01 – Rise and Shine

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I think what finally woke me up, was the intense heat radiating into my skull from the steel plates in my face and head. They had been bakin' away for a good, long time and were now really hot from the searing rays of the merciless, Arizona sun.

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I heard a faint mechanical whine as my irises contracted. I squinted against the bright, photons of pain that slanted in through the faded yellow curtains with tiny, white flowers. The curtains were really no more than sad little rags, that hung over the dented, stainless steel sink of my vintage 1959 New Moon trailer home.

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Well the old trailer would have been vintage – if it wasn't in such crappy condition. What was once a state-of-the-art status symbol for comfort, style and modern conveniences, had transitioned over the decades into the sorry, crumbling heap of junk that was steadily becoming a part of the rocky, snake infested desert that stretched out endlessly in every direction.

The countryside was bleak. Dry and barren as my mouth felt at the moment… Like somethin' had crawled in there over the night, and just died.

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"Agh… my head – shit-f-fuk."

I rubbed the back of my neck and sat up dislodging a collection of empty booze bottles that clattered to the cracked linoleum floor. I stared at them for a few seconds as they rolled around on the faded red and white checked pattern on the tile floor. I began to make the connection between the pain in my head and the possible cause.

"Well… that explains a lot…"

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I swiveled around on the bowed and sagging couch I had spent the night on, and looked at the cracked, white plastic of the window sill. It was a miniature insect killing field. Mounds of weird little corpses were piled high in a tangled mess. Like some tiny psycho had been runnin' amuck… murdering everything in sight.

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My bleary optics zoomed in on the culprit. Crouched up in the top right corner of the window pane, behind the curtain rod, was a big, fat, hairy brown recluse spider. My roomie. She had been there for months, just munchin' away on those little fuckers and droppin' their drained, lifeless husks down to the sun-faded ledge above the fecund sink. It had gotten to the point where I actually kinda looked forward to seeing her every morning.

"Hey Rosie…"

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I rocked my head from side to side, then looked around my dark and dingy trailer. There were holes in the walls where the rust had literally eaten its way through, creating ragged gaps for the hard southwestern sun to blaze through. I watched the dust swirling in the light beams as I pondered the pile of dishes in the sink. They were covered with unrecognizable, crusty shit from months ago.

I really needed to get to that… but first…

"I need to STOP…

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…THAT GOD-DAMN PHONE FROM RINGING!"

I stood up fast and immediately regretted it. The sudden movement, hell – maybe it was the change in altitude – whatever, nearly caused my head to explode. I stumbled heavily over to the wall, where my old, olive green rotary wall phone sat in its mount.

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I pulled the handset off too quickly and accidentally ripped a fist-sized hole in the decaying metal skin of my vintage trailer, letting yet another, intense beam of desert sunlight cut through the darkness of my living room.

"ASS!"

Gritting my teeth, I jammed the receiver against my ear and answered.

"Talk to me – and make it fast – I'm in great pain."

The cheery, voice on the other end sounded familiar… and not in a good way – I could hear the malice behind the sarcasm even through the fog of my nuclear powered hangover.

"Bryan Fury – in pain? The only thing I know of that could cause this, would be… Bryan – have you been drinking?! You know that's not the answer to your prob –"

It was Major Robert Burns. He worked for the defense department – mainly with the CIA spooks at Langley. A suit and tie kind of guy. He was a total dick. I'd done a lot of work for him and his cronies – the pay was always decent – but these jobs usually ended with me cleanin' up messes he and his agency buddies made. Whenever I got a call from this creep – you could bet your life – it would end with me beatin' some poor sunuvabitch to death.

"Of course I've been drinking! Cut the crap Bob and just tell me – who needs to die?"