Welcome to Ghostliness & Nerfherders Presents: East of West, Issue #38 – “It’s Time to Start Paying in Blood”! In the previous installment, Thomas the Hunter recovers from his many Archibald-induced gunshot wounds and continues his quest to see all of the Chosen dead. Next up is John Freeman VIII.

That’s all. It was fairly uneventful.

East of West, Issue #38 [July, 2018]
Written by: Jonathan Hickman
“It’s Time to Start Paying in Blood”

Thomas has already made his way to the Kingdom of New Orleans. He just took his decrepit, injured ass and walked all the way there in two days. Fuckin’ A, man. What a powerhouse! Woop woop!

Thomas has a standoff with a Royal Member of the Kingdom of New Orleans’ Kingdom of Royal Members. He talks tough, he talks rough, and he likes his Oreos Double Stuf.

After exchanging some words of intimidation like a couple of Rude Boys, the New Orleans guy, likely one of the other John Freemans, asks who Thomas is and what he wants. Thomas says he’s a bad guy who wants to watch someone bleed out. And yes, sounds good, right this way, sir!

“And why in the world would you think what you want has anything to do with what you’re going to get?” responds Mr. Kingdom. “Who lives their life thinking that way?”

Thomas pretty much sneers at this and says that he does, dingbat. “I am the law,” he says, flashing his Texas Rangers badge. “And today – come hell or high water – I will deliver justice to the Chosen, John Freeman.”

Buh-what? You’re here to kill John Freeman #8? With what? Love Potion #9? Get your fucking face outta here. Haha! Oh wait, John Freeman #3.14 is like “why didn’t you say so in the first place” and invites Thomas to follow him.

And follow him he does.

“He stole what was yours and gave it to your enemy.”

At the Royal Palace of the Royal Kingdom of New Royal Orleans, John Freeman’s fat old dad is perusing his personal library. “Father,” enters one of the more lowly John Freemans, “we have an interesting guest.”

Is it Bette Davis?! Oh wait, she’s been dead for 77 years.

Hi Justice, I’m Dad! *snicker*

Father isn’t alarmed at all. He’s just annoyed and confused. Then he tells John Freeman #0.0001 to get the fuck out of the library so that he can talk to Uncle Justice over here.

“…Did I strike a nerve?” Thomas asks menacingly. King Freeman informs this… special guest… that he is completely aware of everything his shitbird Chosen son is doing or has done. For example, he’s pooping as we speak. And he’s not even on the toilet!

Now look here, Hunter. The Kingdom of New Orleans is still a country. The Republic of Texas? Hardly. Now get the FUCK out of my face. “You’re not the law here, ranger. You’re just the face of it. I am the law. Judge, jury, and all that follows.”

Thomas, frothing at the mouth now with petty my-dog-is-dead rage, tells him to do something about it then. Or get out of his way.

King cannot give him justice, but he can allow him to live if he packs up his guns and gets out of the Kingdom tout suite and leave his weapons behind. Thomas accepts, tells the King that he’s got way more weapons than what he’s packin’ right now, leaves behind some weird geodesic figure on King’s desk, and storms out.

“How can you call this man your son?”

The next day, John Freeman #8 gets ready to attend a meeting of his whole family. He asks his vizier fuck buddy if she knows what’s going on, and even though it’s her job to know what’s going on, she has no idea what’s going on. All she knows is that the whims of the king are not to be questioned. So stop asking, Junior.

lol, nice outfit, Prince. Sing me some “Purple Rain”.

“Yeah, I’m going to hold you to that when I’m on the throne,” he tells her, probably in a weird, rapey way. He asks again if she really has no clue, and she doesn’t. “But is it that unusual for an old man in the twilight of his life to want to spend time with his sons?” she asks, fixing Freeman’s lapels. “Have you met my shitheel brothers?” he responds. Then he asks her if she wants to just run away from all of this and, you know, buy a house in Norway and feed the penguins and shit. She very nicely, and in many more words, calls him a child.

A lavish feast has been laid out on a very ornate dining room table in a room overlooking the city. 14 sons sit around the table. The King at the head, the vizier standing next to them. Everyone looks bored as shit. “Tell me again, Vizier…” the King says, sighing. “How many sons do I have?”

One dead, fourteen left. “And how many are worthy of this throne?” he follows up.

She very nicely, and in many more words, tells him that nobody is, really. Just two. The King is ashamed of this. His disappointing sons. Oh, why is his brood so weak and flimsy like wet noodles? They don’t even look like they’re aware of what the fuck is going on in the world. They don’t even look like they know how to velcro their own shoes.

The sons gossip amongst themselves. Did you hear the Xioalian Mao’s army is approaching a resistance soon? Sucks to be her! Freeman #8 ain’t worried about no Mao. Her shit’s weaksauce. And when asked how he knows this, as if he has some inside knowledge, Johnny “One-Leg” #9 pipes in and says that #8 is all talk. All talk all the time. He knows nothing, like that Jon Snow guy. They get into a bit of a verbal tussle, and King slams his fatass fist onto the table.

Let me shoot the other one to even it out.

“Enough!” he bellows, filling his lungs with fluid. “I ask you here to get the measure of you and what do I see? Nothing of any weight. No one of any consequence.” His sons stare at him with alarm. He orders everyone except #8 to leave his sight. They make him sick!

King has allowed #8’s “indiscretions” for far too long! But the time has come to make a decision. Put aside all this nonsense with your religion and Message and Word and hoo-hah and bling-blah and piffle-fliffle!

“It’s not nonsense. It’s real. It’s what I believe,” #8 says coldly.

“I am real. Believe in me, boy! There is war in the air and it is fueled by fanatics and true believers of all stripes. Including your own. You will put this aside for me. Because I am your king and you will obey.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You will… and I will have it no other way – you will fall in line.”

Because, and listen to this you little whippersnapper, you’re going to be King when Daddy Dearest kicks the bucket. On that day, you will learn that you can’t just BELIEVE anything you want to. You will need to keep your country together and act like an adult. I mean, Jesus Christ. Is that so hard to grasp?

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon…

Vizier tries to stop #8, but it’s too late. King sighs and slumps further down in his chair, looking mighty obese. This time when he asks why his bloodline is so weak, Vizier is left speechless.

Later, King checks out the geodesic object, which is apparently some sort of Zoom Meeting device! Thomas is on the line, his hologram looking blue and angry. “I want to talk to you… about justice,” King says. Ooooh, boy. Two in the chest and one in the mouth. That’s how you fill someone with bullets! Looking forward to it!

Next is the Black Towers, where Archibald is sitting next to Constance’s hospital bed. She’s in bad shape. Comatose, it appears. He smokes a cigar two inches from her face. “Mister President,” say a couple of guards entering the room dragging a sad sack of a disheveled husk of a man, “here’s the prisoner you requested.”

Bel Solomon tells Archibald to go to hell. Archibald tells his men to leave, “for there is no danger here… just mutual respect and undying admiration.” There’s sadness in Archibald’s eyes. He takes anothe drag of his cigar.

Fellate that thing with gusto, sir.

Archibald looks down at his niece and daresays that it seems some higher power will need to intervene to save her life at this point. Bel lightly tells him that, maybe, just maybe, if he cared, he would’ve kept her out of all this in the first place. “You knew what you were doing… and you knew how bad it could get before you got what you wanted… But all that mattered was you becoming president.”

Gee, that sounds familiar, just like this sad real life that I Iive in.

Archibald narrows his eyes. Surely, Bel, you should know that there was more to it than just that. Why, this doesn’t stop at the presidency! Come on, man, you’ve known Archibald for decades and you still don’t get it? “I’m just getting started, Bel. And I will lay down the lives of all I hold dear to win. Just you watch… I have something special planned for this world. Something special indeed…”

Bowling party? I hope it’s a bowling party.

Back in New Orleans, Freeman #8 returns to his home. It’s dark, perhaps no one is home. He tries to apologize out loud to the vizier Sharra, but he suddenly hears the sound of a gun being cocked. He stops dead in his tracks.

“What do you think you’re doing, love?” he asks as Sharra approaches with her weapon. “Please don’t move, John – not one inch. And put your hands up, away from your gun.”

He complies and asks why she would think he would ever shoot her. She tells him to keep his hands up. “And for the record, my love… I’d never shoot you either.”

BLAM!

He gets shot, lol.

But it’s a snipe hit by Thomas the Texas Rangin’ Hunter.

“There,” Thomas says to himself, looking at photos of Archibald and Bel Solomon. “And now only two more to go.”

Sharra drops her gun to her side and stares down at the floor mournfully. She gets Skyped by King, who asks her how many sons he has.

“Thirteen, my King… Thirteen.”

Final Thoughts

What a story! Chosen are getting picked off one by one. Who will be left? What’s the end game here? Is Superman going to swoop in and save the apocalypse? Because if he does I’m going to fuck that bitch up.