All I can see is utter blackness before my eyes… what in the world is going on…I hear voices, but I don't understand a word they're saying…it feels like I'm being pulled, hauled, carried, but there's no strength in me to respond…at least I'm feeling something at the moment. It's a sign that I'm not dead yet.
Like a soft rustling of the wind, I hear whispers on the wind, not of words, but of noises…noises like thunder, like crackling fire, like stone being ground to powder…
Then, the blackness clears away, but not through any action of mine…
I'm high in the air, with the entire city of Seattle sprawling across the landscape before me; I know it, because I can see the Space Needle, Lake Washington, and beyond that, Mount Baker in the distance. I'd know that I was in Seattle if I was on the ground, but this is good enough anyway.
It has to be a dream, right? That's the only logical explanation I can come up with right now.
But this Seattle isn't how I remember seeing it. Nor is it how I would like to remember seeing it; the sky is dark and ashy grey, much of downtown has been reduced to rubble, and fires are raging as far as the eye can see, like a war has erupted within the city….
On top of all that, Kaiju Strikeout marches towards me, throwing up a cloud of ash in its wake, roaring and screeching as it waves its enormous front legs at me. I've never seen it so fully, before; its segmented carapace is covered in splatters of green turned dark from the soot of blast marks, yet nothing so much as a dent can be seen. But all I can focus on is that face behind those forelegs; that horrible, hag-like face with those lidless insect eyes boring into me, just as they did on that fateful day…
Okay, so it isn't a dream as much as it is a nightmare…a vivid, frighteningly realistic nightmare.
Wake up, wake up, WAKE UP, TAN! Run, you moron, turn around and run for your life!
Suddenly, everything goes dark. But before any hope can be allowed to glimmer, the scene is back, and the destroyer of Seattle is coming ever closer.
Why is it coming after me again after last time? Wasn't destroying my apartment, campus, and most of the city I grew up in enough? Wasn't taking my loved ones away from me enough to satisfy it? Why is this happening?!
I've got to get away. I've got to find some way out of this. I want to see Sam again. I want to live!
And yet, I can't run away. I keep moving towards it, all against my will in some a march. I can't move any part of myself at all; it's like I'm Malcom McDowell strapped in a straitjacket with my eyes pried open to take in the whole show, except the show is coming to eat me. I can't even move my own eyeballs! This has to be the worst nightmare I've ever had in my life…
But then I realize that there's another set of sounds all around me; the thundering of gigantic feet far down below, the shattering of glass, steel and concrete to my sides, and a deep, thrumming growl that reverberates in my ears, penetrating my mind, growing louder and louder as Strikeout charges towards me.
Then, I feel something else, but it couldn't possibly come from me. It grows stronger and stronger like a wildfire, and I can feel its heat overcoming the cold of my own panic…but not enough to extinguish it completely. Nor does it consume my own conscious thinking this time…
Smashing through a medium-sized building, Strikeout has come too close for comfort now, close enough for me to see the details of its bug-eyed, hook-nosed face between its folded forearms. It screeches out, but its own call is drowned out by the one that bursts out all around me, filling my head with its deafening, screeching thunder.
In that brief moment, I instantaneously know what roar I'm hearing.
Is that Godzilla? I'm in Godzilla's head?
Wait a minute; maybe this is part of the dream. If that's the case, then I've got nothing to worry about, and my only real problem is trying to wake up from this night—
WHAM!
A flood of agony suddenly rips through me, and I find myself going backwards as Godzilla crashes through several buildings behind him—or is it us? Through peripheral vision, I watch as Strikeout waves its outstretched limbs through the air with the attitude of a boxer ready to attack…again, I quickly realize.
That certainly felt real…severely and very agonizingly real.
But how did I feel that? I didn't feel anything else up until then…except, I realize, for that anger…more importantly, why am I in Godzilla's head to begin with? What person dreams of seeing things from a giant monster's point of view and NOT has any control? What kind of freakish nightmare am I in where I can feel pain?
WHAM! BAM! Two more blows strike into my…I mean, his side, I guess, in rapid succession. What was painful before has only become excruciating; did those punches break a couple of ribs or something? The sheer force pushes us backwards, and from behind I can hear entire structures crumbling and tumbling.
Again, that rage burns hot…but strangely enough, we—or is it he? I have no idea at this point—turn the other way. Suddenly it's forward, away from the enemy and down the street.
Oh thank goodness, it's over! I'm not going to—wait a minute, are we retreating? I'm happy that I'm not going to suffer being Strikeout's punching bag, but isn't it a little out of character for Godzilla to run away from a fight? Not that I know all that much about giant monsters, granted…
But then there's another turn, and Strikeout's back in view again, from the side this time.
Not retreating, I realize; just circling, changing position.
Suddenly, things start to move forward very fast. Strikeout's hull comes closer with surprising speed, and a pair of clawed hands covered in dark greyish-green scales rise up into view, their palms away from me and towards the hull.
But Strikeout rapidly twists around back to face me—us, again, and those two boxing arms come flying straight into the side. A pained howl comes rolling through, again as we back away again. Another try, and once again, the forelegs pummel away.
No matter how many attempts are made, Strikeout refuses to let us move out of its line of sight, shifting around to face us...man, it feels weird to use that particular pronoun. But I can't even think of all the reasons why it's weird; all I know is that I'm hurting, and Godzilla's not getting anywhere with this thing. Bombs and tanks haven't been able to kill it, so what could Godzilla due at this point? In the interest of survival, wouldn't it be simpler to just retreat?
Then, of all the things to do, we start moving towards the giant bug again.
Come ON! I want to shout, What are you, a masochist? There's got to be some way to beat this thing and fast…
Suddenly, there's a deep, rippling growl all around me, and my view starts to tilt forward and downward. Then, everything becomes a rapid blur, and then I hear a heavy whump, followed by a distressed screech.
Oh that's right. He's got a tail.
Godzilla turns his head to look behind, and to my personal astonishment, Strikeout actually seems to have been knocked to the side by the blow of Godzilla's tail…but not enough to knock him completely over. In fact, he's getting back onto his feet, his clubbed forelimbs aiding in getting back into a proper position.
Okay then, I think, maybe one or two more times will do the trick…
But before Godzilla can try it again, Strikeout screeches out and charges right at us, tackling with all of its strength and shoving the big reptile right into the side of a taller building. My entire right side becomes subject to intense agony as we slam into the structure; I can't feel the glass, steel, and concrete itself, but the pain is definitely there…along with the pain of one of Strikeout's clubs slamming into the side of Godzilla's, and in turn, my head.
Things become very blurry after that; colors blend clumsily into each other as Godzilla stumbles around, the building crumbling on top of him. Still, he's on his own two feet, and I can still think clearly, though I don't know how. Through the blur, I can see the rough shape of Strikeout pulling back, as if satisfied with that blow—only to unleash two more.
Each blow makes itself quite manifest, but Godzilla doesn't seem able to resist; is he teetering on the edge of consciousness from that last blow to the head? Then why am I still here, taking each hit? Why do I have to deal with this? Why am I the hapless cameraman riding on the quarterback in the middle of the football field? What did I do to deserve this?! I can't stand this anymore!
Through the edge of Godzilla's vision, I can see Strikeout getting ready to slam his body again…
No. NOT AGAIN! NO MORE!
With a flame of my own rising within me, I want nothing more than to reach out and stop that hideous spawn of a diseased lobster right in his tracks…
And somehow I do, the shock rippling right through me.
Wait, WHAT?
I look down to see two scaly arms clenching a long foreleg like a vise. What more, I can feel them; the scales, the claws, the strange burning heat coursing through the very core of these arms, the rough, sandpaper-like skin of the foreleg in my hands jerking around as Strikeout tries to pull away. Still, I can't let go—or won't let go. I'm too astonished to do anything else.
Suddenly, everything jitters for a bit, then things clear up again; Godzilla must have come back from the brink of unconsciousness. He looks up, and I see Strikeout pulling further and further away, screeching out in protest. Godzilla refuses to budge, and I don't let go.
Strikeout, on the other hand, is clearly determined to get away, so much so that it's entire foreleg is outstretched, exposing a bare shoulder.
I begin to feel something new in Godzilla; I'm not quite sure how to describe it exactly, but if anything, it seems like he's gotten very excited, and very satisfied at the same time.
I realize what it is he's getting excited about. We've just exposed a weak spot.
Then, something begins to grow; not the heat of an emotion, but of something else…
Suddenly, everything is lost in a burst of bright blue light, and all sound is drowned out by a furious roar, like that of a jet turbine.
It takes about fifteen seconds or so, but eventually, the blue light disappears, and everything is clear again. Having no choice, I look at a screeching and wailing Strikeout before us; the very base of its shoulder has been burned to a crisp. Bits of charcoaled flesh actually crumble off of his body.
I'm too stunned to think anything at the moment, but I do feel a brief moment of pity towards Strikeout…but any pity is shooed away by the knowledge that this thing tried to KILL me.
My grip through Godzilla's claws is still fastened on that foreleg, I realize; it's actually gone limp. Okay then, I think, maybe this would be a good time to—
Suddenly, Godzilla begins to pull, and I realize that I can't feel them anymore; he's back in control, again.
He pulls again, much harder this time, and to my shock, the arm comes right off with a sickening crack. Dark red blood showers from the wound down into the city below with the ashes of the flesh.
The air is suddenly rent in twain with Strikeout's pained howling as he stumbles around, the loss of its arm throwing it off balance. Godzilla meanwhile, casually tosses the long forelimb aside, and starts moving towards the opponent, this time out of reach of the remaining arm. In a new burst of speed, the side of Strikeout's carapace comes quickly into view, and wham! In spite of all the injuries sustained, Godzilla slams into the carapace, and this time, the creature comes falling over onto its side, crushing several buildings beneath its massive bulk. Five column-like legs flail helplessly in the air.
All I can do is watch in utter horror at the brutality of it all.
Things shift away, and I find myself looking down at Strikeout's armored, toothed head waving around in desperation, screeching and crying out while its other arm scrapes the ground.
Then, Godzilla's thick, pillar-like foot comes into view and blocks Strikeout's head before coming down hard. The squealing only increases in pitch and intensity, lasting for nearly a minute.
Then, at long last, it stops, punctuated by a nauseating crack and a harsh gurgling sound.
The foot lifts up and away, revealing a partially flattened head, the eyes crushed in, and strange-colored fluids pouring out onto the asphalt.
I want to puke my guts out, but thankfully, my view is pulled away from the gruesome sight and towards the sky. A particularly triumphant roar reverberates all around me, echoing out into the distance.
Then, I begin to feel warm again. This must be calm, isn't it? And with that, things begin to slowly fade away into darkness again…
I open my eyes, and I'm met by a blinding light. I feel something draped over me, and very quickly I realize that there's a blanket draped over me.
Somewhere, someone—or rather, a lot of someones—are cheering for some reason.
I sit up, expecting to feel a barrage of agony, but feeling nothing. If anything, I just feel groggy and worn out. I look around to see several a row of beds, some empty and some occupied, on either side of me, all contained within the dark green of a hospice tent with spotlights positioned over them.
"What in the world…?" I wonder out loud to myself. Was that whole thing a dream? Maybe it was; maybe all that pain I'd felt was from a lack of anesthetics or something…
I turn to see two people coming in from outside; a nurse holding a clipboard, and Sam. They're both talking to each other at first, but look up in surprise to see me.
"Tan!" Sam says. He runs over to the side of my bed, saying, "Tan, are you feeling alright?"
"Yeah, yeah," I answer, simply glad to see him, "What happened?"
"Well, we aren't sure," he answers, "At first we thought it was a seizure but then…" He suddenly pauses in midsentence as he looks at me.
"Sam? What's wrong?" I ask.
"I—I don't know," he says, "There's something up with…um…"
"Wrong with what?" I demand, "Tell me!"
Unable to come up with an answer, he pulls out his cellphone and hands it to me. "Look straight in the glass," he instructs.
I do so, and peer into the black mirror, careful to see what it is that's gotten him so speechless. Please don't let it be some kind of weird blemish, I pray…
I look, and at first I don't see anything. Then I find myself looking at my left eye.
That can't be my eye. Not my eye! That eye isn't the normal brown it's supposed to be; the iris has turned a fiery shade of orange-yellow, and the pupil has become a narrow slit, giving it an overall cat-like appearance…
No, that's not right. If anything, it's more like a lizard's eye.
Check out What Kaiju Strikeout looks like by following the link here!
art/Kaiju-Strikeout-508936987