Tsoft Reboot

“Do you know what happened to the neanderthal, Bernard? We ate them.” - Doctor Robert Ford

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…The Arkham Embassy…

…A few days after ReVival 63…

“You’re dying, I’m afraid.”

Commander Oleg’s voice is somber as he looks over at the pile of bandages clumped up on the examination table.

“Boooo!”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“BOOOO!”

“... sir, your reaction to dying is to boo me?”

“Oh, dying? I thought you said gndyning. Dying? Is that all?” the muffled voice of Max Kael snakes out from the bandages, the tickle of mirth and arrogance dancing between his words. “Let it happen, I’ll be fine. I could use a proper regeneration anyway, I’ve had this zit for a few days that just won’t go away.”

Max’s second in command turns his eyes to the chart in his hands.

“That’s part of the problem, sir. You don’t have any more regenerations. Further more the Farthington Jizz Pod clones were never meant for long term use. The clone bodies were designed as replacement parts, with limited lifespans. Lord Farthington wasn’t keen on a clone replacing him. What, what is gndyning?.”

There is silence from the bloody bandages as Max processes what he has just heard.

“...no more Regenerations?”

“It seems not, sir. It also seems that the energy from your Regenerations has accelerated the decay of your body, compounding the issue you are currently facing. Even if we could secure you more Regenerations, it’s unlikely your body would survive.”

“How long?”

Shifting uncomfortably, Oleg feels Kael’s eyes crawling over his skin from beneath those oozing wrappings.

“Hard… hard to say for sur-”

“HOW LONG?!”

It was surprising how much force is thrown behind those two words, cutting straight through the bandages. Jumping in surprise, Oleg stares back toward the table. After a pregnant pause the Commander relents.

“A month. Maybe two depending on how much you tax what’s left of your body. There is more bad news, sir. Colonel Ratimir has rescinded his support. He recently came across a small fortune and has decided to move into politics. This has resulted in the Arkham Embassy facing immediate closure. Most of the staff have already been reassigned.”

Silence answers the Commander as he keeps his eyes on the mummified Max Kael. The Russian takes a breath before pushing forward.

“Including myself. I’m leaving tomorrow, sir. It’s been an honor. This will be goodbye.”

There is no reply from the bloodied rags. This encourages Oleg to salute the decaying shambles of Max one last time before quickly scuffling out of the recovery room. Barkova feels Max’s stare long after he’s already left the room behind him, following him through the Kael Embassy.

Just a few more hours and he will be free of this duty.

Free of this place.

Free of this dying mad man.

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…The Arkham Embassy…

…later that night…

Max stews in his own rot. He can feel his flesh dying, his organs failing, each cell dying one by one.

Dying?

How could Max Kael die? That’s what boring people do, fucking die.

He had so much to live for! So much left to do!

The former Commissar of the Red Army struggles to sit up and is met with failure, his body betraying him in his weakened state. Pain crackles through his spine causing him to clench his teeth as tight as he can muster.

He had managed to cheat death for almost two years only to find the reaper's cold hand creeping around his throat ready to clench it closed for the last time.

“It’s not fair, is it?”

An unfamiliar voice asks from the darkness of his room. Wide eyes swivel toward the shadows this unknown voice calls from.

“Who’s that?! Did Alexei send you to finish the job? Well the jokes on you, I’m melting into a genetic pudding so puttin’ the final murder on me would be a mercy!” Kael hisses from his pile of rags. Another thought enters his moldering brain. “Also we’re on a sub-level and Russians have a preference for windows, right?.”

A dry chuckle meets Max’s words. Stepping from the darkness comes a man wearing a brown cardigan over a white collar shirt. Long light brown slacks led down to two expensive looking leather loafers. He might have seemed like a father straight out of the 1950ies if it wasn’t for his face.

Or rather his lack of face as no particular feature was ever completely in focus. All Max could tell for certain was that a tilted white panama jack hat sat atop his head. .

“You’re a weird guy, Max. I can see why they took an interest in you.” The unknown man’s voice started out raspy but ended each word like a delicious purr. It was both unpleasant and hypnotic at the same time causing a great hypocrisy in Max’s head. “My name is Snark Darkly.”

“Snark… Darkly?” Max snarfles.

“You’re laughing at me? Isn’t your last name a leafy cruciferous vegetable?”

“No, that’s kale.”

“Spoken language is so… nuanced. You’ve got to know how it sounds and spelled, plus the inference based on the rest of the sentence. So messy. So open to interpretation.”

The words pour out of Darkly’s face as Max focuses on where Darkly’s mouth should be. He swears he can see a smile, wide and with too many teeth jammed together haphazardly.

“Yeah, that’s not really putting me at ease right now.”

“Was I supposed to? I’m new to these kinds of interactions, I just got here a few moments ago. I’m actually here to help you with your… situation.”

Max perks up.

“Can you stop this body from falling apart?”

Taking a few steps closer, Max can’t percieve Snark’s eyes but he feels them looking over him just the same.

“...eeeh. No, there isn’t much that can be done for that meat suit you’ve got on there. But I can give you something better.” The words push through dozens of pearly white teeth.

Beneath the bloodied rags Max narrows his eyes incredulously.

“What’s better?”

Snark takes another step forward, his hands tucking neatly into his pockets of his brown slacks.

“A new body, something fresh and full of vigor. Consider it like a soft reboot”

Max’s eyes widen as Darkly’s nebulous face solidifies into a coherent vision at last. Pock scarred flesh pulled tight over a round face that bore a cheerful expression. Waxen, pale skin flushes red with life as a pair of blue eyes settle into formerly darkened sockets.

“... but there is a cost, Mr. Kael.”

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…The Arkham Embassy…

…the following day…

“[He’s requests you see him before you leave.]” the stern-faced Russian soldier relays to Commander Oleg.

Barkova sighs, staring down at his packed bags. He was so close to being free of this place, of that man.

“[Thank you, soldier.]” Oleg replies. “[You’re dismissed.]”

He was so close to escaping this nightmare of an assignment. What had first seemed like it could be an interesting and fun endeavor had turned into a twisted, demented operation working for a madman.

Thankfully in a few hours it would be over and he’d be back with his family, far, far away from Arkham and this soon to be shuttered embassy. Checking his bags one last time, Barkova called his family and, deciding he couldn’t put off the final meeting with his former boss, he made his way down to the medical room. His steps take him down briskly, his mind already looking forward to the warm faces of his children and his loving wife.

Approaching the doors to the medical room he is met with a foul scent, malignant and full of rotten decay. Pausing before the two doors Oleg takes in a deep breath before pushing his way through.

He is met with naught but silence, all the various pieces of equipment that was being used to stabilize the former Commissar of the Red Army lay quiet and unmoving. Where once Max Kael’s broken body once lay wrapped in bloody rags was now a pile of shredded bandages.

“Kael?” Oleg’s voice filled the silence as he took a step toward the table.

Though Max’s body was gone there was something hidden in that lump of bloodied cloth. Despite the urge to turn and leave, curiosity grasps at Oleg’s chest. He takes another step forward, his hand outstretched as he pushes away the rags. Pushing the bloodied bandages aside Oleg reveals a leathery, oozing egg, a thing unlike anything his eyes had looked upon before.

“What the fuck…”

Four fleshy petals unfold from the top with a wet, slippery sound. The gooey contents of the egg churn and burble in a slippery way.

Before Oleg can fully comprehend what is happening the thing buried deep in this noxious egg explodes forth. Eight finger-like appendages wrap themselves aggressively around Oleg’s face with enough force to drive the commander hard to the floor. .

From the shadows of the room Snark Darkly watches while Oleg’s body twitches violently on the floor. After a few moments his body goes still, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. From the shadows Snark Darkly watches while working his way through a book of crossword puzzles.

“We’ll see you soon, Mr. Kael.”

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…Flight 232 to Moscow…

…a few hours and a tense change later…

Oleg awoke on the floor of the medical room several hours after stumbling across that grotesquerie of an egg. However there was no lingering evidence of it, or the bloodied rags or his former boss, Max Kael. Case in point, the room itself was sterile, as if it had been cleaned top to bottom while he was unconscious.

Or perhaps none of it ever happened at all?

Just another lingering nightmare courtesy of the Arkham Embassy.

In either case the Commander decided to make quick his escape, gathering his bags before heading out of the embassy as fast as he could manage. He was joined by the last remaining Russian soldiers stationed there, each of them happy to be free of that unnerving place.

As the left Oleg had given the converted old manor one final glance. He wasn’t sure but somehow he felt the Arkham Embassy was… smiling. No, not smiling, that’s too friendly a term.

It was snarling. Snarling a goodbye, hissing a farewell, promising that even though Oleg and the Russian soldiers that it would remain long after they all died..

He shook the sensation off as they made their way to the airport. It took about an hour to leave Miskatonic county and reach the Boston airport. From there is a simple matter of boarding Flight 232 for Moscow.

As soon as the flight had taken to the air, Oleg fell that lingering dread abait. His shoulders relaxed, his breathing eased and he looked forward to returning to his country. He was finally free of Max Kael and the Arkham Embassy.

“[Commander, you’re looking pale.]” A rugged soldier to his left noted with a frown.

“[I’ve been under a lot of stress, comrade, I’m sure it’s taken a toll.]” Oleg jokes though he noticed a cold sweat has started to form like a sickly film across his forehead. “[I just need some rest.]”

He would need more than that unfortunately. Oleg let his eyes close and that simmering sickness fell to the back of his mind. He turned his thoughts to his family allowing their memory to help him drift off to slumber.

About six hours later he was suddenly jolted back away by a sharp pain in his chest.

At first Oleg thought it was some kind of heart condition, the pain coming and going in a rhythmic pattern, each palpitation more painful than the last. Much to Barkova’s horror he realized that it wasn’t his heart but rather something within him trying to breach his chest.

“[Commander?]” That same soldier that sat next to him stared wide-eyed at Oleg.

“[...there’s..something.. Inside..]”

The words came painfully as Commander Oleg clawed at his uniform, clawing at it in desperation. The sound of meat ripping and bones cracking filled the cabin as the other soldiers began screaming while trying to put what meager distance they could between themselves and the Commander.

Oleg’s pained screams join the sound of his body being ripped apart from the inside before blood and bone shards explode from his chest. His movements stop as something insidious and serpentine slithers free from the gaping hole in his chest.

Something with the grinning face of Max Kael.

From there Flight 232 faded into mystery, its signal vanishing somewhere over the Baltic Sea with no survivors, no black box.

Nothing but a final radio broadcast that left officials in Moscow… disturbed.

“Heh-heh.”

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…St. Petersburg…

…Several weeks later…

“These are some real fiiiiine shiny teeth, Darkly.” Max spreads his lips into a wide grin so that he can get a better look at his new metallic teeth. “Though I’ll miss the gold ones.”

“Gold is soft, Mr. Kael. These will hold up much better, methinks.” Snark replies cheerfully.

“You know, when you said you could give me a new lease on life, I didn’t really believe you but these last few weeks? Growing from some kind of cosmic worm-parasite into my old glorious self, it’s been a real experience! Heh-heh.”

Flexing, he could feel the raw power and untapped potential running through his new body.

“Glad you approve, Mr. Kael. It’s taken a few weeks but I think it is safe to say that you’ve fully recovered from your near death experience and evolved into something new.”

“New and beautiful you mean.” chortles Max as he examines himself in the mirror more closely.

“Yes, though I think it’s time we move forward with my plan.”

“Our plan” Max snaps back.

“Our plan, of course Mr. Kael. Now I know you were making inroads with the local, shall we say, disreputable denizens of the Russian underworld while you were still with the Red Army. Those contacts will help in reaching our goal but in truth we need you back in PRIME.”

Sighing, Max runs his fingers across his pencil mustache, a sneer threatening to break his smile.

“Oh PRIME, I had almost forgotten. You’re absolutely positive a return to PRIME is necessary? Things have gotten… complicated with that particular puppet show, you know?”

Snark Darkly chuckles to himself, his comfy leather loafers scraping across the floor as he drags his feet toward his client.

“It is absolutely necessary Mr. Kael, one hundred and twenty percent. Besides, think of all the fun we’ll have? Here, look.”

Reaching into his pocket retrieving a folded piece of paper which he holds out to Max. Kael stares down at the paper and back up at Darkly before greedily snatching it from his hands.

“What is it? A party invitation? I love party invitations!”

“Something like that. A missive from Troy and PRIME management. I’ve secured your original Segment One slot on ReVival and the name of your first opponent upon your return. You’ll see the poor saps name near the bottom and I think you’ll approve.”

The Lord of Kaelsalvania glares at the paper he’s been given before those manic, wild eyes fall upon the name he has been searching for. His grin stretches wider, those dark metallic teeth glint and shine as gossamer strands of saliva drip from them.

“...heh-heh… Tsonda..”

“No easy opponent but I am confident you’ll find your way through this challenge, Mr. Kael.”

“Oh true that, Darkly, truuuue that. But…”

Max crumbles up the paper, discarding it before he looks back up at his new body, muscles rippling with an alien strength.

“I’ve got a little business to attend to before we get started.”

☠️☠️☠️☠️

Gone for a few months and the damn Glue Boys take over EVERYTHING.

When the cat's away, the mice will play as they say. That’s an issue I’ll have to deal with later but for right now, there is only one name on my mind. 

Well actually there are two but we’ll get to the second name in the last act of this little story. Shhh, no spoilers. Instead let us talk about the first name, the one that matters as far as my destiny at ReVival 66 stands. 

Chandler Tsonda, the Model Citizen, the Sultan of Style, the silent T-posing Viet Viper from San Diego. You know, there is a lot to like about you Tsonda, or that’s what I’ve heard at least. You’re perfect for me in ways but not in the way you probably think.

Why?

Cause you’re a hero. And nothing brings me greater joy than ruining a good hero on live TV. In front of all those impressionable little PRIME fans, absolutely delicious. See the world is a right ball of shit, I think you and I can both agree with that. And I’ve learned that I don’t feel good by trying to make the world better, that shit is for the dogs. No, no, I feel better by indulging in my own wants and desires. 

And my wants and desires are fairly simple! I love to cause pain, misery and disappointment. Hell, you should ask my own father, he’ll tell you all about what a disappointment I am, heh-heh. You know the trouble with PRIME is that it just doesn’t have the dedicated monsters that it once did. 

You’re a delightfully wonderful fellow compared to most of the folks in PRIME, and I want to celebrate that with the beautiful gift of violence and maiming! You’re just so grounded in reality and if I’ve learned anything about reality from Fred Dick, it’s a real fuckin’ drag. Me, I’m more of a maniacal whimsy sort, a fairy godfather of madness and destruction!  You’re gonna learn why I am the number one uplifting force in PRIME, buckaroo. And once our dance is done, when I deem the time is right, I’ll take your head with the Madame Guillotine in front of all those screaming fans.

A quick snap, a pop and off with your head!

God, nothing gets me harder than imagining the fall of a hero. 

Also I sing and dance a hell of a lot better than you.

That’s not shade, it’s just the truth! 

So buck up, Stupidstar!

You’re just the first Tstepping Tstone on my path to greater glory.

☠️☠️☠️☠️

…A Trendy Coffee Shop In Canada…

…A few days before ReVival 66…

Max nervously runs his hands through his freshly trimmed hair while staring at the doors to the artisan coffee shop. Gone was the crimson suit replaced with his traditional black three piece suit. Instead of a tie the Prime Minister of Maxopotamia had decided to wear a black bowtie with a few flecks of silver that matched the shine of his new teeth.

“Alright, Max, just take a deep breath and walk in. What’s the worst thing that can happen?” he attempted to reassure himself, unsuccessfully.

Spring was slowly breaking the Canadian Winter’s grasp on Edmonton and you could smell fresh life on the wind. Small lumps of dirty brown snow still huddled along the sides of the streets where the warmth of the sun was hard pressed to reach.

“Just… Just walk in. It will be fine. We’re only ten minutes early, that’s not too early right? They’re probably not even here yet. You’re all worked up over nothing.”

Taking his first steps forward, Max wills himself through the doors and into the coffee shop. His senses are immediately assaulted by the bitter roast scent of coffee and fresh baked goods.. The shop is busy but not overly so, the perfect place to meet up for a quiet cup.

*ding*

A soft alert from his phone quickly draws Max’s attention, pulling it out of his pocket to read the message.

“Shit. He’s already here.”

Swallowing hard his eyes, lacking in their normal wild abandon, quickly scan the room. It doesn’t take long for them to fall upon the man he’s here to meet.

“Alright Max, just… just act normal.” he mutters to himself as if those words have ever applied to him. Running his tongue across his silver teeth, Max puts on his finest smile and strides forward with all the bravado he can muster.

Sauntering forth Max reaches the destined table, adjusting his bowtie while taking a seat. His eyes meet the man on the other side of the table as a soft smile touches the corners of Max’s lips.

“I didn’t think you’d come but I’m glad you did.” Kael chitters gleefully, not quite able to hide his nervous joy.

He winks, or perhaps blinks out of order, at the PRIME Universal Champion.

“Cecilworth.”