that the reason he became a hermit was because of his disgust with the human race.
I do have bursts of energy every now and then and I’ll always have free time of some kind. Come hell or high water, these projects will be done and they’ll be done the right way. You hear that, American Darkness stories? The Hate Train is coming for your asses! Hahahahahaha! The only reason I’m calling it the Hate Train is because it’s also the name of a Sanction VIII song and that was the first band that played on the night I went to see Cavalera Conspiracy in Seattle this past May. And as long as I’m making references to obscure metal bands who probably don’t venture outside of the Sea-Tac area…
(Points to American Darkness) This is what I stand for!
(Points to Stardust) This is why I fight!
(Points to Blood Brawl) This is what I live for!
Prepare to die tonight!
We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“The Miz is WWE’s version of Right Said Fred: he’s a one hit wonder.”
-John Layfield-
Friday, June 19, 2015
The Broken Skull Mercenaries
TEAM NAME: The Broken Skull Mercenaries
TEAM MEMBERS: Andrew Bradley, Mitch O’Connor, Jill Henderson, and Mattie Dent
OCCUPATION: Mercenaries
CANON: Garden of Evil
For those of you who actually read Garden of Evil back in 2012/2013, to clear up any confusion, Andrew Bradley, the unofficial leader of this team, used to be named Andy Bryan. His name was tweaked because I already have enough characters in my archives with the last name Bryan (Mario, Wade, Tina, Chris, etc.). I just thought I’d throw that disclaimer out there for those who really are concerned, which might be a small number of people, but they’re people nonetheless. Anyways, on with the show!
Garden of Evil started out with two scientists combing through the mercenaries’ permanent records and being scared out of their mind by what they say. Aside from the fact that these mercenaries had scars all over their faces along with bad haircuts and bad dental hygiene, they’ve also been involved in a number of mass murders (long before they met and became mercenaries). Other charges included rape, torture, kidnapping, human trafficking, and drug distribution. All of these charges rolled up into one would send a normal human being to prison for a sentence that lasted a millennium.
But instead, being stranded on Mars with a bunch of bloodthirsty dinosaurs would be a better answer for these psychotic pariahs. They thought they were going there for a fruit plucking mission to sustain earth’s food supply. Hell, they even laughed about it because the mission assignment had the word “fruit” in it, which is also a homophobic slur. But once their ship touched down on Mars’ surface and the mercenaries got out, their ship flew away on its own and pretty much left the four criminals to their own devices.
If there was ever a time for good teamwork and unconditional cooperation, this would be it. The dinosaurs are fucking huge and fucking nasty. They consider tiny humans like The Broken Skull Mercenaries to be breath mints. While Mitch O’Connor is down with the idea of watching each other’s backs, Andrew Bradley becomes a selfish leader and is willing to sacrifice his own teammates to ensure his safety. Apparently, Mr. Bradley isn’t quite used to the fact that he’s stranded on Mars forever and isn’t going back to earth anytime soon.
Because of Andrew’s arrogance, Mattie Dent and Jill Henderson become his sacrificial pawns and die saving his life. Jill and Mattie are no angels, but they clearly deserved better treatment from someone they’ve worked with for many years now. Mitch O’Connor wasn’t going to have any of it, though. As soon as Mitch discovered that the “fruits” were actually quick-acting steroids that gave humans a fighting chance against dinosaurs, he took them all for himself while Andrew was left to die on the ground with a fractured spine. Jill and Mattie had already been killed, so it was too late for Mitch to save them. But in his mind, living on Mars and psychotically slaughtering a bunch of dinosaurs was his idea of paradise. Turns out dinosaur meat tastes like chicken.
Garden of Evil made for some badass science fiction. There was lots of bloodshed and lots of high-octane action. But unfortunately, gratuitous violence is not an automatic recipe for success unless you’re watching WWE or UFC. In the world of literature, Garden of Evil would have been laughed at by snot-nosed editors around the world. Not only are The Broken Skull Mercenaries far from sympathetic in their villainy, but the pace of the writing doesn’t keep up with all of the hardcore violence.
I’ve gotten better at writing faster-paced stories, but I’d still like to have something to do with these four insane criminals. That’s why if they get used again, they won’t be the protagonists since there’s absolutely nothing the readers can relate to. After all, my target audience for these four isn’t the entire roster of a super max prison. If they’re going to be characters in my stories, they have to absolutely be antagonists. They’re Complete Monsters whom I’m pretty sure everybody wants to see die brutal deaths. Well, I’m all about customer service, so if they’re going to die, they’re going to die…but not without a blood-soaked battle! Dun-dun-dun!
***POLITICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“The FCC (Federal Communications Commission) decided all by themselves that radio and television were the only two parts of American life not protected by the free speech provisions of the first amendment of the constitution. Why did they decide that? Because they got a letter from a minister in Mississippi. Reverend Donald Wildmon heard something on the radio he didn’t like. Hey, Reverend! Did you know that there are two knobs on the radio? One of them turns the radio on and off and the other changes the station. Imagine that, Reverend, you can actually change the station. It’s called Freedom of Choice and it’s one of the principles this country was founded upon. Look it up in your local library, Reverend, if you have any left after you’ve finished burning all the books!”
-George Carlin-
TEAM MEMBERS: Andrew Bradley, Mitch O’Connor, Jill Henderson, and Mattie Dent
OCCUPATION: Mercenaries
CANON: Garden of Evil
For those of you who actually read Garden of Evil back in 2012/2013, to clear up any confusion, Andrew Bradley, the unofficial leader of this team, used to be named Andy Bryan. His name was tweaked because I already have enough characters in my archives with the last name Bryan (Mario, Wade, Tina, Chris, etc.). I just thought I’d throw that disclaimer out there for those who really are concerned, which might be a small number of people, but they’re people nonetheless. Anyways, on with the show!
Garden of Evil started out with two scientists combing through the mercenaries’ permanent records and being scared out of their mind by what they say. Aside from the fact that these mercenaries had scars all over their faces along with bad haircuts and bad dental hygiene, they’ve also been involved in a number of mass murders (long before they met and became mercenaries). Other charges included rape, torture, kidnapping, human trafficking, and drug distribution. All of these charges rolled up into one would send a normal human being to prison for a sentence that lasted a millennium.
But instead, being stranded on Mars with a bunch of bloodthirsty dinosaurs would be a better answer for these psychotic pariahs. They thought they were going there for a fruit plucking mission to sustain earth’s food supply. Hell, they even laughed about it because the mission assignment had the word “fruit” in it, which is also a homophobic slur. But once their ship touched down on Mars’ surface and the mercenaries got out, their ship flew away on its own and pretty much left the four criminals to their own devices.
If there was ever a time for good teamwork and unconditional cooperation, this would be it. The dinosaurs are fucking huge and fucking nasty. They consider tiny humans like The Broken Skull Mercenaries to be breath mints. While Mitch O’Connor is down with the idea of watching each other’s backs, Andrew Bradley becomes a selfish leader and is willing to sacrifice his own teammates to ensure his safety. Apparently, Mr. Bradley isn’t quite used to the fact that he’s stranded on Mars forever and isn’t going back to earth anytime soon.
Because of Andrew’s arrogance, Mattie Dent and Jill Henderson become his sacrificial pawns and die saving his life. Jill and Mattie are no angels, but they clearly deserved better treatment from someone they’ve worked with for many years now. Mitch O’Connor wasn’t going to have any of it, though. As soon as Mitch discovered that the “fruits” were actually quick-acting steroids that gave humans a fighting chance against dinosaurs, he took them all for himself while Andrew was left to die on the ground with a fractured spine. Jill and Mattie had already been killed, so it was too late for Mitch to save them. But in his mind, living on Mars and psychotically slaughtering a bunch of dinosaurs was his idea of paradise. Turns out dinosaur meat tastes like chicken.
Garden of Evil made for some badass science fiction. There was lots of bloodshed and lots of high-octane action. But unfortunately, gratuitous violence is not an automatic recipe for success unless you’re watching WWE or UFC. In the world of literature, Garden of Evil would have been laughed at by snot-nosed editors around the world. Not only are The Broken Skull Mercenaries far from sympathetic in their villainy, but the pace of the writing doesn’t keep up with all of the hardcore violence.
I’ve gotten better at writing faster-paced stories, but I’d still like to have something to do with these four insane criminals. That’s why if they get used again, they won’t be the protagonists since there’s absolutely nothing the readers can relate to. After all, my target audience for these four isn’t the entire roster of a super max prison. If they’re going to be characters in my stories, they have to absolutely be antagonists. They’re Complete Monsters whom I’m pretty sure everybody wants to see die brutal deaths. Well, I’m all about customer service, so if they’re going to die, they’re going to die…but not without a blood-soaked battle! Dun-dun-dun!
***POLITICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“The FCC (Federal Communications Commission) decided all by themselves that radio and television were the only two parts of American life not protected by the free speech provisions of the first amendment of the constitution. Why did they decide that? Because they got a letter from a minister in Mississippi. Reverend Donald Wildmon heard something on the radio he didn’t like. Hey, Reverend! Did you know that there are two knobs on the radio? One of them turns the radio on and off and the other changes the station. Imagine that, Reverend, you can actually change the station. It’s called Freedom of Choice and it’s one of the principles this country was founded upon. Look it up in your local library, Reverend, if you have any left after you’ve finished burning all the books!”
-George Carlin-
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