During the middle of the year of 2012, Gary drove a small, speed-boat of which he had potentially stolen, toward the island of Madagascar. Tord stood in front of his eldest sibling, wearing his old, black trench-coat as Leila stood beside him. The sun was setting as the siblings all stared up at the tall formation of jagged rocks. Hidden amongst the formation was a large, white, two-story beach-house that use to belong to their grandfather.
"The only people populating the island are The Native-Tribes; no one will recognize you here..." Gary reassured as he parked his boat on the shore of the island's beach. Tord was the first to step off of the boat, kneeling down to feel the cold, wet sand of the beach. Something about beaches always helped Tord feel more relaxed but he supposed that beaches did the same for almost everyone. Tord inhaled deeply, through his nose, taking in the surrounding smells of the ocean as he clutched a handful of the cool, dampened sand. He was then interrupted from his brief moment of zen when he felt something hard, smooth and cold in the palm of his hand once he had allowed all of the sand to slip through his fingers.
Opening his hand to view the unexpected object, Tord was pleasantly surprised to see the small piece of ocean-jasper that was now resting in the center of his palm. Gary and Leila watched as Tord placed the semi-precious stone into the front-pocket of his trench-coat before standing back up to then wipe the remnants of wet sand from his hand, onto his coat. Gary took this as a sign to begin leading his younger siblings up the elaborate staircase that had long-since been carved into the side of the massive mountain of sharp rocks. The staircase led up to a tall, black, iron gate that was held up by several, large, white, marble pillars.
"This was Grandfather's private vacation-home...Our parents don't even know about it...No one will ever find us here..." Gary explained as he unlocked the gate with one of the many, rusted keys that hung from the old, Communist-flag keyring that once belonged to their grandfather. Tord began to speed-walk ahead of his siblings once the gates had been opened, stopping short of the bright-red front-door to stare up at the massive building in awe. Two statues of Loki, the Pagan-god of mischief from the old, Norse mythology, stood on both sides of the front-door as if they were guarding the entrance.
Gary followed close behind his youngest sibling to unlock the front-door for him with another one of their grandfather's rusted, old keys. Tord was even more impressed by the house's interior. The house was almost completely made up entirely of pearlescent marble aside from the beige carpeting that covered the floor of the living-room, the staircase and the floor of the open-loft that the staircase led up to. The house was decorated with Communism memorabilia as well as more statues of Loki, rendering the house almost completely untouched by time.
"I mostly left all of Grandfather's stuff as-is but I added a few of my own touches." Gary explained with a small smirk and a wink since he had been on vacation to this house quite a few times in the past; before his youngest sibling's World had completely fallen apart, that is. Gary's added, modern touches of course stood out from amongst their grandfather's ancient decor in the form of a black, leather, L-shaped couch, a black-iron coffee-table with a glass top and a huge, flatscreen television that was mounted onto the wall. Tord also heavily doubted that the open-kitchen beneath the loft always had always had an island in the center of it as well as a modern, double-doored refrigerator. Still in awe, Tord made his way up the stairs to have a better look at the loft where various arcade-game machines lined the back-wall, hanging above the arcade-game machines, was a portrait of Tord's grandfather, in his old, military uniform, glaring intently off into the distance. Tord found himself distracted by the portrait for a moment or two until Gary disturbed him from his trance.
"This is your room." Gary announced as he opened one of the two doors on the far-right wall. The decently-sized bedroom was decorated with all of Tord's belongings from his old bedroom. Despite the different coloration of the flooring and walls, Tord almost felt as if he were still at home. That was, until he spotted his old laptop resting upon his old desk, the source of all of his trauma, where all of his problems first began. Tord felt himself begin to fill with dread as he slowly approached the laptop. Gary attempted to follow Tord but Leila grabbed him by his arm to stop him.
"I understand if it's too soon right now but you can always create your art under a fake name...Lots of artists do that..." Gary explained as Tord shakily reached out to take ahold of the laptop's lid. Tears filled the brims Tord's silver eyes but he closed them tightly to keep the tears at bay before aggressively slamming the laptop shut. He then hung his head in shame at the fact that after everything he had been through, he still was not strong enough to face the internet again, even under a fake name.
"It's okay, little brother...You can return to the internet when you're ready..." Leila reassured as she placed a comforting hand on Tord's shoulder.
"Why don't you and Gary go watch Insane Zombie-Pirates From Hell Four? I'll make your favorite dinner..." Leila then enthusiastically offered, in a sing-song voice, in an attempt to cheer Tord up.
"I would like that..." Tord quietly agreed with a sad smile. After a nice, hot, relaxing shower, Tord changed into some more comfortable clothing: His old, black hoodie, a pair of grey sweatpants and a pair of black socks. He then made himself comfortable on the couch, in between his older siblings to enjoy his favorite movie along with his favorite meal: Lo-Mein.
For the first time in what felt like ages, Tord actually felt content and found himself able to laugh at his favorite parts of the movie for once. However, his minor amount of joy was still tainted by the fact that his entire life as he knew it had essentially been destroyed beyond repair as he found himself frowning occasionally and going into a slight trance that went unnoticed by his two, older siblings. Once the movie had ended, the trio had all fallen asleep together on the couch with Tord snuggled in between Gary and Leila's protective grasps. When Tord awoke in the middle of the night, really needing to go to the bathroom, he gently slipped out from in between his siblings, careful not to wake them up as he made his way into the powder-room that was beneath the staircase.
After relieving his bladder, Tord flushed the toilet, somberly watching the liquids swirl down the drain as he mentally compared the visual to what his life had now become. Tord then glanced out of the small window that was right next to him, taking notice of a beautiful, five-lined, skink lizard resting upon the outside of the window's cill. Tord took notice of how the reptile's beautiful, multicolored scales shimmered in the moonlight, wondering if this were a sign of good fortune since he had never seen a lizard like this in all of his life.
"Hello, little friend..." Tord softly greeted the small animal with a gentle smile. The skink merely looked up at Tord with curiosity before scurrying away and disappearing into a small crack in the beach-house's stucco outer-wall. Tord sighed sadly at the fact that not even a lizard wanted to be his friend before approaching the sink to wash his hands. He then glanced up at his reflection in the mirror and winced at what he saw staring back at him. The poor boy had been too depressed to eat after what he had been through and as a result, he had lost a dangerous amount of weight.
He was not quite Anorexic but he was still dangerously thin enough to be bordering the disorder. His cheeks were sunken-in, his skin was paler than death and there were deep, dark bags beneath his bloodshot eyes. Tord looked so sickly and weak, that he could barely even recognize his own reflection in the mirror.
"You look so tired..." Tord sadly commented to himself before exiting the half-bath and making his way into the kitchen, in search of a midnight-snack. Tonight's dinner was the first time in quite a while that Tord had actually eaten anything without being forced to by a medical-facility or a concerned family-member. It felt so good to finally be able to eat on his own again; Tord was and still is starving. After retrieving the small container of chocolate, Haagen-Daz ice-cream from the freezer, Tord grabbed a spoon from one of the wooden drawers before making his way back over to the couch so he could relax with his frozen-treat.
As Tord snacked on the pint of ice-cream, seeking a small amount of comfort in its sweet taste, he paused at the feeling of being watched and turned his head to look up at that old, unsettling portrait of his grandfather that hung on the wall, in plain, clear view. The portrait glared back down at Tord, intently as if it were staring into his soul, the blue eyes of his grandfather almost seemed to be glowing in the dark from the intensity of his stare. Tord locked eyes with the portrait as he slowly began to ascend the staircase, feeling drawn to the portrait for reasons that were currently unclear to him. Once at the top of the stares, Tord stepped a bit closer to the painting, still staring up at it with curiosity.
Tord then turned his attention to the small, golden plaque that hung beneath the painting's frame as he ran his index-finger along the plaque's engraving: Tord Maximillion Cyrano Wellhaven The First. Tord became misty-eyed as he stopped over his grandfather's last name, his real last name before he was forced to abandon it for the false name: Larsson for safety reasons. He was the third person of his family to carry the name: Tord, his own father being the second.
Perhaps it was never the brightest of ideas to use his real name over the internet to begin with. Tord wondered if circumstances would have been different for him had he created his SheezyArt account under a fake name, along with his other Social-Media profiles. Perhaps not; even without the threats of physical-danger, the cruel words still would have hurt him just as deeply and he still would have been banned from SheezyArt through no fault of his own. Tord stared back up at the portrait to once again gaze into his grandfather's eyes. Tord was unsure if this were merely because of a trick of the light but his grandfather's eyes now appeared to be red, his glare even appeared to deepen into a more hateful grimace. Regardless of the reason for this portrait's mysterious transformation, Tord was now beginning to feel uneasy as he took a few steps back, away from the portrait.
Tord was then startled by the sound of a creepy laughter that was high-pitched, yet still somehow deep at the same time, emitting from the portrait which caused him to quickly sprint back down the stairs, to the safety of his siblings' arms. Gary and Leila seemed to have taken no notice of what had just occurred as they both remained in their deep slumber within each other's arms. Tord wriggled his way back in between them, closing his eyes once he felt safe enough to go back to sleep. For now, he would write the incident off as just another bad dream. He had been having a lot of those lately, after all. He decided he would examine his grandfather's portrait in the light of the morning, when he for some reason, felt would be safer to do so.
The next morning, Leila awoke on the couch, next to Gary of whom was still asleep, slumped against her with his head rested upon her shoulder.
"Tord?" Leila questioned once she was quick to notice the absence of her youngest sibling.
"Tord?!" Naturally, Leila was a bit panicked since Tord had made an attempt on his own life not too long ago. Gary remained asleep even as Leila quickly stood up, allowing his unconscious-form to fall roughly onto the couch's stiff cushions. Leila frantically began to search the house for her youngest sibling, only relaxing once she had finally located him in the loft.
"Oh, there you are..." Leila gave a soft sigh of relief upon finding her brother unharmed. She then took notice of the fact that Tord was staring up at the portrait of their grandfather. Tord briefly turned to glance over at his older sister before returning his gaze to the portrait, still feeling a strong connection to the image for some, unknown reason.
"Good morning, sister..." Tord greeted as he continued to study the portrait for any hidden secrets as to why he felt so drawn to it.
"Grandfather was a strong man...He never stopped fighting, even after the war had been lost..." Leila explained as she smiled up at the portrait, herself.
"I wish I could have met him..." Tord sighed sadly as perhaps his grandfather could have, at the very least, offered him some solid advice on his current circumstances.
"He would have loved you..." Leila gave a somber sigh of her own before placing a comforting hand upon Tord's shoulder. Unfortunately, Tord was still just an infant when their grandfather had mysteriously disappeared into the night, most-likely having been killed whilst attempting to fight a war that had long-since ended, on his own. His body had never been found, most-likely having been destroyed completely by a bomb of some sort or disposed of by the Swedish government. However, it was possible that their grandfather could still be alive somewhere, out there. Although, given the fact that he had never returned to even visit his family of whom he cared for deeply, coupled with how old he would have been now, it was highly unlikely.
"Come, brother; I will make you breakfast..." Leila offered as she wrapped her arm around Tord's shoulders, in a maternal-fashion in order to begin leading him back down the stairs, to the kitchen. Before descending the staircase, Tord took one, last look over his shoulder at his grandfather's portrait which now seemed to be smirking at him; though Tord just brushed this off as another lighting-produced illusion. At breakfast, as Tord sat at the kitchen's island with his chin rested in the palm of his hand, his elbow rested upon the island's counter-top, all he could bring himself to do was merely poke at his bacon with his fork. After everything he had been through, he was uncertain if he could ever look at bacon the same way again without being reminded of the past.
"Did anyone else have nightmares last night? I swear, I had nightmares all night long..." Gary attempted to start a conversation as Leila served him his breakfast before sitting down with her own plate.
"I wouldn't know...My entire life has become a living-nightmare..." Tord sighed, not looking up from his food as he continued to poke at it with his fork. Gary and Leila exchanged worried glances before nodding in some sort of silent agreement with each other.
"Little brother? We have a surprise for you..." Leila began with an excited grin as Gary got up to retrieve the hidden present. They were initially going to wait until after breakfast to give this surprise to their little brother but Tord was in desperate need of some cheering up. Tord merely stared up at his sister in confusion, wondering what the surprise could be as he accepted her outstretched hand and allowed her to lead him to the backyard.
Tord was pleasantly surprised to see that his grandfather's old-timey shooting-range still remained in the backyard, complete with practice-targets and even a few practice-dummies. Tord stepped outside to get a better look, amazed by how much effort his grandfather had put into this custom shooting-range.
"And that's not all..." Leila began, signaling Tord to turn back around to see that both of his siblings were holding a Kalashnikov-Rifle that was still in great condition aside from a few, small dents and scratches.
"It was Grandfather's..." Gary sentimentally explained as he and Leila allowed Tord to take the gun from them. Tord stared down at the gun in pure awe as he examined its details. This was the first time he had actually held a real gun, let alone his favorite type of gun. When Tord opened the rifle's clip, he discovered that it had been loaded with blanks instead of real bullets, most-likely so he could practice shooting with the gun without any risk of making another attempt on his life. Just as Tord began to internally question if he were even worthy enough to wield his grandfather's war-rifle, he was pulled from his train of thought by Gary's next comment.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Gary questioned as he gestured toward the shooting-range, encouraging Tord to have some fun with his new-to-him prizes. Tord spent nearly the entire day learning how to use his new gun and practicing with it. The gun's powerful blast caused his frail body to stumble backwards a few times and he was not able to always hit the targets, often missing them completely. Despite the fact that it was nearly dusk by the time Tord had finally managed to hit one of the target's bullseyes, the Norwegian-boy still felt himself smirking proudly at his small accomplishment. Unknown to Tord, the five-lined skink he had encountered the night before stood on a nearby rock to secretly observe him from slightly afar.
Tord was covered in sweat and dirt. His hands were sore and blistered. He was exhausted but at the same time, he felt rejuvenated. Tord let out an excited chuckle, unable to recall the last time he had ever felt this happy, this confident, this powerful.
"There he is! Look!" Tord was startled out of his small moment of victory by the unfamiliar voice of one of the island's Native-Children. The Native-Language of Madagascar was French which was not too different from Tord's Native-Language so Tord was naturally able to understand bits and pieces of what was being said, causing the Norwegian to panic slightly. Tord was quick to hide behind one of the palm-trees, clutching his grandfather's rifle close to his chest, just in case he might need to defend himself with it. With caution Tord peeked out from behind the tree to get a better look at who he had initially assumed might be looking for him.
"He's so ugly!" Another Native-Child yelled as he and his two friends all gathered around a small, black Coto De Turlear puppy with a completely white face. The poor, defenseless animal yelped as the three, cruel children began to kick him, beat him, throw things at him and even spit on him. Though Tord was relieved that these evil children had not been searching for him, his eyes began to tear up at the sound of this puppy's pain-filled yelps as well as the sight of the poor thing being treated so cruelly. Tord felt his chest begin to tighten with anxiety once the traumatic memories of himself being brutally beaten by his own school-bullies had been triggered by the current sight that was before him. Tears fell as Tord began to vividly remember what it felt like for bony knuckles as well as hard shoes to leave bruises all over his tender flesh, what it felt like to have his bones broken, the horrid stench of the blood that poured from his nostrils.
He then began to remember his first, near-death experience: When one of his bullies attempted to strangle him to death in broad-daylight. Tord began to feel anger boil within him; not just at the animal cruelty that he was currently witnessing but also, at the memory of just how many bystanders watched him being choked within an inch of his life without doing anything to help him. He remembered that a few of the bystanders were even laughing at him, encouraging his bullies to finish him off. Tord clenched his Kalashnikov tightly as he remembered the sharp, painful pressure of strong hands crushing his wind-pipe, the feeling of drool trickling from the corner of his mouth as he desperately gasped for air, his vision beginning to blur. He then felt another familiar feeling begin to return to the forefront of his mind, a feeling he had not felt since the night he ran away with his siblings, a feeling that he hoped he would never feel again.
Tord did not have a name for this feeling that he hated, yet somehow still loved at the same time. He could only describe it as: An instinct, a craving, an urge, perhaps even a lust? Slowly, Tord lifted his Kalashnikov, aiming it right for the closest child's head as his hands began to tremble with anticipation. He hesitated in an attempt to stop himself from doing what he had an almost uncontrollable urge to do, he attempted to remind himself that his rifle was only loaded with harmless blanks, that all this would do was draw unwanted attention to him but two words echoed throughout his mind, loud enough to drown out all logical thoughts: "Do it..." Tord pulled the trigger but was knocked onto his back by the powerful kick of the gunfire.
He missed his target but only by a foot or two. The loud bang, along with the wind that was created by the blank whizzing by was definitely enough to gain the attention of the three, young Natives. However, when they turned toward the source of the passing-blank's location, Tord had luckily fallen out of their view.
"Was that a gun?!" The Child that was nearly shot by Tord fearfully asked.
"A crazy man use to live in that house..." The Eldest-Child remembered having heard rumors from his parents of a deranged hermit, dressed in a soldier's attire threatening anyone who ever dared to trespass on his property with a long, scary gun.
"Let's get out of here!" The Youngest-Child cried out before he and his friends all fled from the property, in a panic. Once he had snapped back out of his animalistic trance, Tord slowly came out of hiding and made his way over to the victim of that cruel group of children to see if he was okay. Thankfully, the puppy was still alive despite being badly injured.
"You poor thing..." Tord sighed sadly as the puppy merely whimpered in pain, in response. Tord carefully carried the puppy into his arms, deciding that he was going to nurse this poor creature back to health. He was allergic to furry animals but it was only a mild allergy that gave him a case of the sniffles. Since his nose had always been stopped-up from all of the endless crying he had been doing lately anyway, Tord figured that having a puppy around would make no difference. Besides, he could use the companionship of an emotional-support animal to keep himself distracted from the large void he currently felt within his life, especially companionship from a dog of whom he could already relate to so much.
Present day at London Comicon, Tord stepped down from the stage, his steel-toed boots gently splashing in the the massive amounts of blood that practically flooded the room as he carelessly walked through the carnage that had been created by his own words. Gary and Leila watched with mild concern as their once-sweet baby-brother came to a stop in the middle of the room to gaze upon all of the, at least, what he viewed to be, monsters that had died because of him. Tord smirked proudly at his loyal army of fans of whom stood before him, covered in the blood of his enemies as they eagerly awaited their next order from him, as if he were their king. The Edd-Impersonator was the only one who felt brave enough to actually approach Tord at the moment as he stared up at the Norwegian in awe, as if he personally viewed Tord as some sort of magnificent being. Perhaps Tord was a magnificent being after what he had just accomplished today.
However, the Edd-Impersonator still was not brave enough to fully approach Tord, especially after he had gotten a glimpse at the look in Tord's eyes. The Edd-Impersonator stopped in his tracks, a short distance away from Tord as he fearfully stared up at him, awaiting his leader's next move. Without a word, Tord turned and made his way back up onto the stage, in preparation for another speech.
"My people! You have all been slaves all of your life to The Culture of Cancellation; today, you are free! Anyone who wishes to leave, may leave and no one will harm them! I give you my word! Will you fight for me as free people?!" Tord called out to his loyal fanbase of whom had already done so much for him.
Alex was the first to begin a slow clap after a short moment of silence and soon, every one of Tord's fans along with victims of whom his fans had rescued, were all slowly applauding Tord as a gesture of eternal loyalty to him. Gary and Leila exchanged smirks of pride when Tord's plan to start a rebellion had become successful. The Edd-Impersonator felt a small twinge of dread begin to tighten within the pit of his stomach but he was unable to pinpoint the exact cause for his concern.
"Blood of my blood!" Tord shouted out, causing the room to once again, fall silent, in order to obediently listen to their new leader.
"No longer will our dreams be crushed beneath the boots of this so-called: 'Cancel-Culture!' From this day fourth, we are all liberators!" Tord announced, provoking cheers to once again, erupt from his new army.
"We will slay all who hold up signs of 'protest!' We will clear the streets! We will crush the flimsy excuses they hide behind, such as: 'Freedom of speech!'
We will destroy their glass-houses! We will take back what is ours!" Tord enthusiastically announced, raising his fist into the air, in order to provoke another round of applause from his audience.
"So, shall we begin?" Tord then asked as he raised his arms to signal his newest creations to come out of hiding and join his army. Several of what looked to be zombie-animatronics emerged from the maroon, velvet, backstage curtains that hung behind Tord. Matt was in tears as he fearfully hid beneath the long, white table-cloth of one of the catering-tables that had not yet been destroyed during Tord's hostile-takeover. He shakily lifted the cloth ever-so slightly to get a glimpse at what was happening around him. Matt watched with a mixture of confusion as well as horror as the zombie-animatronics made their way over to Tord's army of loyal-fans to stand amongst them.
As a few of the robots walked past his hiding-spot, Matt took notice of just how fancy their tattered clothing appeared to be. All of the men were wearing suits, all of the women, Church-dresses. One woman was even wearing a genuine, pearl necklace. When the smell of mold as well as pure decay assaulted his nostrils, that was was when Matt came to the horrifying realization that the rotting flesh of actual corpses had been stretched over the mechanical skeletons of robotic bodies. Matt's suspicions were made all-to clear by the sight of the shining metal that poked through the rotted holes in the animatronics' skins where their bones should have been exposed.
Matt felt himself becoming nauseated at his next realization: Had Tord been the one to dig up all of the bodies from the cemetery that held Edd's memorial? Matt then tuned his attention to the man who looked as if he could be Edd's clone. Tears began to fall at his next, internal question: Is this where what remained of Edd's stolen ashes went? Was this impersonator even human or was he just another robot like the rest of these corpses?
If this were the case, then why did he look so perfect instead of being emaciated like Tord's other zombie-bots? Perhaps because Edd was cremated and never had the chance to decompose? Matt's suspicions were once again confirmed when a small animatronic, wearing the still-decaying flesh of Ringo, Edd's deceased pet-cat, hopped down from the table, effectively startling Matt enough to provoke a girlish scream from him. Ringo let out a robotic screech of his own, his patchy fur bristling as he alerted Tord and the Edd-Clone to Matt's hiding-place. As Tord's army of both the dead as well as the living began to close in on Matt, the redhead silently began to pray for some sort of miracle.
"Not the face!" Were Matt's final words as two of the zombie-bots firmly dug their sharp, metallic claws into both of his shoulders.