“Shangri-la, shangri-la la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la” (unedited) – Song remains the same (part 8) – Retro Molvi

A month of planning had finally come into play. Today was going to be the day on which everyones life would change and for the better. Still I saw people staying indifferent, maybe if they knew what lie ahead, they would have been different, but then would they really be?

We sat in the car waiting for the perfect moment to come when Mystic and I deployed the first stage of the plan and then be followed by Chammoo, Johnny and Fruity.

I watched people go up and down the street, carrying on their day to day duties and saw these people as slaves of a system, an unknown entity that was too hard for them to know of or understand about and so, they blindly followed the entity’s commands. I felt sorry for them, they were all dead.

Funny how if you had asked anyone of them 10 years ago, what they would be now? They would have all replied being millionaires, living the life, but non would have replied dead.

Wearing the same white shirts and black ties, they wore the same day last week. Sipping their coffees and starring at their monitors, just as they’ve been doing for the past 25 years. They never realized but their life was stuck in replay.

Reach office at 9, pick children at 1, lunch at 2, leave work at 5, sleep at 10 and repeat.

The day when the player stopped, it’s just another funeral.

I got bored starring at them and so turned my face towards Mystic was smiling and I knew why. It was the time of the day when we would peek into the minds of the other three and see their thoughts. We had this many times and gotten caught a couple of times because they would realize that we were laughing and what they really were thinking about.

Today we thought of innovating in some way and so we imagined that the three would be on a stage and be singing what they thought. The first one to come up on the stage, was obviously the one driving the car, Chammoo.

Chammoo’s thought.

Oh my lovely mattress

be my heiress

my heiress of delights

in a land where

I am free

free from this mouthpiece

A land where

My voice

My embryo’s love

echoes and sings

ballads of beauty

and fruity.

And in the The distance

I see

waiting for me

my pony

named horny

well, thats what only

really rhymed

Oh my soft mattress

be the fortress

in whose shadows

I blossom

blossom and dream

of cherries and cream

floating on a stream

of gay porn magazines

my dove

my mattress

my sweet sanctuary above the dirt

you never judge me in my gold plad skirt

only my heart can sense

the tenderness you exert

but still my heart beckons for retro

without a shirt.

The second to come was Johnny who was sitting in the passenger seat next to the driver seat.

Johnny’s thought.

At first i was afraid

I was petrified

i thought i was alone

with no one by my side

oh mr. kittie

you left me

but now i have fruity

sitting right by my side

i’ll roast camameal and beans

and make him fall in love with me

i will fry

i will deep fry

I’ll send in all my recipes

and wait for my grand prize

oh i will fry.

roses may be red

and violets may be blue

democracy might suck

but master-chief rocks off my shoes

contestant after contestant

put their abilities to test

new recipes for my entrees

lance is the best

i wish i was factory

producing pies

a gift of evolution

the perfect solution

oh lord help me please….

i will fry

i will deep fry

i’ll send in all my recipes

and wait for my grand prize

oh i will fry.

The third and last to enter on to the stage, the frightened and timid Fruity.

Fruity’s thought.

Ive waited

Ive searched

the eternity

oh where could you be

my dear haddi

Ive planned picnics

Ive rented DVDs

oh where could you be

my dear haddi

Every slit

Every blade

i wish was a haddi

you have my loyalty

my dignity

my warranty

oh where could you be

my dear haddi

must i say

your my love

must I persuade you another way

oh please dont leave me astray

oh where could you be

my dear haddi

the lord of your kind

the key to my mind

now that you’ve returned

the tables have turned

put your hand on my bun

a shirtless retro would be fun

but nothing without you

my dear haddi.

While Mystic and I were imagining Fruity doing the vocal solo at the end of his, Johnny interrupted us and told us that that now was the time that we had to deploy the initial stage of the plan. Mystic and I left the car and walked towards our positions.

On our way to the planned positions, we were again interrupted and it was equally important this time. While we reaching our positions, Fruity had left the car, walked towards the middle of the street and started doing his vocal solo loudly, attracting lots of attention.

Soon there was a a large crowd around Fruity, all applauding his attempt, it could have been an amazing distraction, an aid to the plan but Fruity had to divert the attention to us, when he turned towards and asked how the performance was. All that was left to do was to say “code red, run back. Lets applaud Fruity.”

“Psychedilia.” Song Remains The Same (Part 7) – Retro Molvi

“for he who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.”

– Mr. Johnson

A month had passed since we saved Chammoo and during that time it was all just meticulous planning for our first big scam. Everyday we would go over the plan and engage in reconnaissance activities, a month of just watching and gathering information. I was designated to gather data from all our sources and use it to find weaknesses in our plan. Most of my work began at night after all the members of M-Unit had reported in.

A month of staying awake while others snored. Quietly, all alone, analyzing information in a basement had simply taken its toll on me. The wall seemed to close in, fingers pointing and laughter echoing in the room. Memories of my past took on form and haunted me from time to time. Everything would return to usual when someone would come to visit. Soon it had become hard for me to tell apart the truth from what I saw.

I would try to fight my illusions at times. I would throw punches and kicks at them and the they would respond similarly, but soon the pain of being hit would show me the reality, and make me realize that it was only me punching myself and not my illusions as I believed.

I would at times blame myself but then logic would kick in and I would just blame society for turning into a plastic watering can that fueled our minds into forgetting their true selves; forgetting their spontaneous behavior and conforming to rules and regulations set by others. To be members of society, we all simply become slaves.

I tried fighting, blaming and one fine day, escaping. This was not the first time I tried escaping like this. I had tried this before on different occasions too and it mostly worked.

My new bred nightmare was stronger and so I needed something stronger too, and so my herbal cure that helped me avoid lesser problems, called by some as Seattle Speedball, which was a dose of marijuana with coffee, soon turned into something more serious. I started taking amphetamine with morphine.

Everyday I would see my illusions come alive and then fade away as i took my new cure. My heart would go racing, sounding some what like an off-time bass drum beat to a single strum and a long sustain of a bass guitar. Lying on the sofa, intoxicated,I would see the ceiling break and the sky tear apart and for a moment I felt like I was lit on fire. The feeling lasted for a short period and soon it was followed by a sensation of being cold, along with a single heart beat in a while that almost sounded like thunder.

It had become a habit and I would start my day with a dose of the concoction, succumbing to the effects, enjoying the peacefulness it brought and then rising to begin working again, feeling rejuvenated. This time when I took the cure, I never got up but fell into a long sleep and dreamed .

My dream began with me trekking up a mountain towards a village. Commissioned by the Queen of England. Ordered to travel through China, looking for any resistance against Her Majesty’s will and assassinating the key members of such rebellion growing after the Chinese defeat in the second Anglo-Chinese War. To keep a low profile, we were a small team of just 12 men.

We had been informed that one of the rebel leaders was hiding in this village and that he was protected by a small group of men. Before sunrise, we were at the village, it was still dark and the time was prefect because everyone was asleep. We slowly entered the village and surrounded the cottage, where the rebel leader was taking refuge. From that point on it was all terror, we went in killed everyone in the cottage.

I crashed in through the front door, followed by two other soldiers, the other nine were either covering other doors or securing a safe exist for the other soldiers. We kicked open every door and shot at everything that moved – not very glorious, nevertheless, effective.

We soon encountered the rebel leader and two of his guerrilla warriors. We exchanged fire for a while with no casualties. I knew that in a few moments we were going to run out of bullets while they had an abundant supply. So I told two of my companions to cover me while I ran towards the enemy. Escaping almost near death, i jumped, somersaulting behind the enemy and stabbed the Rebel Leader. Mission Accomplished. The two guerrilla warriors were soon to go, as my fellow comrades took them out with head shots.

We then left the village and camped in the jungles for the night. Our Chinese informant in celebration of our victory, brought out the finest of opium. A few puffs after, my head was buzzing like a a hive full of bees. My eyes became heavy and sight blurred. Eventually, all I could see was pitch black. I was soon on my side in deep sleep.

I did feel the night turn into day as the cold winds that turned warm as the blazing sun rose. I woke up, only to find that i was still in my dream. I was no longer in China and it was no longer 1901. It must have been the late sixties. I could tell by the way people were dressed and from the events that followed.

The University of California, Berkeley had demolished all the buildings on a 2.8-acre parcel near campus, intending to use the land for facilities, such as parking lots and playing grounds. After a long delay, during which nothing happened on site and the site became a dangerous eyesore, thousands of ordinary Berkeley citizens, merchants, students, and hippies took matters into their own hands, planting trees, shrubs, flowers and grass to convert the land into a park.

A major confrontation ensued, when Governor Ronald Reagan ordered the park destroyed, which led to an occupation of the city of Berkeley by the United States National Guard. Hippies engaged in acts of civil disobedience to plant flowers in empty lots all over Berkeley.

I soon realized that I was a key member of a group of hippie bandits and was personally responsible for many of the trees planted against the will of the Governor. With this small information also came a key issue of what was going to happen next.

It must have been the fifth tree, I planted since I regained consciousness in my dream, when we got the information that our location had been compromised and that a group of National Guards were coming to arrest us. Hurrying, we planted the sixth tree and then ran. We ran through alleys trying to get away from the National Guard.

I left one such alley and came on to a main road. In front of me was a large mob of protesters burning and breaking things and behind me were the officers, who had been following me for the past 15 minutes.

I went on the main road and got lost some where in the crowd. I felt like I was a drop in the sea; the sea that formed a tidal wave at one end which battered and brought down all those who stood against it on the other. I was being pushed around almost in a rhythmic way to which I tried to humming a song.

One such push came and I found myself crashing into another person. A large portion of my finding was that the syringe I was carrying in between my lips by the needle, had struck on my tongue and what ever it was filled with had been injected and I was feeling the effects.

My mind went blank and started to wander into darkness. Before my sight blurred, I tasted blood and took the syringe out of my mouth to see what I was injected with. I tired thinking of any other idiot I could recall, who carried a syringe in his mouth. As I looked at the syringe I saw no name but only a message “use me instead of stalking.”

1714 steps before I spotted anything in the complete black and it was only the white that hid behind it. I realized that I was starring at the hour needle of a clock that just moved to reveal the clock’s face. I was concentrating on the needle so hard that I secluded it from everything and it was just the needle in an infinitive perspective, the infinitive black in which I roam, when I really never moved.

I lay on a bed, too weak to to do anything but watch the clock float above me. I heard the beach and so wasn’t surprised to see it when I turned my head to the left. When I looked back at the clock, I saw it disintegrate as if its conformity was disrupted by a ripple. The one large clock turned into many smaller clocks each stopped at a particular time. Only one changed and showed the current time and so for some unknown reason I stared at it.

Soon it all faded away and I felt as if I was falling. The wind blew against me as I fell, disturbing the wind from it’s sleep. I could feel the ground get close and when there was almost no distance, I realized that I was back in the basement and awake. I was no longer in my dream but in the reality.

I also realized that Fruity was making a mustache on my face with a marker. Any other day I would have killed him for it but today I was glad to see him around. Fruity realizing that I had woken up, quickly hid the marker and ran away giving me his report also commenting on how he was finding everyone sleeping today. According to him he first found Mystic sleeping on the job and now me. I followed Fruity out of the Hide out and was welcomed by the rain.

*Ahem*

“The Dervish” – A Prologue – aaXz

He spun.

 

He spun about the edges of the universe, atop the second’s hand of a wall clock. Above the steadily moving wind beneath his feat and within the mind he called his own. A second’s pause was not a question, for a century’s travel was the answer. A room drunk on drum beats, evolved into deathly stamping of Genghis’ hordes.

 

He spun. And he spun as the worlds did about him. His red tall hat bent to a side, which side? You could never really tell. His saintly white gown rose itself from the ground, revealing his bare feet brisling the floor, the seas waves, the deserts dunes.

 

If you were a in such a vicinity, you would assume he was in your presence. Nay! He was miles away. Nay he was generations apart. Observing him would make you dizzy in an instant, but he was stretching that instant in the core of his head for however long he desired.

 

He spun faster. Faster than human eyes could possibly catch a running man, if the man was so running with the same speed as this man was spinning. However, indeed he was not running. He was spinning. And as go with all things that spin about a point, no matter how fast they are, they stay at the same place. You blink your eye and the spinning object would still be there. Yet, blink your eye once more, this dervish would vanish.

 

Your pupil, previously relaxing as was the music in the air, will send a signal to the brain that something was missing. Your brain will decipher this as the incomprehensible, as limited as the brain is in its unguarded thought. It will fire back electricity through minuscule nerves to the awaiting eye. The eye will flex and the pupil will tire its muscles into concentration. Concentration on what should be there but isn’t. Concentration on what goes beyond the human intelligence.

 

Disbelief settles in. And it has only been as long as it would take a moth to flap its wings a few dozen times, and still as long as it would take a star to explode to life. The pair of eyes would blink again. And the mystic would have reappeared as if never absent. Doubt of what beheld the eyes converts frantically to suspicion of ones own sanity. Pity, how much of humanity believes in only what they see.

 

Yet a third time, just for reaffirmation, you might blink again. By the time your eyelids make it back to their closest position near the lashes, your brain is already in stress. Your eyes are testing the limit of how much they can bulge out from their homely sockets. Goosebumps scattering the skin go unnoticed just like you will be with whether your sitting, standing or in between. Your eyes will dart the corners of the room. Just like vultures scavenge the savannah for prey, you will crave for meaning.

 

Meaning? But there will be none. Just as you will never witness such an occasion. For you are reading this as it has been written and will go no further. For you will be content with flipping the last page of any story. For you believe in endings. For endings is nothing but fallacy.

 

As long as you hold this false, utterly false belief, you will not even stumble upon such a miracle. A miracle reserved for those who dare to adventure, for those who see beyond sight. Feel without touch. Know merely, due to …

 

No. Not in words. For merely words are not meant for such things.

 

And neither are you.

“A comic super hero and a side kick visits.” – Song Remains The Same (Part 6) – Retro Molvi

Whoever has lived long enough to find out what life is, knows how deep a debt of gratitude we owe to Adam, the first great benefactor of our race.  He brought death into the world.

– Mark Twain, “Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar”

The mundane Monday and Fruity’s spasmodic behavior had brought me to the point, where the only thing to suffice my want of being at peace would probably come with cutting Fruity into little dice with a inch long blade. Trying to avoid him, i went over to Ashraf Memon’s house.

Ashraf after getting to know of Fruity’s powers, disposed of all knives and had been living of canned foods. Ashraf remained quiet most of the times and especially today at this particular time, with what almost looked like a life time supply of pop corn and no interest in welcoming me, sat and watched the start of a new season of a reality show, his favorite, American Idol.

Though I did not enjoy watching it, but knew i had no choice, it was this or fruity’s spasms. What i didn’t know was, mid episode after watching a couple of people audition and lots of them being disgraced, I would find something interesting and informative.It was that Chammoo was participating, surprisingly he passed the audition and was going to New York, also that he had changed his name to Hapoop.

This was our first ever lead on finding Chammoo, and we had to be fast on capitalizing, it. So we set off to probably the most slow and unexciting start of our mission. We began by regrouping, Fruity frills, Mystic Molvi, Johnny and I. We planned our move and then packed our luggage. Our biggest challenge up till now was how to pack all of Fruity’s knives and get it through security at the airport.

So to spice things up a bit, I let my mind wonder off and imagined us capturing Chammoo, I all started with me driving in a hot rodded 1969 Dodge Charger on the highway, with my windows open and the warm breeze blowing against my face and a thought in my mind of, what if this didn’t go as planned.

I pulled over at the hotel, where Chammoo was staying and met Mystic and Johnny in the lobby. I, in the lobby learned that Fruity had already left to capture Chammoo and that he planned to enter from the window. We had very little time and set off, Mystic and I took the stair case, while Johnny went up the elevator. Dressed in black with shot guns in our hand, people knew we were trouble and so cleared our way with fear in their eyes.

Mystic, Johnny and I grouped at Chammoo’s front door. We crashed in and found Chammoo already taped and tied to the chair, we looked around and found no one. Who could it have been, on Chammoo a note that said “We hate him, take him back. He won’t just shut up, sorry we ever took him.”The note answered a lot of our questions except one where was Fruity. So we all peeped out the window and stared down at Fruity, dressed in yellow shorts and a red t-shirt with a bed sheet for cape, climbing up the wall slowing and steadily. With a soundtrack in the background.

He was an evil little goat, goat, goat…
He was an evil little goat, goat, goat…
He was an evil little goat, goat, goat…
He was an evil little goat, goat, goat…
He was an evil little…

She brought him back from Scandinavia…
He wore the mountains and the clothes were new…
He knew the mountains…a little dangerous…
He is the one…

And he was an evil goat, goat, goat…
He was an evil little goat, goat, goat…
He was an evil little goat, goat, goat…
He was an evil little goat, goat, goat…
Baaaa…
Baaaa…
Baaaa…

Lyrics of Evil little Goat by Pearl Jam.

Oh wait, sorry that was my phone ringing in real life and the vibrations of the phone brought my dream to an end. It was Mystic calling me, who standing in front of me with a smile on his face. I instantaneously knew he purposely rang to have the song play as a soundtrack. Mystic also had tickets for New York and the American Idol Show.

So now packed and at the airport, we departed, Mystic, Johnny and I taking one way while Fruity the other, we thought it would be better that Fruity teleports to New York rather then fly there with his knives and so for us three, began our long and agonizing flight to New York.

Fruity Frills on the other hand, teleported to Las Vegas first gambled over night, murdered all those who he lost against and then came to New York to welcome us at the airport.

Fruity obviously had a good night sleep and so showed signs of being relaxed and fresh where as Mysitc and I were tired and annoyed at every little thing, Johnny more then tired, was a little embarrassed and angry because he had received a full cavity search.

We reached at the hotel and rested knowing we soon had to leave to watch the show and capture Chammoo. Against most of our wills except of Fruity who was for some reason very bouncy and eager to go watch the show, we got to there and took our respective seats.

We till the moment Chammoo came out to perform, were very happy making fun of the contestants and hooting for Chammoo. Non of us ever would have guessed what happened next. Chammoo was called out on stage and came a slender figure dressed in a Wolverine costume with replica claws. Chammoo began performing Gloria Gaynor’s “I will survive” (for people who don’t know the song, click here) and danced around acting as if he Wolverine. The chanting crowd went into silence and we sunk in our chairs.

Johnny soon quickly left saying that he had to go to the washroom  and that the singing made it worst. As I went deeper in my seat I felt the weight of embrassment get heavier on my shoulders and Chammoo’s failed attempts to control the pitch of his voice darken my thought but an idea soon lit and broke threw the darkness.

I got up and ran towards the stage, i knew this could be an epic failure but still continued. When i came close enough i hurled my shoe at him and screamed that he is making fun of the best super hero ever and the American way of life, also that he is against all kind of freedom. Chammoo’s eyes widen, starring at me and the crowd engulfed in anger made their way to the stage and surrounded Chammoo.

Chammoo was kicked and punched in every almost spot possible, in the mean time i recovered my shoe and stood on the side, with Mystic and Fruity, looking at all the commotion. Soon we saw a severely bruised face appear from below the crowd, it was Chammoo. Chammoo begged for mercy and forgiveness, he promised to never leave the M-Unit and his sincere commitment to us.

We soon pulled him out and took him away. As we were leaving, we got surrounded by a group of men, all dressed in black. I felt something heavy crashing on my head and the next thing i remember waking up with my hands and legs tied somewhere all made of metal.

We later found out that we were at the Statue of Liberty and had been kidnapped by a secret clan of Wolverine worshipers. They were very offend by Chammoo’s actions. Soon to follow the information of where we were, we found out our fate.

When the leader left, some of the clowns were left behind to kill us, they approached us slowly, thinking of the joy they might have killing us. Incidently one of them had a knife, noticing this Fruity smiled and said “Watch me, come behind you and stab you.”The poor idiot did not know what we were able of doing.

Fruity soon disappeared leaving the rope behind and did as he said. The poor souls where bewildered and so we took advantage of it. Fruity quickly cut us free as chammoo stood in the path of the bullets, and watched them bounce of his chest.

I then jumped from behind Chammoo and on to two of the them. I ripped their hearts out with with my bare hands and with pleasure watched the others enjoy their kill. Chammoo riddled his victims with bullets and Fruity chopping his. We all made great mess and got down right dirty except Mystic who stood in one place and with his mind control powers killed his share of them.

The way blood poured out of their eyes as Mystic killed reminded me of when he killed Ahsan. Mystic made Ahsan’s brain explode inside his head and made it slowly leak out of his mouth, eyes and ears, he then tore one of his limb out and beat him to death with it while he screamed “THIS ISN’T PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE!”

Mystic, Chammoo, Fruity and I soon left Lady Liberty, standing tall like her, knowing no one could stand against us. We reached the hotel and found Johnny watching the news and waiting to welcome an old member back.

“The Makings of Beasts and Goats…” – Mind Over Matter – MysticMulla

My eyes open to find that I’m in a dark room as a single bulb struggles to illuminate it to the best of it’s abilities. Blurred images running around, muffled voices shouting orders. i remembered that right after i saw the abomination that i was to be entombed in, i was knocked out from behind by Pablo, not leaving me anytime to regret that i caved in to Al, or to reject the operation. My head was splitting and the shouting wasn’t helping either. The images and the voices started to get clearer but the headache remained. I saw Pablo and Al’s faces on top of me standing at each side.

“is it complete seniour?”
“si pablo! it’s done!..my ultimate weapon is complete” said Al.

I reached out and grabbed Pablo by his neck, almost blinded by Al’s foil hat which was absorbing most of the light of the bulb, but in the midst of the headache and semi-blindness, i noticed something terribly wrong. In sheer shock, i let go of Pablo’s neck and placed the hand that was responding to me in front of my face. I didn’t recognize it.
“what? who’s ha…” i noticed that i sounded the same in my head, but my voice was different. i sounded mumbly, and like i was desperately trying to be eddie vedder at the demise of his career.

Pablo came up to restrain me, but was soon forcibly introduced to the rear end of his surgical tool tray. I rushed to the mirror to see what had been done with me. It wasn’t pretty. For once in my life, i was truly afraid. In the mirror stood a fidgety gigantic pasty white mass.I wanted to kill Pablo, but i had bigger problems to deal with. My headache was increasing by the second, I had to do something before it took me down for good. It felt like my existence was being drained. I realized that my only shot at doing anything was to 1st immobilize my vessel or body or whatever you would call it in my situation.

My body fell to the ground in a friction of a second. I realized the source of the headache. The body’s brain was so drained and devoid of any nourishment or thought or activity, that the moment it realized that an active organism was near, it chose to suck out any energy it could use as sustenance as a last resort of reviving it’s carcass. I had only one option; I severed the last remaining connections of that brain to the body to cut off its activity and consume it in my brain to regain what i had lost and if any juice remained in it, i could use that as well. My plan was half successful, i got back what i had lost, but this body’s brain was completely empty. I chose to use it as a back up empty storage.

i re-engaged the body’s functions. My control on the body was still a little shaky but the headache had stopped, my vision had cleared up. Pablo was still frightened to confront me without any barrier so he chose to stood behind Al. I chose not to act on my emotions and figured that this unprecedented back alley operation could have alot of hidden possibilities which i could try out.

I chose to take some time out to see what my new vessel’s potentials were. I realized that my solution to the headaches was only temporary as the empty storage kept trying to infiltrate my links with the body, and i had to cut them every time. Even though the body was strong, i realized that it grew weaker every time the links were made and broken. I needed to get a permanent solution. But first, i needed to get something done about how hideous this vessel was. i was tired of scaring my associates out of torture chambers and offices.

I entered my office and found he who is now known as fruity. As soon as he saw me, he shrieked, which sounded something like a goat, and was about to jump out the window when i stopped him and told him who i was.
“Daym homes iz you??!”
“Yep…it’s me”
“You got me trippin’ G, i think i dropped some fruit in my loons…I think it’s a mango”
“yea well i’m not really having a picnic in this body either”
“homey, the man’s out ta’ get a brotha!”
“for the last time dude, you’re not a brotha…never mind..what’s wrong?”
We had recently been assigned new aliases due to Al’s fear of Moran. Fruity obviously had a problem with his, he came to whine about them until he found out that the name assigned to me was Mystic. “JUDITH!” he shrieked and jumped out the window.

I later called and consoled him.

I approached Pablo and asked him to perform plastic surgery so i could look something close to human. In fear, he accepted and performed the surgery. I wasn’t happy with the results but it was some progress at least. Don’t get me wrong, I still killed him, but i made it slightly less painful then i intended to.

Some days later on 24th Jan. 1947, Al died due to a massive cardiac arrest. His last words were documented to be “kill Pablo”, I obviously had already taken care of that task. Soon the news spread and the business started to decline. We all went our separate ways. It was a bittersweet circumstance for me, my body was a pasty white mass, but it was a strong body i found potential in. And now i had time to work out the kinks.

I’d realized earlier that the pumpous syndrome could be counter-acted, but i also knew that it would separate the mind and body and create 2 entities, minimizing my control on the vessel. I wasn’t exactly sure on how that would turn out, I decided to work on separating myself first giving myself a body before i could let go of any control. The falooda oblongata is a part of the brain that can control the perception of the ones in contact. I decided to experiment with that, since the body had freakish strength i could use that.

Soon i was able to form a tangible image of my own form, It wasn’t perfected. But it was something. I needed that step to proceed with the treatment of my body’s pumpous syndrome. I realized that the only way one could counter a strong disease like this was to inject a stronger yet less fatal disease that cancels the other one out. I had gotten hold of a chicken pox vile..or so the label said. It was in fact something much worse…”Totalaughitis”. It’s a one of a kind disease, 3 cases reported in through out the world.

Once i injected it into my vessel, the body started acting funny. it ran around the room until it hit a wall and fell to the ground. The backup storage that i had created was now active, it was fusing with my brain and turning into one. I noticed that the overly built up body looked like it was being drained. the brain was sucking in the required fluids. but i figured it was all normal. I quickly contacted fruity while the body was blacked out and assigned him the duty of making arrangements and taking care of my former vessel. I named him Retro.

Soon Fruity was able to find a foster family for Retro, and I implanted all the info i needed to for him to adjust and be as normal as possible for someone like him. He joined school, developed an unusual obsession with lights, fell in love, got dumped and then repeated that numerous times until he completely turned into a self mutilating emo.

It was still hard for him to grasp how the blades kept vanishing whenever he was about cut himself. but i managed to implant thoughts that made sense. I kept on working side by side on how to complete my tangible form.

One fateful day, when retro discovered the Internet, and shortly after Internet porn, we began to see what Totalaughitis actually did. Retro’s limb lost control, to a point where i wasn’t able to control them either, and he started giggling. It was strange..and not at all pretty. The giggling transformed into maniacal laughter and brain started to fuse out discharging heavy impulses. I contacted fruity right away since he lived next door and told him to cut the power. Soon the laughing stopped and Retro regained control. I was awestruck by the damage totalaughitis caused, but promptly started making repairs. I instructed fruity to never let retro be able to watch porn again. To which he giggled, to which i smacked his head to reinforce the dire nature of the matter.

Soon i was able to complete my tangible form and realized that i should properly introduce myself to my vessel, i.e Retro. I had met fruity earlier that day to make him aware of my true form, he was happy to see that he didn’t have to close his eyes and cringe every time he wanted to talk to me. Sadly, the day i decided to do this, was the day an all out student war had broken out in school, because somebody had made a remark about a girl that knew nothing of Retro, but Retro still took offence. Since fruity was in charge of care taking, he saw fitting to indulge in battle. We were out numbered, 30 to 3. We took a hell of a beating, I remember taking a bottle to the face for that damn Retro. It seems somewhat pointless now.

We managed to escape and in gratitude, Retro bought me a drink and asked if he could share, obviously not. We sat on that bench and talked for around an hour. It was the starting stages of the Dark side and M-unit.

I later came into contact with the girl that Retro started the fight over. She was ugly…as hell. She started talking to me about comic books in a rather squeaky nasal masculine voice. It was rather confusing, the fact that Retro liked her and that he could consider her a girl. In my confusion i asked her:
“hey, no offence, but..are you a girl?”
“No! but i’m just like one!” she..erm..he…IT said with a smile.
“so..you’re a guy?”
“yup..who’s just like a girl”
“o..k…what’s your name?”
“AAGHZZZ”
“…….ugh?”
“no no silly! AAGHZZZ”
“erm…ok..you should probably walk around with a sandwich board that states that information”
“did i tell you that i’m just like a girl?”
“ok bye bye” saying that i fled the scene being freaked out by the Divine practical joke.

When i told Retro about this, he refused to acknowledge any of that and insisted that she’s a girl, and since that name didn’t make the slightest bit of sense to anyone of us, Retro decided to call him Chammo. Neither me nor Fruity had any problems with that. Retro soon approached Chammo and asked him to join the Dark Side. Chammo, thinking that it was pretty and stylish jumped at the idea and accepted right away. While Fruity was the only one who was left out.

I entrusted Retro’s safety with fruity and left to do some work in the hidden lab i had made back in my days with Capone. Retro knew of that and I had involved him in conducting experiments and research. While i was gone, Fruity, being the attention craver he is, approached Retro as to what it would take for him to enroll into the Dark Side. A smile appeared on Retro’s face when he heard that question….

“The day Mystic got Melons and I got Maango” The Song Remains The Same (Part 5) – Retro Molvi

Who knew that a small mistake on behalf of a worried person trying to find his cat would lead us to finding Fruity Frills. Johnny by mistake gave Fruity’s picture (shown below) instead of his cat’s picture and gave a message that read “Wanted. White and Grey male Persian cat. Please return to, or inform the whereabouts of the cat to the owner. Thank you. contact on 0333 338-SEXY”, to the neighbor’s child for making a notice that was to be put up on all over the neighborhood.

Fruity Frills. (Maango)

When Johnny found out his mistake, it was too late and the notice had been put up all over the neighborhood. He sat in his lounge on his recliner, barely fitting in it, held the notice in one of his hand and had his other hand scratching his head. Just at this moment he received a phone call by an old lady.

Johnny: “Hell*whistle*ooo”

Old Lady: Hello, you put up a notice of a lost cat, mister you’ve got a weird cat!!!!!

Johnny: “Yes.”

Old lady: “Well the description doesn’t match but the picture does and your cat walks on two legs. How did you do that?? the last time i tried my cat fell off the stairs and died.”

Johnny: “aaaaaa. Do*whistle* you hafff my cath?”

Old Lady: “No. It lives down the street in its own house.”

Johnny took down the address and patiently heard the old lady talk. After an hour of listening to the old lady ramble on of her neighbor’s daughter’s friend’s uncle’s cat being able to jump as high as an Olympic gold medalist, Johnny ran to come see us and then Johnny, I and Ashraf left to capture Fruity, while Mystic sat at Johnny’s house preparing for when we would bring Fruity back.

Ashraf Memon Khan, or better know as just Ashraf Memon was of central Sindh origin and had gained education at the Oxford University. He came back like all patriots to serve his country and when he reached back home, looking at the conditions, he became an active political activist. The prison had become his second home and the library his first. In between his busy schedule, he would come and help us out often, for unknown reasons. Strangely no one really knows if he is really a part of the M-Unit or not, but everyone did consider him to be. He loved cursing and smoking joints, the two pleasures of life as he said.

When we arrived at the premises where Fruity was seen living at. We dispersed and looked for the different entrances. All three of us entered from three different doors and looking around all converged at one point, the whole house was empty, the doors of almost all of the rooms were wide open except one. If he was in the house, he was in here. We crashed in to the room and surprised him. Fruity, sitting in the center once meditating, now starring at us in surprise. The surprise soon changed into anger and three knives came flying, I being immortal, took all three and fell to the ground, with a growl of agony as the knives went deeper.

Johnny from behind me dived on to Fruity and Ashraf stood there in shock of what to do, should he assist me or Johnny. Johnny all 100 kg of him fell on Fruity, who sadly was only 58.90 kg. Johnny’s fat engulfed fruity, out of suffocation, fruity gave away and fainted. Johnny got off and looking at fruity unconscious, said “that was easy!!”

I recovered and pulled out the knives, not worrying of the injuries as they would heal by themselves. Johnny and Ashraf carried Fruity away as I saw all what was written on the wall. It seemed there was everything that brought meaning to his life, was posted on the wall. Proof of hate, love and loyalty. Pictures of all the M-Unit pictures with crosses made by pens, some of them even had beards on them, I saw that fruity had been following me around as he had pictures of Me and the Iranian Model, Ya, i so cared about.

He had pictures of the Geast, under which he had messages that said ” Hail all Knowing Master Horus.” He had pictures of Ahsan too, under it messages of sworn vengeances were written. There were notes too, one of them said the Geast’s favorite salad recipe and had the ingredients mentioned below, Roman lettuce, croûtons, Parmesan cheese.

We went back to Johnny’s house where Mystic was getting impatient. We lay Fruity on a table and Mystic got to work to brainwash Fruity. Mystic knew we had very little time, we had to do it before fruity woke up.

Mystic entered Fruity’s mind and went on a journey to find the key to flush Fruity’s mind. Mystic had made the rest of us into spectators of this journey and so it started with a swirl of black and white that faded away and we saw Mystic in pool with girls all around him, having fun and sipping on drinks quite comfortably. After a while watching Mystic have fun, Ashraf pointed out that we had little time and so Mystic annoyed, left the pool and went on into this structure that much looked like a container which was transformed into a temporary shelter.

As Mystic was about to enter, he was stopped by 50 cent, who stood in Mystic’s way.

50 cent: “where you goin’ homey?, We gon’ party like it’s yo birthday, We gon’ sip Bacardi like it’s your birthday And you know we don’t give a fuck, It’s not your birthday!”

Mystic just gave him a cold stare.

50 cent: “ok, ok, I put a hole in nigga for fucking with me, My back on the wall, now you gon’ see, Better watch how you talk, when you talk about me, Cause I’ll come and take your life away, Many men, many, many, many, many men, Wish death ‘pon me”

Mystic : “How come your mostly talking in song lyrics?”

50 cent: “the fuck should i know dawg?..this nigga’s trippin’..tha’s all he got in his dome”

Mystic not amused, just went around 50, and got into the structure, though the structure from the outside looked as if it was a shelter made from a container, it was actually a mansion from inside. Mystic baffled from the size of the mansion, wondered where could Fruity be.

He wouldn’t have quite looked around for more then five minutes, when saw a door that said “the playa” on it. It had to be it, whom if Mystic killed, Fruity would loose all memory and completely be brainwashed.

Mystic entered. Inside the room, stood Fruity, taller, stronger then his true self, dressed in complete white with gold jewelry and Wayfarers styled sun glasses. All I could think of at that moment was, I want  those sun glasses. Mystic and Fruity stood facing each other, eyes in eyes. This was going to be intense and so they agreed upon a game of CS, who ever was first to 20 wins on a single map was the winner and the loser had to shoot himself. Fruity and Mystic both ran to side and choose a computer and started playing.

Mystic was loosing badly until he morphed us all in to what we were all just spectators. Now it was four against one in CS, and Fruity had gotten into trouble. As Fruity began to loose, he got up and screamed “not fair!!!!” and pulled out his gun, we all were stunned and frozen, not knowing what to do. Mystic at that moment faded away and I was vexed, thinking Mystic had left us to face this horrible end. Soon to appear again, behind Fruity was Mystic. I knew Mystic wouldn’t leave us alone here.

Mystic bent down, pulled out a knife from Fruity’s cowboy shoes and stabbed Fruity in the back. Fruity then turned around and changed into Caesar and screamed “you too Brutus.” We had done it, we had successfully killed Fruity’s inner self. Now all we had to do was leave and complete the later stages of brainwashing, but as we were leaving his mind, Johnny for some odd reason opened a door and it ruined almost everything for us.

Behind the door was one of Fruity’s memory and in that memory was, Fruity in a prison shower area, and he dropped his soap. Next to come was a shriek, a scream so loud and high pitched that we all lost concentration and found ourselves out of Fruity’s mind and in the reality. Fruity was sitting up on the table and panting. Fruity looking at us, trying to recall his memories, asked who he was? To which Mystic replied “Maango, the belly dancer.”

Instantaneously Mystic felt my elbow on his rib cage and got the cold stare from everyone in the room except of Fruity who was too busy trying to count his fingers. Mystic then corrected himself and told Fruity, who he truly was and that he had lots to learn.

Over time Fruity regained his strength and control over his powers, he also developed an alter-ego,which was a bit of a charlatan and we called it Horus. Mystic and I also realized that the saga in which he recalled his disturbing memory of the time when he was in prison had caused an effect on him. Fruity’s imagination would take over time to time and distort his sight. Fruity would almost see all long and cylindrical objects as lettuce and authoritative people as teddy bears. He would also see people perfectly standing in front of him to be skinny, timid, wobbling and hiding behind objects. If it was any Marvel character who he reminded me at those moments was probably Deadpool.

Fruity had become a true member of the M-Unit now and we were now on a mission to find Chammoo, who according to our intelligence was still America, under protection.

“December, the month to be remembered” The Song Remains The Same (Part 4) – Retro Molvi

Days had passed at the hide-out, looking for fruity. I didn’t know how he was going to react since I had now realized that I was to be blamed for him being mutated into a goat. I remember a long time before, when I met him for the second time after he had been mutated, it was night and I was at a farm house enjoying the cold night, outside the quarters. Chammoo, Mystic and I sat near a fire and discussed Fruity’s capture. Little to our knowledge, we were in for a surprise.

A goat ran towards us from the sheds and jumped through the fire, morphed into Fruity and took out a knife. We all scrambled for shelter and the fastest of us all was Mystic. Fruity ignored the other two and ran towards me, frantically slashing, he gained on me. At the very moment when i was in the path of the blade and would have been decapitated, I tripped and Fruity missed. Realizing so Fruity came back to finish his job but in time Chammoo came out with a gun and scared Fruity away. In respect of  Chammoo’s sincere attempt of saving my life, I shall, for this episode call him Aaxzz (how do you spell it anyway?).

Still Mystic and I still had to find Fruity, no matter what happened and also, we had to get rid of Ahsan’s dead body, rotting in the room, filling the air with stench. So Mystic, Ashraf Memon and I carried Ahsan’s body to the nearest place where we could bury him.

Ashraf and I took turns digging and Mystic refused to contribute anymore because he wanted to watch Naruto instead, and the only reason why he accepted to help carry Ahsan’s body, in the first place was because I bribed him with a bag of chips.

Annoyed with Mystic, I imagined Mystic was better off, being a fat little kid sitting on a tombstone on the far right, looking at a Playboy magazine and criticizing how fat the some of the models were and how annoyingly they were out of proportion.

When I got tired of digging, I let Ashraf take over and I sat, thought about the report Johnny had recently published. The report was about a mission he was sent on, recently. Johnny had been sent to assassinate the Geast (Ahmad Sultan) in Serbia, the last known location of the Geast and also there, to stop any retaliation from happening, tried to killed Geast’s Beloved Salice.

I, from reading reports and past experiences knew that Johnny made a beautiful mess of his victims. By some it was described as almost the killer tried to recreate one of Picasso’s works.

Jonathan Charles Swanlund (Johnny) was not always into killing people, he enjoyed cooking and all kinds of art. He was during day time, a chef at a popular restaurant and at night became a drummer for an underground band. Johnny was shy speaking to people and it was because of an injury he once had suffered, which caused him to mildly whistle when he pronounced certain words. He was quite sensitive about it and deeply hated those, who even smiled at the whistles.

When he was transfered to Pakistan and found out the urban Pakistani meaning of his last name, he found a new reason to hate. This coupled with the laughs on the whistles, enraged him and he did the inevitable. One day at work, when he was being made fun of by his colleagues, he picked up the cleaver and let out all what bottled inside of him. By the time he finished, Johnny was so happy that he believed killing people was what he really was meant to do. Later in his days of successively killing people, Johnny started to try and depict the art he loved so much at the crime scenes. He would paint the walls with victims blood, arrange them and their organs in the way people were in the paintings he had seen, and at times break glass to create optical allusions, just to complete his recreation.

One of the Art works, he tried to recreate

I could only imagine what Johnny might have done, and the agony the Geast and Salice had felt.

According to reports, Salice was someone the Geast had met in Serbia, after the Geast had been sent there on exile, as the Darkside collapsed and he had gotten in trouble with a few mafia families. Geast infuriated by the fact that we would not take him in the M-Unit sent Salice to infiltrate the M-Unit and tear it apart. Salice’s identity was never found until Johnny’s report was published. All we knew was that, Salice loved to dress quite colorfully.

The events happened as such, Johnny stalked (Fruity’s favorite word) the Geast and looked out for the perfect day to kill him. The day did come and it was a perfect one. The Path to Geast’s farm house was blocked due to heavy snow fall and it was very difficult to get to the Geast residence. The houses in the neighborhood were very distant, to hear any screams.

Johnny went inside the house and upto Geast’s room. Before he entered the room and shot Geast, he heard another voice inside. The voice was familiar but not recognizable, Johnny Stopped and heard what they spoke about. Geast kept refering to the other voice as Salice. Was this the same Salice, the other members of M-Unit kept looking for? Johnny waited outside and heard what they were talking about, but soon ran out of patience, listening to those two talk about how naughty they are going to get and so Johnny broke in to the room.

When Johnny entered, he found the Geast and Fruity, almost nude in each others arms, making love. Johnny stood there in surprise, what was Fruity doing here? Fruity ran towards a knife but Johnny stopped him and pushed Fruity away, by this time Geast was near a drawer and was pulling out a gun through the pile of paper also housed in the drawer. Johnny quickly pulled the trigger and blew a hole threw the Geast.

Fruity screamed “NO!!!” as the Geast went down and the Geast said “Salice, run away.” Johnny’s confusion cleared out, who we all thought Fruity Frills was, was really actually Salice. Fruity ran out of the room and outside the house. Johnny followed Fruity in to a shed, full of sheeps. Johnny searched for fruity, frantically through the sheeps, but fruity had disappeared. Just as Johnny was turning around to leave the shed, he saw a sheep wearing a pink thong.

Johnny ran towards the sheep shooting at it, and the sheep began to run and transformed back into Fruity. Johnny almost had Fruity but Fruity was quick to find a knife and teleport to somewhere unknown. Johnny disappointed at the fact that Fruity had escaped went back to the house to recreate another art work with the Geast’s body, but when he got into the room he found the Geast was no longer there.

I was interrupted by Ashraf, who was now tapping my shoulder. Looked towards Ashraf and noticed behind him, the grave we were digging closed, I then looked towards my feet and noticed Ashan’s body was no longer there. I asked in surprise if Ashraf had done everything and in return Ashraf in a grumpy tone said that I and my imaginary friend were of no good and that he should have been the one to be bribed by the bag of chips.

Running With Knives:Delusions And Decisions – Kruger

Murmansk, Russia.

It was cold

Karachi, Pakistan

By this time, I had become more than suspicious. I always knew Retro was a crazy motherfucker who had a tendency to laugh at inappropriate moments, but I had no idea he was borderline mental. And by “borderline” I meant completely.

Me and Mystic (who was now lighting his 13^th K2 cigarette and constantly checking his mega obsolete cell phone) had extensive knowledge of the person that was “Ya”. Sadly, we had been misinformed. She wasn’t some Irani model. She wasn’t “Vaary Hot Yaar”. She wasn’t “A sight for sore eyes”. Hell she wasn’t even a she. Confusion is defined in the Oxford dictionary as a loss of orientation and often memory. But I was not confused. Neither was I surprised. No, I was scarred. And I think it’s safe to assume that Mystic was too. The person we saw in front of us was someone we had seen before. Someone we once knew. Someone who had a heinous history with the M-Unit. It was none other than…….

“All The Different Places, Ring Out Like A Shotgun In My Head, All The Pretty Faces, Ring Out And I Just Can’t Go To Bed.”

Baden-Brugg, Switzerland, Ghazi Chowk.

The speech had been given. Hapoop had successfully murdered everyone by talking about his adopted 2 year old and other boring stuff. Things were going well; according to plan. Hapoop stepped out from the room and started texting again. Sighing, I looked around. Harbooza sat on his chair, his blank expression not wavering while Habobo was leaning back on his chair with his eyes closed and a satisfied smile on his face. The idiot was actually day dreaming on a crucial point as this. I was tempted to knife the f*** out of his chair, but refrained from doing so. Habobo’s anger fits were legendary. Nothing like Harboozas though. He normally refrained from biting one’s neck off and usually just convinced one to take my knife and stab themselves in the eye over and over again. Not pretty. Not pretty at all. Pocketing my knife in my overcoat, I nudged him awake.

“It is time we leave. Plan Alpha Beta Gamma Madaladla TeriMaKasih will start soon”.

He nodded and along with Harbooza and Hapoop we walked down the street all lost in our own thoughts.

“I need another knife”.

“Goddaim, I wish I had another K2 left”.

“Heheheheh.. 2 year old 2 year old 2 year old 2 year old 2 year old 2 year old”.

“Did I just sink my teeth into another mans neck? Sigh. That wasn’t homosexual at all”.

“Heaven Ablaze In Our Eyes, We’re Standing Still In Time, The Blood On Our Hands Is The Wine We Offer As Sacrifice”.

Karachi, Pakistan. Retros House/Secret M-Unit Hideout

It was Ahsan Amjad. Former M-Unit member, code named Hairy Idiot. He was recruited for one day and then released due to his immense stupidity. Mystic broke the silence with a “HOW THE FLUCK IS HE AN IRANI SEXY MODEL?”

*How subtle*

Looking around, he spotted us. It might have been the sunlight reflecting of my knife, but I thought I saw him smile for a second. Not just a normal smile. An evil smile. A Haraami smile. Walking over, we exchanged pleasantries and soon we had begun to discuss the past. Predictably, his time with the M-Unit came up. He wanted to know why he had been let go.

“I did what you asked. I got all the stuff. I came back to base.”

“You went and got a hair transfusion with the money and then got drunk and ended up in Louisiana.”

“Oh. Lolz.”

“An said that when we asked for your whereabouts.”

Ten minutes later, he said he wanted back in. I took out my knife and slashed his arm and Mystic exhaled a cloud of smoke and infected him. Cursing, he ran away swearing vengeance. Turning around I saw Retro drooling. Ok the boy’s lost it. Bitch slap him with your knife and he’ll be fine. The slap did absolutely nothing for him but it made me feel happy. I enjoyed it. Not the slap. The KNIFE slap. There was something about it. An unexplainable power. Mystic had finished his K2 packet and had opened another one of 555. As he lit another one, I told Retro to take me to his prison cell. There were a few things that needed to be sorted out.

“The Northern Lights And The Southern Comfort, And It Don’t Even Matter If The Veins Are Punctured, All The Crack Heads, The Critics, The Cynics, And All My Heroes At The Methadone Clinic”.

Baden-Brugg, Switzerland. Bruggerstrasse Road

The foursome (stop thinking like a pervert!) walked along the deserted street with dilapidated houses on both sides. A slight mist hung in the morning air and a light breeze swayed the coats of the 4 underworld gods. Well I was the only one wearing an overcoat. Habobo was wearing a vest and chadda. Hapoop was wearing a bib and a diaper (he said he wanted to feel like a 2 year old as well) and Harbooza was wearing a pink and yellow turban/shirt/shalwar combination (we had gotten used to this by now and because of it sometimes called him the gay giggler). Fully awake and functioning and completely aware of their surroundings, they walked with composure. There was nothing to distract them now. Habobo had stopped day-dreaming. Hapoop’s mobiles phone had died and so he had chucked it into the nearby fountain. Harbooza had regained normal eye composure. I had stopped fiddling around with my knife. 4 intrepid underworld gods. Everyone knew them. Everyone feared them. Those who did not were murdered. Brutally. The 4 H’s preferred it that way. It bought them immense pleasure. Hapoop held his arm out and stopped us.

“We’re here.”

We looked up at the sign. Yup. This was it. It was time for business. I turned to Habobo.

“You ready?” I asked him.

He did not reply. He merely nodded. The poor bloke was nervous. Understandable, given the circumstances. I turned to Hapoop and Harbooza.

“Let’s Go.”

The 4 entered. The time had come for……..

“A Crack On The Head, Is What You Get For Not Asking, And A Crack On The Head, Is What You Get For Asking, Why? Because Of Who You Are!”

Karachi, Pakistan. Retros Room/ Prison Cell

Predictably, Retro’s prison cell turned out to be his room. The guard he was pointing to was his teddy bear and his so called baton was a lettuce leaf. Ok so he was obviously delusional and had no idea what was what. I looked questioningly at Mystic. It looked like he had a sly smile on his face, but I wasn’t sure since he was surrounded by all that smoke. I took my knife out and flicked it across the room where it cut Mystic’s cigarette in half. “Blaaaaaapshemy”, he shouted. After assuring him that I (with Retro’s money of course) would buy him more, he calmed down and I asked him why Retro was in this current condition. He told me Retro was suffering from a disease he had contracted in his child hood. Known as “Totalaughitis”, it was very rare and had no cure. Though it had nothing to do with his delusion, it did. At first it made no sense. Ten minutes later, it still made no sense. Mystic told me that there was only one person who could help him; Chammo.

“Purposeless Survival, Now There’s Nothing Left To Die For, So Don’t Struggle To Recognize, Now The Cruelly Heart-felt Suicide”.,

Running With Knives: A Cut Of Insanity – Kruger

Baden-Brugg, Switzerland. Ghazi Chowk.

Mafia, Yakuza, Drug Dealers, Smugglers, Thieves, Feudal Lords surrounded the round table.  In the middle of the table/chowk sat the 4 underworld gods; Horus (myself), Habobo (mystic), Harbooza (retro) and Hapoop (chammo).

Chammo was currently texting a 2 year old child he had recently adopted. None of us really knew the purpose behind this. Mystic and I were in serious discussion while Retro sat with an all too familiar blank expression on his face.

Carlos Rodriguez, Leader of La Cosa Nostra inquired about Retro and there was a sudden, harmonized gasp; no-one questioned the 4 H’s.

I casually swiped out my knife and flicked it across the table where Carlos sat and effortlessly severed his aorta. His death was eminent yet Retro jumped up and bit a chunk off right through his neck. Carlos’ corpse lay there on the ground at the ghazi chowk as his henchmen looked at it in dismay and anger. Their powerful leader had fallen within a heartbeat.

Retro devoured his share of the prey and took back his seat, resuming the menacing blankness within his eyes. The henchmen pointed trembling guns at me and Retro, but not even the reflection on my sunglasses moved and Retro kept staring blankly at the table, not even blinking. Chammo was still involved in his cell phone, mouthing every word he typed, which wasn’t clear behind his titanium mask that covered half his face, but those who knew him well knew that those lips are never completely closed. Mystic on the other hand had no idea what was going on since his vision was obscured by the cloud of smoke that he’s so often surrounded by. The other members informed the henchmen that guns would be useless and that shooting us would be a mere waste of bullets. Everyone’s gaze fell to Carlos’ corpse. Once the body had been stripped and looted by the smugglers, it was time to address the mob……

“Oh But You Didn’t Know Fame Had A Price To, That You’re Now Just Seeing The Downside To, Lose Your Best Friend From High School Your Wife Too, Aint Even Sure If Your Kids Like You. Come Off Tour Can’t Even Sleep At Night Without Night Quil, Become A Valium Addict, Start A Rehab Cycle, But Together We Can Break This Cycle.”

Karachi, Pakistan. My Home.

I woke up with a start. There was music being played somewhere in the near distance. Peaceful music. Soulful music. Music that would just about lighten up anyone’s day. I had to find out the source. It sounded so close and yet so far. Turning on my lamp I saw that it was emanating from my mobile. After doing a 2 second jig to the ringtone that was “Let Go’ by frou frou, I answered the call. It was Ahmad Sultan telling me that he just bought a pair of Bali shoes. He ended the conversation with a “lolzee” and a “later Pondun”. Hanging up I saw retro’s missed call. Checking the voice mail I was distressed to hear that he had got himself into a heap of trouble. I couldn’t make out much over all the giggling but I got most of the important parts. Something about being hung upside down and Chammo loving mattresses and holding him prisoner and him needing to escape.

Getting up, I walked towards my balcony and looked across the street. I saw that Retro was in his room. Maybe it was a prank call? Just when I was thinking of going back and sleeping another 12 hours, I saw Retro jump up and run out of his room with a manic expression on his face. Pretty normal activity for Retro really. It was then that I noticed a knife on the ledge. WTF was a knife doing on the balcony? Oh well. Two minutes later I got a call from Retro. He told me how he had just escaped from prison and how he was at an M-unit hideout and needed to be picked up. I looked across the road and saw him crouching besides a Honda City. Mystic stood beside him with a bemused expression. Sighing and knowing that Retro had finally lost it, I went over.

“Speak Of The Devil, It’s Attack Of The Rain Man, Chainsaw In Hand, Blood Stain On My Apron.”

Baden-Brugg, Switzerland. Ghazi Chowk.

The speech was simple, yet brilliant. A lot of thought had gone into it. A lot of planning. A lot of hard work. But it was all about to pay off.

It was I who delivered the speech. Chammo was still texting and we had advised him not to give it; we didn’t want our employees dying of boredom. Well. Not yet anyway. Retro had currently gone into a fit of giggles after seeing Corazon Surenos, (Leader of the Mexican Mob “Mudo Y Feo”) bend down to retrieve her 45 magnum. I asked mystic to give it but he mumbled something about summoning his demons and not wearing any underwear and resenting Harbooza for being too tall. Go figure. Just me left then. It started off by praising the mob. After they had been left feeling good about themselves, I told them about our future campaign. The one that would change everything. Clearing my throat, I started.

“Ladies and gentlemen……”

“He’d Been Praying For Me, Everyday And For Some Reason It’s Been Weighing On My Mind Heavy, Cuz I Don’t Read Every, Letter I Get, But Something Told Me To Go Ahead And Open It. But, Why Would Someone Pray For You If They Don’t Know You?”

Karachi, Pakistan. Retro’s Home.

Lighting a cigarette, I walked over to Retro’s only to stumble on a kitchen knife that was lying on the middle of the road. Opening the door, I saw Retro squeak and hide behind a pot. Mystic sighed exasperatedly and told him that it was just me. I met Mystic who tried to steal my cigarette. Instead, I gave him a packet of K2 which he happily took. Leaving him ecstatic, I walked over to Retro who fed me some story about being in a prison and escaping and a whole bunch of other crap which I didn’t listen to since I was too busy playing with my knife. Hey wait. I have a knife? Er. Right. After another agonizing 20 minutes, I began to wonder how my knife would look like in Retro’s eye, he pushed me to the side and told me to keep quite. He told me and mystic that it was at this time everyday that his beloved walked past. And by “beloved” I mean “Person who has absolutely no idea that he/she is being stalked.” We had heard of this so called beloved person. She was supposed to be some Irani model. Mega hot and all that jazz.  Her name was “Ya”. I decided to see what all the fuss was about. What me and Mystic saw next was enough to scar anyone for life……

“A World So Dark, A World So Cold, A World Where Only Some Will Go, But Not Return, When Will They Learn? Where Do They Go? God Only Knows. Stay Wide Awake.”

To Be Continued…..