BRO, I CAN'T WAIT TO SLAP THIS MILFU

A lifetime ago

In an afterlife far, far away

“So you guys built all this?”

Max asks as he stares up at the smooth black stone monolith rising in the center of the citadel Max Shell had led him too.

“No, we didn’t build this place. It was here when we got here.” Shell answers while strumming his yolkulele. There was a moment of hesitation in his voice; perhaps even trepidation. Shell knew it was a risk pulling back the curtain a little. His empathy for his fellow Max-Shard pushed Shell to his decision. “He built this place.”

There was a weight to the title or name of He. It grabs Max’s attention immediately, his eyes moving from the dark architecture to his eGG Bandit brother.

“What do you mean, he?”

Shell winces, he already regrets his decision to pull this loose plot thread.

“No, no. You’re not putting enough respect on it. It’s not just a noun or a pronoun. It’s both and immensely more. He has a name, in time, if you prove your value, He might share it with you. If you’re lucky.” there is a seriousness to Shell’s words. There is no gentle tune that accompanies these words, no extra flourish. He speaks with fearful respect, not for Kael but for whatever this entity is.

Max blinks a few times before his eyes narrow with incredulity. He remembered one how had an ego large enough to demand such a revered title.

“So the Minister did make it through, huh? Thought you said he got out?!” Max hisses through his age stained teeth.

“It’s not the Minister.” a youthful voice calls from across the vast chamber. Max’s ears burn as he recognizes it instantly. A child’s voice that had been lost to the long, hard years of his life, found once again. He turns to stare at his six year old self staring back at him.

“Well that’s three of us now. How many more of us are there here?” Max queries as the Child and Shell move to stand next to each other.

“More than you’d expect, bro.”

Max Best. The worst qualities of both the Kael and Best families, this bad penny turns up more often than he should. With triple popped collars on his #97Red polo, this one eyed, bald bastard was a Saints Row npc begging to get nuked.

“How the fuck did you manage to survive?” Kael scoffs as he watches one of his least enjoyable personalities swagger next to the other two Fragments.

“How the fuck did you manage to survive, bruh?” Best snaps back at Max while flipping double birds. Unfortunately Kael is distracted by Best’s matching golden pinky rings. Just awful. “..He will be glad you finally found him, Shell.”

Shell gives Best a sharp glare before he turns back to Kael.

“That sounds ominous.” the fragment known as Maximillian Wilhelm Kael judges.

The three fragments standing opposite him give each other shared looks before Shell sighs.

“I’m sorry Max.”

It was time to leave. Whenever you hear someone apologize after you mention how potentially dangerous a situation is, chances are good nothing positive is going to follow. Instead of asking any more questions, Max turns to run.

Running is always a great option.

CRACK!

Unfortunately for Max, running wasn’t going to be an option. He was turning to run the opposite direction from the three Fragments when he was met with a steel chair to the head.

As the world turned to darkening shadows, Max looked up to see a twisted amalgamation of man and machine. Robotic Max, from late 2019, stood over him. The monster’s burnt body wrapped in a mechanical brace while his face was obscured mostly by a specialized rebreather mask. The robotic, hissing Kaelborg stares down at his fallen brother with one, baleful blue eye.

“..Cyborg Max…”

The fallen Max Kael managed to sputter out as the world faded to darkness.

“....so cool..”

-

..Shortly after ReVival 44..

“What a crummy night..”

The Herald lamented as he sat on a stack of blue and steel boxes that PRIME production uses to move equipment around. His usual cheerful demeanor was replaced with a good old pout.

“MMckimm mmhie mm!”

Still bound and gagged in a wheelchair is Max Kael, his face red with impotent rage. He thrashes and struggles however Rose’s skill with knots ensures he’s not going anywhere. The Herald cants his head toward Max, like a dog hearing a confusing noise.

“MMCKIMM MMHIE MM!” Max once again commands. The distilled bitterness of his glare could have been an astringent poison filled with an acerbity that could kill.

This repeated command only causes the Herald’s head to snap the other direction, his eye practically going cross. After his brain fails to calculate whatever the fuck Max had said he shook his head furiously, like an etch-a-sketch being reset.

“I can’t understand a thing you’re saying, oh Wonderful and Wise Max Kael!” the Herald finally decrees before hopping down to remove Max’s gag. “Far be it for me to question you but gags make it nearly impossible to understand what you’re saying!”

With his gag removed Max merely growls in a deep, low rumbling. For a moment a feral look crosses his eyes, like a hungry wolf spotting a crippled fawn. It is good fortune for young Bentley that Max is still restrained otherwise he might have felt Kael’s fingers around his throat.

“I didn’t gag myself, that contemptible trollope Daffodil who did this to me..” sneers the INTENSE champion through clenching teeth.

“Daffodil?”

The Herald lifts a finger to his chin, his eyes stanning the ceiling. His brain works hard to remember anyone named Daffodil but fails to come up with anything.

“Or maybe her name was Daisy or Tulip? It’s a flower!” Max snaps, his fingers flexing and twitching as he continues to break free of his bindings.

“Flower? Rose? ROSE!” the Herald proclaims triumphantly, jumping to his feet as his hands plant themselves on his hips. All he was missing was fireworks and some wind to blow his half cape.

“Rose.. yessss.. That’s the one.” the Unquestionable Kael hisses, his lip twitching involuntarily, a testament to his inner rancor.

“Didn’t you hit her special friend, David Noble, in the back of the head with a package of frozen hotdogs?”

The animosity on Max’s face melts away as a smug smile spreads like covid at a Korean Death Cult get-together.

“Heh-heh..” the smile quickly vanishes as Max feigns a look of innocence. “No! That doesn’t sound like me at all. No doubt a matter of mistaken identity! Take one look at that woman and you’ll see that bitch is a misandrist!”

“What’s a misandrist?” Bently queries, quirking his eyebrow.

Max’s lip curls as he stares forward.

“Rose is. Now get me untied!” 

-

..Max’s hotel room, sometime early March..

“Where is my aunt?!”

Violent Purple shoves Max hard against the wall, her arm beneath his chin. She’s in no mood for his games, for his weird little jokes or his awkward personal admissions.

“I have no idea where Ulsa is.” he chokes out at her, feigning innocence. He tops it off by trying his best to smile a friendly smile. It works out about as well as a Great White attempting a friendly bite. This only results in Purple pushing harder, cutting off Max’s breathing as she kicks out his legs.

Slipping down onto his posterior, Max lets out a dry, gasping wrench. In his lowered position his height offers him no advantage. Instead it is Violent Purple who glowers down at Max, a cold seriousness in her eyes.

“Tell me the fucking truth. You and her both flew to Belarus two weeks ago. You came back, she didn’t.” Purple snarls before showing Max the online receipt for the plane tickets.

“Oh..erk..” the INTENSE champion gasps, his hands pulling at Purple’s arm. She relents just enough to allow him to answer the question. “..I.. I had no idea why s he went! My.. My mother is there, you know, that’s why I went!.”

Violent studies Max’s expression carefully as he stares back up at her with pleading eyes. His usual smugness was absent, replaced with fear. He could be telling the truth. Or at least he believed he was being truthful.

“Bull shit, you don’t have a mother.” Violent knees Max’s hard in the chest, driving the air out of his lungs. Max wheezes, his lungs attempting to fill with air before Purple smashes his head hard against the wall. “You’re saying you had no idea she had flown there on the same flight you did?!”

“I didn’t see her on the flight, I swear!”

There is a moment where Purple considers breaking Max’s windpipe and saving the world a lot of trouble. However his words along with his generally pitiful state seems to stay her hand.

“If I find out you lied to me, you weasley, greasy little shit..” she begins, however she doesn’t finish the threat. Instead she lets Max imagine whatever fucked up things she might visit down on someone who had crossed her.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, precious.”

“What did you say?”

Purple’s arm pressed down tight against Max’s through once again, choking him. He desperately claws at her arm.

“I’m not lying, Purple!” he gasps before she releases him. She stands up, dusting herself off before she casts a glare down at Max.

“I hope Rose beats your ass.”

She flips him off causing Max to flinch, covering his face. Violent curls her lip in disgust before walking away. If one listens carefully you might catch the esteem building word of “pathetic” muttered beneath her breath. For certain, Max heard her.

The sound of her slamming the door open to the hotel room caused the fearful facade to fall away. He pulls himself up, rubbing his neck as his brown eyes remain locked on the door Purple had left.

“She knows too much. She’s going to find her Aunt...”

He wishes he lives in a world where Violent Purple was the most dangerous person he had to answer too. Instead she is a threat to the one thing that Max fears above all right now. If she discovered what happened in Belarus, it could prove a direct threat to his plans for Cecilworth, for War Games.. For his entire PRIME career.

She could prove a problem.. For Him.

From the depth of his mind, from beyond the abyss of his own madness there is a reply.

“Deal with Rose. Leave Violent Purple to me.”

There is a malignancy to the voice that is nearly masked by a posh, aristocratic accent..

“..I will deal with her, just as I did her aunt..”

-

..Roughly two weeks ago, in Belarus..

“Speak to mother...?”

Max’s voice wavers. Sweat drips from his forehead as his blurry vision begins to focus.

He isn’t sure where he is. Why is he here..

All that rings in his head is that last command.

Speak to mother.

Blinking he starts to  recognize the room around him. It had been the facility that he had been “born” in so many months ago. Things had changed quite a bit since the last time he had been here. Months ago this facility had been acquired by the Kael Company in order to modify the work here.

There was a soft thud beneath him causing the INTENSE champion to jump to his feet. The box he had been sitting on was a MEAT? bulk container, the kind that they funneled the protein past into to be sold to communities in destitute communities.

The soft, wet sound of something burbling gurgles behind him. His eyes widen as he registers what it is.

His birth Farthington Jizz Pod, a part of Lord Farthington’s immortality project. From this thing the Questionable Kael had been flushed into this world, a new and child-like.

“I guess you’re the closest thing I’ve got to a mother? That would mean I’m in.. Belarus.”

His fingers brush against his forehead, his mind swimming through a foggy haze of mental turbulence. Spidery fingers make their way into his pockets as if on instinct. He feels something there, pulling out airline tickets and a note addressed to himself. He returns his attention to the FJP hoping his “mother” might explain things.

It squelches out another sloppy load of protein paste. Sputtering and spilling out of the pod and into a trough, it almost looks like the pod is vomiting.. A vacuum slurps the MEAT? up, dispensing it to various different containers to be shipped away or receive additional flavoring.

There is another bang from the container Max had been sitting on as more of the MEAT? is deposited inside of it.

“Never learn how the sausage gets made..” Kael says with disgust before turning his attention back to note. He unfolds it and curses beneath his breath. Whoever wrote this note did so in cursive. Really fancy fucking cursive, the kind that Max struggles to read.

“Couth dealt with. Learned too much. Will deal with this place. Return to primary objective. Deal with Cecilworth Farthington at War Games.”

Running his tongue along his lips he nods to himself. He had made his orders clear. Whatever happened here, it wasn’t his business.

Max gives the Farthington Jizz Pod one last glance, his home and the closest thing to a maternal figure. There is some distant sound, like screaming or pleading. Faint, barely discernable.

Perhaps it was just a trick of his mind?

Better just to leave it be.

And so Max turns, leaving this place with its strange noises behind forever.

-

..A mysterious clinic in northern Argentina, a few days ago..

Sutler’s eyes snap open.

The last thing he remembers is a feeling of rage and sorrow.

“..chloe..”

He wants to scream but the sound that manages to escape his lips is barely a whisper.

“Awake. Good.”

The young SRK hears an unfamiliar voice coated in some kind of foreign accent. He tries to turn his head toward the direction of the sound but he can’t. At first he thinks it’s a matter of weakness, that he lacks the strength to do so.

“Easy now, your head and neck are in a brace. You’ve had some brain trauma and damage to your spine.” the thin, wiry voice continues. German. His accent is German, Sutler realizes. “Your Father dropped you off here about over a month ago. Said you had an accident.”

His memories start to fall in place. Argentina.

Max fucking Kael.

“..accident..” Sutler struggles to speak. “.. no accident..”

The figure who had been speaking stands and moves so that he can look down at Sutler. An older man, in his 70ies or 80ies, with white hair and a severe, serious look. Despite his age his eyes were clear. Curious. Intelligent.

“Yes I suspected as much. I’m Doctor Galt. “ The old man says while examining the prone Sutler. His aged but expert fingers crawl over Sutler’s neck and shoulders as he checks the healing. “Max does have a propensity for fibbing and violence.”

Sutler doesn’t enjoy being touched against his will but he didn’t have much choice in the matter. Even if he wants this Doctor Galt to refrain from any kind of examination he was in no place physically to stop him.

The name though, Galt.

So Max had been right. There was a Doctor Galt hidden out in the vast land owned by the Kael family down in Argentina.

He remembers he’s still in fucking Argentina.

“..he.. left me?”

“I’m afraid so. Said he had business back up in the States. Given he is supposed to be dead, I didn’t argue with the man. Nothing good ever came from him. Not surprising given what he is.” Galt reflects, removing his glasses. He quietly polished the lens as he seemed to fall into a thoughtful silence.

“..a piece of shit..”

Galt laughs, the severe, grim demeanor cracking.

“That may be the case. In either case there is a ticket waiting for you in Resistencia back to Arkham. Your Father also left some money to assist you along the way. Once you’ve recovered, of course. Until then rest.” The Doctor pauses for a moment. He seems thoughtful again, mulling something over before continuing. “I’ve been in the confidence of the Kael family all my life. I was a young man when Wilhelm Kael smuggled me out of East Germany to work for him down here. After he died I worked for your aunt, Elenore. I’ve worked for Max and.. whatever else he’s been. I’m old now and I’m tired.”

Sutler’s brow furrows as he looks at Galt with intense focus. He might not be able to say much but he could hear just fine. Reaching into his pocket, Galt retrieves a silver cigarette case, a surprisingly elegant one for a man living out in the middle of northern Argentina.

“While you recover I will tell you everything I know about your father and this family. You deserve to know, especially if you plan on going back to Arkham.”

As Doctor Galt lights up a cigarette while Sutler does something he hadn’t done in some time. .

He smiles. 

–

Dear Rose the MILFU (Mother I’d Like to Fuck Up),

What have you done, Rose?

What has that misbegotten, feckless gob of goo God saw fit to bless the space between your ears with gotten you into?

I’m an understanding guy, really I am. I’m not petty, I’m almost always the bigger man. I let things go, I’m chill, cool, hip to the positive vibes, my dudes. I get that some days we just have bad brain days and we do dumb things. I’ve been watching my Brosive, Crash Jackson, close enough recently to know some of us have those days back to back sometimes.

But if I let this go, what kind of INTENSE Champion would I be?

If I let you get away with assaulting me, tying me up and dropping me off to get exsanguinated by some crazy Cossacks, what would people say?

They’d say “wow, you let Rose push you around?”. I can hear the contempt in their voices already. The kind of disappointment and disgust usually saved for the most unsavory, undesirable wretches of society.

I can’t have that.

I won’t have that.

There is a part of me that thanks you, Rose. Since I’ve been back I’ve definitely been alive. However you, Rose, are the first person to make me feel alive.

Why?

Your fucking audacity.

When Darin Zion got fired I thought I was done having to deal with piss level shits desperate to eck out some kind of credibility off my back. And they always do it outside the ring because they know they can’t get the job inside it.

David Noble clearly didn’t have what it takes to be in PRIME and your record kind of tells me the same thing. I figured after that Anglo Luchadore made you bleed, you’d learn your lesson. Color me surprised when you showed back up to lose to Don Winters AND Sage Pontiff. I’ve had a good laugh reviewing those matches.

I hear your father had a hand in your training?

Jesus Christ, I hope he’s not proud. I bet he tries to be proud. When he looks into those eyes of his daughter I bet it kills him inside that he has to settle on you. The dumb bitch who gets to explain how all the scars she earned in the wrestling ring never equated to victory.

Do you think he cries when he’s alone?

Do you think he weeps knowing that you’re the best thing his nut butter could conjure?

Speaking of which, let’s talk about Adeline. She’s so young right now, so impressionable. She’s too young to understand that dear old Mommy’s career is crumbling down around her. How well do you hide it from her?

As well as your father hiding his disappointment I hope.

How was it explaining to her why David isn’t around right now? Did she get to enjoy my artisan violence by visiting him in the hospital? I want her to be able to recognize the artist's hand when she sees what I do to you, Rose. I’m going to teach your daughter a lesson in fear and I’ll never have to see her face. She’ll never ever need to know the stench of my breath.

She’ll know me by the scars I leave in your flesh.

This didn’t need to be personal between you and I, Rose.

I’m usually such a nice guy..

But you’re just such a dumb bitch.

And now you’ve gone and made me mad.

Sincerely Go F̷̣͎̐͋̆̽̋̐ư̸̺̘̠͙̰̪̰͉͓̖̠̗̞̰̲̲̜͊͒͒́͊́͆̂̊̃̇̀̒͘̕c̸̢̱̫͚̉̂̕̕͝͠k̴̘͖̺̔̽͆͆͂̈́̀̚ Yourself,

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael

Second of his Name

Long May He Maim

(Dictated but not Read)