CRS
Chandler, Arizona, United States

There's an old saying. If you don't want someone to join a crowd, you ask them, "If everyone were jumping off of a cliff, would you?" Well, I have. So my answer would be "Yes". True story.
Profile continued . . .

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ONLY ONE MAN CAN SAVE AMERICA, AND HE NEEDS TO COME OUT OF RETIREMENT TO DO IT

Sunday, September 04, 2011

this entry brought to you by nine inch nails, "33 ghosts iv"


The summer day beat down on Talon mercilessly. It was a typical scorching day, just as all the previous days had been this summer, and frankly, the amount of money he was getting paid-- or any man, for that matter-- to lay brick on a day like this wasn't enough. Talon didn't complain, however, and kept at his job with a steady dedication. This was a thankless job, and in a way they were all thankless jobs, but at least now he could have the deep, satisfying fulfillment of actually doing something constructive, something tangible, something uncomplicated and pure.

As Talon wiped the sweat from his brow he could see a convoy of black vehicles approaching. No, they wouldn't dare Talon said to himself, and yet, he knew deep down inside that they would dare. Even though it had been three years since he'd done a job for them-- god, the horrors he had to go through to do those jobs-- he knew this day would come. Feared it with all his existence. God, why couldn't they just leave him alone?

He could hear the vehicles stop behind him, they sounded like large vehicles, probably SUVs, and he could hear doors opening and closing, feet hitting the ground and walking toward him with precision. He refused to turn to face them. If he ignored them, maybe they would just go away.

And as they approached closer Talon thought, of course. There was no way he could make this go away, it would be like this forever.

"I'm not doing it, Colonel," he said. "I did my last job for you. I've given you absolutely all I can give. I won't let you take this last bit of peace and sanity in my life. I have a wife now, I have an eighteen month old daughter. I'm not letting you take me from them."

Talon could hear paper rustling.

"Are you Hawk?" came the Colonel's voice.

Talon turned around for the first time to face the man, who was flanked by four soldiers, two on each side. "Who?"

"Hawk," repeated the decorated officer. "I'm looking for Hawk."

"Oh. Huh. I thought you were looking for me."

"Aren't you Talon?"

Talon nodded.

"No, I'm not looking for you, Talon, I'm looking for Hawk."

Talon pointed. "Hawk's over there. He's running the backhoe."

"Thank you," the Colonel said, and started to move in the direction he was pointed to.

"Are you sure you don't need Talon?" he asked.

The Colonel stopped and looked down at his papers. "No, I'm not looking for anyone named Talon."

"Well, Talon's just my code name, are you looking for a Lance Richter? I mean, nobody's called me Lance in twenty-four years, but I don't know how you guys have it on your official forms."

The Colonel looked back down at his papers. "Richter, Richter.... No, no one on this paper by that name at all. You say Hawk will be running the backhoe?"

Talon nodded, and the Colonel went his way.

Hawk pulled the lever on his monstrous machine, moving the earth itself. Hawk had to admit that it wasn't nearly as exciting as his life had been just two and a half years ago, but in a way, Hawk much preferred it this way. The deafening crank and roar of the backhoe he was perched in was a sound that was much easier than the sound of the cries of the dying, the wet sound of bodies hitting the ground, the dry groan of a man taking his last breath.

It was with this that Hawk looked down from the machine and could see the last person he wanted to see in his life-- The Colonel. He was flanked by several soldiers. Hawk didn't bother turning off his machine, kept working as if he'd never seen him.

He could hear a voice shouting something at him, and he shouted back, "I'm sorry, sir! I can't hear you! I'm running this backhoe!"

Hawk continued his duty for a few more minutes, hoping that the Colonel had gotten the picture, that there was no way he was leaving his new life to return to the madness. But eventually the guilt got the best of him. If the Colonel was here, things must be bad. He had left in no uncertain terms, had made it perfectly clear that he never wanted to see them again.

So if the Colonel had driven out all this way-- things must be bad. Real bad. Hawk let out a loud sigh and turned the key on his backhoe to the off position, and slowly slid out of the cage.

"Can we go someplace where it'll be more private?" asked the Colonel.

Hawk pointed at a tent that had been temporarily set up. "We go there, but I'm only giving you five minutes. After that my boss considers it a break, and there's no goddamn way I'm letting whatever this is to be my break."

Once there, the Colonel began going through the papers he was holding. "I'm sorry to bother you, Hawk. Things are bad. Real bad."

Hawk lit up cigarette and took a long, slow drag off of it. "I know."

"The situation with the Dark Blades has been miniscule for the past three years, since you left. We were even beginning to think that they had been dismantled, but yesterday they attacked a secret outpost in Lebanon without any warning, which certainly got our attention."

Hawk nodded.

"It wasn't just that they attacked, Hawk, it's the precision and viciousness with which they attacked. We also received a video, which we'll show you as soon as you agree to be a part of this mission. It's frightening, to say the least, and the implications put every man, woman, and child in America at risk. We knew that after your last mission, in Iran, you were the only man for the job," said the Colonel.

"Iran?" asked Hawk.

"Yes, Operation Pedestal, your last mission, Hawk."

"Operation Pedest-- wait, are you looking for Tomahawk?"

The Colonel embarrassingly rifled through his papers. "It just says Hawk here."

"Well I'm Hawk, but if you're talking about Operation Pedestal then you're definitely looking for TomaHawk."

The Colonel looked at his papers more, flipping through them. "No, on every single sheet here, it says 'Hawk'."

"It's a typo," said Hawk, putting out his cigarette. "If you're talking about Operation Pedestal, you're talking about Tomahawk. The last thing I did was Operation Strength In Determination, in Alaska. Tomahawk is the big Native American dude on the south end of the site. You can't miss him."

In a few moments the Colonel, flanked by the four soldiers, approached a large Native American man on the construction site, holding a shovel and digging inside of a pit.

"Are you Tomahawk?" asked the Colonel.

The man shook his head. "No, I'm Apache Bloodgood."

"Apache Bloodgood? From Operation Cold Assassin?"

The Native American man nodded.

"Shit. Where the hell is Tomahawk?"

"Called out sick today," replied Apache.

"Is everyone at this goddamn construction site an Ex One-Man-Killing-Machine Secret Agent?" asked The Colonel with growing exasperation.

"Not all of us," said Apache. "There's a new guy who is a scientist who went off the grid when he found out his weapons were being used on civilians. Oh, we can't be sure, but we think our foreman is a superhero who always felt responsible for the death of his girlfriend at the hands of his arch nemesis. There's this tattoo on his arm of the words 'Annie, Rest In Peace', and also, he teleports to work when traffic is bad."
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with love from CRS @ 10:38 AM 

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