East of West, Issue #23 – “A Son of the Kingdom”

* Part 8 of 14 of the The Apocalypse: Year Two storyline *

Welcome to Ghostliness & Nerfherders Presents: East of West, Issue #23 – “A Son of the Kingdom”! In the previous installment, which was almost completely wordless, an assassin crew hired by Archibald infiltrates Xiaolian Mao’s private bathhouse and unsuccessfully attempts to kill her. She spends most of the issue wasting these guys in the nude, and artist Nick Dragotta jacked off a whole lot while he drew all those panels.

In the only panel with dialogue, Archibald comments, once his top man sends a message reading “FAILURE”, that this is really going to kill his buzz.

I like seeing more of the political chess game from the nation heads than the goings-on with the harbinger Horsey Men of the Apocalypse and the little Asperger’s kid with the balloon. Based on the cover it looks like we’ll be seeing more of the Freemans and New Orleans. Here we go.

East of West, Issue #23 [December, 2015]
Written by: Jonathan Hickman
“A Son of the Kingdom”

“One bad lie and the whole web unravels.”

Yeah? This whole series has been one bad lie after another. That must be the point.

The bleak Black Towers overlook the sprawling metropolis of the land of The-South-Never-Lost. “Normally, I don’t like to tell tales of days gone by… especially when those days are my own…” Archibald ruminates, if I may, bereft of that usual chipper arrogance I’ve been accustomed to. Well, he still lays it on thick for his captive audience, trying his best to blatantly slather his words with bitterness as he slouches in his chair, face a wee bit sallow, cheeks sunken in, brow furrowed. The guy looks like dog shit.

“The failure of our courier in regards to the delivery of a certain package to a certain Provence with the PRA is a true embarrassment…” says Archibald’s captive audience: a man dressed like a Miami Vice mafia boss. He crushes the digital message of “FAILURE” into blocky red pixels.

Before this crime man can continue, Archibald interrupts by verbosely asking him if he would like a drink. “To quench your thirst and allow me just a moment more to finish my story. The point of which I have not yet made.”

Fine, whatever. Keep telling your story, prick.

Finely powdered, chopped-off dick, as all Spiders are.

Anyway, he does not normally tell tales of days gone by. Especially when those days are his own. We hit that already, no? Well, Archibald’s reasoning is because it “dates the teller” of these stories. And Archibald is already dated to high Heaven! “Nostalgia is a poor garnishment. It’s fingering a weakness. It makes one look old, and I find that… unseemly. As age, you see, implies frailty, and worse than that a kind of pervasive fatigue. It makes people like you think people like me might not last.”

This isn’t a very good story at all! First of all, I see Archibald having the upper hand over the Miami Vice Don (Johnson) and, while I’m always QUITE CHARMED by Archibald’s silver tongue, what’s this crime boss afraid of? A guy who DIDN’T get the services he paid for? Pffft. Second of all, I don’t see a real point to this story other than making up for the lack of words in Issue #22!

Archibald starts talking about something called the Wheat War, and I can’t imagine a more boring thing to wage war over. Wheat? Go fuck youself, that is the WORST flavor of Chex. Before the Confederacy made prosperous trade deals with other lands, Archibald had smuggled in bootleg materials for the good of his nation (less that and more for the good of himself, of course)… behind his father’s back. It didn’t work, he had to answer to his father. His father was quite displeased. “Son,” his father had said, “when you set out to accomplish anything involving risk, you must always have one of two things prepared…”

“…an acceptable justification, or a plan to clean your shit up.”

Good question, sir. Allow me to direct your attention back to this 16’ x 16’ diagram showing Xiaolian Mao’s very naked feats of agility.

Wise words. Archibald didn’t have either prepared, the little snot nose, so his father whipped his ass ruddy. Just beat him with a belt within an inch of his life. We’re talking near death experiences, astral plane transcendences, diabetic comas, autoerotic asphyxiations, and three ghosts on Christmas Eve.

In short, why the FUCK is Xiaolian still alive? Give Archibald an acceptable justification! Clean your shit up! Get him your belt!

“It’s complicated,” Mr. Takashi responds, deflecting with ballsy stoicism. Archibald, equally stoic, asks the man to elaborate. The elaboration amounts to “we went over every single aspect of the plan with a fine-tooth comb, except for one measly little detail.”

“The willingness of her subjects to sacrifice themselves for her.”

Bullshit. But hey, good enough for now. right?. Mr. Takashi promises Archibald that their syndicate does not fail to complete any assigned task. Next time she won’t be so lucky! Heh heh. Right? Second chance, please.

“Well… that wasn’t the deal,” Archibald looks on with cold determination, “And it’s just now what my father would call an acceptable justification.”

He directs his Chief of Staff, his niece Constance, to lay out the situation for Mr. Takashi:

Archibald’s business partners in Imperial Japan are currently cleaning his shit up. The syndicate has been smoothly eradicated. All connections between it and the Confederacy have been erased.

“Leaving just one thing to tidy up,” Archibald points out.

Well, this doesn’t appear to be very tidy at all.

Takashi collapses on the floor.

“So… moving on,” Constance says professionally, checking her agenda, “I’ve cleared your calendar for the next two days. As, according to this thing you gave me, it appears you’ve been… summoned.”

Sounds good! Pack a bag, niecy, we’re going on a trip to the Chosen Land! And by that I mean we’re going to go talk to the really annoying members of that stupid club I’m part of.”

“Fear not. Dead men do not lie.”

An aircraft shaped like an X that is even more X-ier looking than an X-wing starfighter flies through the sky X-ily to a pyramid in the Kingdom. The pyramid is named “Guild Depository 5” and it’s split into three sections. Kind of like a food pyramid if you removed the sections of meat and dairy. And I will NOT, so don’t even talk about that anymore!

John Freeman Numero Ocho disembarks from his craft, right where X marked the spot, and gets stopped immediately by a talking sentry camera. “Identify,” it demands.

Freeman tells the thing to eat shit and the sentry lets him through. He instructs the computer to shut down all the recording devices, which the sentry happily obliges.

“It’s disarmed,” he speaks into a sweet 2065 Apple Watch, “You can approach.”

A blocky ship enters the area, the same one Lux flew to meet with the Endless Nation. There are no blocky ships on this planet that won’t contain Doma Lux! She is surrounded by Union mercenaries. Freeman recognizes her, but he does not know her. He wants to speak to LeVay! Give him LeVay! Where are you hiding that twiggy shrew?

“Chosen”, eh? Nice turn of phrase there, Madame President. You know he can’t resist the C-word.

Ah, that twiggy shrew pops on one of those neat Tupac holograms! She couldn’t be there in person for high-likelihood-of-death reasons! I’m sure Jonathan Freeman 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8 would understand.

Freeman scowls and allows it. “Let’s get you people paid,” he says, inviting them through the doorway of his Pyramid Scheme.

The inside of this Guild Depository is some Cave of Wonders shit. Mountains of gold bars and coins. Some in the Kingdom say that financing the Union is a dumb move. HOWEVER, Freeman was able to pull some strings and get the Kingdom’s balance of their current holds, er, adjusted, so to speak. “We’re calling it a rounding error… and it comes out to around three tons.”

Nice. That’s a lot of Scratch & Wins!

“Hope you boys have been working out,” Freeman frowns at the Union mercenaries, “‘cause I’m not lifting a damn thing.”

So, the Union guys punch their clocks and take the next 30 hours loading up the craft. That’s 22 hours of overtime! I think a fucking strike is in order. Especially since, once they’re all loaded up, both Freeman and Lux gun down every last one with shotguns and pistols. Talk about treating the companions in accordance with such a trust, eh?

Freeman lets Lux board the craft and fly off with a cargo so heavy that she should honestly be crashing back down and pounding a 45-mile deep crater into the Earth four seconds after liftoff.

“You can come out now,” Freeman eyeballs the side of the pyramid, “I know you’re there.”
“If you knew I was here, why did you just go through with that?” a woman says, stepping out into view, “Whatever that was.”
“Why don’t you tell me what it looked like, Sharra?”

The Vizier is visibly upset. Vizierbly upset! It looks like a little boy not listening to his fat sack of a king father! But that can’t be it, can it? That would be downright idiotic if it were true. Just the stupidest thing to happen in this country since that one presidency from about 50 years ago.

Darn tootin’. Fuck the king, he smells like Pringles. Freeman wanted to show the King’s Vizier to show her who he really was, because all this time she seemed to have been in denial. Maybe be a little better at your job where you’re supposed to, like, notice details?

Take it to the king anyway! And here, give this to him while you’re at it! *presents a 30-pound bag of shit with a dollar sign on it*

Hey, if it’s any consolation, Freeman is glad that you decided to do this! That means you busted out through the confines of your job description! That means you care enough to give Pops a couple of middle fingers! That means we’ll be makin’ stains in the marital bed soon enough, yo! Doesn’t that sound like some of that good shit?

“That’s what this is about? You’re planning to overthrow the King? Aren’t you?” Sharra asks, eyes boggling out of their sockets. Overthrow the King? Elvis is dead, baby. Even those conspiracy theorists have to admit that by now. The dude would be 130 years old.

Freeman admits that, yes, he’s going to, heh heh, what was that? Overthrow the King? Yeah. Overthrow him right off a cliff.

Then do more.

Not so tough now are ya?? Blow my house down, will you?? You blow me I’ll blow you back!

Speaking of wrestling wolves, I’ve got a segue for you! We flashback to John Freeman 8’s good old days under Wolf’s wing. Wolf, as you may recall, is that white guy. You know the one. The Endless Nation white guy? You know the one. Death’s buddy.

Freeman tackles the wolf, and the wolf licks him on the face. “Uh-huh. But you shouldn’t bite off more than you can chew, John,” says the wolf, who slowly turns back into a nude wolf-like man. John Freeman took a lickin’, that’s for sure.

“I’m really gonna miss you,” Freeman tells his Wolf buddy.
“Yeah. I’m gonna miss you too.”

Endless Nation Pops sent someone to pick him up from Endless Nation Land. “I barely even remember the Kingdom,” Freeman says vaguely, lying on the grass and looking up at the sky. A crow lands on Wolf’s head. “What’s with the bird?” Freeman asks. “I dunno,” Wolf responds, “She just showed up the other day. Won’t leave. She likes me too much.”

Freeman doesn’t want to leave. But he must. For reasons. Something about Chosen and the Armistice and oh god make it all stop. And they’ll see each other again, of course, Freeman and Wolf. Maybe. It’s probably somewhere in the Message. On page fifty.

“I guess I’ll see you than, Wolf,” Freeman says, shaking hands.
“To the end of days, Brother,” Wolf says, also shaking hands.

Quite a coincidence that they were both shaking hands, wouldn’t you say?

Back at John Freeman’s Big Pyramid Scheme Adventure, Sharra wants to know what he means by the “then do more” part. What more could possibly be after usurping the throne of the Kingdom? Why, you silly goose, Freeman wants to usurp the throne of the whole world, you see! Gotta think big!

No! No no no! What the fuck, dude? Why are you bring me into this?! Me! Sharra! The Vizier! Loyal to the current throne, not some future throne! Cockamamie!

He asks her if she knows he has a brother. She’s like, no shit, you have a million brothers. Your dad fucks, remember? He’s like, no, those guys are the worst, I meant a real brother. Someone I actually like and wrestle nudely with. Heh heh, ok, stop looking at me like that…

Anyway, yeah, he’s a great guy. And now he’s, so to speak, lost. Once was blind, but now STILL blind. Here’s something else, Toots: he and Freeman are working toward something BIG with, like, a mustache guy and a beard guy and a woman with steel hands and a bald jerk and some other people they can’t remember at the moment. But, more than anything, Freeman is tired of not having what he wants.

And he wants the world. He wants to stop keeping secrets. He wants the Vizier. He wants her to be his queen. And he wants to tap that. Hard.

She responds with surprise. And then sadness.