In the distance, many realms away from Jamarkus Solmez's cocaine lair, Hit Man and Max Force awoke from a thousand year slumber. They raised their mighty hands, awkwardly from the shared consciousness, and rubbed their bleary eyes.
"Hit Man?" The amalgamation said slowly, stumbling over every syllable. "Max Force?" The being thought, unsure which name to call for, knowing something or more likely someone was missing, but unable to place who. He knew that drugs were afoot, the dark miasma from the far reaches of Solmazia was visible even from here in the temperate heartlands, but the being that once was Hit Man and Max Force knew it once had a partner, and the partner was gone. Only confusion remained.
Were the paintings on the wall beautiful? Max Force once loved the rithmic swirls drawn in tribal brush, but Hit Man demanded realism, and something so abstract was pointless in his eyes. Together they stared confused at the walls, full of conflicting feelings of emotions and nothingness. In retrospect letting Max Force alone design the tomb in which they'd wait for the next drug lord was a bad idea. A very bad idea.
A thousand years before, Max Force spoke to his wife. "I'm sorry" he told her, tears in his eyes, "but I have to go away now"
"Has another drug lord risen?" his wife asked, clutching her pearls in fear. The last drug war had scourged the lands, the crops were only barely able to grow again under the salt and fire, and the seven years of bloodshed had only ended yesterday.
"No" Max Force told her, "Another will not rise for another thousand years"
His wife was confused, but only for a moment. Then she went pale. "You mean?"
"Yes" Max Force said. "Hit Man and I must wait in the shrine of ages, designed by my sacred bloodline and sacred hands, and there we will wait for the next lord to rise."
His wife cried, and Max Force tried to comfort her, but they both knew there was nothing to be done. The legends had foretold only Hit Man and Max Force, the perfect drug cops designed by the Lord of Sin himself, could defeat the drug lords and bring an end to their terrible reigns. If the next lord would not appear for a millennia they would have to wait, patiently, until the hour they were needed.
So Max Force entered the shrine, and sat upon the the throne of eternity. He felt the ageless brass with his calloused hands, it was cold, yet smooth. Hit Man sat upon his lap, and Max Force kissed the back of his neck tenderly. Their wives watched, and wept some more, as their heads were the final component of the spell and it was never a painless process to remove them. The heads were thrown into the pit of fractured souls, falling all the way to hell as Hit Man and Max Force made godless love on their bronze throne, becoming one in every sense of the word. And then they were alone, together, with nothing but their hatred of drugs and a sense of unending loss. The loss of their lives, their place in time, their partners and even their individuality as their memories blended.
But the hatred remained. And the drugs remained. And with them, a burning sense of purpose, wielded like a sword of flame and piercing the heavens with its radiance. Hitmax Forceman licked the blade, it tasted of sulphur. Tonight all drugs would meet their end by his fused hands, he was sure of that and that alone.
TO BE CONTINUED
