the country man reloaded

8/8/2019 The Country Man Reloaded

1/22


2/22

Bad Day These days, the Vanderbilt YMCA in Encino is being visited by what must be thelargest most eerily intimidating man ever known to the world. He works out every day,

around 10:30 A.M. He's a mountain of a man, in fact such so, that his countenance is

quite frightening. Nevertheless, they do not interfere with his workouts and nobody tries

to pay him any mind. They just want to stay as far away from him as possible, wherever

he goes, not just the Encino branch of the Vanderbilt YMCA gym. And his name is The

Cowboy Man!

Enormous biceps, about the size of a large basketball grotesquely protrude from the

Cowboy Man's arm. However, this is all we see, as he injects himself with another dose

of Synthetic Anabolic Growth Hormone. As he digs the needle deep into his monstrous

biceps, blood and clear fluid mix and dribble down his arm. "Ahhh, there we go." Hisvoice is low, course, deep. A voice that should not belong to a man, but rather a beast.

On TV, he watches an old re-run of Baywatch. It's been his favorite TV show for the

past month, and he tips the brim of his cowboy hat to a young Pamela Anderson, a

large bulge beginning to protrude from the groin of his tight Levis. "Top of the mornin' to

ya hon'." We still can't make out his face, as it's lost in the black shadow cast by his

cowboy hat, but the mere shape of the head underneath is almost twice as large as a

normal mans head should be. And yet, we catch a faint glimmer in his eye, as he

continues to gawk at the two bristling cantaloupes on TV. As he finishes injecting

himself with another 5000 milligram dosage of Synthetic HGH, he begins to glance

longingly at the othersyringe that lay solitary on the stained coffee table.

"Aahhhhsnorthere come that darn' skag!" He spits and sits the HGH needle down,

then reaches for the other one. He exams it closely for any residue buildup in the

inside. "Aah, it should do for nother' go." He sets it back down and pulls out some

black tar heroin wrapped in plastic from his pocket, and a spoon from off the coffee

table. The chunk of black tar from his pocket is about the size of a small truffleenough

to knock out an ox. He sucks up about 75 units of water from a glass, squirts it back

into the spoon with the chunk of black tar, and proceeds to melt it from the bottom with

his lighter. After making sure the solution is well mixed with the plunger of the syringe,

he drops a condensed cotton ball into the solutionit puffs up like a sponge.


3/22

"Oop, there you go baby." He sucks all the heroin out of the cotton and proceeds to

inject himself in the same arm he injected his mega HGH dose with. He slowly lays

back in the couch, his enormous body beginning to dissolve into the sofa. Then, he

suddenly snaps back up"Aw, shucks! Gotta work out!"

He squeezes himself into the drivers seat of his vintage '68 Chevy, its indigo blue paintjob has started to flake away long ago, and now appears two-toned as a result. He got

the tires upgraded to 35's with a small lift at PepBoysforfree! But only after

succeeding in beating the shit out of the manager, busting his face up irreparably and

causing some serious damage to his ribs. And then holding his only two mechanics

prisoner, pretty much making them do the job at gunpoint. The manager was no slouch

either, a 250 pound former collage football linebacker, who couldn't hack it in the pros.

So he turned to middle class life with style, becoming a wife beater in his off-time.

Guess the manager at PepBoys got what he deserved when the Cowboy Man visited

his shop that cold November afternoon. Then there's yet other tweak-jobs on the '68

Chevy that create quite a spectacle on the road. The first one being the fact that there

are no doors on the cab, and the roof of the cab has also been removed, this being

done, so that the Cowboy Man can more easily fit inside, and even now, as he turns on

the ignition and cranks it in reverse, he sits like a hunchback in the seat of the cab. The

second, even more bizarre modification, is that the Cowboy Man's feet almost touch the

groundeven as he sits inside the cab! The floor plate has been removed, and the

entire pedal/throttle system has been lowered to support his enormous body. He pulls a

cowboy-killer out of the box with his teeth, and screeches onto the black-top, doing

about 85. The cops have long learned to stay away from an old '68 chevy, with several

bizarre custom jobs done to it. Hell, the Cowboy Man don't even pay insurance

anymore, and his license expired two years ago.

He's been doing well in staying low enough not to get noticed by the Country Man, but

that is all about to changetoday. His ego has grown way out of control, and something

needs to be done about it. There's only one man the Cowboy Man fears, and that's the

Country Man. The Cowboy Man is forgetting how unpleasant it feels to be on the

receiving end of the Country Man's otherworldly wrath, and he needs to be reminded ofjust how that feels, one last time. Before his encounter with the Country Man, he feared

no one, because there was no one bad-ass enough to take him on. There goes that old

saying, "There's always someone bigger, or badder, or both."


4/22

Well, that old saying does not apply to the Country Man, it stops with him. No one is

badder than the Country Man, bigger maybe, but never badder. The Country Man wins

every time.

Yep, the Cowboy Man makes quite a spectacle of himself, every time he drives down

Ventura Boulevard. He looks like Mr. Clean on steroids as he sings to his favorite

country artist, David Allan Coe; "Now you can call me Jerry, Or you might call me

Moe, You may call me David Or you might call me Coe!" Suddenly the tape player jams,

and his music stops. The Cowboy Man starts to throw a fit; "Damn!" He slams the

dashboard with his fist, doing more damage than anything else"Work! Ya piece a shit!"

The music suddenly comes back on, as if frightened back into operation by the Cowboy

Man, and he continues to sing along; "But youre gonna have to server

somebody, Serve somebody, Serve somebody,

Serve somebody. It may be the Devil, Or it might be the Lord, But youre gonna have to

serve somebody!" Up ahead, the green light begins to turn yellow. "You call me

RJ, You can call me Ray, You can call me anything, I dont care what you say"

Suddenly a rock slams against the side of the Cowboy Man's temple, making a

painful thwackingsoundTHWACK! Amazingly, the Cowboy Man is temporarily

stunned, and he drives right through the yellow light, that's now turned red. Only to be

slammed by something much largera semi, on full load, slams against the passenger

side of his truck going about 55. As his truck gets T-boned it crushes the entire rightside of his truck, and the passenger side of the frame breaks into several pieces which

fly into the air. Shards of glass and metal explode, and rain down on a surprised crowd

of onlookers. And as the truck gets slammed down on its side, the Cowboy Man takes

the brunt of the force with his bare hands, as they kiss the glass and metal laden

asphaltSMUUUUCKRUNCH. The PeterBilt semi-truck continues to barrel through the

Cowboy Man's quasi-totaled '68 Chevy, but by now has slowed down to about 15 mph.

Twenty seconds later, yet seemingly like an eternity, both the quasi-totaled Chevy and

the PeterBilt, which only suffered scratches and dents to its bumper, both come to acomplete stop. The Peterbilt blows dust up into the air, as the operator finely succeeds

in fully engaging the brake system, and all becomes silent.

The crowd that just witnessed the collision cautiously begin to creep closer to the

Cowboy Man's truck, out of sheer morbid curiosity. And suddenly they hear a ferocious

cry, filled with pure rage emanate from the hulking form inside the cab of the Chevy.


5/22

The crowd disperses like a frightened flock of seagulls, and that part of town becomes

akin to a ghost-town. Save for the operator of the PeterBilt, who has become to

frightened to even attempt to get out of the cab of his semi and try making a run for it.

The Cowboy Man suddenly busts out of the cab of the Chevy like a jack-in-the-box

from hell, and stares straight at the frozen driver in the cab of the PeterBilt. To the truck

drivers growing horror, the Cowboy Man's eyes have turned blood shot, and they

appear to bulge out of their sockets, making the Cowboy Man appear more like some

twisted cartoon character, than anything else. At closer glance, one would notice that

the tiny red veins that cover the sclera of his eyeballs now appear enlarged, and pulsate

grotesquely with a life of their own. The Cowboy Man's tight Levis now hang off his legs

in tattered rags, and as he begins to walk toward the cab of the PeterBilt he tears what

remain of them off his body completely, including his shirt, which was tattered to begin

with. All he wears now are his $500.00 Alligator skin cowboy boots, and his $300.00

Serratelli western fur felt cowboy hat, which both, amazingly, did not suffer very much in

the accident. Now he's beginning to look like his 'ol self againbizarre!

The Cowboy Man busts the drivers side window open with his fist, and yanks the

driver out by his collar. Huge chunks of flesh tear away from the screaming truck

drivers body, as he is thrown down onto the glass shard littered blacktop. "Help!"

Screams the bawling truck driver. "Somebody! Help!" The Cowboy Man lifts him back

up by his collar, and the truck driver flies through the air as he gets slammed up against

the side of the flipped Chevy like Raggedy Ann. Next, the Cowboy Man proceeds to

serve him with severe blows to the face; THWACK! The first blow dislocates the truck

drivers jaw, rendering him incapable of uttering anything audibly understandable, other

than a pathetic whiny bawl, that grows more horse and weak with every blow he

receives. THE-WWWWACK! The second blow tears his jaw completely off, and the

Cowboy Man watches it hit the ground with a blank glare, then looks back up at his

victim. The Cowboy Man doubles up and puts his all into the third blow, which tears the

truck drivers head completely off. But it does more than that, as the Cowboy Man's fist

of steal connects with side of face, what remains of the truck drivers skull shatters andexplodes. Chunks of shattered skull, brain and flesh spray the Cowboy Man's horrific

face, which has only seemed to become more imbued with inhuman rage than ever, as

if the very act of horrific violence only fuels his rage, rather than satisfy it.

After he finishes his business with the truck driver, he walks back to his Chevy.

"Humpghh . . . . Humphghh . . . Hueaa!"


6/22

He flips his Chevy back onto its wheels, almost effortlessly. Then stretches the quasi-

totaled steel frame of the cab wider open and plumps into the drivers seat just as

effortlessly.

He cranks it back into life, and peels out of the wreck/murder scene and toward his

original destinationThe Encino branch of the Vanderbilt YMCA gym. "I'll be damned if I

get cheated out a 'nother work-out today." Hisses the enraged Cowboy Maneyes still

ridiculously blood-shot.

CRAAAAAASHHHHH!! The unmistakable sound of shattering glass and concrete fills

the Vanderbilt YMCA building like a rude alarm, as those on the first floor begin to

scream. Smoke and dust begins to billow up the stairwell that leads to the second floor

gym. "Jesus! Did you just hear that?" Says one of the front desk attendants to the

other. "I've got a bad feeling about this Jason." Replies the other, he gives him aglance that says everything. "The Cowboy Man, right?" "Uh, Yeah Jason." "He must

have survived the crash, holy fuck! We're screwed!" One of the front desk attendants

screams to everyone in the gym, "Get the fuck out everybody! The Cowboy Man is

here! And he's pissed!"

Just then, they begin to hear him coming up the stairwell, breathing heavy. He

appears in the entranceway, pretty much nude, and staring blindly with a gore spattered

face at the two frozen desk attendants. One of them manages to utter a sentence to the

Cowboy Man.

"W-we've been watching the news on TV. The cops have . . . thethe c-cops have

had it with you."

Suddenly the Cowboy man jerks his head up toward one of the TVs in the corner of

the enormous room. He watches with a blank expression, a news anchor standing

within the wreck/murder scene that he just left no more than 15 minutes ago. News

anchor; "Witnesses reported watching someone called the Cowboy Man brutally murderthis truck driver, after he survived a collision with his semi-truck"

To the Cowboy Man's chagrin, he watches as his mugshot is plastered all over the

channel 4 newsfor all of L.A. see. Guess he could kiss his plans to stay low in

California goodbye, hell, he might as well kiss his plans to stay low anywhere goodbye

now. The Country Man is bound to find him, it's only matter of counting down the hours.


7/22

The two frightened desk attendants watch, as his bloodshot eyes begin to bulge out of

their sockets again. A single vein appears to bulge out from the center of his forehead

perhaps from pure stressand a solitary bead of sweat rolls down his left cheek. He

clutches at his head, as if tormented by neuralgia, and bellows in child-like frustration.

He appears driven way beyond his limits, and he seems to have already snapped.

His actions now, whatever they may be, are completely unpredictable. He walks up

to the front desk, and cries to the attendants; "Give me 'ya phone." However, they do

not respond. They only cower under the counter. The Cowboy Man bellows louder this

time; "Give me 'ya fuckin' phone before 'ya make me take it from 'ya!" Slowly, a hand

holding a cell phone slowly rises up from behind the counter, shaking violently. The

Cowboy man eyes the hand, and licks his lips. He reaches for the phone and tears the

desk attendants hand right off of his arm. "Aaaaaaaahhheeeeee!!" The desk attendant

falls back, clutching at his bloody stump as the Cowboy Man walks away. Those still

cowering in the weight room gasp in horror as the Cowboy Man begins to eat the hand.

He nonchalantly chews on fingers, making a grotesque crunching/squishing sound in

his mouth as he dials a number on the cell-phone. "han't had unch yet, orry. Ot' inda

ungry." Nobody says anything though, they just continue to gape in horror, as their

frozen minds attempt to process what just took place. At the same time, the desk

attendant continues to scream in agony, writhing on the floor in his own pool of blood.

The Cowboy Man sits down on a flat bench and talks to someone on the other end ofthe line, as he continues to snack on the torn off hand. "I ont oo own eer! Ing all a 'em!

The Ountry Man ill be ear oon!! I eed help!!" As the Cowboy Man finishes speaking to

the unknown man on the other end of the line, he finishes his handysnack, then throws

the cell phone at one of the TV screens on the wall. It shatters into a thousand pieces.

"Fuck!!!" By now, most have already snuck out of the room, but a few still cower in the

corners, too frightened to move. The Cowboy Man proceeds to put ten 45's on each

end of two six ft. barbells for a total of 900 pounds per barbell. With each 900 pound

barbell laying lengthwise beside the flat bench, he lies down and grabs both barbells.He curls each of them up into the air, then heaves them straight up and proceeds to

bench press 1,800 pounds with minor difficulty. The massive amount of weight on the

barbells causes them to bounce and bend in a bow-like fashion. He reaches 50

repetitions before decided to give his arms a rest.


8/22

ReloadWe can only see the Country Man's face below his nose, as he lights a Newport and

takes a long dragan after sex muscle relaxant. Broken morning sunlight shines onto

the Country Man and his unknown companion through unseen venetian blinds. The TV

can be heard in the background, as a news channel reports the whereabouts of the

Cowboy Man within a fitness center in Encino, California. On the TV, the news anchor

speaks; "LAPD has deployed their S.W.A.T. unit to take out the Cowboy Man, who has

become a high-risk target ever since his first murder back in 1994."The Country Man gives a slow, almost cynical laugh"You ain't gonna take out shit."

Then takes another long drag off his Newport. Too lips lock, and bodily fluids are

exchanged for a good two and a half minutes. Then the Country Man gives his one-

night mistress the usual farewell speech; "Gotta go baby, something went down, not toolong ago"

The Country Man could be made out well within a crowd, he never was one to blendin. Even now, as he exits the air-bridge and enters the terminal. He's definitely one of

the taller men, standing close, if not right at seven feet. He weighs close to 280, but he

hides that weight extremelywell. Anyone looking at his tall, slender form would never

have guessed that 280 pounds of sinewy muscle envelopes that tall frame. And even at

the size he is, he does not come across as an outwardly large man. Perhaps it's his

somewhat feminine face which helps to detract from his rugged nature. The masculine

aspects of his face only show upon closer observation. The 5 o'clock shadow that

compliments his pallid facewhich is almost as white as a bed sheetenhances his sex

appeal on those lonely nights. And he's rarely seen without his vintage Robert La

Roche sunglasses, with jet black lenses. He's also finicky when it comes to his hair.

Preferring to keep it parted severely to either the left or right side of his face, so that

one cannot see his face from the side depending on which side is covered by the shiny,

straight, jet-black hair which covers it.

The Country Man strides down the center of the LAX terminal like he owns the place.

He doesn't even slow down or make way for those walking past him, but instead makes

them make way forhim. For those more stubborn individuals, a slight twist of the

shoulders is all we see him make, as his vintage Burberry trench-coat blows in the rush

of air caused by his brisk stride.


9/22

The Country Man can smell blood, and the Cowboy Man already knows it.

"Lookin' forward to re-introducing myself with a brisk ass-kickin' Cowboy Man."

The Country Man already knows where the Cowboy Man is penned up, all he needs

to do now, is catch his chauffeur at valet pickupand quick. Oh, and he needs torestock on a few toys too.

Just as he finishes smoking another Newport, his chauffeur pulls up in a Custom

Chrysler 300 Limousine. The black tinted passenger side window rolls down, and a

small, middle aged man with a trimmed goatee peers out at him, a welcome smile

adorning his face.

"Are you ready, sir?" The Country Man flicks his cigarette stub on the ground, and

gets in the second row passenger seat.

"Take me to Antonio's place. He says they've just received some new toys I'd be

interested in for this mission."

"Very well, sir."

After almost an hour of driving through LA, they enter into a distinctively upscale

neighborhood laying north of East Hollywood, just south of the Santa Monica

Mountains. A scenic ride looking into the southern face of Griffith Park just

accompanied the Country Man's last several minutes into Los Feliz, and now, they pull

into a gated driveway leading to Antonio's Los Feliz Mansion.

The chauffeur sticks his head out the drivers window to answer to a voice coming out

of a hidden speaker-box.

"What's your business?" Asks a feminine voice in a not-so-friendly tone.

"I'm the chauffeur Antonio sent to pick up his guest . . . the Country Man. Apparently

he has some important business to tend to, before his next mission into Encino."

"One moment please." After five more minutes of waiting, the wrought iron gate

opens up and they're greeted onto a paved driveway lined with lavish ornamental

magnolias. Another four minute drive, and they are parked outside Antonio's mansion.


10/22

Antonio makes the Country Man feel right at home, as he relaxes on a plush leathercouch, and sips on a crystal glass of Caol Ila 18 on the rocks. Antonio sits directly

across from the Country Man in a late Victorian style lounge chair, dressed for the

occasion in a grey Armani leisure suit. He appears younger than his middle-age would

suggest, looking more like an older, but suave spanish strip-dancer.

Antonio; "I'm so glad you could make it today Country Man, I promise, you will not

leave here disappointed."

"Believe me ol' buddy, I would not have missed this opportunity for the world. I know

what kinda shit your capable of acquiring." The Country Man takes another long sip off

his Caol Ila. "So, you got em' or what?"

Antonio briskly snaps his fingers, and two large men come out of no where with large

black combination briefcases in their hands, almost as if on cue. They each set their

briefcases down on the large crystal coffee table that sits in between Antonio and the

Country Man, and proceed to open them up.

Antonio; "You had told me over the phone that you were looking for two Micro Uzis,

and an AA-12 shotgun with licenses, is this correct?"

"Yes, they're really only manufactured for military and police use, that was the main

reason I was having difficulty acquiring the weapons and permits. But the permits werejust an after thought, it's really just the weapons I give a damn about."

"Let me tell you, the Cowboy man is not really a man, but some type of demon. Single

shot, and semi-auto will only piss him off. I need bad-ass shit that's fully automatic, and

fires heavy to slow him down at that critical moment. And when it comes to

concealment, the Micro Uzi is the perfect weapon."

Antonio breathes in deep, and begins to survey the weapons in the briefcase. "Very

well then, I've got just what you ordered, and more. First, these two Micro Uzi's came

with complimentary accessories, made just for the weapons at a special wholesale

price. Still, they weren't cheap, at roughly 1600 per unit. There's also two licenses for

the weapons under the briefcases foam padding."


11/22

Country Man; "Just goes to show you how rarely they're used outside of Israel as a

combat field weapon. But they sure are beauts aren't they? These babies can fire 25

rounds in less than 30 seconds." The Country Man takes one of the Uzis in a briefcase

and sets it down in front of him. He surveys the Uzi, still in its case, running his fingers

over the shiny metallic body. He then grabs the AA-12 still in its case beside the coffee

table, pulls it up and snaps it open. He pulls it out of its case, and tucks the butt stock

between his chest and shoulder. He points it at an indiscriminate target in the room, as

he centers his sites through the front and rear apertures. "Good luck mending your

wounds after I get through using this baby on your ass, Cowboy Man!" The weapons

body is thick, and heavy duty as he sets it back in the foam padding. He pulls a wad of

hundreds out from one of his inside pockets. He slaps it on the coffee table"Done deal

then, go a head and count it out. There should be a little extra in there for your superior

services."

Again, Antonio snaps his fingers, and one of the large body guards picks up the wad of

hundreds, and begins to thumb his wetted fingers through it.

"It's all there Antonio." Says one of the large men, as he hands him the wad of

hundreds.

Five more Caol Ilas and three hours later, the Country Man is ready to call it a night.

Antonio has already made arrangement for him to crash in one of his luxurious guest

suites before his battle with the Cowboy Man tomorrow. The Country Man gets up, and

exhales deeply as he gives his sinewy torso a good stretch.

Country Man; "Well, ol' buddy, think it's time I hit the can."

Antonio; "Rest well my friend. And do me favor will you? Take care of that demented

thing for good this time,please. Make the world a better place to live."

Country Man; "Ol' buddy, with all the toys you just gave me, it'll be my pleasure."

The Country Man had to include a shotgun in his arsenal, as it's always been a classic

favorite of his when it comes to blowing away the bad guys. However this particular

shotgun is not your run-of-the-mill 'cock, lock, and ready to rock' bad boy toy. It's a

AA-12 Atchisson Assault Shotgun.


12/22

The Country Man, a shotgun connoisseur, realized that a run of the mill shotgun would

not produce effective enough results on the Cowboy Man, so he turned to what must be

the most outrageously devastating hand-held anti-personnel murder machine in

existence. One of its key features that made the Country Man almost wet himself over

was its development in conjunction with the FRAG-12. A new type of shotgun cartridge

in which each round is a small, flighted high explosive, accurate up to 175 metres.

Another one of the AA-12's many bad-ass features is for the capability of its

aerospace-grade stainless steel body to preform its own self cleaning and self-

lubrication checks, from carbon released from the shells detonations. Many a user

before have reported to have fired an upwards of 9,000 rounds without ever cleaning or

lubricating the weaponsomething the Country Man is very grateful for, since he

considers having to clean a gun a waist of time.

The Country Man figures he'll use the AA-12 on the Cowboy Man as the 'final blow', or

the 'grand finale' in what will be to him, another glorious orgy of carnage and

bloodletting upon a well deserving victim.

On top of this, he also got a belt of Mini Bo-kri crystalline bladed throwing knives, in

which he's black belt certified in the Tikicha Ninga throwing technique. The Country

Man figures if he could get one or two to stick in the Cowboy Man's eyeballs, it should

give him more time to plan out his next move.

Once inside the guest bedroom, the Country Man locks the door behind him, drops his

briefcases full of toys on the floor, and lets his body fall upon a hand-made spanish bed

of luxury. No more than a minute later, the Country Man's in a deep sleep, unaware that

his opponent has made the 12 o'clock news on the widescreen that sits just across the

room.

The Country Man is pleasantly woken to electric venetian blinds, set to let the sunlight

in at 9 o'clock sharp. And now, he steps out of the bathroom with a towel wrappedaround his waist, fixing his eyes yet again on the widescreen opposite his luxury bed.

The Cowboy Man has become the focus of every news headline, on every channel in

Los Angeles, and his notoriety is not just limited to Southern California. LAPD S.W.A.T.

surrounding a vandalized southern california fitness center has become a familiar sight

to news junkies nationwidethanks to the news choppers that have begun to swarm

over Los Angeles like flies on shit.


13/22

"Yep." Says the Country Man to himself"The Cowboy Man's days are numbered."

The Country Man's body is a horrific sight to behold. If his head looked anything like the

rest of his body, it would certainly have been more difficult to have gained the friends in

high places he's acquired. And his sex life would be down right pathetic. He appears to

have lost most of the epidermal skin layers from the base of his neck down. What his

body's been left with is a grotesque superficial layer of fascia, that has hardened into a

tough, clear protective layer of flesh. Sinewy muscle fibers are seen, under hardened

superficial fascia, making him appear like a real-life artist's anatomical model. For

those, wondering how he gets chicks in bed, he wears a fake skin layer on those lonely

nights, that feels just like the real thing to unsuspecting mistresses.

The Country Man wears a secondary protective skin layer on a daily basis. A tough,

stretchy Kodiak hide. It protects in conjunction with the physiology of the superficial

fascia underneath. And ingenious straps run down the front torso and legs. The Kodiak

hide is in part, responsible for his skin disfigurement, and holds the key to a

supernatural origin of what he's become today. He slips into the hide, and straps it tight

to his body. He slips about four dozen Bo-Kri crystalline throwing knives into hidden

slits throughout the Kodiak hide that now envelopes his body, and gazes out the

window, into a sprawling LA suburb bathed in morning sunlight.

As the Country Man prepares to unleash his fury upon the Cowboy Man, he gradually

turns into someone else. A a psychotic nomad, a deranged wanderer who traverses theCountryleaving the spilt blood of opponents in his wake.


14/22

The Final Blow

Lenco BearCat Armored Assault Vehicles surround the Vanderbilt YMCA like machinesprepared for urban armageddon, as two SWAT helicopters provide aerial

reconnaissance in preparation for a rappelling assault. The LAPD has no idea the

Country Man will soon storm in like a one man army, let alone that only he can destroy

the Cowboy Man. They only know that previous attempts to arrest the Cowboy Man

through traditional means had failed every time. And those who survived, would report

horror stories that would make even the most seasoned officer cringe in terror.

It took two years between the time the Cowboy Man was first spotted in LA and now

for the incident commander to grow a pair, and request SWAT to take him out. But it'll

soon be realized that even SWAT's forces are futile against the Cowboy Man.

A 50 man dismounted SWAT team, positioned strategically outside the Vanderbilt

YMCA fire flash bang grenades and tear gas rounds into the first and second floors.

White smoke billows out of the building, and forms a hazy cloud above the gathering

SWAT forces. Not more than 20 seconds later, a roaring bellow is heard emanating

from the second floor"RRHOOOOOAAAAGGGGHH!!!" One of the startled SWAT

officers yells to his teammate;

"Christ! Sergeant Erickson, did you just hear that?!"

"Yeah, that's the Cowboy Man alright." Several shots are fired out of pure shock, and

a voice immediately begins to scream from out of a loud speaker, from the tactical

command post"Hold your fire! I repeat! Hold your fire!"

Inside, three hillbillies from Barstow gaze out the shattered windows, and onto the

gathering SWAT force below. They appear more like the three stooges with gas masks

on, as they slap, thunk and shove each other in brotherly quarrel. They're the helping

hands the Cowboy Man requested just after he first entered the Gym, almost 24 hours

ago. They're to act as an initial defense shield against the Country Man. But in reality

it's a suicide mission for these three dumb and unsuspecting abettors of crime.

In one of the dim corners of the gym, the Cowboy Man's hulking form can be seen

within a shroud of chemical and thermal smoke.


15/22

He's hunched over with his head down so that we cannot see his face, but he lifts his

head up briefly, and gazes out one of the shattered windows beside him. His eyeballs

grotesquely protrude from the sockets of his skull, and veins bulge from them like some

real life alternate take on a Ren and Stimpy cartoon show. His facial features have also

contorted into a sickening spectacle of rage. He doesn't even look like the same 'man'

he previously was, just hours ago. His face almost completely devoid of life and

expression, as if he were a walking mannequin from somebody's forgotten nightmare.

It's gonna be a long and dark night for the Cowboy Man, a night that will be his very last.

And as dusk turns into night in the city of angels, a demon still lurks inside a VanderbiltYMCA in north L.A., and the LAPD S.W.A.T. prepare their full scale assault on the

Cowboy Man. Negotiations for a peaceful surrender failed to fall through, and the

S.W.A.T. have been left with no choice but to test the Cowboy Man's will with brute

police force.

The Country Man speeds through traffic down the Ventura freeway in his cherryred Ferrari V4 prototype. A Motorcycle not yet manufactured for the public, which came

off the drawing board of Israeli designer Amir Glinik just two years ago. He swerves in

between traffic flying at an insane 190 mph, with a little help from a modified engine

from a Ferrari Enzo. He takes the last swig from his bottle of Tanqueray's Rampur gin,

and shatters it against the drivers side window of a car as he passes it by. He carries

the mini-arsenal he acquired in Los Feliz under his trenchcoat, partially hidden fromview within the 190 mph winds. The two Micro Uzis are strapped snugly against the

inside of his trench coat, inside hidden pockets, and his AA-12 Atchisson Assault

Shotgun slung behind his back. A 50 ft. belt of Uzi rounds hangs across his torso, and

two FRAG-12 ammo drums are clipped to his waist. The Country Man is coming to

claim fate, speeding out of the night lights of L.A. like some 21st Century Grim Reaper.


16/22

BOOOOOOOMMM!!! Explosive charges thrown into the demolished entranceway of

the Vanderbilt YMCA ignite. And a close quarters SWAT team of twenty-five men rush

in with carbines and shotguns at the ready. Suppressive fire is shot by the men in the

front, as they rush into the lobby and form a defensive perimeter. Soon after, the team

leader signals for ten men to go down the left hall, and ten men to search the right,

while the rest keep their positions providing cover for their return. The building's interior

is pitch black, illuminated only by the flashlights mounted on their carbines. And with

every pivot around a corner's apex their nerves become less stable, and more frayed.

Nevertheless, they complete their search of the first floor without finding the Cowboy

Man, indicating that he most certainly still lurks above, on the second floor. Almost as if

he were waiting, drawing them into some appalling web that only the Cowboy Man

could've concocted.

Amazingly, the SWAT team's will is not broken, and the team leader resolves to go

ahead and proceed with the second floor searchvery brave men indeed. Just as they

proceed to rush up the stairwell leading from behind the desk of the main lobby, the

muffled scream of their incident commander is heard, coming from the command post.

Followed by approaching choppers.

Team Leader; "I'm not getting comms from command! Can you hear what he's

saying? I can't hearshit!"

His men all reply that they cannot make out what he's saying, and just as they continue

to rush up the stairwell, shots are heard outside the building.

Team Leader; "He must be trying to escape out one of the windows! Hurry up! Let's

go!"

They begin to run up the stairs as fast as their legs can carry them, certain that they've

somehow acquired the upper-hand over the Cowboy Man. The unmistakeable noise of

helicopters has reached its apex outside, as airborne SWAT prepare to rappel onto theroof of the YMCA. They reach the top of the stairwell and enter the second floor gym,

scanning the enormous room with their mounted flashlights. From out of the darkness,

three men come walking toward them with their hands behind their heads. Obviously

not expecting to put up any fight against the SWAT. A solitary corpse lays on the floor

not far from the entrance, brutally mauled.


17/22

It appears to be the corpse of a young man. By now the shots have become all but

drowned out by helicopter rotors and engines. And the action seems to be taking place

outside instead of inside, in the form of an eerie, unheard ruckus.

Team Leader; "Stop where you are! Keep your hands behind your head!"

The SWAT team approaches them with their weapons still at the ready, and as they

proceed to cuff them, they give them their Miranda Warning; "You have the right to

remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You

have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be

appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?" But

the three stooges only give a creepy cackle, as if the whole things seems like a joke to

them.

"What the hell?!!" Yells one of the bemused SWAT officers.

Team Leader; "We've got to figure out what the hell's going on!" He tugs on the wire to

his headset and pulls out the mic. It dangles from his hand like a useless toy.

Team Leader; "I'm not getting shitfrom command!"

The three stooges continue their eerily bemusing cackling.

The Team Leader screams; "And can somebody please shut them the hell up?!"

The SWAT team slowly and silently walk toward the center of the rooma fatal mistake.

Suddenly, one of the men spots an illuminated area in one of the far corners. And to

his horror, realizes that the Cowboy Man guilefully breached the ceiling, and crept onto

the rooftop. But by the time he attempts to relay this information to his fellow SWAT

team, it's far too late.

CRRAAAAAAAASSSSHHH!!! The Cowboy Man crashes through the ceiling. Falling

directly behind the SWAT team and their three arrestees, blocking the entrance to the

stairwell leading back downstairs.


18/22

SWAT officers; "Fuck!!" "We're trapped!"

Team Leader; "Fire at will!! I repeat, fire at will!!"

The hulking form that's the Cowboy Man is lost in a blaze of glorious carbine and

shotgun fire. And from the outside, perimeter security forces watch as the second floorbecomes illuminated by rapid gunfire. But the gunfire stops, just as quickly as it began.

"Did they get him?!" Yells one of the men, watching from outside.

But nobody says a word, only the intense noise of the choppers above still fills the

night air.

And then it happens, intense screams begin to emanate from inside the second floor,easily heard over the roaring choppers above.

"Christ! Can somebody get the comms to work again?! That thingfucked everything

up!"

Just as the close quarters SWAT team prepared to search the second floor, the

Cowboy Man successfully breached the ceiling, somehow silently bypassing their

motion detectors. When he got on the roof, he threw an enormous chunk of concrete at

the SWAT's main communication antenna, screwing up their comms.

Eerie screams and sporadic gunfire continues to fill the second floor. But with each

sound of tearing flesh and crunching bone, the gunshots become fewer and fewer.

Another man on the outside; "Fuck! Somebody get back-up in their! Now!"

Just then the airborne SWAT team are seen rappelling from two choppers directly

above the YMCA.

"Holy ghost of christ! Thank god!"

Inside, the Cowboy Man awaits the incoming SWAT team from the air, with open, gore

spattered arms. He stands in a battle-ready slouch. His hat has long been blown off his

head, but he still wears his cowboy boots. But oddly, his toes poke through the ends of

them, as if his entire body grew larger since he was first attacked by the SWAT.


19/22

His head and hands definitely appear larger, and his frightening face is so blood-

bloated that it appears as if it might explode at any moment. His skin is riddled with

bullet holes, and his entire body covered in blood, but it has not appeared to slow him

down at all. If anything the small arms attack did just what the Country Man said it

would domerely piss him off more.

As the next SWAT team comes crashing into the second floor from above, they

immediately begin to spray the Cowboy Man with a torrent of sub-machine gun, carbine

and shotgun fire. The Cowboy Man's putridly red face, bloated with rage utters a

terrible bellow as he manages to brings his arms down hard on the concrete floor. The

SWAT team is sprayed with flying chunks of cement, and some of the members fall

down. The Cowboy Man grabs two sub-machine guns from the fallen, and uses them

against the SWAT. He continually sprays the room, until all of the men cease standing.

Suddenly, the Cowboy Man hears the sound of a motorcycle engine coming into the

parking lot. It screeches to a halt, and the Cowboy Man gives a cold shudder as he

glances behind his shoulder, and out one of the shattered windows. The Country Man

has arrived.

An argument is heard outside, and the Cowboy Man finely hears it; "Alright, he may be

our last hope."

The Cowboy Man is thrown into a bizarre temper-tantrum as he begin to slam his rage

bloated head against the concrete floor repeatedlyTHUNK-THUNK-THWACK-THE-

WACK!! His head grotesquely pops in the form of a sickening puss bomb, covering the

walls with a pungent and nauseating discharge.

"AAAAAAEEEGH-AAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHH!" The Cowboy Man tears the

remaining skin off his face in state of trancelike fury. What remains is a horrific sight, as

the superficial muscles of his face warp into a grisly and repulsive physiognomy. His

eyeballs jut out their sockets and take on a life of their own. As they begin to squirm likeextraterrestrial maggots, as if they no longer wish to be a part of this nightmarish

countenance that's become the Cowboy Man's face.

"Looks like you aren't doing so well, Cowboy Man."


20/22

The Cowboy Man gasps to find the Country Man pointing two Micro Uzis into his

already mutilated face. The Cowboy Man shudders with surprise; "H-how did 'ya sneak

up on me . . . so fast."

The Country Man; "Never mind that ol' buddy. Looks like this might be easier than I

thought." Suddenly, the Cowboy Man's grizzled face is lost in a torrent of Uzi fire, as the

Country Man unloads his entire ammo belt of Uzi rounds into what remained of it. After

almost ten minutes of non-stop Uzi fire into the Cowboy Man's grizzled face, the

Country Man vanishes into the thick gun smoke. As the Cowboy Man is given time to

collect his rapidly diminishing wits, an appalling sight emerges from the diminishing gun

smoke.

The Cowboy Man's skull is now grotesquely bloated. As cracks have formed

throughout his skull. Brain matter can clearly be seen underneath, but his brainappears to be made of giant black maggots, densely packed inside his giant cranium

like demonic sardines. As they continue to writhe and squirm under his skull, his shiny

black maggot brain continues to swell, and loosen up, making the cracks in his skull

grow continuously worse. His skull is almost completely visible now, the white bone

sticking out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of his body, but shreds of muscle still

hang loosely off the bones of his face. His bone is surprisingly hard, much harder than

human bone, and able to withstand close range gunfireas the Country Man already

proved.

The Cowboy Man"MY MAGGOTS!!!" "MY MAGGOTS!!!"

He begins to blindly run after the Country Man. Since skin no longer covers his face,

his sense of smell has amplified twice as strong as that of a dogs. And after barreling

through concrete walls, finds the Country Man downstairs, behind the lobbies front

desk. He goes to punch the Country Man in the nose with all his might. The Cowboy

Man moves amazingly fast, but the Country Man is amazingly faster as he twists his

shoulders and pulls the Atchisson Assault Shotgun from behind his back, and fires.

The Cowboy Mans flesh is blown off his forearm, leaving a grizzled ulna and radius

hanging with torn flesh. His fist reduced to mere bone. The Cowboy Man screams;

"AAAAAAAEEEEEE!!" This time, the Cowboy Man can feel pain, and he kneels down

before the Country Man in agony. Even his skull conveys pure pain, as his grizzled jaw

gapes wide open in utter torment.


21/22

The Country Man; "Felt good, didn't it. I betcha' want more, don'tcha boy?"

The Cowboy Man; "NO! STOP! IT HURTS!!"

The Country Man; "Men smarter than you made toys like this, so that creatures like

you could be put down quickly, and effectively!"

"I'd say they did a pretty good job, wouldn't you?"

The Country Man proceeds to unload both his FRAG-12 ammo drums onto the

cowering form that is the Cowboy Man. The sound is deafening, as the Country Man is

spattered with chunks of flesh and bone from the Cowboy Man.

"Jesus, what in God's name is that man doing to the Cowboy Man?!" Says one of the

SWAT team members outside.

"Jerry, I don't know and I don't care. All I give a damn about right now is that he kills

the Cowboy Man. I don't ever want to have to deal with that thing ever again."

"Amen to that brother, amen to that."

Ten minutes later, the deafening roar of Atchisson Assault Shotgun fire stops. And the

Country Man coms out of the ravaged entrance of the YMCA, now billowing with

residual smoke from the FRAG-12 rounds.

Almost immediately, the SWAT begin to applaud the Country Man, shouting for him in

praise for his victory over the Cowboy Man.

SWAT team members; "Holy shit! He did it! Whooo-hoooo!!" "Wow!! The Cowboy

Man's finished!!" "Who in the hell are you?! God?!"

The Country Man becomes engulfed in adoration, as men begin to flock toward him.

And the incident commander comes out of the tactical command post, to ask him onequestion. He shakes the Country Man's hand vigorously"Would you like to become a

SWAT member son?! You would make an outstanding team chief!"

The Country Man; "Ah, thanks, but no thanks. I stay solo."


22/22

Suddenly, like a nightmare coming back to haunt them, the Cowboy Man's grizzled

frame comes slowly hobbling out of the YMCA entrance, with a pathetically limp gait.

Just a stripped skeleton, with shredded flesh hanging off it, wobbles and then crashes

to the ground.

They all give a huge sigh of relief.

The Country Man; "I'd advice you finish him off with an underground nuclear

detonation. I can give you security clearances for access to the Nevada test site, where

his corpse can be taken for a more thorough extermination."

Incident Commander; "I will be sure you will receive our medal of heroism for your

actions here tonight. Absolutely amazing."

The Country Man; "Thanks, but I think it's the men who died here tonight, who are the

true heroes . . . remember that."

As the Country Man gets on his motorbike, he's given one last standing ovation in

appreciation of his ruthless and stunning handling of the Cowboy Man. He peels out of

the parking lot, and back toward LAX. To drink himself unconscious in a first-class seat

on Jet Airwaysback to the east coast.

END

the country man reloaded

Documents