INHUMANOIDS: Messerkampf!

Inhumanoids, Jem, and related characters are property of Hasbro. Marcus Fischer is my property.

In hindsight, it was a simple mistake. Someone had left a book lying on the Earth Corps' coffee table, and Auger picked it up.

It's probably Liquidator's. If he's anything to go by, it isn't God, Old Scratch, or whoever else is kicking around on some far-off plane of existence that's the bane of magicians- it's basic tidiness. he thought, chuckling softly.

Auger opened the book and was surprised at what he saw. Instead of ancient spells or formulae, he was greeted by scratchy handwriting.

"Well, this is new."

He focused his eyes and read.

12/31/06:

It's the five of us- Sheila, Rory, Phoebe, Ingrid, and I. We're all in the back of the van, glasses of wine in our hands and Ingrid setting up the camcorder. Rory's grinning like a goon and drunk off his ass- but then again, so's Sheila.

"Drei…zwei…eins…Glückliches Neujahr!" we yell as the clock strikes twelve, and 2007 rolls in.

"Prost!" we cry as we toast, Phoebe giving the wine a bit more of a kick thanks to her little talent for magic.

In that moment, I remember why we call her Rapture-

Auger thumbed through the book and came across a bit of clearer writing.

Property of Marcus Fischer.

"Bombardier- this yours?"

The youngest of the Earth Corps entered the room.

"Didn't know you kept a diary."

Bombardier began to blush.

"Relax. I don't judge."

The two men sat down and looked through the book.

04/13/07:

It's been a year to the day. We're not a sensation- never planned on it, probably won't be one. Doesn't matter. We're not aiming for universal appeal- I mean, our band's name is "Knife fight!" for crying out loud! Messerkampf! Just the name's a callback to the badass names of old punk! Now who's who. Well, there's me- Marcus Fischer, the Cranky Yankee. Then there's Rory, or Riot as he likes to be called. Dude's only fifteen and he looks like he could give old Fabio a run for his money- hell, I'm surprised old Fabio's lawyers haven't come over here and sued our pants off! He's got a voice that'd charm the angels, and looks to boot.

Then there's Phoebe, or Rapture as she's taken to calling herself. Smooth, suave, sehr sehr sexy. She tries to pass herself off as one of those New Age mystic seer swindlers- thing is, she's got magic. Real magic. I've seen her give one schweinhund in Aberdeen a little blast of lightning right where it'd really hurt when he tried to grab her ass- he's not going to have any kids! Of course, fireballs and thunderbolts are one thing- her specialty's VFX and mind manipulation.

And then there's Ingrid, our little Minx. She's like Phoebe, but she's got gadgets on her side instead of magic- like that one time in Rotterdam when someone tried to hit on her, called her Eiger- you know, 'cause she's beautiful and hard to climb- oh, thank you Tesla gloves for giving a man a real show!

"So, what happened?" Auger asked.

"We broke up when I hit the big 1-8. I joined the Army, and then Rory joined the Bundeswehr."

"You still keep in touch?"

"Yeah. Apparently Rory got drummed out two years ago, and got back together with Ingrid and Phoebe. Call themselves the Stingers now."

"And Sheila?"

Bombarder sighed.

"She's got a new name now. Calls herself Jetta and plays sax for the Misfits."