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Raging Bull ran. He wasn't exactly sure where he was running. Sometimes it was an urban area like Angel Falls and others it was a rural setting like he grew up in. Still, it made enough sense that he didn't question it.

There was a sink floating in front of him. No matter where he went, it stayed there. Which was good, because he had to wash his hands. They were very dirty, but no matter how much he washed them, they wouldn't get clean.

He was fleeing from a black and red clad figure. He thought it may have the Fourth Reich soldier that he killed, but he wasn't sure. When he looked back, he never could get a clear look at the figure. He just knew that he had to get away from it.

In the sky above him was an UFO. He knew that the inhabitant of the craft was the one who was responsible for all of this, and yet he still wanted to please that being.

So he ran, washing his hands as he did so. And the black and red figure got closer. And closer. And closer. And…

Gordon Martin sat up in his bed with a gasp. Although the air conditioning was on, he was still sweating. This wasn't the first time he had that dream. He wished he knew more so he could figure out what if anything the dream was trying to tell him. He pushed the silk sheets off of him and swung his legs over the side of the king sized bed he had recently bought. He took a deep breath through his nose and instantly regretted it. No matter how many times he had the room cleaned, he could still swear he smelled the cinnamon and sugary scent of Rosalind's perfume.

He glanced over at the clock and saw it was a little past three in the morning. Figuring he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, he got up and put on one of his snorting bull T-shirt and a part of loose fitting jeans. He walked out of his bedroom into his living room, which was filled with leather furniture, a 60" inch flat screen TV, and multiple gaming systems. He had taken the Occupant's advice and begun spending more of what he was paid on himself. Although he still sent some money to his parents, it was only ten percent of what he was sending before. Still, for all of the new things he bought him, he wasn't any happier than before. The things were just that, things. He`d bought them just to spend the money and fill his apartment. The thing he cared the most for was still his well-read copy of the Princess Bride.

He sighed, and made his way to the door. Locking it behind him, he headed out, getting annoyed and therefore larger as he did. He figured he might as well head over to the Angel Falls Hotel and hang out there until it was time for him to accompany the collection crews on their runs. That`s what he did most of the day while the Occupant, or more precisely Samuel Robert, worked at his cover job at City Hall. Of all the members of the Canadian Syndicate, only he, the World`s Wickedest Weed, and Needless knew that, since they were the ones the Occupant trusted the most. On the collection routes, he mostly just stood around looking intimidating and protected the other gang members. It wasn`t exactly what he wanted to do, but the Occupant thought he was a good fit in that role when he wasn`t serving as the telepath's bodyguard. He was glad that no one resisted paying the protection money anymore. He didn`t like hurting people, no matter how much the Occupant justified it by saying that it was all part of the job and that the store owners shouldn't resist paying for protection. But he accepted it. After all, the Occupant was smarter than him and he knew what was best.

As he turned down the street that the Hotel was on, he passed by the lamp post where he had killed the Fourth Reich soldier. He deliberately looked away, trying not to remember what happened. As he continued up the street, he saw Cyborg Mikey relaxing on a set of steps a few buildings down from the Hotel. The cyborg looked over at Raging Bull and asked, "Can't sleep?"

Gordon stopped and replied, "Yeah. I'm heading over to the Hotel to hang out for a while."

Mikey shook his head. "There's no point in that. There's only potheads there this time of night, and they ain't good company. You might just as well hang here with me," he said as he slid over.

Raging Bull shrugged and said, "Sounds OK." He took a seat on the poured concrete besides the other young man. Mikey was larger than he was now in his annoyed state, although if he was angry, they'd be the same size.

The two of them sat there, watching the occasional vehicle drive pass, and then Raging Bull asked, "Do you ever feel bad about the things we do?"

Mikey looked over at him like he was crazy. "Why should I? There's nothing really wrong with what we do. The strong take from the weak, that's the way of the world. I mean, when I was younger, I was a shrimp, just a little bigger than you when you're not angry, and I got saddled with a name like Michelangelo to boot. People pushed me around a lot, so eventually I decided to push back. I joined a crew to back me up, and then no one messed with me. When I heard the Syndicate was recruiting, I joined up 'cause they were the baddest crew out there. That got me respect, and man, that ain't ever bad. 'Course, I didn't care much when that Nazi bitch took off my limbs and junk," he continued as he rapped his groin, "But the Occupant got me fixed up with these cybernetics, and now no one will definitely mess with me. Plus, I get good money and the chance to beat the swastikas off as many Nazi wannabes as I can lay my hands on. There's nothing to feel bad about, you see?"

Raging Bull nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think I do." What Mikey just said was a lot like what the Occupant had explained to him: might makes right.

"Good," Mikey said as he stood up. "Anyways, I think I'm going to head home. Take care."

"Yeah, you too," Gordon replied. As the cyborg walked away, Gordon turned back to his thoughts and considered the options of what he could do. He could return to his family's farm, but that would mean he would be returning to the state the Occupant found him in: an outcast who was afraid of himself. Or he could strike out on his own, but he knew he wasn't savvy enough for that to last very long.

No, the best option he had was to accept that his was now his life. It's not want he wanted, but he guessed he had change himself to suit it, to be what the Occupant wanted him to be. After all, he saw no way his life was going to change.
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A story set in

Picture by

Rosalind is property of

the Fourth Reich is property of

Rgaing Bull, the Occupant, Cyborg Mikey, and the Canadian Syndicate are all property of

Description
Raging Bull ran. He wasn't exactly sure where he was running. Sometimes it was an urban area like Angel Falls and others it was a rural setting like he grew up in. Still, it made enough sense that he didn't question it.

There was a sink floating in front of him. No matter where he went, it stayed there. Which was good, because he had to wash his hands. They were very dirty, but no matter how much he washed them, they wouldn't get clean.

He was fleeing from a black and red clad figure. He thought it may have the Fourth Reich soldier that he killed, but he wasn't sure. When he looked back, he never could get a clear look at the figure. He just knew that he had to get away from it.

In the sky above him was an UFO. He knew that the inhabitant of the craft was the one who was responsible for all of this, and yet he still wanted to please that being.

So he ran, washing his hands as he did so. And the black and red figure got closer. And closer. And closer. And…

Gordon Martin sat up in his bed with a gasp. Although the air conditioning was on, he was still sweating. This wasn't the first time he had that dream. He wished he knew more so he could figure out what if anything the dream was trying to tell him. He pushed the silk sheets off of him and swung his legs over the side of the king sized bed he had recently bought. He took a deep breath through his nose and instantly regretted it. No matter how many times he had the room cleaned, he could still swear he smelled the cinnamon and sugary scent of Rosalind's perfume.

He glanced over at the clock and saw it was a little past three in the morning. Figuring he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, he got up and put on one of his snorting bull T-shirt and a part of loose fitting jeans. He walked out of his bedroom into his living room, which was filled with leather furniture, a 60" inch flat screen TV, and multiple gaming systems. He had taken the Occupant's advice and begun spending more of what he was paid on himself. Although he still sent some money to his parents, it was only ten percent of what he was sending before. Still, for all of the new things he bought him, he wasn't any happier than before. The things were just that, things. He`d bought them just to spend the money and fill his apartment. The thing he cared the most for was still his well-read copy of the Princess Bride.

He sighed, and made his way to the door. Locking it behind him, he headed out, getting annoyed and therefore larger as he did. He figured he might as well head over to the Angel Falls Hotel and hang out there until it was time for him to accompany the collection crews on their runs. That`s what he did most of the day while the Occupant, or more precisely Samuel Robert, worked at his cover job at City Hall. Of all the members of the Canadian Syndicate, only he, the World`s Wickedest Weed, and Needless knew that, since they were the ones the Occupant trusted the most. On the collection routes, he mostly just stood around looking intimidating and protected the other gang members. It wasn`t exactly what he wanted to do, but the Occupant thought he was a good fit in that role when he wasn`t serving as the telepath's bodyguard. He was glad that no one resisted paying the protection money anymore. He didn`t like hurting people, no matter how much the Occupant justified it by saying that it was all part of the job and that the store owners shouldn't resist paying for protection. But he accepted it. After all, the Occupant was smarter than him and he knew what was best.

As he turned down the street that the Hotel was on, he passed by the lamp post where he had killed the Fourth Reich soldier. He deliberately looked away, trying not to remember what happened. As he continued up the street, he saw Cyborg Mikey relaxing on a set of steps a few buildings down from the Hotel. The cyborg looked over at Raging Bull and asked, "Can't sleep?"

Gordon stopped and replied, "Yeah. I'm heading over to the Hotel to hang out for a while."

Mikey shook his head. "There's no point in that. There's only potheads there this time of night, and they ain't good company. You might just as well hang here with me," he said as he slid over.

Raging Bull shrugged and said, "Sounds OK." He took a seat on the poured concrete besides the other young man. Mikey was larger than he was now in his annoyed state, although if he was angry, they'd be the same size.

The two of them sat there, watching the occasional vehicle drive pass, and then Raging Bull asked, "Do you ever feel bad about the things we do?"

Mikey looked over at him like he was crazy. "Why should I? There's nothing really wrong with what we do. The strong take from the weak, that's the way of the world. I mean, when I was younger, I was a shrimp, just a little bigger than you when you're not angry, and I got saddled with a name like Michelangelo to boot. People pushed me around a lot, so eventually I decided to push back. I joined a crew to back me up, and then no one messed with me. When I heard the Syndicate was recruiting, I joined up 'cause they were the baddest crew out there. That got me respect, and man, that ain't ever bad. 'Course, I didn't care much when that Nazi bitch took off my limbs and junk," he continued as he rapped his groin, "But the Occupant got me fixed up with these cybernetics, and now no one will definitely mess with me. Plus, I get good money and the chance to beat the swastikas off as many Nazi wannabes as I can lay my hands on. There's nothing to feel bad about, you see?"

Raging Bull nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think I do." What Mikey just said was a lot like what the Occupant had explained to him: might makes right.

"Good," Mikey said as he stood up. "Anyways, I think I'm going to head home. Take care."

"Yeah, you too," Gordon replied. As the cyborg walked away, Gordon turned back to his thoughts and considered the options of what he could do. He could return to his family's farm, but that would mean he would be returning to the state the Occupant found him in: an outcast who was afraid of himself. Or he could strike out on his own, but he knew he wasn't savvy enough for that to last very long.

No, the best option he had was to accept that his was now his life. It's not want he wanted, but he guessed he had change himself to suit it, to be what the Occupant wanted him to be. After all, he saw no way his life was going to change.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A story set in

Picture by

Rosalind is property of

the Fourth Reich is property of

Rgaing Bull, the Occupant, Cyborg Mikey, and the Canadian Syndicate are all property of