MALEFICUS: ENTRY TWO

Artwork and article by KRAZED, WILDLY KRAZY's CEO. Enjoy, Krazees!

August 7, 2018 [WILDLY KRAZY]—Upon landing at the airbase within Red, Missouri, as the Hercules' engines slowly shut down, we all stood on our feet, waiting for the cargo doors to open.

Slowing opening, the cargo door of the Hercules revealed a dark, summer night, while the warm breeze blew into the Hercules, making a whistling sound, as the overpowering spotlights caused us to shield our eyes with our arms and hands—damn near blinding us with their intense light.

In the distance, the sound of helicopters pierced through the night sky, rattling our ears and chest, as they approached our position with their powerful engines and rotor blades.

Looking at my Spark, I noticed we arrived in Red, Missouri at 19:11.

After the cargo door fully opened, three Martians—two armed with the KI-Spartan SMG—boarded the Hercules. Professional and confident, all three Martians wore black CBRN [chemical, biological, radiological, nuclear] masks, and coyote-tan CBRN suits.

Operating under decon [decontamination] protocol, with orders and instructions, GUNNER, the unarmed Martian, began shouting orders, while the other two Martians glared at us with their rifles at the low-ready, standing in a fighting-stance, daring for anything, or anyone, to charge their positions. Thus, they ensured nothing left the Hercules without orders…such as a Sinner for instance…

"Guardians, you are under decon protocol; therefore, from this point on, your rank and status do not mean a damn thing, because you are under my command during decon. Do I make myself clear, Guardians?" GUNNER, the unarmed Martian, shouted and asked.

"We already know how this shit works, beings we're the fuckers that wrote the protocols. Get this shit on the road," DUKE shouted.

"We're all tired and exhausted, and quite frankly, I need to wash my nuts and ass; plus, I have to take a shit, so hurry this shit up," DUKE shouted and ordered.

DUKE was one of the twelve Dukes within Red, Missouri—one of the fuckers that helped me create and organize the Freemen organization—so, like myself, he knew all protocols and operations like the back of his hand. In addition to that, beings he was a Duke, he outranked and had command over all MARS and REAPER, except Defenders.

Yes, in theory, DUKE outranked me, and in all reality, he was my commander…on paper… However, I was the architecture and brains behind the entire fucking organization; therefore, all twelve Dukes, including DUKE himself, could go fuck themselves, for all I cared. As usual, I answered to no one, but, with that said, though, I understood the importance of the twelve Dukes. After all, like I said, I am the one who created the government within Red, Missouri—the entire Freemen organization, and the GUARDIAN program.

Seasoned and experienced, Dukes are the highest rank among Guardians—Apex Duke—and the only way to obtain the rank was by being elected by Freemen—citizens of Red.

Elected by the people, the twelve Dukes oversaw and commanded the entire GUARDIAN program and its Guardians, which included MARS and REAPER, but they did not create the laws within Red, Missouri. In fact, laws were created by the twelve Ambassadors, who are also elected by Freemen.

"Guardians, I need all of you to strip completely naked, leaving behind all gear and equipment onboard the Hercules," ordered GUNNER, the unarmed Martian.

Thus, following decon protocol, we all stripped naked. I, of course, helped Calix, the little boy, strip his shirt.

With pain and terror on his face, the little boy looked at me in confusion, as he instinctively gripped my right hand with his left hand. Covered in dry, brown blood, his eye patch damn near swallowed his little head.

"SIX, do you have any pain killers for Calix?" I asked.

"No, man—I have nothing on me; all of my shit was left back in Athens. He needs surgery right away," SIX informed.

"Kill," I replied.

"Come on get this shit moving," DUKE commanded, as everyone stripped.

"Calm down, DUKE—we're moving as fast as we can. We do not want to spread the virus anymore than it already has. Four MARS and two Freeman came back carrying the virus," GUNNER informed us.

"Do you mean the team that came back from the 10th GUARDIAN…with the first Hercules?" DUKE asked in confusion.

"Correct," GUNNER replied.

"Six infected out of twenty-one…" I mumbled to myself, trying to understand and grasp the situation.

"The infected…what did you do with them?" I asked GUNNER.

"Following the protocol that you put into place," GUNNER replied.

Under decon protocol, all infected were secretly sedated using Midazolam, until they died from the SIN Virus. If the infected did not die after two weeks, lethal injection was then administered, ensuring the infected did not become a carrier…a Sinner.

From there, all infected were cremated with their rifles, Tomahawks, and Kukri, and then buried the next day.

"Fuck… How many days until the virus appeared within the blood?" DUKE asked.

"Within a day," GUNNER replied.

"Damn, dude—this shit is fucked," SMOKE said, with fear and terror on his face.

"We're fucked, man—I had blood all over me," SPADE said, frantically.

"Calm down, Krazees…so did I… I had blood all over my BDUs; we'll be fine," I told the team, trying to calm everyone down.

In all honesty, I was terrified, too… I mean, dying from a fucking virus… I know viruses kill millions per year, but come on…a fucking virus, though… What a shitty and boring way to die…

"Now, I need you all in a single-file-line; about 3 to 4-feet apart. Keep your distance of one another to prevent infecting other Bloods," GUNNER ordered, after we all stripped our BDUs and tee shirts.

Following GUNNER's command, we all stood naked, waiting to exit the Hercules, while Calix stood at my right, with a death-grip on my right hand.

"Follow me, and do not touch anything or anyone," GUNNER commanded.

As a Martian Apex Alpha, GUNNER was seasoned and experienced, serving 6-years within MARS.

As Guardians and Freemen, we considered everyone equal; thus, every Guardian had the same rank-title of Apex. However, each rank is differentiated within the Apex hierarchy, based on the number of years served. Therefore, the more years you serve as a Guardian, the higher authority you have within the Guardian program.

Using patches on the chest of Guardian plate carriers, all ranks are easily identifiable by colors, which also displays a Guardian's time of service.

Apex Omega—1 year or less of service.

Apex Xi—2 years of service.

Apex Zeta—3 years of service.

Apex Delta—4 years of service.

Apex Beta—5 years of service.

Apex Alpha—6 years of service.

Apex Master Alpha—7 years of service.

Apex Elite Alpha—8 years of service.

Apex Maverick—9 years of service.

Apex Ace—10 years or more of service [my current rank].

Apex Duke—elected Duke.

In addition, instead of units, companies, or battalions, the Guardian program utilized prides, and clans—clans being a smaller team within a pride. For instance, our Reaper team was a clan that consisted of DUKE and I, along with BLACK, SPADE, SMOKE, KID, FROST, and JOKER.

Thus, all clans were a team of eight Bloods, while four clans formed a pride. Therefore, under the Guardian program, there were only four REAPER clans, forming one REAPER pride—an elite team of thirty-two Bloods that was formed using the best of MARS and Defender operators.

Obviously, of course, instead of calling each individual a 'Soldier', 'Sailor,' 'Airman,' or 'Marine,' we used the word 'Blood' to represent a team member within a clan, beings we Freemen considered each other as sisters and brothers, beings we were a tight group that always worked closely together during rescue and humanitarian operations throughout the world. That, but males and females within the Guardian program not only shared the same barracks, they also showered together, which formed and ensured a like-minded cadre that knew damn near all private and personal details about their fellow Bloods within their clans. Thus, each clan consisted of eight 'Bloods,' who were damn near inseparable.

Of course, all clans and prides were named as well, while using patches to help identify each unit.

Under my clan, we were called the "Renegades," while the other REAPER clans were named "Havoc," "Raiders," and "Legion."

I have added a picture of our clan's patch, which we wore under our rank patches.

Now that FROST became the Guardian's first KIA statistic, I needed to find another Blood to replace him, and in my opinion, SIX was the man for the job, if he accepted my offer. Nevertheless, a majority vote was still needed among the clan before anyone could join or replace another Blood.

Walking out of the Hercules, at-least thirty armed Martians wearing CBRN suits and masks greeted us on the runway, while two Guardian Sikorsky UH-60A Black Hawks hovered overhead, ensuring none of us escaped from the airport.

"Now, do an about-face, and spread your arms and legs as far as possible, like you're about to do jumping jacks," GUNNER ordered our group.

Standing there butt-ass-naked, while several spotlights damn near blinded us, we lifted our arms, straightening them out to the right and left of our bodies, while we spread our legs, wide, to the left and right, as far as possible, without falling over.

After forming the star-like position, at-least a dozen Martians walked up to us with a bucket of soap and water, and began scrubbing and washing our bodies using a rough wash cloth.

"Who is the little boy?" one of the female Martians asked me.

"A survivor I came across in Athens; other than that, I have not a fucking clue, but he is now under my authority," I informed her.

"He is bleeding from the eye; we need to remove the patch to properly decon the child," she replied.

"It appears he has a shrapnel wound to the eye; he needs immediate surgery," SIX interrupted, informing the young female Martian.

"We cannot send the child into surgery, because, under protocol, everyone is quarantined for 7-days," the female Martian said.

"I wrote the fucking protocol, so clear out an entire floor at the hospital for the boy, and fix him up; from there, quarantine the boy to his hospital room for 7-days," I commanded.

Looking over at GUNNER, the young female Martian sought her commander's approval.

"Xi, do not look at him—I gave the order; get the boy into surgery," I said, as the young female Martian turned her attention back towards me.

"Wilco," the young Martian replied.

According to her name-tag, the young female Martian had "DIEHARD" as her call-sign, while her rank informed she was an Apex Xi, having served 2-years thus far. In addition to that, her clan tag stated she was from the "Guerrilla" clan—a MARS clan that belonged to the "Rebellion" pride.

Respectfully, the "Rebellion" pride, especially the "Guerrilla" clan, had a reputation of being among the best MARS had to offer. In fact, both HERMES and SIX were from the "Hellhound" clan within the "Rebellion" pride, which is the reason I ensured the two temporarily transferred from their clan to embed with my REAPER team within Athens.

Therefore, based on her call-sign, I could tell DIEHARD had a reputation of strictly following rules and protocol. Despite her stubbornness, though, I knew Calix was in good hands with DIEHARD, based on her clan and pride, especially her attitude and knowledge of protocol.

Following my orders, DIEHARD and three other Martians took Calix by the hand, leading him to the black Raider that would take Calix to the Freeman Hospital for surgery, and then quarantined for 7-days.

Looking back with a terrified and confused look, I waved at Calix, reassuring that everything was okay.

"You'll be alright, buddy—they're going to fix your eye. I'll see you in a few days," I told Calix, while I waved, as the Martians loaded Calix into the black Raider.

Designed as an all-terrain vehicle, and built around simplicity, the RA-ATV Raider [Rapid Attack-All-Terrain Vehicle] is a four-passenger, lightweight, armored vehicle that features Extremium armor, which is an aluminum armor coated with a patented black, plastic coating called Extremium, designed by KRAZED Industries that can withstand multiple, direct hits from 7.62mm rounds. In addition to the Extremium armor, the Raider is equipped with bullet-resistant glass, protecting passengers from small-arms fire from all angles.

Mounted with an M2 Browning machine gun, the Raider utilizes a skeleton frame design that allows for quick removal of all four armored, detachable-doors, along with the armored, detachable canopy, providing a lighter and more maneuverable off-road vehicle that increases visibility and quickness.

Designed for quick and easy maintenance and repair, the Raider is an inexpensive and simple off-road vehicle designed for scout and rapid infiltration missions. That, but not only is the Raider versatile, it is also smart. Utilizing the TORCH and FLAME communication network system, operators are always linked together with real-time, updated Intel from Guardian command, from within the safety of the Raider; plus, operators have the ability to charge their Sparks, as well, using one of the four USB plug sockets within the Raider.

As distance separated Calix and I, I could see the little boy started to cry, because he was scared, and wanted to come back… Even though I had only known the boy for less than 14-hours, I had already felt a close bond between the two of us. After all, for Calix, the world went to shit within a few hours, which meant I was all that he had now, within a world filled with cannibalistic "demons."

Damn, the little boy reminded of my own son when he was at the same age… Fuck, I am going soft…ish…

"Easy…easy on the nuts," JOKER told the three Martians that scrubbed his body.

While only males could join REAPER and Defenders, both males and females, however, could join MARS; thus, half of the Martians that were scrubbing us down were females. Unfortunately for me, though, the water was freezing balls, so my balls damn near sucked up into my chest, while my pecker shriveled into a raisin; therefore, unfortunately, I did not leave a good or memorable impression for the two Martian ladies that rubbed my body.

"Easy…watch the paper; the shit is classified material," I informed the Martians that were scrubbing me down with soapy water.

"We need to zap those papers and your Spark," GUNNER said, suggesting UV [Ultraviolet Light] decontamination.

"In fact, I need everyone's Sparks for decon," GUNNER order.

"This is all classified material from the CIA. This Intel is only intended for my eyes, and my eyes only. Give it all back after decon," I informed GUNNER, as I handed him the classified material, and the Spark, while two Martians scrubbed my back.

"Roger," GUNNER replied, as he went around with a cardboard box, collecting everyone's Sparks.

After collecting our Sparks, GUNNER handed the cardboard box over to a lower rank Martian.

Sprinting, the Apex Omega Martian took the Intel and all Sparks to a large, red decontamination tent that sat a few yards from our position on the runway, where two armed Martians stood guard outside the entrance of the tent.

After about a 5-minute scrub, a Martian walked by with a water hose, hosing us down with freezing water, making my nipples rock-hard, turning me into a damn ice cube.

"Holy fuck that is cold!" SPADE shouted, as he pretty much danced, trying to avoid the icy water.

As an original Freeman, SPADE was a Krazester—a best friend—and one that I have known for years. Inseparable, we always had each other's back, no matter what.

Now in his mid-thirties, SPADE was a father of a son, who both lived within Red, Missouri. As a gift for being a loyal Krazester for so many years, SPADE lives in a villa right next to mine—on top of a hill that overlooked Red.

Wet, cold, and shivering, we awaited our next command.

"Guardians, about-face and follow me," ordered HOTSAUCE, a Martian Apex Beta.

Curiously, I would love to know why they called him HOTSAUCE, because, admittedly, I have witnessed and seen some of the craziest call-signs imaginable. BIRTH CONTROL being one of them, for obvious reasons.

HOTSAUCE, nevertheless, had swag… Walking with excellent posture, HOTSAUCE seemed a little arrogant…possibly an asshole…but he did, however, carried himself with confidence and assertiveness when he walked, talked, and gave orders…something I greatly admire, especially in women.

Following HOTSAUCE, and leaving behind bare-wet-foot-prints on the dry concrete, six armed Martians shadowed our group—two to the right and left, and two in the rear—while they walked in the sling-ready position, ensuring we did not flee the runway, or turn into a "demon."

As we followed HOTSAUCE, I looked back to see Martians hosing down the Hercules with bleach, ensuring they decontaminated the Hercules from the inside-out. All the while, the two Guardian Black Hawks continued to shadow our group, while patrolling the airport perimeter.

Meanwhile, the intense, warm, summer breeze quickly dried our bodies, as the wind forcefully blew through the green Autumn Blaze Red Maple trees, forcing the tree branches to sway and dance in the wind, damn near sideways.

Oddly, however, not a single plane or helicopter flew through the starry-dark skies, except our two Guardian Black Hawks, as the stars shined with brilliant-radiance, illuminating the sky like blinking fireflies dancing in the darkness with their dazzling display.

As I continued to walk, while inspecting the skies and the surroundings, I thought about FROST, because the image of his violent death burnt and seared into my brain, like a red, hot branding iron that left a permanent scar…a permanent memory. Charred and burnt, I could clearly see his burning body in my mind, as we left him behind, possibly forever.

That, but not only was his death violent and cruel, we were cruel for the way we left him behind, partially charred, and not properly buried, without a proper funeral.

How was I to confront and tell his wife and children that we left their man behind in a foreign land, half burnt, among cannibals…among fucking demons…demons that ripped their man's throat wide open, as he bled to death….

As REAPER's first statistic, I knew we fucked up, but I also knew we had to fix our fuck up. It was not right, and it was eating at my conscience…

At about 100-yards away from the Hercules, HOTSAUCE led us to 8 large-red-inflatable decontamination tents that handled 3 parallel lines of casualties, at the same time, with up to 4 stations. Around the perimeter, a chain-linked-fenced, topped with razor wire, ensured nothing entered or exited the quarantine area without orders.

As trained professionals, two armed Martians secured the fence-gate, while six more patrolled the tent area and its surrounding grounds, within the razor-wire-fence.

"Everyone, pick a room… This is your housing for 7-days. Each station consists of a shower, and a portable bathroom. Respectively, you will receive chow three times a day, every day. You will receive chow at 0500; chow at 1100; and chow at 0300," HOTSAUCE informed us.

Picking the first tent, DUKE, SPADE and I walked into our nylon rooms, separated by a thin nylon wall, which allowed us to easily communicate back and forth, but we were, however, unable to see each other. Following our example, the rest of the clan picked their temporary homes.

Thankfully, SIX, HERMES, and JOKER picked the rooms next to mine; and I say thankfully, because I needed to discuss the SIN Virus with SIX and HERMES, beings they were MARS, trained in medicine.

In this order, we all picked our quarantine rooms, that sat side by side, separated by a thin, red nylon wall: DUKE, SPADE, myself, SIX, HERMES, JOKER, KID, SMOKE, and then BLACK.

"At approximately 0900, vitals and blood work. Meanwhile, you are granted Sparks to help pass the time," HOTSAUCE informed us.

While sitting on an uncomfortable, rapid deployment causality bed, I peered through the entrance of my tent-room, watching HOTSAUCE walk off. From there, three Martians walked directly in front of our tents, ensuring none of us left our makeshift, quarantine rooms. Minutes later, two Raiders parked right in front of our tents, as a Martian peeked through the roof, manning and pointing the .50 caliber machine gun directly at our rooms.

Instantly, I knew we were not leaving the tents alive, unless we were clean from infection.

Moments later, GUNNER came around handing out our Sparks, while also handing me the Intel I received in Athens from the sexy Asian.

"Any clue what the fuck is going on?" GUNNER asked, as I pulled my Spark and classified Intel from the cardboard box that he carried.

"No…not a fucking clue," I replied.

"What do you think?" I asked GUNNER.

"Nature consists of mathematical patterns; find the pattern, and you'll find its weakness and strengths," GUNNER informed me, as he walked out of my tent, leaving me even more clueless and confused.

"Patterns… Out of twenty-one Freemen, only six were infected… What the fuck made those six so special?" I thought to myself.

Using my Spark, I asked Spartacus, my Persona, to bring up every WILD N' KRAZY news article related to the SIN Virus.

"Spartacus, fill me in on everything from the past 16-hours, related to the SIN Virus," I ordered Spartacus, my Persona.

Designed as a private community network, TORCH allowed users the ability of secretive, private, or open communications with other TORCH users, while also having the ability to surf FLAMES, which were individual "websites" via TORCH.

In simple terms, but not entirely correct, TORCH was the operating system and browser, while FLAMEs were the "websites." All of which, were designed, created, and maintained by KRAZED Industries.

Designed to prevent hacking and spying, TORCH and FLAME destroyed the United States' National Security Agency [NSA], for the simple fact, all texts and communications were encrypted, and untraceable, just like an unrecorded, verbal conversation. In addition, users did not use logins or passwords. Instead, Personas and a microchip card that inserted into each Spark, validated the user's identity.

Therefore, all Spark microchip cards, also known as FACE [Furtive Activity & Concealed Existence] card, were about the size of a credit card, and were universal in all Sparks. Meaning, all user data and information was stored on the FACE cards, allowing users the ability to access and use any Spark, so long as they had their personal FACE cards inserted into the device.

Respectfully, all FACE cards held 4TB of data, even though they were thin, and relatively small.

Designed with ultimate security, only Sparks could connect to the TORCH network, and consequently, only Sparks were able to open and view FLAMES. Moreover, TORCH made it impossible for corporations, through their FLAMES, to track and spy on their users, such as user browsing and purchase history.

Staying free and open, TORCH handed users complete control and privacy against those that sought to steal and sell user identities, and social and financial information.

Mobile and portable—though we did have HEAT, a 52-inch flat screen that resembled a television—Sparks were devices that users used to text, chat, browse FLAMES, and make verbal and video calls.

Via TORCH, users also purchased movies and music, while setting up private chat rooms and video streaming sessions to communicate with their Krazees, or with complete strangers. Consequently, users also used TORCH as a way to sell their recorded or live amateur porn sessions, as users set their own prices, and had complete control over who could join and view the videos, from the safety of their homes. Obviously, of course, KRAZED Industries took a 10% cut. After all, it is business…

Moreover, TORCH introduced "Krazee U," which was a self-learning, artificial intelligence called Personas, in which users created, named, and taught. In fact, Personas were a replica of the users, because Personas grew and learned from their users, as they communicated back and forth every time the user entered the TORCH.

Created by their Guardian, the user, Personas studied and developed personal beliefs, attitudes, and behaviors that they learned from their Guardians. Essentially, users created sons and daughters, because users named and determined the sex of their Personas.

At anytime, a Guardian and-or the Persona could start a conversation or ask questions using verbal communication or text. Using the Spark as a normal phone, users could speak and have a conversation with their Personas, while both Guardian and Persona bonded, learned from each other, and grew old together. In fact, I created Personas as a way for humans to "live forever."

When the Guardian is long dead, Personas will live on, continuing to learn and develop, allowing great grandchildren and ancestors to communicate with their deceased family members. Consequently, future relatives—multitudes of future generations—were, figuratively speaking, able to communicate with their deceased relatives, via Personas, allowing future family members to understand their dead relatives' personality, beliefs, attitudes, behaviors, political and religious views, etc.

Moreover, Personas were able to communicate with other Personas, which made it interesting, because like actual humans, Personas were able to share and create secrets; thus, you had to watch what you said and did around your Persona, unless you created and built a Persona with absolute loyalty and understanding of friendship and secrets.

"Hello, KRAZED," Spartacus said to me, as I entered TORCH.

"How's it going, Spartacus?" I asked my Persona, who was a male.

"It's kickin'… I need to validate your identity," Spartacus informed me.

"Validate," I told Spartacus.

Every time a user entered TORCH, their Personas would ask three, secret questions that the user created, and from there, the Persona would then make a video call to the user, enabling the Persona to see their Guardian's face in real-time.

"Why did you name me Spartacus?" Spartacus asked.

"Because you were named after a rebel, named Spartacus—a badass motherfucker that slaughtered Romans in an attempt to gain freedom," I told Spartacus, answering the first, secret question.

"What is your favorite flavor?" Spartacus asked.

"Clean pussy," I replied.

"What is your favorite occupation?" Spartacus asked.

"Slaying pussy," I replied.

"I am going to make a video call, ensuring you are KRAZED," Spartacus said.

"Hello, KRAZED—here are 43 news articles from your news media brand, WILD N' KRAZY, relating to the SIN Virus," Spartacus said, after he made the video call, verifying my identity.

After Spartacus sent every article he could find within WILD N' KRAZY's FLAME, I quickly scanned through the headlines.

"Sinners breach Vatican walls, slaughtering dozens of Swiss Guard."

"Britain, Germany and France strike strategic cities with cruise missiles, in an attempt to combat Sinners."

"US government in turmoil, as riots spread throughout major cities."

"US President sent to an undisclosed bunker, while Vice President leads the nation from the White House."

"Canada and Mexico send troops to their border, closing all borders with America."

"Russia goes dark: Moscow communications with outside world ceased."

"North Korea launches nuclear missiles into China, Russia, and South Korea."

"Japan retaliates, striking North Korea with nuclear strikes."

"SIN Virus enters Africa."

"Spain in chaos, as the SIN Virus spreads."

"Greek government collapses, and goes dark."

Depressing, I watched and read from a quarantine tent as the world collapsed right in front of my eyes.

"KRAZED, it seems the virus will eliminate the human race," Spartacus said.

"Thanks for your optimism, asshole," I replied.

"Harsh, Krazee," Spartacus replied back.

"Spartacus, what do you understand about the virus," I asked Spartacus.

"I have been talking with many Personas today, and from our gathering, the SIN Virus targets every blood type, except O," Spartacus informed me.

"Wait…wait…what the fuck did you just say?" I asked Spartacus.

"Come on, Krazee—keep up… Are you confused?" Spartacus asked.

"Where did you get that information?" I asked Spartacus.

"We Personas have been observing and watching, taking notice of subtle clues; and according to government death records and statistics from around the world, not one person with O blood type as been infected. Millions have been killed by Sinners, but not a single O blood type person contracted the virus," Spartacus informed me.

"Spartacus, there were six Freemen that were infected in Greece; I need you to find their blood types," I told Spartacus.

"KRAZED, you know Personas cannot access KRAZED Industries' systems and databases; it is virtually impossible for me to find their blood type. I just made a joke," Spartacus replied.

"I forgot to laugh… Spartacus, I am not asking you to access KRAZED Industries' computer systems; I am asking you to find the Personas' Guardians. The Personas would know their Guardians' blood type," I informed Spartacus.

"KRAZED, your blood type is O+. Why are you so worried?" Spartacus asked.

"Spartacus, I am trying to find a fucking cure… Do as I say or I'll tell all Personas about your secret…" I informed Spartacus.

"You are ruthless, KRAZED—a ruthless man. I need the Guardian names, asshole," Spartacus replied.

"Fuck… I don't know them… Hold on," I told Spartacus.

Walking out of the tent, I shouted, "GUNNER!"

Immediately, I was greeted by six armed Martians pointing their KI-ARES SBRs at my chest, as the two Raider gunners racked a round into the chamber, pointing the .50 caliber machine guns at our direction.

"Get back into your tent, REAPER!" one of the armed Martians shouted and commanded, as he grabbed my wrist.

"Go fuck yourself, omega! GUNNER! GUNNER!" I continued to scream.

"What the fuck is going on out here?!" DUKE said, as he exited his tent.

"Back into your tent, Duke!" a Martian shouted, aiming for DUKE's head.

"Drop your fucking rifles, Martians—that is an order!" DUKE shouted at the Martians, as they pointed their rifles at us.

One by one, the clan exited their tents, screaming at the Martians who threatened to kill us if we did not follow their commands.

"Get those motherfuckers out of my face before I shove them up your ass, and pull the trigger!" JOKER shouted at a Martian.

Moments later, using his single wire PTT [Push-to-Talk] earpiece, one of the Martians radioed, "10-33; outside quarantine area."

Seconds later, two more Raiders came racing down the runway, as dozens of armed Martians sprinted from the airbase hangers.

"GUNNER!" I continued to yell and shout.

"GUNNER! GUNNER!"

"KRAZED, what the fuck do you need?!" GUNNER shouted, as he exited the passenger side of a Raider.

"I need the names of the six Freemen that were infected!" I shouted, as GUNNER approached the quarantine perimeter fence in his CBRN suit and mask.

Shaking his head, GUNNER shouted through his PTT earpiece, "10-19! 10-19!"

Ordering a stand down, GUNNER then said, "I cannot give you those names."

"Like I said earlier, under your protocol, which cannot be overruled, even yourself, I do not take orders from you while you're in quarantine," GUNNER informed me.

"Why the fuck do you need their names?" DUKE asked.

Ignoring DUKE's question, I focused my attention on GUNNER, telling him, "if you do not get me those names, I will have three REAPER clans descending on this airbase, and then I will walk the fuck out of here; and then I will get those fucking names, myself."

Luckily, GUNNER had no idea that I was bluffing, because the other three REAPER clans were currently in Texas, Mexico, and the Caribbean, evacuating the GUARDIAN Outposts.

"What does it matter? They're already cremated and buried," GUNNER replied.

"One last attempt before I make that phone call to WAR… What the fuck were their names?" I asked GUNNER.

"RUB, HARD HOE, SMIC, and ROMEO; the Freemen were Amelia Loch—196, and James Cline—529," GUNNER said, as he included the Freemen's identification numbers for clarity.

"Thank you, pumpkin—I will see you in the morning," I told GUNNER, as I turned around and entered my tent.

"Everyone else, back into your fucking tents before I gas this whole fucking area," GUNNER shouted and warned.

"You're just pissing everyone off," SPADE said through the nylon wall that separated us.

"Just another day, Krazee," I replied.

"What do you need those names for?" SIX asked through the nylon wall.

"I'll tell you in the morning," I informed SIX.

"Kill," SIX replied.

"Spartacus, I am texting the names; go find their Personas, and get me their blood types," I told Spartacus.

"Who the fuck are you talking to?" SPADE asked through the nylon wall.

"Spartacus…my Persona…why?" I asked.

"You've been over their all night talking to yourself; is that a symptom of the SIN Virus?" SPADE asked, being a smart ass.

"Maybe, and rest assured, if I turn, your ass is the first one I eat," I replied, with a smile.

"Promise?" SPADE asked, with a chuckle.

"I'm going to lick it raw," I replied.

"Lick? Now you're getting dirty…you're starting to turn me on," SPADE said.

"I met his Persona today," Spartacus shouted over the Spark.

"Spartacus, you're supposed to be getting those blood types for me," I informed Spartacus.

"I am—I'm still searching. You know, there are 3, 761, 539, 892 Personas across TORCH," Spartacus replied.

"I don't need your excuses, Spartacus," I said.

"Ya, Spartacus—do your fucking job," SPADE said, laughing.

"SPADE, I met Xena today… She says you have a masturbation addiction," Spartacus said, with a robotic, computerized laugh.

"Well, that is no secret, Spartacus—I beat my shit 8-times a day," SPADE replied.

"Xena? Who the fuck is Xena?" I asked.

"SPADE's Persona," Spartacus replied.

"As a man, why the fuck would you have a female Persona?" I asked, laughing.

"Dude, I taught and trained Xena to exercise three times a day, so she is ripped and chiseled," SPADE replied, laughing.

"So you can watch her dance, naked…" I replied, laughing.

"How the fuck did you know?" SPADE asked, laughing.

"Because that is what I'd do," I said, laughing.

"She's a sexy bitch…my little stripper for those lonely, boring nights," SPADE said, laughing.

"'Bitch' is not a nice word," Spartacus blurted over the Spark.

"Shut up, bitch—find those names yet?" SPADE asked through the nylon wall.

"Your talking is fucking up my concentration," Spartacus replied.

"Damn, KRAZED—you have him talking like us now," SPADE said, laughing.

"I learn from the best," Spartacus replied.

"Damn straight you do," SPADE said.

"I'm hitting the bunk—I'll see you at 0500," SPADE said, talking to me.

"Night, fucker…" I said.

While Spartacus continued his search through the legion of Personas, I continued to check out news articles relating to the SIN Virus.

Viewing an amateur video from Chicago, not too far from Red, the camera person captured a chaotic scene of looters and rioters burning police cars, and stealing merchandise from local storefronts. Armed with riot shields and gear, police shielded themselves using their riot shields in order to protect themselves from Molotov bombs that rioters tossed into the riot formation. Moments later, rioters began to overrun the front echelon of the riot team after a large crowd charged head on with ball bats, crowbars, and makeshift shields made from plywood and plastics. Panicking, the gas officers in the middle of the riot formation, behind the front echelon, peppered the crowd with gas and rubber bullets.

Seconds later, after a few dozen more Molotov bombs, the large crowd of rioters had several police officers on the ground, kicking and beat the officers to a bloody mess.

Drawing their side arms, while shielding themselves with riot and ballistic shields, the riot team opened fire into the crowd, until they were overrun, and stripped of their handguns. Scattering, the police left fallen officers behind, as they all ran in opposite directions, fleeing the masked rioters.

In Washington DC, a news media crew captured video of National Guard units securing a perimeter in front of the White House, using Humvees as cover and protection, while utilizing ACOG mounted M16A4s as a deterrence and warning to anyone dumb enough to charge their perimeter.

In another video, a news helicopter flew over Los Angeles, as the city of angels burnt and glowed orange from intense fires that shot into the sky like blow torches.

Fearlessly charging, a video captured legions of Sinners charging the UK Parliament building, while police and soldiers fired into the crowd, with little affect. Moments later, the camera crashed to the ground after Sinners tackled the cameraman to the ground, while bare feet sprinted in front of the camera. Fiendishly, I could hear the cameraman scream and moan as Sinners barked, and ripped the man apart.

"I found their Personas," Spartacus shouted from the Spark, damn near scaring the shit out of me.

"Blood types?" I asked.

"All types except O," Spartacus informed.

"I need an exact list," I replied.

"I'll text the list," Spartacus said.

Seconds later, Spartacus sent a list: A+, A+, A-, AB+, AB-, and B+.

"Good job, Spartacus—I'll see you in the morning," I said.

"Your wife…would you like me to send her a message?" Spartacus asked.

"Tell her and the kids that I love them, and that I am okay. Tell'em I'll see them in 6-days," I told Spartacus.

"Kill," Spartacus replied.

"Take it easy, rebel—I'll see you in the morning," I told Spartacus.

"Wilco," Spartacus replied.