East of West, Issue #11 – “The Nation, Xiaolian”

* Part 11 of 15 of the The Apocalypse: Year One storyline *

Welcome to Ghostliness & Nerfherders Presents: East of West, Issue #11 – “The Nation, Xiaolian”! Finally, we get to see more of this ruthless bitch with the candy-coated hands! In the previous installment, Death’s old eyeball tells him to go to a place called Heetse’isi’ where he will find the guy who will help him find his son. So he goes there. And it’s Cheveyo, the Endless Nation Chosen guy, and he’s also Wolf’s dad, so there’s some tension there. But that’s ok, because Wolf doesn’t have to worry about him anymore! Right before Cheveyo tells Death exactly where to find his son, Bel Solomon’s assassin buddy snipes that sucker!

Death is not happy. But that’s just another day for him anyway.

So now we get to see more of Xiaolian the Headcrusher! She gon’ get sniped.

East of West, Issue #11 [April, 2014]
Written by: Jonathan Hickman
“The Nation, Xiaolian”

“Peace is but a prelude to war.“

Uh huh.

Xiaolian meditates alone under one of those Chinese garden gazebos. Speech bubbles obscure the background over her head, symbolizing the many, many times someone in her inner circle disagreed with her intentions. “An unwise course of action.”, “This is reckless, Xiaolian.”, “There is simply too much risk, too many variables.”, “Can we not delay this action?”, “A mistake to openly confront our allies.”, and so on and so forth, blah blah blah blah blah BLAH BLAH!

“I offer you many thanks, advisors. I have heard your arguments. You are each valued and trusted beyond measure…but I have made my decision,” Xiaolian recalls her own words to her Board of Trustees.

“YOU CAN’T CUT BACK ON FUNDING! YOU WILL REGRET THIS!”

Ok, well, that guy was surely killed. What a terrible advisor.

Xiaolian meditates upon this. She no doubt wanted to tell the lot of them to shut the fuck up, but that’s not very diplomatic…yet.

“Summon the nations,” she instructs with finality.

Later, we see Xiaolian get suited-up and pampered by her many identical female housekeepers. They also double as advisors? They seem to know a lot about weapons, poisons, defense strategy, and wearing long ponytails.

Her ship is ready, but her people have caught wind of her intention to leave. “Your house has gathered to see you off,” says one of her Storm Troopers. It’s a big house. There’s got to be over a million fuckin’ people standing in that crowd. Xiaolian addresses the throng of mouthbreathers.

Hey, yo, before you go and do that, can we get socialized healthcare??

“But if I fail, there will be a cost…war, so I must ask… Will you fight for me? Will you fight for House of Mao?”?

*crickets*

Nah, hardly. The crowd goes apeshit! “Mao! Mao! Mao! Mao! Mao! Mao!” They’re whoopin’ like the studio audience on Arsenio.

She’s all sorts of amped up now, for serious. Go get ‘em, Xiao-dogg. Crush your enemies.

“There is no us. There never was.”

“A man conflicted is a man at war with himself.” speaks a voice. No kidding, Disembodied Voice! Don’t you know the three types of conflicts? Man vs. Man. Man vs. Nature. Man vs. Himself. That’s it, those are the only ones! There really should be more, like Man vs. Ghost. Or Man vs. Sandwich, that’s a good one too.

But, I digress. It’s a good thing I write all this shit down for posterity, eh? The scene is the Black Towers, where we haven’t visited for quite some time as far as I recall. Death wanted to kill Andrew Archibald Chamberlain, Chief of Staff at the Black Towers, but then Chamberlain requested a partnership. We haven’t been back since…unless, possibly, you count that time Chamberlain was watching the live feed of Xiaolian chopping off her father’s head while he was having sexual intercourse penis-in-vagina relations with three ladies at once, but, still, it’s been a long time.

And you do love a challenge, you shrewd little minx you.

Chamberlain, who I guess I’m going to call “Archibald” now since even he himself calls himself Archibald, he catches us up to the fact that it was he who told Death where to find Xiaolian. And we all know what happened there! Death wanted some pussy and he almost got it. But listen, Archibald fancies himself a game of war even if it’s not ENTIRELY on his own terms. “..damn her for forcing me into prematurely picking sides,” he admits as he pulls out a small wooden box. “I don’t suppose you have any keen insight to offer?” he asks his most trusted advisor, the small wooden box.

We don’t see what’s in the box, but it speaks like one of those talking eyeballs we keep seeing everywhere. It tells Archibald, in squiggly red speech balloons, to take the option that seems like the most fun! Hell yeah! Darn tootin’!

The eyeball says this, which pisses Archibald off (probably because it sounds like “I’m a Little Teapot”): “SSSS! SSSS! Pick me up, pull me out, remember what you’re all about?”

“Now listen here, you son of a bitch…” responds Mr. Serious-Face Archibald in the first instance I’ve seen where he loses composure, “I don’t care one good goddamn bit about anything other than myself.” So, Eyeball Jones, if it means weaseling his way into living another day, he’ll do and say anything to make it happen. “And if you don’t like that…” Archibald slams the box shut, “Tough.”

*** Intermission! Because I’m hungry and I need some Cheez-Its. Also, scene change ***

Only the wet ones.

Bel Solomon, the Chosen Gang’s Cuddliest Skeptic, is having quite the restless night. In fact, it’s the same thing every night: visions of some tentacled demon literally infiltrating Bel’s mind through his eyeballs. Every time he closes his eyes, this demon assumes control of his consciousness, speaks to him, taunts him.

Ah, but it even happens in the waking world. You see, the fine line between dreams and reality has blurred. “Oh, you think this isn’t real, Bel?” the disembodied voice mocks Bel while he sweats like a goddamn whore in church (or wherever whores go to worship the Lord these days!). “That there’s not something crawling around inside your head? Do you really believe there’s some way you can escape me?”

Bel grabs his trusty nightstand pistol and puts it right to his temple. “HOW ABOUT THIS?” he bellows through a ventilator. Upper hand now, bitch! He can just splatter his brains everywhere and everyone wins! The voice in his head double-dog-dares Bel to pull back the hammer, which he does immediately. Good…good…now kill yourself, idiot. Your treachery can be at an end with some simple bullet through the brainpan, Taco Bel.

He doesn’t do it. There’s still too much more to be done. Maybe later!

Dad! Stop trying to grab the steering wheel on my flying pyramid, gaaawwwwd!

That’s enough of Bel-nedict Arnold, time to move on to Johnny “John-John” Freeman Numero Ocho over here, flying his stupid pyramid ship. He’s having an on-board Zoom meeting with his fatass father, who politely reminds his little whelp that he’s only attending this diplomatic meeting in the first place in his stead because it’s a wiser political decision. So take the privilege for what it is and appreciate what you get. You are SO much more whiny than at least six of the other John Freemans, and that’s saying something.

And guess who is here to help you? Freeman No. 9 with a brand new Lieutenant Dan magic leg! As you may recall, Freeman No. 8 shot him during a brotherly dispute. This kid enters the bridge of the Pyramid Ship and starts really whining. “We’re just sitting here? Why haven’t we left yet? Are you still trying to convince Father that I shouldn’t be included…Because I don’t think I–”

Freeman Ocho shuts Nuevo up and tells him to calm down, he and Father were just discussing how pivotal Nuevo’s presence will be during this very important whatever. But No. 9 gets really petulant, starts screaming and hooting about how much he’s prepared for this, how much research he’s done into all the political angles of the situation, how many different Wikipedia articles he’s read about all the Heads of State, what color underwear Archibald is wearing right now (see-through blue), and how little No. 8 matters in this whole fucking scenario. Doesn’t even hold a candle to him! Not one!

No. 8 is tired of hearing about it and tells him to get the boat moving instead of sitting there doing nothing.

No. 9 does a dumb thing.

Ahh, brotherly love.

No. 8 wastes this little sprat immediately. It happens so fast that No. 9 is lying on the floor in the very next panel! “You convinced me, Nine. We’re leaving. Now stop bleeding on my ship.”

Next we witness a small, drone-like aircraft buzzing its way closer and closer to the White Tower. It flies right up to, I believe, the window of LeVay’s Oval Office. Or whatever the 2064 equivalent of the Oval Office is. They still got ovals in the future, right? Anyway, the fucker explodes in a fiery burst of shrapnel and smoke.

Our favorite President’s Goth Chick Secretary moodily assures the President that she will have a damage assessment as soon as possible. LeVay bluntly tells Miss Lux to not even bother. This is already the second drone bomb this week, they’re just gonna keep coming! Instead, be a dear and find out who is responsible for this attack against democracy and quietly have all their families killed. Thanks and goodbye.

Miss Lux, if I wanted a yes man I would watch 2008’s Yes Man with Jim Carrey. Now kindly stop tonguing my butthole.

So that’s settled. A whole slew of families will be murdered on government orders! What’s next on the agenda? Tea with Vladimir Putin’s head in a jar? Ah, no, it’s time to head on over to the big meeting that everyone wants to go to for some reason! Sooner rather than later, because COPS is on at 9:30pm.

So Madame President LeVay leaves in her extremely non-aerodynamic 2064 version of Air Force One. Flying over her smoldering city, enjoying a drink, she quietly tells her people to burn in hell.

The meeting is being held at a place called the Wall. You may remember this locale as the famous landmark where Jon Snow knew nothing. It serves as neutral territory, effectively surrounding and restricting access to the Armistice. It’s symbolic! Here’s why: uhhh…

Well, at any rate, Archibald accompanies his nation’s leader, President Burkhart, to the Wall. Burkhart has warm and fuzzy (read: naive) optimism about the Wall’s purpose to allow all the leaders to set aside differences and exchange genial diplomatic concerns. Archibald is all like “haha, sir, you’re a fucking riot” and suggests weapons and bombs and Molotov cocktails and BFG9000s and Halo Energy Swords. Burkhart is inclined to begrudgingly agree: “Why else do you think you’re here, Archibald?”

President “The Sideburns Mustache Connection” Burkhart asks Archibald who present at this meeting should concern him the most. The answer? Fuckin’ everybody.

Take a look at Madame LeVay and her impish little Tim Burton creature Miss Lux. “…the duplicitous and feral nature of our northern neighbors, the Union.”

Look at the voluminously poofy-haired John Freeman No. 8 and his broken-nosed brotherly companion Love Potion No. 9. “…the machinations of the Kingdom.”

Check out the ZZ Top cover band of Bel Solomon and his sharp-dressed man crew.

Don’t even get me started on those nefarious spinning fuzzy guitars of theirs.

And then there’s fucking Xioalin. Jesus Christ, man, what a stone-cold bitch. Forget everyone else for now, watch out for her. She’ll crush your stupid head into pumpkin mush.

But don’t even worry about her right now either, because Archibald has the real answer. Xiaolian may bite first, but you gotta watch out for the one who will bite last. The one who will really send you crying home to Mother, sir.

BEHOLD!

“The Endless Nation has arrived.”