1997

He kept his grip firm on his bat, holding up above his head. He was just out of sight behind the alley corner, and the grocery store was a block away.

He had tried snatching from it once, no good, the bigguns weren't sleepy enough to steal from. Greedy dumbheads, they should just let him have what he wants and maybe he won't bash their fingers in. He was hungry.

There were footsteps coming around the corner, he could hear them. Step, step, step. He tightened his grip on Bat and readied a swing.

Step, step, step.

He swung.

Bat smashed into the knees of the biggun that just turned the corner. The big fatty fell forwards and started to yell. That wouldn't be good. He swung again as fast as he could against the back of the biggun's bald head.

The biggun slammed into the road and stopped moving. He stared at it for a bit, swallowing down some spit. Biggun wasn't moving anymore.

Quickly he grabbed the biggun by his shirt and tried his best to drag him into the alley, snatching the bag he had with him. This biggun didn't even try, he deserved what he had coming to him. Stupid greedy bigguns and their stupid stuff, if they shared he wouldn't have to smash them.

Finally hefting the biggun over to behind the trash-box he opened up the bag he had with him. He grinned when he found the jackpot.

A pre-packaged sandwich. Kicking the biggun to be fully out of sight from the road, he plopped down and quickly dug into his meal.

He grimaced when he tasted the yucky yellow stuff. Stupid biggun grabbed a bad sandwich. He chewed as quickly as he could before moving onto the other stuff.

Biggun had another sandwich, which was quickly stuffed into his backpack. He also had a cool flippy-knife, some green, and a card. He narrowed his eyes at it, flipping it over to inspect it.

It had a picture of some guy's face on it, he had a blue hat on and a white shirt. He frowned when he saw the letters and slowly puzzled them out.

M-E-T-S, that was a 'mmm-eee-tee-suh' right? Mehtesuh?

T-O-M, 'tee-ooh-mmm' Teohm.

S-E-A-V-E-R… and P-I-T-C-H-E-R…

He frowned and decided to waste time thinking about it later. Those were big words, he would figure it out when he was back in the fort. He stuffed it in his pocket and almost went back to pilfering.

There was a foot step at the entrance of the alley. He jerked into ready, hefting his bat above his head and wheeling to face whatever was there.

He glared at the stupid kid at the entrance.

"Frag off, this 'uns mine." He demanded. The kid raised his hands protectively.

"Woah woah woah. Not trying to snatch nuthin'! I swears!"

"Then frag off." He didn't look away from the scrawny looking one. The scrawny ones were always the most dangerous. Once you look away they pounce on you. The scrawny one stayed there, stepping in from the road once and crouching. Scrawny looked at him and tilted his head.

"...You on your own, Bats?"

He spit on the ground to the side at the sudden nickname. "Whadda bout it scrawny?"

Scrawny tilted his head. "How long?"

"Year er two."

Scrawny's eyes widened up. "What! How've you gotten away from tha snatchers?!"

He glared and stood up, pointing Bat at the kid. "By not yellin' like a biggun!"

Scrawny flinched. "Ah, right, sorry 'bout that."

He didn't bother listening anymore, he slowly went around the edge of the alley, far from scrawny and towards the entrance. He stepped out and started down the road, acting like he hadn't done nuthin'

He heard footsteps behind him and wheeled around to swing at thin air. Scrawny was behind him aways. He glared.

"Frag off dumbhead!"

Scrawny flinched back, before gulping and replying. "I don't gots nobody! Last kids I was with got snatched! Please let me follow ya!"

"Frag off."

"Please! I can help!"

"No you can't."

"Yuh-huh!"

"Nuh-uh."

This went on for several minutes. Finally he lost patience while walking along.

"Fragging fine! Crybaby dumbhead!" He yelled back at the stupid kid still following him.

"Yes! I won't let ya down boss I swears!"

He doubted that a lot. He glared at nothing for a few moments while the kid followed him.

"...What's yer name, scrawny?" He demanded.

"Sam-an-tha." The kid slowly enunciated. He'd never heard of a boy with that name.

"Stupid name." He replied, scrawny glared at him and stuck out a tongue.

"Oh yeah!? What's your name then, huh?" Kid demanded.

He thought about it for a minute, deciding to mess with this kid instead.

"Bats." He said, repeating the nickname from earlier. He grinned at the cry of frustration. He pulled his hands into his jacket, it was cold out.

2000

He slowly stopped walking in front of the giant poster on the window of the comic shop. It was old Curt's place, and it looked as old as it always had. The sign was new though.

He fingered the change in his pocket. A couple of quarters, enough to buy a single comic. He got it from scrounging around town all day. Finding change in good places was just about all he did these days. Normally he spent them on the guitar lessons.

Travis across the street let him fiddle with an old guitar, fifteen minutes per dollar. He liked playing the guitar. Mom said his old man could play, and that he was a cool guy. He wanted to be a cool guy too.

He adjusted his ballcap, wiping a bit of sweat away from the hot day. Mom wasn't done with her maid work yet today, so there wasn't any point in heading home quite yet. Most of his time would be spent on finding change for lessons and comics, he liked both after all.

He narrowed his eyes at the sign.

He walked into the store, the little bell on top ringing as he did. There was old Curt at the counter, looking up quickly when he walked in.

"Oh, Johnny-boy, here for another issue?" Old Curt was a cool guy, he let him stay inside and read in the back when it got real hot outside.

"Thinkin' 'bout it, yeah. Say, Old Curt, what's that sign out front for?" He asked.

Old Curt furrowed his brow a bit. "Oh that? That's nothing you'd be interested in probably."

"Yeah, but what is it?"

Curt sighed and adjusted his glasses. "A couple of boys from the army came round earlier, and had papers saying I had to put up the sign they had with 'em. They were nice enough boys, but orders are orders they said."

Old Curt huffed. "We'd never have this kinda thing when Johnson was president, good old Texas man he was. He knew what it was all about."

"The army? Like G.I. Joes?" He asked again, placing his chin on the counter.

Old Curt reached over and ruffled his hair. "Yeah Johnny, like G.I. Joe. Army goes around fighting the good fight against the commies, but sometimes does some right irritatin' stuff to get it done."

"That's what the sign's for?"

"Well yeah, but like I said, don't worry about it none Johnny. You're too young to join the army." Old Curt grinned, revealing his missing teeth. "How bout I get you a G.I. Joe? This one's on the house."

Soon enough he was walking out of the door, waving Old Curt goodbye. He stopped outside the door and looked at the sign again, taking it in.

There was a picture of a man with a silver metal arm, holding a big gun and shooting at something outside of the picture. He was tall and strong, and was wearing green pants.

JOIN THE

CYBER-GRUNT

ARMY PROGRAM

SOLDIER OF

TOMORROW!

He looked at it again for a long moment, before looking down at the G.I. Joe comic book in his hands. He put it in his backpack and ran back home as fast as he could.

2002

He hissed as he jammed the needle into his thigh, feeling the stims run through his veins almost immediately. He never liked the feeling, but it was worth it every time he needed to smash a few dozen motherfuckers

He certainly needed to today. He ignored the sounds of gunshots for now, feeling the pain disappear under a washing tide of invincibility. He wasn't actually unstoppable right now, but he was way closer than these fuckers were.

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathed in and out, and then opened them.

Sam had already taken the younger kids off, running through the old sewer system to get away from this whole thing. His job was to beat these suits into paste and then join up with them later. Not through the same door though.

He straightened up and walked over to the entrance, grabbing the massive bookcase they used to hide the grate and dragging it over in front once more. He walked over to the table, grabbed his trusty bat, a few pills, and shrugged on the tough jacket. He popped a few powercandies in his mouth as he slowly peaked through the doorway.

Nothing there for right now, boots in the distance, firing had stopped. They had finished killing his older boys then. Didn't really matter, they did their job, and didn't have to worry about what came next. Selfish assholes, always dipping out of the hard work, leaving it to him.

He pushed out of the door and started sprinting, aware of each little sound he was making. He could hear his own blood in his ears. That was a pain in the ass, because he needed to hear the suits.

…oh he heard them alright.

He jumped over the balcony that led into some sorta ticketbooth place. He grinned when he saw the squad of four at the bottom.

His feet crashed into the face of one, sending the fucker to the ground with a hard crack, face-first. Kicking off that fucker, he swung his big stick of metal, feeling a satisfying crash of another visored helmet smashing in.

He grunted in dulled pain as something exploded in his side. He threw himself back and twisted, smashing another fucker's face in. The last one shot at him, but he grabbed the third's collar and threw the body in the way. The bullets ripped through thirdie's and painted him in gore.

A moment later, he bashed another skull in, and the last fell.

He popped another powercandy, stole the biggest gun, and shot each one once. His side was starting to be painted with his own blood. He heard movement, and gunned down another grunt coming round the corner, moving as his buddies threw a grenade at him.

He managed to get thirteen of the fuckers before they finally had him pinned, thrashing under the weight of two soldiers.

He one without a helmet looked around, taking a fat drag of his cigarette. He grinned down at him. He had a glowing eye and a metal grin.

He hated that grin.

"What's your name, kid?" The boot asked.

He tried to curse something out, but his tongue wasn't working anymore. His vision was getting blurry. He was running outta blood. He needed another candy.

"Can't answer, Slugger?" The boot looked at one of the corpses of his own men, and its caved-in skull. "No, not Slugger…"

Boot grinned in a mean way and blew out a cloud of smoke. "I think Smasher works better here, don't you?"

He didn't respond.

He was already unconscious.

2004

They marched through the dusty hills, their squad covering the flanks of two others, who themselves were covering for two more each. A veritable platoon of soldiers with fancy new prosthetic eyes and exo-skeletons. A few of them had their legs replaced by robot limbs, a bit bulkier and slower than normal, but they could still carry a gun.

They could still fight.

Johnny was really happy for these fancy exo-skeletons, even if the neck-cable constantly itched. He was smaller and skinnier than any guy here, so without one he wouldn't be able to keep up. The march wasn't too long from the drop-off point, just a few miles.

Any second now they'd be seeing the base for the commies, backed by druglord money. They were going to go in, raze the place, and kill another dozen commies in the process. Good old clean business.

Robert was by his side, a nice guy that helped him get used to the frame when he first signed up. He was thirty or something, and the field officer.

They crossed over the hill, and saw the buildings down in the valley.

That must be the communist base!

Robert paused as he looked at it. His brow furrowed as he pulled out his radio, compass, and clock. He checked the time traveled and where they were supposed to be.

"Command, we came across a few buildings. Wanted to confirm that this was the base you wanted us to take out." He recited the supposed grid coordinates. The rest of the soldiers to their flanks listened in on the channel, ready to enact the orders as Robert gave them. Chain of command and all that.

"...confirmed, that is the location of the hostile Nicaragua stronghold. You are cleared to carry out the mission…"

Robert glared at the place for a moment, before muttering out loud. "Thought so…"

After a moment, he yelled out. "Everyone switch to channel fifteen!" An unused channel, why?

"What's wrong, officer?" Johnny asked, pushing his helmet up on his head. He made sure to use the title, as he was supposed to on the job.

Robert muttered low. "Those ain't no goddamn hostiles. Those are civvies."

…What…?

But command told them that…

…What about the last three commie bases…?

Robert brought up the radio and announced over it. "Men of the thirty-second! It is as our fears confirm! We are not here to fight communists after all! We have been sent here to play out Vietnam round two!"

There were angry yells and mutters all throughout the line. Johnny struggled to follow what was going on. He was beginning to feel sick.

Robert continued. "Now I don't know about any of you, but I'm not feeling up for another bout of killing un-gunned civvies and feeling a mite bit mad at the suits that told us they were terrorists!"

There were yells now. Robert pulled out his handgun and aimed it behind him, shooting Stevens in the chest. Johnny threw himself back, almost pulling out his gun and aiming it at Robert.

He was about to exclaim, but then heard the shooting going on around him. Whipping around, he saw everyone around him kill one member of each squad.

What was going on!?

"Sorry about that kid. Stevens was CIA, as were the rest of em." Robert muttered to him. "They were gonna report back that we were deserting."

"We're deserting?!" He exclaimed.

"You wanna kill more civvies?" Robert asked, voice low and hard. He swallowed and quickly shook his head. Robert's eyes softened a tad, and he grimly nodded.

"No way we're getting out of this one without it kid. Buckle up, it's a long way back to America now."

Johnny, aged fifteen, clutched his rifle and looked at the corpse of Stevens. He had seen bodies before but they were all…

…none of them were commies, were they?

He threw up.

2005

He raced over the dusty hill, far ahead of any of the half-wits that might slow him down.

Command said that they were going to raze this place tomorrow, why bother waiting? He'd just go ahead and do it today instead. He leapt over the mound and began to slide down the side of the cliff into the rainforest-like valley below.

He threw down his fancy night-vision goggles as he did so, ignoring the shouting over the radio for him to get back to base right this goddamn second lest he compromise the operation.

Please, he was the best cybergrunt they had, he could do this alone faster and cheaper than deploying the whole band.

He finally reached the bottom of the cliff, rolling once to behind a well and injecting himself with a dose of combat stim. He grinned as he unclipped a grenade.

He got up and started running forwards, throwing a grenade through each window as he passed.

Explosions rang out in the night, screams and shouts.

He gunned down the first fucker who peaked around a corner with a puny little submachinegun. Then the second, then the third.

It took the rest of the company half an hour to catch up.

They found him sitting in the center of town, fifty four bodies stacked up.

He grinned as they approached, guns pointed at him. "What took you fuckers so long, huh? You missed out on all the fun!"

They didn't find his humor very funny, it seemed. Geh, those fuckers had sticks up their asses anyways.

Field Commander stomped forwards, face burning red as he started screaming at him. He frowned, couldn't they get a better commander, this one worried about the little shit too much.