July 4th. Clear blue sky. Endless golden sands. The searing sun. Yes, this was Impovrishtan.
A man with a red bandana and a machine gun, unveiled himself from the desert floor.
"John Ironfuck, do you read me?" said Commander Chad Armstrong, the artificial intelligence within his bionic processor chip.
John pressed his finger to his ear, amplifying the signal. "Loud and clear command."
"We've got sixteen Impovirshtani Toeiota war trucks heading your direction. You have five minutes to infiltrate the rebel base and arm the ionic bomb."
A bead of sweat dropped down from his head, flowing slowly and landing in the sand. John flexed his hands. He was wearing Mechatron High Performance Fingerless Gloves, made with luxury rubber imported from a covert industrial operation in Antarctica.
His finger touched the side of his ear and he squinted his eyes. "Copy that command."
John rushed forward, vaulting over a simple cattle wire fence. Seeing a shadow cross over a corner of a mud hut - he drew his weapon up.
Two well placed bullets put the AK toting fellow down. The two gunshots were silenced with advanced British technology. The newest suppressors on the market. Sold at a low price of $1,999.99. John was able to acquire two such units before they sold out.
He moved up, dry sand already covering the man. If he was left there, he would soon become a starch white skeleton, devoid of flesh. Such was the ways of this deeply flawed nation.
John shook his head, pressing his finger to his ear. "Poor bastard," he tsked, "never stood a chance."
"You've just saved another single mother John. Now! You must move. North, by about the length of five lawnmowers, plant the bomb there. It's the heart of the base, a strike there will cripple the rebel operations in this area."
"Copy that Commander." John nodded, gritting his teeth, he swept his machine gun to be level with his hip – a strategic position, allowing his bullets a better angle of attack!
He rushed in. Immediately, he slid down on his knee and fired a burst of automatic fire. Rounds flew off from the side of his machine gun and onto the ground, melting the sand into small beads of glass.
"Ah come on you terrorist cowards!" An explosion ripped through one hut – likely a munitions depot. Before the shockwave could reach him, he pulled out his Bobbyton Silver Series .50 Handgun. Aiming at the hut right next to him, his bullet pierced a crack in the wall. John somersaulted through the now weakened mud wall – just as rocks and stray rounds flew past him – pelting off against the wall.
"Hoorah motherfucker!" He pumped his arm. He leaped from the ground and pulled out a small square screen. It was a ManeuraCorp Identifying Radar 3000. He set the search from "Scented candle" to "Cherry Coke".
Walking slowly in a circle, moving the camera up and down. He spun around about five times before a soft honk played from the device. On the square screen, a cylindrical object became highlighted – scanning past physical material such as walls or dirt.
"Got it!" He moved over to a carpet and pulled it, revealing an ice box with a Cherry Coke and a Pepsi Cola. He shrugged, grabbing both, putting the blue can away for later.
The can opened with a crisp pop and the sound of fizzling sweet liquid whispered sweet nothings to his ear. He looked in a specific direction, smiled, held up his beverage as if he were presenting it, then took a small sip. He clicked his tongue. "Wow," he winked, "The cold, crisp taste of Coke".
He turned back to the door. The exploded hut had settled down, and now the rebel troops were organizing. John pierced the bottom of the can with his thumb, licked it, then shotgunned it.
The spirit of American productivity speared through him. His heart pounded and he couldn't help but breathe faster. His skin was turning a shade of red. "Yeah! Yeah!" He thumped his chest.
Banging his head up and down, he sprinted out of the hut, holding in each hand, his machine gun and handgun.
"Prosperity!" He shouted at the top of his lungs. His bionic processor went into overdrive and Commander Chad Armstrong guided his aim. Nineteen red circles appeared in his vision, his hands almost moved autonomously.
Seconds passed, continuous fire chained out, taking down the Impovirshtani Terrorists.
He dashed forward and took more shots. He ramped up to a dead sprint, gasping for air with each step, going cross-eyed as he gunned down dozens of fighters.
With a gallant effort, he ran up onto a cart, then off the top – performing a double backflip, then landing into a side split. Both of his arms were extended out, and fired indiscriminately
With a snap, he quickly jumped up into a squatting position. He moved one hand to his ear and another to his back pocket.
"Command. I've arrived at the checkpoint. Planting Ionic bomb on the AO. Do you copy?"
"10-4 Ironfuck. Good – now put the blue wire into the blue hole. Then do the same with the yellow and green wires."
"Copy that Commander. Over and out."
He left his squat position, snapping his knee to the ground. He planted the bomb down, reached behind his head and tightened his bandana.
He pulled out a tool kit. A size large plastic tweezers. Manufactured and sold by Fuuntoys Corp. Based out of Japan, they specialized in boardgames. They also sell military grade bomb defusal kits.
His hand creaked nearer to the box. Slowly, he pulled the red wire from one wall to the red hole. He plugged it in.
He stared at the wires, blinking, he nodded his head. He pulled the yellow wire – a gunshot whizzed overhead. He looked up, killed the guy, then looked back.
"They never learn." He smirked, adjusting the tweezers in his hand. He moved his hand forward and picked up the yellow wire.
A gust of wind. A tumbleweed went past him.
He leaned back, scratching the back of his head.
"Good work John." Commander Armstrong called in, "Advance to exfil point."
John pressed his finger onto his ear. "Oh… Okay sir?" He started to stand up.
"Okay John, move about two football fields to the west."
"…" John grunted, picking up his stuff. He grunted out something intelligible.
John started jogging out. He was just about at the exfil point when Armstrong hummed.
"Strange. The demo time was set to 20 seconds."
"John."
There was a white bird perched on a little fountain under a tarp roof. It was blue and it looked so happy in the water.
Chad sighed. "John go arm the ionic bomb."
"I did." John said, a slight hint of self-righteousness leaking out. "The bomb must be broke."
"Okay John, maneuver tactically to the ionic explosive – take out any remaining terrorist troops, then report for further Top Secret orders!"
John stopped his run, skidding to a halt, he turned and went back the other direction, huffing and puffing.
"Sir yes sir! For liberty!"
He rushed back all the way to the box. Slid down onto his knees, guns falling to his sides – attached with straps slung over his shoulders.
He grabbed the plastic tweezers. "All enemies are KIA! I'm here Commander!"
"Okay John listen closely. Are you listening?"
John nodded.
John looked at that tumbleweed from earlier.
"John pay attention. Now grab the yellow wire and plug it into the yellow hole."
John stared down at the box. He shifted the tweezers in his hand, trying out another grip. He looked back down at the wires. He nodded.
Lowering his hand into the box, he paused. "Right. I have the box now, but sir, what do I do with the green wire?"
"Oh my god, it's not rocket science. Okay, turn it around. Good! Good. Now, pick up the green wire and put it in the green hole – good John, okay John, now, go back to the exfil point."
As John Ironfuck moved out of the Terrorist base, an explosion threw a cloud of sand and rock into the air.
"Shit! John, we've got enemy forces approaching fast! If we don't get you out of there now, we'll all be dead! Eyeraynian fighter jets are en route!"
"Oh shit!" John pulled out the Pepsi, still ice cold. He carved the top of the can off with his $14.99 blade, sold by Gutmuncher Inc. a non-profit organization built off of the donations of school drives and girl scout cookie programs.
He sucked down the fizzy beverage, then adrenaline slammed into his system.
He slid onto his knees, transitioned to a somersault then into a one-handed cartwheel, landing right on the edge of the ramp of the helicopter.
The tail gunner, grabbed hold of John's wrist as the helicopter took off.
"Ironfuck, hold on!"
John flexed his abs, helping the gunner pull him in. "Thanks Brock."
Stepping into the air-conditioned chopper, he sat down and opened the mini fridge.
"Good work out there John" Stanley fist bumped him and passed the Xbox remote.
"John, I don't know why my enchantment table only shows level one stuff."
"Ah yep. The bookshelves are too far back. Easy fix."
"I told you to do that hours ago." Brock complained.
"Well, excuse me for not listening to you after you told me that torches prevent lava damage. That was my hardcore world man."
"For the hundredth time Stanley, I'm sorry. Okay? It worked for me, but whatever." He threw his hands up, sighing and pulling out his phone.
John cupped his hand to his ear. A special activation signal. "Glam rock playlist, activate."
The helicopter shook with a screaming melody of heartbreak, and the chopper rode off into the sunset.