Project War Goblin -Issue #1–

One thing I will say about Gabrielle Cochran is that she knows where to find the best vegetarian food in Los Angeles. This is the second time we've had lunch at Mahayana Burger this week. Gabby is having mangoes with sticky rice, and her jaw makes the cutest fidgeting motion when she chews. As I finish my mushroom burger, my eyes begin tracing the freckle patterns on her face and neck.

I was supposed to be going to the gym today, I think to myself. On the other hand, trying to seduce my agent isn't the worst change of plans I've ever made. Working in my favor is the fact that she left the script I'm being offered at her apartment by mistake. And since her fax machine is still broken, I figure we'll just have to make a trip to her digs after lunch is over.

Mahayana Burger is a bit of a hole-in-the-wall. I've been meaning to ask the owner if he'll sell me one of their rice paper lamps, though the bamboo rugs are nice too. I lean over the table and swab a droplet of coconut milk from the corner of Gabrielle's mouth. She makes a playful mock attempt at biting my fingers and I wonder if I should just fire her so we can finally sleep together.

"You're kind of a sloppy eater," I say.

She gasps. "You should talk; you've got Brussels sprouts and avocado on your collar."

I look down at my lime dress shirt. "Damn it. I like this shirt, too."

She starts to laugh. As I reach for a napkin to wipe my collar, the window next to me is replaced by a heaving mass of steel. I'm thrown from my seat before the screeching of car brakes even registers. I feel pain and nausea all at once. My vision is a blur. Bits of glass and metal cut patterns into my face and neck. I land on a table on the other side of the room. The table keels over and I hit the ground.

I open my eyes not knowing how much time has passed. It must be mere seconds, but feels like weeks. My body is one big rhythmic ache. I cough out dust and glass and realize that my hearing is deadened. Gabrielle is lying unconscious on the floor, her face obscured by lifeless red-orange hair. I don't know how I'm still alive.

The car that hit us is now the centerpiece of Mahayana Burger. A stocky man stumbles out of it muttering profanities. He's wearing a ruffled ski mask and a flak jacket and I wonder if this is a dream. The man reaches into the car and pulls out an assault rifle. Simultaneously the passenger door opens and I discover that the man has a friend. His friend is limping from what looks like a gunshot wound. In the background a song is playing. As the man with the rifle walks towards me I realize that the song is actually the approaching blare of police sirens.

I should be panicking. I'm not. I should be wondering what the hell is going on, but I've already wagered that Gabrielle and I are the innocent bystanders of what could be a botched robbery turned car chase turned car crash. The man levels his gun and none of this is worrying me.

"Are you Jack Netting?" He asks. His voice is gravel. For a second I don't question why he knows my name. He could know me from TV, from a party or a casting call. For all I know this guy's a disgruntled screenwriter. Then something happens.

Am I Jack Netting? It seems like a ridiculous question until a thousand images have a shoving match in my brain. I can't tell whether they're dreams or memories.

I should be panicking. I've never had a gun pointed at me before.

Have I?

The man presses the barrel of his rifle to my head, prodding me like I'm food. I react. A second later, though I don't know how, I've broken his wrist and he's choking from a blow to the neck. The assault rifle is in my hands and I check that the safety is off. His friend turns towards me and I send three rounds into his upper torso. I put two more in him once he drops. The man whose wrist I broke, the man with the questions, is on the floor dry heaving. Before I can put the gun barrel in his ear and ask some questions of my own I'm tackled by a police officer.

---

I open my eyes not knowing how much time has passed. I'm in a hospital bed. The place is so white that I'm expecting angels to come fluttering through the open window. The figure that approaches me is anything but an angel. She's a woman, and she's wearing a trench coat and an X-rated expression. Her cropped hair is black and her eyes are equally so. She leans over as if to kiss me.

"You don't remember me, do you Jack?" She looks disappointed. My lack of a response doesn't help things.

She walks over to the window and mutters something under her breath, then turns again to face me.

"I told you that if I ever saw you again it meant that you were going to die. My name is Maria Hill, and I can tell you everything you want to know."

Continued in Project War Goblin –Issue #2-