Chapter 3: No One Knows Era Vulgaris
Sizzling bacon wakes up Hank. The great aroma filling his nostrils as he sits up in his bed, feeling a headache. As he gets up, he has a slight case of vertigo. Leaning on the doorframe, he shakes his head before heading to the kitchen. Cathy wears a bathrobe over her nightgown as she flips eggs on the pan on the left side of the stove. On the right, he sees the beautiful bacon cook and darken.
He hugs her from behind. "Good morning, sweet thing."
She puts her hand over Hank's left. "Good morning."
"I see you're cooking the universal favorite."
"Well," she turns her head to kiss him. "I made sure you and little Damien have enough for the morning."
Hank tightens the hug and lets go. "You're the best, Catherine."
Cathy smirks as she gets the bacon pan off the stove. She puts the contents on a plate covered in paper towels. "I know I am."
The television blares off with a timely introduction soundtrack.
"Yeah, yeah. Ok. Sales pitch. Here we go."
The strange voice leads Hank to the TV room where Damien sits on the floor in front of the TV screen. THe boy stares at a talking, broken, yellow lightbulb. Its arms props itself up while smoking a cigarette.
"Rock and roll band Queens of the Stone Age got this album. Called Era Vulgaris. Whatever that means." The talking lightbulb looks off screen for a half a second. "Right? Alright, we're gonna listen to a track called, Sick, Sick, Sick."
A green lightbulb wearing a pirate hat crawls on screen with its peg arm.
"What?" The yellow bulb asks the green bulb, who is panting heavily. "Did I ask to see your face? Huh? BEAT IT."
The green bulb crawls away, giving off retarded laughter.
"Yeah, you know what you did. Moonlights go."
The one-colored background that makes up the show, changes to a different hue to the rhythm of the song playing. Electric guitars then drums blast through the speakers, while the vocals consist of heavy breathing in the same pattern as the tempo.
Hank steps closer to the television. "Damien, what are you watching?"
The little fry turns to his father. "Bulby cartoons, daddy!"
"I see."
The clink of a porcelain plate hitting the dining room table echoes throughout the TV room.
"Breakfast's ready." Cathy calls
Damien rushes to the dining room as Hank turns the television off. He walks to the table, seeing his son shake at his seat as Cathy puts eggs and bacon on his plate. The moment she finishes filling his plate, Damien starts wolfing down his food.
"Damien, slow down!" Hank calls as he forces his son to put his plate down.
"I don't want to miss my show."
"The bulby cartoons?"
"Yeah!"
Hank gets his plate of breakfast. "What do you like so much about them?"
"They're so funny. Bulby always gets broken every episode."
"I see. You know what, you can eat your breakfast in the TV room. Be sure to bring your dishes back when you're done," Hank says as he turns to Cathy.
"Yes, dad!" Damien yells ecstatically as he seizes his plate and runs back to the television.
Cathy smiles at Hank. "He's still cute enough to get you to help him."
He returns the gesture. "That may be. But there's something I need to talk to you about."
"Is this about Henry?" Cathy asks as she starts eating her bacon.
Hank's smile fades as he rests his head on his hand. "He somehow knew about Julia."
Cathy stops eating and stares into Hank's eyes. "You mean…"
"I was wondering if you told anybody what I had told you."
"No, I haven't."
"I need you to be honest with me."
"Hank."
Hank mixes his bacon into the eggs. "Alright. Just needed to be sure."
"Any clues as to what he might be?"
"For all I know, he could just be a clone that has my memories." Hank says as he puts a fork full of eggs and bacon in his mouth.
"I see."
After that Delicious Breakfast
Hank puts his plate and fork in the sink before walking out of the kitchen and to the front door. "That was one of your best, Catherine."
Cathy embraces her husband and gives him a quick peck on the lips. "I'm glad you liked it that much."
Getting his coat on, Hank returns the kiss and opens the door. He steps on the mat, breathing in the diesel air that infests the neighborhood. Walking to the driveway, he notices his car is not where it is supposed to be.
"Honey!"
Cathy gets outside, walking to the driveway. "Yes?"
"Do you know what happened to my car?"
"I thought you parked it-" She stops short as she notices the car is missing as well.
Hank's cellphone rings.
"Hello?"
"Hank? It's Sanford, Henry's escaped."
Hank glances to his driveway once again. "Henry."
Meanwhile…
Henry slouches on the driver seat of Hank's grey and dusty 1988 Pontiac Firebird while taking a big swig of a Jack Daniels. Melted gold fills his throat and burns his chest as the liquid enters his system. He looks out his window to see nothing but barren desert and an empty highway right next to where he is parked. Clenching the steering wheel with his bandaged left hand, he feels the bandages crease and crinkle in his tight grip.
Henry starts the car after turning the key and puts the gear into drive, speeding off. "Wonder what's on the station."
Turning on the radio, he hears a drum outro that goes off for half a minute, followed by a several second silence.
"This is W-O-M-B. The Womb. And if you, my pets, learn to listen, I'll let you crawl back in. Here's something you should drop to your knees for and worship. But you are too stupid to realize yourselves."
Henry rolls his eyes.
"A song for the deaf, that is for you."
The DJ finally shuts up as a creepy, rhythmic bass riff sounds off. This is followed by a guitar screech, resembling a woman screaming in abject terror. The bass continues for sixteen seconds and then the guitars and drums invade Henry's ears.
I like this.
Henry turns the volume up a few ticks. Behind him, he hears the wooden barrier for the road break and sees a pick up truck with three guitarists standing on the bed, playing their instruments. The truck drives around Henry and flies down the highway. Henry drives even faster down the road.
"Jackasses."
Hank stands in his front yard as he watches a red 1992 Dodge Monaco park in his driveway. Half a minute later, Deimos exits the car and walks to Hank.
"I heard Henry escaped again."
"What do you mean again?"
Hank's harsh tone causes Deimos to flinch. "Yesterday, he escaped his cell and helped us investigate that mother prostituting her daughter."
"And he's escaped again."
"Yeah. I guess the extra guards didn't make much difference."
Hank sighs as both men see a police car drive up to the house. Out comes Sanford with half a cup of coffee in his hand.
"Alright Hank. We're going to need you to help us get Henry this time."
Hank looks at the spot where he last saw his car. "You can't take care of this situation yourself?"
"Hank. He has your abilities and talents. I can only hope you two think somewhat alike so we can have a better idea as to where we could find him."
Deimos leans on the fence. "Any leads, Dick Tracy?"
"All I can really come up with is the Anti-AAHW headquarters."
"Then let's start there." Hank gets to Deimos' car. "Be sure to keep your eyes peeled."
Sanford gets back into his police car, turns on the siren and drives down the street.
Crows and ravens fly past the grey Firebird as Henry continues his joyride in the desert. To his left, he sees a black truck parked beside the freeway next to the highway he is driving in. On the hood is some scantily clad woman and a man wearing a slick leather jacket on top of her.
He sighs in disgust. "Kids."
The song that was playing earlier ends off with a continuous riff and the radio silence begins once again.
"Let's see what else is on."
His finger presses the seek button on the radio and hears a steady distinction of static and Tejano music, until…
"-Music radio. Where we give you best metal and rock the world has yet to hear. Right now, we've got a fan favorite for our station. I'll give you a hint, it's by Megadeth. Enjoy some thrash as you drive down the empty highways."
The radio starts off with some sort of opera for the first five seconds, then turns into a low tuned, electric guitar riff accompanied by bass and the drums.
Henry rolls down the windows, feeling the warm air fill the car and push against his disfigured face. "As long as there's good music."
Inside Deimos' Monaco, Hank rests his head on the window. "I'm supposed to be at my gun shop."
"I'm aware of that, Hank."
"I also expected you two to have some credibility in handling an Antithesis veteran."
"Yeah, and you also doubted we could win against Dan."
"We almost didn't, Deimos."
"But we still won."
Hank looks out the window he is resting on. "Why did Henry have to come here?"
"I don't know Hank."
"We better hope he's at the headquarters." A floating bandaged man wearing a suit comes into Hank's view. "What was that?"
Deimos glances to where Hank is staring. "What was what?"
Hank looks back at the spot and sees the bandaged man is no longer there. "Nothing."
Deimos shifts the gear in his car and they ride down the road even faster. "Well, at least you're not as stressed as Sanford is right now."
"What makes you say I'm not?"
"Oh, just a hint."
Hank rolls his eyes and looks to the road seeing Sanford's police car with the siren on, speeding down the highway.
Henry shifts the gear in Hank's Firebird and sees the speedometer point from 80 to 105. The cacti and litter in the desert surrounding the highway are nothing more than blurs that pass him by. All except the site of a bandaged man wearing a suit, hovering as he moves across the road in front of Henry. The masked mercenary shakes his head and sees the bandaged man is not there anymore.
Hallucinating again.
Speeding down the road, Henry sees a road sign in the distance. Its size allows him to be able to read what is written on it. The city name is crossed out and replaced with "Shit". The exits are covered in spray paint and the words "Scum," "Hell," and "Wank" cover the spots.
"Looks like the place."
Moving the gear, the speedometer reads seventy-four and Henry takes the "Wank" exit. He is met by a dilapidated entrance, topped off with a blank billboard with the phrase: "The end is really fucking nigh," painted on it.
Henry nods as he turns the radio off. "Yup."
Reaching for the Jack Daniels once again, he tilts his head back as the last of the contents make their burning entrance into his throat. He throws the bottle out of the open window and begins speeding once again. While the run-down buildings and pedestrians blur in his vision as he drives, the road starts to melt and swivel in a familiar way. Unable to make a straight line, Henry begins swerving all over the road.
A scream catches his attention, causing him to turn away from where he is driving, not knowing that there is a roadblock in front of him. The car collides with the barrier, metal bending and scraping against the concrete. In spite being intoxicated, he puts his hands on the windshield and keep his head from hitting it. Steam and smoke fill his nostrils as he lies in his seat. Something running down his forehead makes him rub it with his hand and sees his fingers drenched in blood.
Looking at the steering wheel, he sees that it has a head shaped dent at the top. He grabs the door handle and attempts to open it, only to see it is stuck. Turning to the other door, he notices that one is jammed too. Clenching his fists, he elbows his cracked window, shattering it and causing some glass shards to get into his left eye.
He wrestles with the sharp fragments and flinches at the sharp pain the moment his fingers touch the cut area. "Damn it."
Ignoring the pain, Henry clambers out of the window and falls out of the car. His bloodied scalp scrapes along the pavement, causing the wound to grow. Feeling a mixture of sharp and dull pains, he raises his arms, seeing purple and grey spots as well as cuts and scars all around. Despite his aggregation of wounds, he grabs the crooked metal of what was once Hank's Firebird and pulls himself to his feet.
The sun invades Henry's vision as he staggers to the sidewalk and sits next to some little girl. The bright light blinding him, Henry catches the attention of the street urchin, who reaches into his jacket pocket. Unbeknownst to her, Henry could feel her hand invading his clothes and seizes her by the wrist. The little girl can only wince and give a silent scream as the grip only tightens. When she looks back to the masked man's eyes, she sees his irises give off a slight glow and a look of pure malice.
With Henry's grip only tightening even further, both he and the girl can feel her bones begin to get crushed. Tears start falling from the youth as she tries and tries to escape her victim's grasp.
"Please, I'm sorry." She utters as she struggles one last time to pull away.
Henry lets go, making her look into his eyes once again, to see them glowing even more. Holding her injured arm, she jumps and runs away.
Sanford shifts the gear in his car, making the speedometer read from 70 to 90. He sets the siren to be even louder as he sees cars in front him. The vehicles ahead of him pull over and stay put as his and Deimos' car pass them by.
Why does Henry need to make everything so stressful? I swear, he just can't have anything work out for anyone else. Stay in his goddamn cell for a night? Of course he can't. Help out with investigations? Only for a few hours, then the rest of us could get fucked for all we know.
Metal gates come to his vision. Looking up, he sees the entrance to the Anti-AAHW headquarters.
And now, you have to disappear for whatever the fuck reason, and now we have to find you. I can't wait to hit you with the baton.
Stumbling on his footsteps, Henry totters down the sidewalk, passing by graffiti that has an eye with the words, "Don't dare look away," surrounding it. Right next to it is the phrase, "ALL IS LOST." He runs his hand against the concrete wall and dry paint until he spots a saloon only 30 feet away. Looking above the door, the sign says, "Prehab" and has the phrase, "Get Fucked" underneath it.
Inside the bar, at least twelve patrons sit at the barstools and slowly take their drinks. Gunfire from the arcade machines at the edge of the room fill the atmosphere, as well as drunken rambling. The bartender, wearing a shirt that says, "I'm alright," grabs a bottle of "Dried Devil" and pours it into a patron's glass.
The chatting and rambling go on until the saloon doors are kicked open. A man with messy black hair wearing a dark overcoat and cargo pants is in the sights of everyone inside. Seeing his scarred face and bandaged hands and body, patrons nearest to the door stay out of his way as he gets to the closest barstool.
The bartender walks up to him. "What'll you be havin'?"
With a trembling hand, the newcomer points to the bottle of scotch. The bartender gets a shot glass for him and begins pouring. The patron closest to this man in the overcoat turns to him.
"Fancy seeing you here."
He turns to the patron, seeing him wear an ATP uniform, holding a knife in his far hand.
"I thought you left this place and would never come back," the patron says as he puts his knife hand on the table. "Glad I was wrong."
As the patron puts his knife away, the outsider downs his shot of scotch and shatters the glass over the patron's temple. He screams as the fragments and yellow blood get into his eye forcing him to fall onto the ground.
The other patrons, aside from one, get out of their seats and surround this mad man. Two patrons walk to him cautiously, one wearing a brown leather jacket and the other an AAHW t-shirt. The patron wearing the shirt gets in front of the masked man and throws a punch. The outsider catches it and holds him in a wrist lock behind the back.
The patron wearing the jacket takes the first patron's knife and holds it steady to stab the attacker's side. As he makes a stabbing motion, the man in the overcoat turns so the patron wearing the t-shirt gets stabbed. Angered, the jacket patron pulls the knife out and makes a slashing motion, only to get caught in a typical wrist lock, forcing him to drop the knife.
CH-CHK
Both turn to the bartender, who has a KS-23 shotgun pointed right at the newcomer. He is about to pull the trigger until the masked man hip tosses the leather jacket patron toward him. The shotgun falls to the ground as the patron lands on him. While stunned, the bartender gets back up, only to get struck by the barstool the man in the overcoat was sitting on.
A patron wearing torn jeans and a filthy shirt sizes up this man, only to get clocked on the jaw. The back of his head feels a hand on it and his face comes into brutal contact with the bar table. Again and again and again does his head get bashed, until a patron wearing a suit and red sunglasses chokes the bandaged man in the overcoat from behind. He keeps the hold on tight as the patron in filthy clothes falls on the ground, blood oozing from his scalp and mouth.
The masked, bandaged man forces his head back, hitting the suit wearing patron in the nose. He stomps on the poor man's foot, making the hold loosen just a little bit. Taking advantage, the outsider flips the patron onto the one bleeding on the ground. He finishes the man off by stomping on his face, specifically where his sunglasses are, making the glass get into his eyes as well.
"You piece of shit."
The masked man turns to the ex-ATP, who slowly gets back up, yellow blood leaking from his temple and left eye. Behind the bandaged man is the patron wearing the brown leather jacket, pointing the bartender's shotgun at the outsider.
He pulls the trigger, making the man wearing the overcoat move to the side, causing the shotgun blast to hit the former ATP. Yellow gore splashes on the outsider and the patron holding the shotgun.
While the patron pumps the shotgun, the masked man jumps over the bar table and lands on him. He gets punched in the cheek, the jugular, both temples, and the nose. Another patron wearing an ATP uniform gets behind the bandaged man and picks up the shotgun. The outsider gets the back of his head hit by the butt of the KS-23 and winds up getting stunned. Four other patrons vault over the table and take the bandaged man in the overcoat down.
They start kicking and stomping him while he is down, paying no heed to shouts and yelps. Behind the chaos, the patron not wanting to fight sneaks behind, grabbing a bottle of "Desert Fever" and gets back to his seat.
"I'd like to see the prisoners."
The guard maintains his dead serious look as he unlocks the door for Sanford, Hank, and Deimos. The trio walk in the room. Sounds of banter, insults, and raving make a nostalgic welcome to them as they observe each prisoner.
"Any luck asking the Higher Powers?"
"Nope. They just had to be busy today." Hank answers as an inmate carrying a broken mirror tries to reach for him.
Deimos takes a cigarette out of his pocket. "Looks like this is our last place to check."
Sanford nods. "Where else do you think Henry would be?"
"Come on Hank," Deimos starts. "Don't you think you might be able to share at least a couple of thoughts?"
"I would if we were the same person."
"I might know a thing or two about this Henry."
The trio turn to the direction where they heard the voice. Dan, in his cell, greets them.
Sanford approaches him. "What would you know."
"A few things. You forget what I really am capable of. After all, it almost cost Hank his free will."
"Meaning…"
"Meaning that I know of him… if you bring him to me, I might let a few secrets slip."
Hank gets closer to the cell. "What do you know about him?"
Dan gives Hank a cheshyre grin. "I know he has your look, extra scars, a good chunk of his cheek is missing, he's had a lesson in the lariat. I also know his last name is Wimbleski. Isn't that right Hank?"
"How did you know?"
"You're gonna have to cough up that extra five grand for that." Dan says as he gets to his sink.
Deimos rests his hands on both Hank's and Sanford's shoulders. "Come on, he's not here."
"Where the hell could he be, then?" Sanford asks as they begin walking to the exit.
Hank waves at the guard who unlocks the door. "When we find him, I'll be sure we each get turns hitting him on our way back."
The only man left standing, being the patron that did not bother to fight, looks at the bandaged stranger sitting on the bar table. His medical mask is torn off, revealing more scars on him and even a bullet hole on his left cheek. The contents of a "Raven's Feather" leaks out of that said bullet hole as he guzzles the alcohol down.
Heavy footsteps cause the former masked man to look around the bar, not seeing anything due to both his eyes being swollen shut. A large man, being at least seven and a half feet tall, wearing G:013M scraps storms into the bar.
The patron sitting points to the man in the overcoat resting at the counter. Lurid strides cause the wounded man to look at the bouncer's general direction and throw his empty bottle at him. The glass bounces off the ex-AAHW operative's abdomen, landing on the ground.
CLANK!
Reaching over, the bouncer picks the bottle back up, seeing it's empty. He looks at the only patron unharmed and points at the crazy man on the table. The patron nods as he continues drinking. The former G:013M puts the bottle on one of the few tables still intact and walks to the scarred man in the overcoat. He dodges a sloppy punch from the outsider and catches his fist, pulling him off the table.
The drunkard's legs wobble, back slouches, head unable to stay in one spot. As he gets his hands up to fight, he loses his balance and falls backward, onto the barstools. When the bouncer attempts to help him back up, he hits the large man with a right hand to the jaw, not exactly fazing him.
The G:013M quickly grabs the crazy man by the throat and tosses him in the air. Both he and the patron watch as the scarred man falls back down, his lower back landing on one of the overturned stools. Hearing groans of pain, the bouncer grabs the man by his feet and pulls him closer. A punch to his nose busts it open like a chestnut. The stranger spits blood on his attacker in response… only to get punched once again. This time, he suffered a blow to the sternum and yet again in diaphragm, knocking the wind out of him.
While he was gasping for air, the large man strikes his temples and right eye with steady punches until he could not muster enough strength to raise his hand in defense. The last patron watches as the G:013M grabs the outsider by his shoulders, carries him to the entrance and throws him out of the building.
Henry lands on the pavement in front of the bar, hearing a car engine nearby. Quickly, he puts his head down as the vehicle rides over him, running over his right humerus. Screams of agony can be heard from across the block.
"DAMN IT! FUCK! JESUS!"
With his left hand, Henry slowly reaches to his upper right arm. The bone is now in two as he unsteadily gets back up. He falls over at his first attempt; his left hand feels glass. Grabbing one of the shards, he puts the sharp edge over his left eyelid. The fragment cuts through the swollen eyelid, causing him to wince in pain as blood trickles down his face.
Letting the blood drip out a little more, Henry rubs the cut a little until he can somewhat see in front of him. Dilapidated buildings invade his vision, with decadent pedestrians and prostitutes on their corners. Blood comes out of his mouth as he bends over, retching. A minute later, blood and bile escape Henry's mouth, polluting the already grimy road he is stuck on. He tires as he tries to get back up; this time succeeding, he hobbles down the road.
"Looks like you could use some R&R."
Henry turns to the masculine voice to see a man with enlarged breasts wearing women's underwear looking at him. Shaking his head, he continues shambling down the road.
"Your loss."
With his stilted vision, Henry can see a biker gang consisting of only females, all wearing a leather jacket with the title "QotSA" written on the back.
"Look what we've got here."
The Scarlet Squad look to Henry, seeing his wounds and scars, his overcoat, his bandages.
"You don't think that's…"
The brunette pulls out her sawn-off shotgun, interrupting the redhead. "Looks more like a zombie than who you're thinking of."
The blonde gets her machete. "Come on ugly."
Henry lets go of his upper arm, letting it dangle as he walks to the brunette with the shotgun. He slowly approaches her to the point the edge of what is left of the barrel touches his chest. The girl hesitates, allowing him to swipe the gun from her with his left hand.
"Looks like you're getting soft there, princess!" The redhead calls out.
The brunette reaches for her gun. "Give it back, asshole."
Henry backs away, opening the barrel and emptying the shells. The blonde laughs as he shoves the shotgun at her chest. The brunette puts the gun away.
"That was really him."
The redhead puts her hands on her hips. "Apparently."
"And he didn't kill us."
Moving past the biker gang, Henry continues to limp down the dirt road that leads to the highway as the sun scorches his body, singing a tune.
"Living in the Era Vulgaris, just drool in the dark as you stare into the light."