Utterly Mad

Alright, alright I've been wanting to write some short stories for my damn universe for a while now and I haven't gotten around to it. And the only knowledge that they even exist is the fact that they're all stored ""safely"" (safe until the event of: sudden death, hard strike to the head, depression, head injury, brain necrosis, AJ replaces his story with memorized pictures of Tiger-Women porn, and unrelevant junk data such as the lyrics to ABBA's Dancing Queen or the several nicknames he wishes to be called) inside my brain. So instead of writing up a rough draft I've decided to just put my thoughts down into a basic "3-act" deal and just write from there.

Each story will be short, mostly due to me introducing characters and setting up the main story. Perhaps one day this thread will be novelized or turned into a webcomic of some sort, where plenty of rule 34 will be spawned off the main leads and possibly some of the side characters.

So before I decide to head to bed I'll write up the first story, a short little diddy about a man who lost everything and decided to become "The Man in Gold".

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"Sure is bright out tonight.", said one of your friends whom was squatting next to the warm campfire. He was right, the night sky wasn't pitch black like it usually was. It was a dazzling display of vivid colors, with blue strokes painted across a canvas of purple splatters and orange hues; the stars sprinkled and scattered all around, twinkling. Maybe it was this intense with you and your small group being this far out into the desert, away from the jungles of New Mexico, away from the light pollution and constant gunfire of the East Coast.

You nod to him. Looking around you see your buggies and dirt bikes neatly parked around the campsite, some of them are still have their headlights on to illuminate the area surrounding the campsite, can't ever be to careful out here in the badlands... even though you're giving away you're position more so then you would with them off. It makes your girl feel safer, so you put up with it. Sitting behind the campfire is the old man who invited you to take a seat and relax. He was strumming his guitar, muttering lyrics to himself when you pulled over, "Why don't you take a load off?" He shouted towards your group, as your girl ran for the bushes being hit with another bout of dysentery. When questioned he said that he wanted nothing but some company, and the promise that "ya'll would listen to a story!".

"So oldtimer," you ask looking towards him through the flames. "When are ya' going to tell us this story of yours?" Picking at the gauze wrapped around your hands. "What oh yes, yes. That story I was going to tell ya'll. Should I wait fer' your friend?", he asked resting a cigarette between his lips, looking towards the bushes. "Nah, she's not a big fan of westerns." You state, reattaching the gauze you just peeled off.

He nods and grabs his guitar out of a gunny sack that was resting on a rock, he sits back on his empty soda crate and begins to strum. "Alright all ya'll gather round, gather round! As I'm about to tell you the story of a man who lost his woman, his kids, and his sanity; becoming the most courageous, most hardened vigilante of this sandy dune."

*AHEM*

Back in the old days, way before those bombs detonated in the center of those massive urban sprawls. There lived a man named, "Walter Schmidt". A average Joe, who worked an average Joe job at a factory, who went home to a loving wife and well-behaved children. Each day he'd come home drop off his suitcase, and get into his recliner-

"Wait, wait!" One of your friends, "Digger", piped up. "Before the bombs went off, how old is this guy?" The old man stopped strumming and looked towards Digger, "Age is one dang thing that don' matter, now hush up." He started strumming once more.

He'd climb into his recliner to watch some old spaghetti westerns, the ones with those tough heroes that dealt harsh justice to those that did wrong. He'd then eat his dinner, love his wife, and wake up to repeat the cycle once more. As time passed on, and as the days got worse he worried for the safety of his family in the city. Things were happening, riots breaking out, people being killed in the streets for saying the littlest of things.

So he moved his family out to the woods in a small cabin away from everyone. Heh, heh, much to the protest of his wife. They lived out there for a year or two when... "it" happened. He came home one-

"Where did he work?" Asked Bullet (your woman), walking towards the campfire. "I mean you mentioned-" "GOSH DANGIT! Let me tell the damn story, ignore the little details! I mean its all speculation anyway." She raises eyebrow, "If it's speculation then how do you know all this." The old man ignores the question and continues strumming away.

He came home from the farm one day! Yah' you happy missy! With a new horse that the kindly Chinese farmer gave to him. Something was amiss though, the front door was open, the door hinged busted and the lock in pieces in front of the door with wood splinters surrounding it. Running, no, sprinting into his house he found his wife and two kids dead. Shot in the head, blood pooling around the bodies. No a single soul around who could've done it, nothing... except a single petal, a petal from a Rose. Cliche as it was. Broken and destroyed he went out to his shed.

Going to take his own life until inspiration struck, some say he saw God himself delivering a message that he had more to do, others say vengeance fueled his desire to live. He took a dirty old trenchcoat and bandanna from his wardrobe, and some gold spray cans from his garage. That night he became what outlaws fear today, "The Man in Gold". Racing out of his farm on horseback, his brain fuzzy and clouded with the fumes of paint that dripped from his bandanna and coat he rode into the rioting city, tearing itself apart in those last days.

He kicked down doors demanding for those responsible to come forth and face him. Facing down hordes of criminals, those who lost their humanity as society collapsed, gunning down hundreds of them with his Mare's Leg. Becoming a singular beacon of hope until those devices went off... He never did get his revenge.

"Well that was a short story." You say getting up from your spot on the ground. "Who said I was finished?" You roll your eyes, "Bullshit everyone who was in those cities got turned to ash, come on lets get going." The old gentleman chuckles, "Let me finish the story, please. At least humor an old man." You sit back down as your men begin to groan. "Play on then."


It wasn't until many moons later that he reemerged. You see there was a little town called Mulberry that was facing a particularly nasty gang when he came into town, still fueled by the burning desire to avenge the family that had been buried under his long forgotten cabin. He rode in on his black horse, and went into the bar to parch his dry lips. It was also the same time that the gang rode into town, led by a man named 'Dirk'. Enjoying his drink 'Dirk' and his crew kicked open the saloon doors, demanding the bartender start serving up rounds and free women.

The bartender started complying almost immediately until 'The Man in Gold' interfered. He got up from his stool, walked towards 'Dirk', and looked him in the eyes as he decked him in the jaw. In a flash 'The Man' pulled out his gun and started firing off shots in all directions, drinks shattered, blood spewed, and screams were silenced in an instant. Napkins fluttered gentle to the ground as The Man put the barrel of his gun to Dirk's forehead, pulling the trigger, blowing any greymatter clear though the back of his skull. He was about to leave when he noticed something in Dirk's back pocket, a singular Rose petal with a note attached. Quickly The Man skimmed through it, he dropped it with his face frozen in shock, he ran out the doors and onto his horse. Digging his spurs into this horse he sped out of town faster then a Dirtcruiser.

"What was on the note?" Digger asked. The old man had gotten up out of his seat to put up his guitar, "It was a note. From their boss, told them to head into to town to collect." You jump from your spot, "Alright pack it up, we need to go, NOW!" Within the span of seconds your crew hops into their vehicles, leaving the old man behind in a large cloud of brown dust.


The old man heard the clip-clopping of a horse coming up to him. "So Bard, is it them?", asked the figure from atop his horse. Bard picks up his gunny sack and heads behind some bushes, pushing out his bike from behind it. "Yep, took them forever to finally get who you were." The Man chuckled, "What was my name this time? King in Yellow," The Man asked. "The Man in Gold." They said in unison. "Always hated that name, I told you that "The Coat" was just fine, Hell "The Law" would be better." said The Coat. "So what'd you find out."

Bard hopped onto his bike and cranked it to life, spooking the horse in the process. "Their leader lives up to his name, quiet, stoic, barely said a damn thing, probably knew you were on your way over seeing as how I'm still here. He's still licking that hand wound you left him with. His main squeeze is Bullet, she's still sick in both ways before we sat down she started talking about that older couple they took out saying they were, "Horrible mutants." Digger is something special, didn't really seem interested let alone the fact that he wanted to be there." Bard tied his gunny stack around the front of his bike, and finally lighting the cigarette that was hanging in his mouth. "What about the rest of the men?", The Law asked. "The rest are your usual crowd of roughnecks and psychopaths, been around enough of them to say that they're no match for you."


The Law nodded as he made his horse begin trotting towards where the gang sped off. "We'll get him chief, we'll get him.", Bard told his friend as he cruised beside him.


As the sun came up over the horizon they were gone, leaving behind a orange painted morning and a smoking campfire.

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In the next edition of this mediocre series that no one will probably comment or respond to, we'll introduce the next set of characters and have them meet up with our crazy paint huffing cowboy and his guitar playing companion.