Welcome to Ghostliness & Nerfherders Presents: East of West, Issue #26 – “Collapse”! In the previous installment, Wolf talks Uncle Narsimha into following him for creepy cult reasons. Archibald drags his niece Constance semi-willingly for creepy cult reasons. A little bit less than half the creepy cult meets up in a chamber where Orion and his pet Hell Demon await for the “final gathering of the Chosen”.

Who’s left? Bel Solomon. Xiaolian Mao. Madame LeVay. John Freeman 8.

Here’s what I noticed: everyone has a companion.

Orion = Hell Demon
Narsimha (fill-in for Cheveyo) = Wolf
Archibald = Constance
John Freeman = Vizier Sharra
Bel Solomon = Thomas the Hunter
LeVay = Doma Lux

Xiaolian Mao…

Well, not everyone…

This is the second-to-last year of the apocalypse. This is where the shit is on the brink. This is where the fence between fate and free will is straddled, and it’s a chain link fence so it’s poking the balls a little bit. It’s the final meeting of the Chosen. This moment sets the course for the future, and there will be no going back.

You feel that? Goosebumps! Tingles!

East of West, Issue #26 [May, 2016]
Written by: Jonathan Hickman
“Collapse”

All the pilgrims are witness to the Chosen entering this dumb cave to bicker and fight over their various political agendas and personal inanities.

“It was a moment of pure potential. As all at once, there was everything to gain, and everything to lose. It was the breaking of nations, and the rebirth of new ones.”

Archibald and Constance enter the Chamber of Secrets. Constance turns around real quick and looks at the masses. Millions upon millions upon millions of them.

This must be a pretty big deal! I wouldn’t have gone to this concert, but I’m happy for all of them.

“See the horizon, and the arrival of the Chosen. Look how they are holy. Look how they are damned.”

“I warn you. From here to the very end of time… ready yourself for blood.“

There’s blood in every issue of East of West! I guarantee it. I’m always ready for some dang blood.

Eyepatch Barman Hunter and Death are cozying up for some planning. The middle of the bar has a giant hologram of the Earth. Death is ignorant of holograms so, for the benefit of the reading audience, asks for help on interpreting the thing floating in front of him that looks like Earth. It’s Earth.

Eyepatch talked about this a long time in Issue #3, but then it was the other Horsemen who were here instead. Eyepatch is the pathfinder and is in charge of collecting data and giving it to scouts all over the world. This floating orb is like the internet and he can look up shit from anywhere in the world. What are you looking for, Death m’boy?

Duh, even I know the answer to this one by now.

Man, what are you even going to do if you find your son? Kill him?!

Of course the Hunter can find your little twerp of a shitty son! Is he out and about walking around forests and frolicking through meadows? Then it’s easy! One caveat, though: stop wrecking the bar, you animal. Goddamn, how is he supposed to earn a living when Death keeps murdering the clientele and throwing chairs around?

Ha! No. “You want me to pay?” Death growls before slamming a knife, tip first, on the bar. “Son, do not talk to me about what you owe or are owed. As you will not be happy with my accountin’. Your ass remains in arrears.”

Arrears? I have to look that word up. Gimme a second here… “money that is owed and should have been paid earlier.” Should’ve given up that ass when you had the chance, fucker.

Hunter doesn’t take the hint and pushes back: “Unreasonable and unfair,” he mutters. Hunter knows he has the upper hand here. He knows he’s going to be Death’s only shot at getting his son back. So be nice, because Hunter can find this kid and dump him in a lake if Death isn’t cordial from this point forward. “This – this job here – this is the one that settles things,” he says with conviction and confidence and pants full of some accidental turds. For once, Death doesn’t argue. And Hunter punches some numbers into his fancy hologram Apple IIe.

“Hrmpt,” he says, Archibaldly.
“What’s wrong?” Death asks. You can’t hear comics, but I can tell he has a tinge of panic in his question.
“Well, I’ve run the search, and I’ve come up empty.”
“So… you can’t find him.”

Hold your horses, complainer. There’s more than one way to skin a son… uh, cat. Hee hee. “Search of existing information came up empty,” Hunter explains. “So now I gotta put a call out.”

Yeah yeah yeah, excuses excuses. Death’s a busy man. There was just a flash flood in Malaysia and there are 100,000 people waiting to die and he’s late for the appointment!

“Any idea where mighta been last? Any kinda startin’ point?”

Yeah, up your butt, Hunter. OR, more likely, that one facility in the middle of nowhere. He’s gone now, so he should be in the wild and you should be able to find him with your fancy schmancy Star Trek computer dealie. Hop to it.

Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Hunter’s assembling a crack team.

Massive Head Wound Harry, Unabomber, Scars on Broadway, and Hole Face. Avengers Assemble!

“They ain’t many, but they are a talented bunch. They’ll most certainly get the job done,” Hunter says with, I imagine, very little confidence instilled in the Deathly One. These mopes look like incompetent fuck-ups, honestly. They look like they’re going to shoot up heroin and accidentally crash an airplane into Disney World. “I’ll tell them to get started.”

Ha! Like hell you will. Death takes out his gun and points it right at Hunter’s craggy, ugly face. “How do I know you’re on the up and up,” he rasps, scaring the poop out of the guy once again; ready to throw those chairs around the bar again. Hunter starts crying, and I can tell that squishy eyeball is going to leap out of that socket again.

Speak of the devil! He starts pointing his two cents in:

Oh dear! Mine eyes have betrayed me once again! Fiddlesticks!

Out it jumps. “Start the clock, the time is nigh. Message was sent: Death’s son’s to die.”

Yeah, the last thing Hunter needs is more of this eyeball poetry, especially of the damning variety in front of the one guy who really doesn’t want to hear such a prophecy.

“You son of a bitch,” Death snarls like Sawyer from Lost, pointing his giant gun two inches from Hunter’s face. Right between the eyes. Or lack thereof. Hunter desperately stammers out a defense. Tries to claim that it’s not what Death thinks. Tries to sell him on still working things out! It’s gonna be allllllll right!

“You did say you wanted things settled once and for all, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, I sure did.”
“Well… now we’re square.”

BAM! Right in the face! Probably headless now. Hunter won’t need a head where he’s going… uh… Headless Heaven? They make people quite comfortable in Headless Heaven. They give them pillows.

Now he’s gone and done it. He’s scared the eyeball.

Death is pretty badass. Not even afraid to look his victim in the eye.

Hunter is dead, and all that’s left is the fat little eyeball from the dead Hunter’s ugly eye socket. The eyeball does what every other character has done in this position: bargain. He rhymes his way through a deal like Rev. Jesse Jackson! “Hunter knew many things. To the table, much I bring. I shared a space inside his head. I’ll reveal the road ahead. Together we can find your son. Come on, let’s go, we have to run.”

Death lost his eyeball roughly fifteen issues ago and now he’s going to get one back. Hunter’s eyeball slithers up the front of Death’s handsome white suit and jumps into its front pocket. “Hey, look, you’re missing an eye. If you want a spare, I know a guy.”

Yeah, and if the glove doesn’t fit, you must acquit. We’ve all been down this sordid path!

“Alright, I’ll take you, but one rule,” Death snaps at his new buddy, “Don’t talk unless you got somethin’ meaningful to say.”

Well, that would be literally nobody in this godforsaken comic book series, so Eyeball Jones had better keep his squishy little pupil trap shut if he knows what’s good for him. All the eyeballs are slick Archibald motherfuckers.

Aha, we’re at the Southern Gate where Ezra Orion is holding his cave meeting. And lookie who’s here now! Madame LeVay and Lux have arrived! Doma Lux aims her gun at the pious masses. “If one of these people touches me, please shoot them immediately,” LeVay coldly sneers. No problem, ma’am! Let’s make an example out of a few hundred, ok? Please? Please?

LeVay enters and says hi to Ezra and Archibald. She forgets the names of the rest! Stevie. Duke. Scott Summers. Paper Mario! Hi, everyone, is anyone else gonna show up?

Ha! Unlikely! Go to hell, you miserable woman, for even thinking that no one else is going to show up. THIS IS THE WORD, LADY. THE WORD IS INFALLIBLE! EVERYONE IS GOING TO SHOW UP TO THIS PARTY!

I predict that the Apocalypse is going to begin and end with Harley Quinn over here.

LeVay will not be intimidated, obviously. A brief flashback shows that, following Doma Lux’s happening upon a bounty of Kingdom gold, Narsimha was shown to instruct her to drop off most of it in a safe place (this is shown, but it is unclear to me where exactly she stashed most of it). Then, after bringing the rest back to the White Tower, claim that it was all the Kingdom was willing to offer. She will stew in her own paranoia of mistrust. She will overcompensate by faking strength. She is weak. Weak as Archibald’s fried chicken recipe! He was never able to beat the Colonel at the chicken game.

WE GOT OTHER PEOPLE KNOCKING AT THE SOUTHERN GATE DOOR NOW! Mao is here and she’s ready to RUUUUUUUMBLE!™. Don’t you dare sue me, Michael Buffer. I will suplex your wrinkled old face.

“I always thought part of the attraction of being in a club is that you got to exclude the undesirables,” Constance muses as the Mao family enjoys makes a grand, belligerent entrance. In fact, Xiaolian Mao’s actually not here at all! She sent over some representatives with a holographic message. Ezra Orion is getting really tired of these bickering little children, and he’s REALLY not having this Mao absence. “Xiaolian is Chosen… however, this is not she, and I do not see her among your number… Explain yourself.”

Sure thing, Pops! Here’s the skinny: go fuck yourself. Roll the tape.

Roll the tape, indeed. Mao’s hologram is cordial and pleasant, thanking Orion for the gross letter written on skin, but she can not attend the meeting at this time. Too many, uh, other important matters. For one thing, her Royal Toilet is clogged as the dickens. Also it’s Chicken Dinner Thursday. Also, someone tried to murder her and she’s not feeling much like consorting with a group with an individual who likely may have been involved. Ta ta.

“Charming as ever, that woman,” Archibald comments smugly, “When she is gone, the world shall surely weep.”

Regicide? Moi? Oh Ezra, darling, you bad. You bad.

Orion shoots his wary eye over to the only one in the room who would have absolutely, definitely tried killing Xiaolian Mao. The only one in the room who is King Shit of Knowing What the Fuck Might Be Going On With Respect To Conspiratorial Matters, Amen.

More people have shown up to the lovely party! John Freeman and his plus-one. “He is the Great Prince. Heir to the Throne of New Orleans. Future King and the First Gun himself. Crown Prince Freeman has arrived,” Sharra announces while Freeman gives a devious little look that says “yeah, that’s right, you all gotta hear this shit”.

If you’ve been paying attention so far like I have, then you will know what happens next. Each member of the room takes turns to either sort of welcoming the Freeman clan begrudgingly or stare with contempt. But there’s one that’s going to be legitimately thrilled to see him.

And I really do mean that.

“My god…” the individual says with huge, white eyes (and beautiful sky-blue irises!).

“Is that…?” John responds, also in someone of a restrained awe.

And then they hug. “Brother,” John says to Wolf, “my God, it’s good to see you. Shocking, but good. How are you, Wolf?”

Wolf’s seen better days, buddy. Hanging out with Death is weird, but you get used to his quirks after a while! A nice guy too, if you like your nice guys to aim giant guns at your face! Freeman’s been really good though, he’s a fucking Prince! Have you heard? That’s some high school reunion bragging type stuff right there, friendo.

They catch up in front of the room of antsy, sulky Chosen Ones. Freeman introduces a smiling Sharra, the love of Freeman’s life and a sexy piece to boot! Wolf has his own squeeze too! The bird hanging out on his shoulder reforms into the Crow lady we all “know” and “love”. “Oh man, that’s great news! Now it all makes sense,” Freeman laughs to himself.

This really is a heartwarming display of gaiety and mushy feelings, isn’t it? Personally, I’m stunned that someone like LeVay or Archibald isn’t taking the opportunity to lash out and admonish the reuniting friends for wasting everyone’s precious Chosen time!

We still have one group left to show up, though, and here they are.

You DO NOT speak to Mel Brooks this way!

Bel Solomon and Thomas “Hunter Biden” the Hunter aim their guns right back at Freeman. They were invited, motherfucker.

And thus, everyone has convened.

Final Thoughts

At the beginning of this issue, I hinted that Mao was the only member of the Chosen without a companion. As we saw, she was the only member of the Chosen to bow out of the final assembly.

This is going to prove to be very significant, and I imagine, more likely than the opposite, this will be her downfall.

Far out, man!