Martin was raised in an orphanage. He never knew his parents and was never told anything about who they were or how they died. Sometimes, when he found he couldn't sleep amongst the loud snores of his several roommates, he'd stare into the darkness and imagine little details about them. He only imagined a few at a time so that he wouldn't complete the picture too quickly.
"I bet my mom had long beautiful hair." Little Martin would whisper to himself. "And my dad was a doctor or maybe a detective!" He would also imagine that he was only in the orphanage because his parents died and he had no other relatives and not because they didn't want him. His imaginings were never confirmed but it comforted him to believe that at one time he had had a family who loved him and that his being in an orphanage was only the result of an unfortunate accident.
When Martin turned eighteen, he did what most orphaned young men did. He joined the war. This decision surprised everyone in the orphanage who always knew Martin as a gentle and timid young man. They had always believed Martin would simply continue his studies, get a good job, and settle down with some nice girl.
This was a fate Martin had always been resolved against. Why should he sit safe at home while every other young man his age was standing up and fighting? No. Martin would join the fight; he would go to war.
Martin had always been a dutiful boy so the training, though physically taxing, was something he had little trouble adapting to and taking orders came natural to him. His mild mannered personality made it easy for people to warm up to him and Martin quickly made friends in his platoon.
Soon after the training was completed, many platoons were immediately sent into battle. As soon as the troops landed on the foreign shores, Martin and his platoon members were assigned an infiltration mission into enemy territory.
Nervous, but determined to make a strong contribution to the war effort, Martin and his comrades (Todd "Camo" Evans: reconnaissance expert and Pierre "Ka-boom" Bonaparte: demolitions expert) eagerly accepted the mission.
The plan was not only easy to execute but was said to be fool proof as well. The mission was generally expected to go off without a hitch.
But that wasn't what happened. Martin's timing was off, he screwed up…and it cost Evans and Bonaparte their lives and Martin his sanity. He was surrounded and taken captive by enemy soldiers and extensively tortured. Then he was forced to watch as his dead comrades' bodies were further mutilated and paraded around the camp for the enemy to poke at and ridicule.
Martin couldn't explain how it happened but as soon as one of the enemy soldiers (who was fittingly called Executioner) began to approach him with the tool that was going to end his life, since he was deemed to possess no important information, he snapped. He couldn't recall anything after that until his fellow soldiers found him in that dank room, covered in blood and surrounded by dead bodies.
Not long after that, Martin was honorably discharged from service. It was after his return that HE appeared.
Martin was working alone in the mailroom (essentially the only job for an army vet with PTSD) when he heard it.
"Marty~" Martin stopped sorting through the letters in front of him, his eyes darting around nervously. Had he imagined that? He certainly hoped so. "Marty~" The voice called again and Martin spun around, his breath hitching. Before him stood himself in the same fatigues he had worn during his time in the army. Martin slid down to the floor, his eyes never leaving the figure in front of him.
"Wha-" Martin breathed out, terrified.
"What am I?" The figure suggested. "Come on Marty, you're not that dumb are you? I'm you obviously. This whole encounter is happening right up here." The doppelganger tapped his head and grinned.
"What do you want?" Martin asked backing away as the doppelganger advanced.
His double's yellow eyes lit up. "I want out Marty. It's been too long since I last had fun." He laughed at Martin's confused expression. "You remember don't you? In the camp?"
Martin's eyes widened further. "No! No, I won't-!"
"Well of course you won't. But I will."
"But you said you are me." Martin argued weakly, cringing under the double's intense stare.
"Well for your conscience's sake, you can think of us as two separate entities. Either way I'm getting out tonight."
Everything went black for Martin then. The next day, news of a horrible murder hit the city and the appropriate panic followed. And Martin disposed of his blood stained clothes, his conscience none the lighter.
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Three months and five murders later, was when Martin met Tyler Clark, ace reporter for the Daily World.
Martin was hurrying to work, his head bowed and his eyes trained on the ground avoiding contact with anyone he passed. This habit caused him to be unaware of the person in front of him and thus he bumped into said person.
"I-I'm sorry." Martin murmured, starting to continue on his way without looking up. His arm was suddenly but gently grabbed. This contact would usually have sent Martin's PTSD nerves into overdrive. But something about this insistent touch calmed him rather than rattled him. Curious to the reason, Martin turned cautiously to the stranger.
Before him stood a guy who was a little over a head shorter than him with royal blue hair and matching eyes framed by glasses. The man released him, grinning semi-apologetically as he did so. "Sorry, if I surprised you." He fished inside of the jean jacket he was wearing and pulled out a card which he handed to Martin.
Martin stared at the card in his hand. It read: Tyler Clark, Lead journalist, Daily World. A reporter? Anxiety suddenly shot through him. Why would a reporter want to talk to him? Had he somehow connected Flippy's murders back to Martin?
"Um, I don't-" He started nervously, holding the card awkwardly.
"It's you." Martin froze. Did he know-? "You're the citizen who I'm going to write a random article on!" Confused, Martin continued to stare at the man blankly. "Ya see I'm trying to prove that anybody and everybody has a story worth writing about. So, I decided to write an article on the first Treeopolis citizen I bumped into." The journalist chuckled. "Didn't realize it would be literally though."
Martin was preparing to insist that he wasn't at all interesting, when the time on his watch caught his attention. If he stayed any longer he would be late and that thought alone caused adrenaline to shoot through him. No, no, no. He couldn't afford a panic attack now. Not when Flippy's urges had been gradually strengthening. "I don't have any stories to tell." Martin muttered tightly before maneuvering around the journalist and continuing on his path.
"What about the army?"
Martin stopped in his tracks and turned around in terrified surprise. "How-" The journalist tapped his own chest. Martin looked down at his, and noticed the glinting silver around his neck. Keeping his dog tags on at all times was a habit from when they were the only things he could hope to be identified by.
"Noticed them when I bumped into you." Tyler stated. Then shrugging, "It's okay if you can't talk now, you're probably headed to work." The corners of the reporter's mouth slipped up in a smirk. "But I will be writing my article on you. I can be pretty stubborn when I want a story bad enough." Then with a casual wave, Tyler turned and walked away in the opposite direction.
Martin stood staring after him, slightly unnerved. He looked down at the card still in his hand and then shoved it into the pocket of his jacket before going on his way. Breathing deeply, he reassured himself that if he made a slight change to his usual route to work, his chances of running into Tyler Clark would be next to nothing.
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Another chapter done, ne! Huzzah, hurrah, and all that jazz. Now, the two mentioned soldiers, Todd and Pierre, are Toad and Ka-boom Mouse, respectively from the Flippy W.A.R. short. Ne, I thought it was important that they got their spotlight as well.
Thank you for reading.
