Monday, June 13, 2011

Spanner 3.2: Stalking Minty Fresh

...from previous

Chaos Angel Spanner — Chapter 3: Rock Is Dead
Part 2: Stalking Minty Fresh (Final Revision)

4 july 2012...
Amanda Currie, twenty-five years old, sits on a bench facing away from the fireworks, one adoring twelve-year-old twin sister on each arm. “I can’t believe you two don’t care about missing the fireworks show,” she says.

“But we love you, Amanda,” the twins reply in unison.

“This is a date,” says Kira.

“Isn’t that fireworks enough?” adds Shira.

An offended elderly woman harrumphs up and scolds Amanda, “What are you doing to those children, young lady?”

“Go away, old hag,” Shira snaps back. “We’re busy romancing her.”

“We’re in love with her,” Kira adds. “You’ll never ever keep us away from her.”

The old lady ignores them and threatens, “If you don’t release those children, I’ll have you imprisoned for life for child rape!”

The twins leap off Amanda’s lap, invade the old lady’s space, and glare at her threateningly. “Back off, you ugly old witch, and leave us alone,” says Shira with cold fury.

“You have no idea what we’re capable of,” says Kira with colder contempt.

“Push us too far, and we’ll destroy you.” The old woman, unnerved by these terrifying children, backs away and disappears into the crowd.

Shira runs back to Amanda, leaps into her lap, and plants a hungry kiss on her lips, not allowing her to resist. Kira taps her sister’s shoulder. Shira breaks the kiss, smiles back at Kira, and gets off so Kira can give Amanda a long kiss of her own.

30 august 2014.
bangor jail.
CPMC chairman Walter Brinkman, his personal enforcer Oliver Thorwald, and U.S. Navy Cascadia commander Admiral Alan Fleer sit in the office of Warden Jim Bob Mobley in videoconference with Richard Becket. Brinkman complains, “Why did you have to bring them here, Uncle?”

The Cartel Chairman smiles down on them smugly from the monitor. “Consider, Walter. They’re safely away from Washington, Salem, and Holy City. They’ll be easier to capture. If they get away, they’ll unleash our fury on that city filthy with liberal traitors and do our work for us. We win and they lose.”

The big intimidating Admiral vows, “They won’t get away on my watch,” he grimly vows.

Warden Mobley answers the Chairman’s smirk with his own. “We’ve got the most advanced prison security system in history,” he drawls. “Your terrorists ain’t even gonna escape. Not even a snowball’s chance in hell.”

Thorwald loads a 30-shot magazine and cocks his Glock. “Those bitches do get away, they ain’t getting away from me.”

In an isolation cell the holy warrior sits on the splintery bench, back in prison where Allah saved him from eternal damnation. Once he was a Satanist initiated into the service of Evil and branded by hellfire. Now he dedicates himself to the Holy Caliphate and its Holy Jihad of eternal vengeance against the western infidels for denying the True Faith and desecrating the Holy Land. He regrets only that he cannot beat his wives, children, and slaves in gratitude to the Lord for making him a man.

His imam warned him about the angel of chaos. He saw the evil angel’s epiphany; it warped his perception. His senses went haywire in the same way when he—but Allah, in His infinite mercy, shields him from the memory. No, Spanner is only a man, a servant of Hell who wears gloves and boots made out of dead gangsters. He thanks Allah for delivering him from their grotesque fate. He nervously fingers through the long thick black beard covering his MS13 tattoos.

He dreams of television. A huge widescreen monitor stands before him glowing bright against an ominously red alien moonscape, beckoning to him. But the Lord hath spoken unto him that television is not really television. It is a portal to Hell.

A girl with smooth skin carved from solid bronze and wild hair spun out of pure gold calls out seductively to him from the screen. She is a seductress. She is a child. She is Rebel Styles, daughter of Lilith, harbinger of eternal damnation. “Come here, lover,” the succubus beckons. “Come to Rebel.”

“No!” he screams at the apparition. “In the name of most merciful Allah, go away!”

“I know you want me. Do what you want to me. Rape me. Eat my flesh.”


“You can’t resist me. Surrender to me. Come.”

He recoils in horror from the child demoness on the screen, but he cannot tear his eyes away. Her beautiful green eyes stare into his. He tries to look away but cannot. He screams the Shahada as loud as he can to steel his faith, begging Allah and His Mahdi for protection from this demon in the form of a girl-child. A force emanating from the television begins to draw him toward it. He digs in his heels and tries to run away, but he cannot stop. He trips himself and tries to crawl away unseen, but he cannot stop.

Now he stands before the television as before the idol of an alien heathen god. The lips of the child seductress fill the screen. She tries to kiss him. She must not kiss him! He plants his hands on the lower frame of the screen and struggles with all his might to push himself away. The screen curves to the contours of her lips. They come closer to his face. He panics—Allah has forsaken him! “No! No! Please don’t—” The lips touch his face and muffle his screams. They draw him into the screen. Slowly, the television swallows his body. And then he is gone.

bainbridge island. Henry Becket interrupts his sister Drusilla’s morning meditation with a videophone call. She decides to answer. “This is about Shira Thomas.”

“You are correct,” he says. “Has Mother told you of her vision?”

“She wouldn’t stop talking about it. So why are you calling me?”

“Her will is too strong for me to control, and you possess much greater spiritual power than I.”

“Very well. I shall deal with the little whore while you find Spanner.”

“Do not drop your guard. She may very well be Spanner.”

She smiles. “And of course she denies everything. But do calm down, brother. You’ve been losing it over Spanner these past few days.”

“For good reason, Drusilla. If we fail to stop him, our Revolution is doomed.”

bangor jail. Sirens scream, emergency lights flash, the security system says: We are under cyberattack. I repeat, we are under cyberattack. Emergency action must be taken immediately.

Bram Rodchenko shoots Warden Mobley dead; Adam Gabriel empties a stolen AR-15 painfully into Fleer’s force shield; Talia Espinoza bombs Brinkman with peanut oil, to which Shira said he is allergic. The face of Rebel Styles mocks them from the monitor smeared with Thorwald’s pulped remains; they stare back.

“Let’s move everybody out now!” commands Rodchenko. Two hundred traitors, gangsters, terrorists, and slashers pour out of the jail building, leaving a hundred more twitching in Rebel-induced madness and death alongside the guards. The Socialist Revolutionary Organization vanguard assemble, slaughter slashers and thugs, steal a Dictel Corrections Stryker, and speed off.

Mobley lies dead in a spreading pool of his own blood; Brinkman convulses and howls in allergic agony; Fleer watches him from a helpless distance. Allah’s voice commands his holy warriors to escape; five survive the guards, the SRO, and Rebel. The child demoness looks down on her victims with an enigmatic smile. Under her breath, shocked by the sudden assault, Talia whispers, “Kira...”

seattle center. Minty Fresh (19; her real name), DisneyPop SuperStar, lesser idol of the pop pantheon, performs on the Bumbershoot stage, singing the sweet songs of puppy love that teenagers hate and Rockers revile. Minty is the night’s star attraction, by decree of Governor Brinkman and Chief Shepherd Drusilla Becket Pernell. Drusilla in particular insisted. Originally scheduled: the Band With No Name, the legendary Bremerton postpunk band. Guitarist Ric Thomas (handle: Red Mercury, after his flaming hair and temper) is her ex-husband—and archenemy. His younger sister, electric violinist Willa Richter-Thomas (handle: Rebel Mudlark; long story)—well, Drusilla prefers not to suffer thoughts of that woman.

Minty Fresh is KidTestedParentApproved™ and ruthlessly managed to keep her BubbleGum inoffensive. She is short and cute with short perky blond hair, her costumes all green to exploit her name. The surrounding troupe of DanceGirls shake twirl and glide about the stage with cold military precision. At last, Minty ends her set to the ecstatic mass squee from the horde of tweenyboppers and TwiMoms, ecstatic congregants worshipping in the Church of the Great Mouse, all to the greater glory of Disney Corporation and the many corporate sponsors that repurposed the festival after the coup.

“Thank you! Good night! I love you all!” She means it. No matter how many cute cute BoyStars that DisneyPop’s outside image consultants set her up with, her audience adores her like no man ever can. She leaves the stage with the dancers and bodyguards and heads for her portable dressing room.

Safely inside, away from the leering electric eyes of paparazzi, she peels the sweat-drenched costume off her body and gets into the shower. She soaps up her smooth skin with her bare hands, feeling herself all over until she can no longer resist the urge to pleasure herself. A professional innocent, she thinks, is not much different from a professional virgin. Not that it matters, as long as she remains professional. At least she doesn’t whore herself out like that twin-ponytailed Kraut, Bunny Strakeljahn, who thinks she’s one of those tattooed Rocker freaks. She prides herself on avoiding chemicals and razors: the audience itself is her pusher, their love her drug. It never fails to make her intensely horny, so she always makes sure to pleasure herself afterward in the shower. After she finishes, she quickly shampoos her hair and rinses off. She gets out of the shower, dries off, puts on her bathrobe, strides out to the main dressing room—

—and finds herself facing a punked-out hate-crazed Nihilist fresh out of Bangor Jail, pointing a sawed-off nine at her: the Punk Revolutionary Front?

A bomb explodes, screams fill the backstage area followed by tear gas, guards kill the nihilpunk and take Minty out to what they hope is safety amid the chaos and screams and angry roars and flying fists until they abandon her and Minty is lost and afraid; she looks around in fear and finds the naked corpse of Bunny Strakeljahn staring at her beneath a man katana-skewered atop her—and suddenly she finds herself caught in the arms of—is she a Fashion Assassin?—but she shudders with shock when she recognizes the copper hair, emerald eyes, bronze skin, sensuous lips, and big sharp nose of—Shira Thomas?!

Minty blurts: “Oh, no—”

14 june 2008...
“Miley! I’m in love with you!” squeals eight-year-old Shira, who has come all the way from Bremerton to worship the hottest DisneyPop SuperStar of her day. Her wild adoration of Miley Cyrus knows no bounds and no reason.

Miley screams. “Help! Get me away from this freak!” Shira bombarded her with a nonstop flurry of love letters for going on two years and has now decided to stalk her.

Eleven-year-old Minty watches in horror as the pop idol runs screaming and flailing from her obsessed young worshipper. Shira chases her, pleading, “I love you, Miley! I wanna be with you forever! Please?” Burly bodyguards chase slippery Shira in turn. When other bodyguards whisk Miley away, Shira disappears into the crowd...

And here she is, the scandalous cinnamon girl, sporting purple Pedobear baby tee, Cookie Monster plushie hat, pleated plaid microskirt, shamelessly bare midriff, thigh-high absolute-terror stockings, gangsterskin combat boots and fighting gloves, flash-petrified discolored gangster-tooth necklace, technofashion nightvision mirrorshades, macaw-feather earrings, mischievous cockeyed grin—and now she’s holding hot young DisneyPop SuperStar Minty Fresh in her arms, dark flesh radiating genki and lust so pure and intense it knocks Minty’s breath out. It took Miley Cyrus many years and much effort to become the superslut Shira is by nature.

“What do you want?” gasps Minty.

“This.” Shira bends Minty over backward, presses her big soft lips to Minty’s, gives her a kiss too hard sexy passionate for Minty to handle. Minty flails her arms and tries to protest, but Shira’s kiss keeps her silent.

In the mist a mysterious woman appears. Shira breaks the kiss and lets Minty cry so she can see slender black-haired beauty in black leather bustier, skirt, high boots and fighting gloves; the hair is bobbed short, but Shira recognizes her obsession, Leila Shelley—surprise in her violet eyes, furious blush on her beautiful pale face: Leila recognizes her too. They stare at each other in shock.

The air clears enough for the Disney corporate bodyguards to spot them. “Hey! Stop that woman!” Leila vanishes into the shadows; Shira drops Minty onto the pavement and runs after her. The guards try to chase her down, but she’s too elusive and quickly disappears. “Are you okay?” Minty can only let tears of rage and humiliation combine with the rain.

clone bank. “Darling,” says Misty Everson Thorwald, caressing her naked son, “you shouldn’t be going through so many bodies. It’s getting expensive, and your soul may decay.”

Oliver Thorwald, still wet from the tank, snarls, “Never guessed I’d get splorched by Rebel fucking Styles. Fucking one-eyed leech probably thinks it’s funny.”

Bunny Strakeljahn strides toward them insolently naked, arms crossed, barely out of the rebirth chamber yet defying her weakness. “Oliver, don’t be such a crybaby,” she says contemptuously in a crisp German accent.

He obnoxiously sings, “This is the dawning of the Age of Bavaria—”

Bunny tries to strangle him; Mrs. Thorwald has to restrain her. “Stop it, you two! You’re being childish!”

“Where’s Reno, Bunny?”

“Off moping in a corner, the girly little cunt.”

“You watch your language, young lady!” snaps Mrs. Thorwald. “And get dressed right now. You look like a shameless whore.”

“Shove it, preach.”

Mrs. Thorwald storms into Bunny’s face. “That’s Mrs. Chairman to you! Though I will inform you that I am the daughter of the Shepherd-Mayor of this God-forsaken babylon.”


They do not notice the presence of Taylor Brinkman nearby, quietly slipping poison into Chairman Thorwald’s clone tanks.

on to the next...

Back to Chapter 3 index...
Back to Chaos Angel Spanner table of contents...

Copyright © 2011, 2012 Dennis Jernberg. Some rights reserved.
Creative Commons License

[Revision 2.1, 6/23/11: Minor text corrections.]
[Revision 3, 9/8/11: Final version. Added new opening flashback scenes; made numerous text corrections for style and clarity.]
[Revision 3.1, 9/13/11: Added new Leila appearance originally intended to be added to the second revision.]
[Revision 3.2, 9/28/11: Publication version. Reworded Leila appearance in next-to-last paragraph.]
[Revision 3.3, 10/22/11: Added new characters in Leila’s and Minty’s backstories.]
[Revision 4, 7/5/12: Renumbered from 3.1 to 3.2 and renamed from “Bum Rush the Show”, expanded with new scenes, and revised for style and to fit Revision 4 continuity. Chapter renamed from “The Whole Point of No Return”.]
[Revision 4.1 Final, 7/16/12: Cleared up one remaining vague detail (Chairman Becket is supposed to be on screen).]

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