Dinner With The Wilson Brothers (Ongoing Story)

[Kevin]

I wrote most of the first chapters on an iPhone, so pardon the massive spelling and grammar errors.


<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=itThTYZ1e4E" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=itThTYZ1e4E</a>

1978

Somewhere in the bayous of Louisiana, in the deep south.

Their way of life.

A short woman was hunched up on a dirty blood and dirt stained bed, the sheets hanging off the bottom of the mattress. Outside , the deep croaks of frogs and the constant chatter from the birds were heard between screaming sessions. "It hurts, George!" Tears streamed down her face.

A short but broad shouldered man was holding open the woman's legs, above his left eye the skin looked almost fake, his left eye was a few centimeters lower than his right, and faint staple marks could be noticed if you spent enough time staring at his battle scar.

The top of a small head was seen crowning through the woman's legs. After a few hours of immense pain and suffering, a baby was sprawled across the bed. The male quickly grabbed a large trench knife off of a makeshift kitchen counter, and cut the umbilical cord. The woman let her head hang back as she panted, the battle scarred man wrapped the screaming newborn in a dirty green blanket. "George junior, Mary-Jane."

Without hesitation the woman nodded "Y-yeah."

About 11 months later, John was born, and after a break from childbirth, Edward, then Mary, then Emily, then Lil Ronald, then the twins, both of whom died before the naming process, after them, Maggie, and the living twins, William and Moses.

Nine children packed into a house the size of small apartment, each of the four oldest had one lil'un bunking with them on a twin mattress, except for Mary, the oldest girl, who had the twins with her. They lived in the middle of a bayou in Louisiana together, miles away from society, hunting gators (Or the three oldest boys did, anyways.) for their next meal or dollar. This was their way of life, watching their mother being beat, not being able to bathe other than dipping your feet in the murky water, and going to town once a month to stock up on food, ammunition, and gasoline.
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1992

Somewhere in the bayous of Louisiana, in the deep south.

Heinz Brand Baked Beans.

A boy with messy dark hair peeked inside the bedroom, which was a small room where the floor was 90% mattresses, the boy was about twelve or thirteen, below him a boy who seemed much younger was also peeking through. The boy had very blonde hair and obnoxious teeth, some of which were missing like any other child. He looked up to his brother, whispering, "Well ain't we going' in? I see where they is." He motioned to one of the mattresses, the bottom end had lumps poking up.

The dark haired boy nodded, creeping in. A few infants were sprawled across the dirty mattresses, all of them mostly naked. The two boys carefully lifted the mattress, noone was on it. Underneath a few cans with blue labels were seen, the label read 'Heinz Baked Beans'

Just as their hands wrapped around cans, a teenage boy was in the rotted doorway, he looked exactly like his father, minus the battle scars. He threw himself over the mattressses and landed on the back of the dark haired boy. He swung his fists around his back, hitting him in the face multiple times until he fell unconscious on the small stockpile of beans.
His voice was scratchy and pubescent when he spoke, "Trying' to steal from my stash Lil fuckers."

The blonde, young child stared with fear. "S-sorry Beans.."

"Theres some hamburger meat in the 'fridgerator. Eat it up and not my beans you Lil shit."

Beans was called Beans since he had a single tooth. Beans are good for... Well forever, which is precisely why they were good in the first place, less trips into town. Beans would protect his stash with brute force, and whenever they'd go to town, Beans would use his allowance money to buy all of the beans off the shelf. Being the oldest, he'd scare his siblings into not buying any of his beans. Instead the second and third oldest had a habit of eating hamburger beef, mostly raw. This would prove to help their immune system with later habits.
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQucy_VwcEE" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQucy_VwcEE</a>

1965

Fort Ashe, Georgia, in the American south.

Corporal George Wilson.

A young man, no older than the age of 19 finished putting his gun together first. The drill sergeant picked up and examined the M1 Garand rifle, pulling back the charging handle and looking at the inner workings. The old drill sergeant looked down at the young man, speaking in a hoarse voice, "What's your name boy?"

The young man looked up, speaking confidently, "George Wilson, I am."

The drill sergent dropped the rifle with a thud back on the table, "George Wilson SIR, boy, y'understand?"

The young man looked up, shrugging, "Yes sir."

"Where you from you cocky Lil tard?" He asked, staring down at the short but healthy looking young man.

"L'siana sir." George replied, nodding afterwards.

The drill sergeant thought briefly, "Hunt gators? Wrestle 'em?"

George nodded, "S'pose I do."

"Well smarten the fuck up boy, in a few months you'll be face to face with a short yellow buck-toothed Vietcong who's tryin' to stab you while you got nothin' but a rock. Compared to Vietcong, these gators are pussies.

A few months later, George Wilson was sent to Vietnam, a standard rifleman, he was armed with an M16 assault rifle, two grenades, and a trench knife which he brought himself.

After two days of R&R, it was time to move out. He was sent into the jungle on a mission to try to confirm a vietnamese presence in a small farming village along with about 20 other men. While following the path through the jungle, a soldier at the front pointed up into a tree, which didn't help because there were thousands around like it, "Whats that, in the tr-"
Before his sentence was finished, rapid shots were heard from ahead, three of the men at the front fell after the first round of gunfire, George had enough time to find cover behind a tree at the side of the path.

A soldier stupidly hopped from cover to a dying soldier who was choking for air, George watched as a round went directly into the side of his head, his feet lifted off the ground and he tripped onto his side, dead. George panted, squeezing into a ball behind the tree, his rifle in the middle of the ball sticking out. A sniper in the group crawled into some bushes, luckily unseen, he took aim and waited at least a minute before firing. The sniper stood, "All clear, just a single gunman." Lyckiky he was right. The bodies were left for the next patrol who came along the path.

After a few years of small skirmishes, George was now a Corporal. In a gunfight for a village he got his first and last wound of the war. After hours of exchanging fire with a group of Vietnamese soldiers, George and a fellow soldier, Pfc. Daly, snuck to a side perspective of the building which most of the Vietcong were holed up. A few enemies were in the side window, and they began opening fire on the two, who dove behind a wagon. The bullets tore through the old wood, while Daly recited a prayer, George peeked out the side, looking though the sights of his rifle to see two gunmen. Fire from them sent him back behind cover, as he turned to Daly, a round tore through the wood and into Dalys neck, he choked for air, and blood sprayed on George.

George heard steps running towards the wagon, so he tossed his rifle a few feet away and hunched over next to Daly as if he got shot as well, blood dripped onto his uniform gently. A Vietnamese soldier quickly approached the two, staring at them. It was a young soldier probably 16 and eager for a kill. He raised a dirty .22 revolver and fired into both men's heads. George felt a sort of impact, but went blank on the rest. As the Vietnamese were cleared from the village, a medic declared George living and he got sent back to the United Staes. After Years of recovery he went back to Louisiana, but with newfound mental problems.
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SDTZ7iX4vTQ" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SDTZ7iX4vTQ</a>

1995

Somewhere in the bayous of Louisiana, in the American deep south.

In case of abuse, pull the trigger.

Beans was on the porch of the small rotten shack aiming a double barreled shotgun into the sky. Every few minutes he'd squeeze the trigger, and perhaps a crow would plunge into the swamp to be swallowed by a gator hours later. Beef sat on the edge, his toes splashing the water lightly as he watched the birds rain blood into the water. Meaty jogged barefoot onto the porch, trying to grab the shotgun by the barrel. "The fuck you doin' Meat cake?" He jabbed the butt of the gun into his chest, sending him onto his back.

"I wanna try you big cock." For a young child, Meaty had an expanded vocabulary that he never hesitated to use.

"Well too bad, the gun would knock you on yer ass."

Meaty stormed back inside, and returned a few moments later, a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum revolver hanging from his hand. Before Beans could turn to face the child, Meaty raised the pistol and fired a round blankly into the bayou, Beans turned immediately, just in time to see Meaty stumble back a step, but not fall. "Jesus." Said Meaty, dropping the gun into Beef's lap, he was staring up at them both.

"Meat... Go put this back in pops drawer, and don't be so damn stupid." Beef said after letting the shells from the gun fall into his hand. He put the bullets in Meaty's jeans pocket, and put the unloaded revolver in Meaty's hands.

Just as Meaty was about to enter, their mother tripped through the screen door, her face bouncing off the wood. Shouts were heard inside, "You fuckin' whore!"

Their father marched outside, kicking their mother in the stomach as she struggled to get up. Beans hopped up and tried to push his father back with the help of Beef. "She slept with Gerald! Yer mother is a fuckin' skank!"

The thing is, Mary-Jane never spoke to Gerald. Gerald was the shop keeper in town, who happened to be a 70 year old man who never mutters a word besides the price of your items. George struggled outbid the boys grip and ran inside, after helping their mother up the boys followed, Beans had the shotgun in hand. As they entered the door George burst from the bathroom door (Which was a small room that had an old toilet with a pipe leading into the water.) wielding a Vietnam era M16. He aimed their mother and fired immediately, emptying the entire magazine on Mary-Jane, Beef swung a wrench at his father, making contact with his neck.

George fell unconscious, rifle in hand. The younger children cried while Beans and Beef herded the kids into the bed room. As they planned to send a distress call with a radio, their father, using his Vietnam tactics, silently rose to his feet and put a new magazine into his rifle. He make a battle cry and burst into the doorway, the only ones with sense enough to duck were the oldest four, Beans, Beef, Meaty and Mary. After the firing ceased, The two eldest boys charged their father, beating him without mercy. Thinking he was dead after minutes of beating, they peeked into the room, Meaty was saying prayers over the dead children. "Wh-wheres Mary?"

While the boys were reciting prayers and beating their father, Mary ran outside and into the bayou, of course she was found nearly immediately by hunters and brought into town, but when the boys went into the bayou, nowhere to go without the map, it took two years to be found. 
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1997

Somewhere in the bayous of Louisiana, in the American deep south.

Turtles, gators, and aging war veterans.

The snap of twigs was heard as the three boys were lying together for a bit of warmth through the night. The snap of twigs meant one of two things, either a turtle or gator was on dry ground, or George was trying to sneak up on the three. Beans slowly stood, now more mature looking, but naked and encrusted with mud like a savage.
"Come out..."

Beans picked up the now rusty and mud covered shotgun, popping two dirty shells in. He slowly aimed around, it was dawn, and it wasn't dark out, but not light enough the see a naked mud covered insane war veteran hunting them. Beef and Meaty both stood silently, standing behind Beans. Beef was similar looking to Beans, mature and out of the awkward stages of puberty, Meaty was still very young looking, he was a small bit taller but the changes brought upon by teenage years haven't yet reached him.

Without their knowing, their father circled behind them, and burst from the bushes. He screamed and landed on Beans back after a leap of faith. Two years of this. Their father would appear every few days while they rested, somehow tracking them down. Usually they'd fight him off, but this particular time it wouldn't play out as planned.

George beat Beans down, and dragged him in the water, shoving him into the depths. Beans threw his head up, gasping for air, he knew he was underwater for at least twenty seconds at a time, and trying to fight his father off. Finally Beans was into the above world again, Beef was now being beaten, Beans staggered up, but fell back over watching his brother being beat helplessly.

Meaty ran behind his father wielding a killstick (A rod that when the end is pressed on, fires a shotgun shell.) Meaty hopped on his fathers back and briskly jabbed the killstick against the back of George's head. Both Meaty and George fell next to each other, except George was dead. Blood trickled put of a goofball sized hole in the back of his head. Meaty covered his face, sobbing.

After saying a prayer over the body, they began to tear him apart, eating appropriate parts. Beans was chewing an arm, as was Meaty, while Beef chewed on a leg. This wasn't the first time eating human flesh, they ate at least five corpses before eating their father.

They'd come across small bayou shacks, and brutally kill the inhabitants, feasting on the corpses and taking the ammunition they may have had. After killing their father they came across an elderly couple living in the bayou, who at first accused them of being the big mobsters. After explaining themselves (Lying of course.) they were allowed an old airboat (Which required fixing) and the tools to fix it.

They were also given a map, which led them to find out they were but 3 miles away from the closest town. They were dressed in old clothes and sent to the town by boat, they lived in this town until the seven hour war.
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4CG1rbUdHKg" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4CG1rbUdHKg</a>

I might add I know nothing of the 7 Hour War, this is just my take on it. If I'm wrong, feel free to tell me, but I won't change it.

2015

Mayberry (A purely fictional town), Louisiana, in the American deep south.

War happens.

Beans  and Meaty were tending to an airboat with a dysfunctional engine. Beef was in the front office, thumb wrestling himself, next to him an ad read 'Mayberry Airboat Services.' Outside, the gentle whirring of of a helicopter was heard, but more of a synthetic whirring.

In the distance out of nowhere a loud gunshot like sound was heard. A few moments later, the antique shop across the street was struck through the roof by a sort of canister. The windows of the shop shattered, and the few amount of cars in the street sped away in different directions. The elderly woman running the shop exited with a brown lump with tiny legs was stuck to her head, she was struggling to tear it off. Behind her another one of the things followed. As Beans entered the front office, Beef tossed him a Colt .45, while Beef himself held a sawn off Double Barreled shotgun.

Meaty entered the room behind Beans, reaching for his own gun into the gun safe, which was a Glock 17. They each grabbed extra ammunition as more canisters hit around the small town. As they exited, Berf took the lead, firing one of his shells at the brown crab thing, it was shredded by the buckshot. The shop owner was now staggering around swinging as pedestrians tring to get to their cars or inside buildings.

Beans jogged to their somewhat rusty 1982 Ford F150, Beans taking the drivers seat, and Beef in the passenger seat. Meaty climbed into the back and braced himself one of the corners. The engine of the truck roared as Beans turned the keys, and they sped away, down the street away from the sound of shelling. Dead bodies were occasionally sprawled across the sidewalk.

For the first time they saw Combine. Two soldiers were jogging across the street, armed with rifles that seemed futuristic and awkward looking. Beans sped up at the sight of the soldiers, a large thud was heard and the car jerked forward, but kept going, the soldier slid off the hood and under the car, causing them to bounce. Shots were heard from behind, Meaty was firing at the surviving soldier, the soldier returned fire, the dark matter shells singing the back part of the pickup.

They pulled into a barricade, a Confederate flag was waving above the barricade. Men with rifles, pistols and shotguns were fighting off the brown lumps and the soldiers. They pulled up, grabbing their guns. As they approached the barricade, men were dropped left and right, they sprinted inside the fire department behind them. When the big fire department doors were being banged on, the three threw their guns into a truck as a final attempt to live. As the soldiers entered, they were not fired upon, instead beat down to the extent of unconsciousness. They awoke in the bayou, Meaty wasn't there, just Beef and Beans, and a few others. Beans put together that perhaps they'd been saved by this group, as many of them were armed.

Beef spoke first, "Wha's going on.."

A large black man spoke first, he sounded foreign, "They came to Earth and put everyone in these cities.. We've been here about two days. We thought you'd never wake.. We are about to go."

Beans got up, grabbing Beef's arm and staggering through the mud. "Beans, let's go with them!"

He didn't listen, and staggered on. Eventually they hit land, it was a lone dirt road. Beef was now following Beans without question. After walking about an hour down the road, a sign was sprawled on the ground, covered in bullet holes, 'Welcome to Mayberry, Louisiana'

Ahead were a large group of soldiers surrounding about thirty townspeople, Beans trudged forward. Beef bit his lip, watching his brother from behind a wrecked car. Beans walked between two soldiers and sat in the middle of the group, Beef came a few minutes later, after realizing they weren't being killed. Each person was given a swift penchant to the head, rendering them unconscious, most of the people cried.

Spoiler for Hiden:

Their Truck.


If you want to know the story behind Beans, Beef and Meaty, then stay tuned because I'll add often.

[Egf_Adam]

//Awesome story, great music too do more of this!//

[Kevin]

<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0P47yvI7SWM" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0P47yvI7SWM</a>
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0P47yvI7SWM&feature=related

September, 1944

The Island of Peleliu, Japanese Empire.

Semper Fi

It was completely black, outside, the gentle rhythm of gunfire and mortar fire would bring to mind a drum line in a marching band. Above their heads, a red light gently flickered. The young man's gaze shifted from the naked red light to his feet. His view of his feet was obstructed by clean brown ammunition pouches, two grenades hung loosely from a band dedicated to explosives. He slowly turned his eyes from his chest, to his right arm, a blue diamond with a big red '1' was in the center, a few white stars dotted the patch. Below it was a single green band. The young man was a private.

He threw his head over his shoulder, to glance behind him, tears gently streamed down his Captain's face, but no noise was heard. His captain had both hands clasped together, and he appeared to be murmuring words, begging for forgiveness. His only motive was that some day, when this was over, he would walk across the bridge from the Naval ship and hug his family and young son.

After several more moments of silence, the red light flickered out, the young man's heart stopped. The green light slowly brightened, filling the dark underbelly of the ship with a dim green light. A blunt whir now filled one's ears. The collapsable wall in front of the Amtrack slowly opened. The Amtrack began roaring and worked slowly into the light.

Dozens of other Amtracks filled the water as the young man peeked over the edge, water was blown into the air by mortars aimed into the water. As he scanned his gear once more, gunfire filled his ears, making him jump, the two machine gunners at the head of the boat above the driver were firing at the treeline on the shore.

The young man looked back down at his gear, the M1 Carbine rifle in his hands felt 10 pounds heavier then it actually was, he looked up, they were nearing the shore. He nodded to himself, murmuring the following "I am  Private Michael Neill from Boston, Massachusetts, First Marines, Second Battalion, and I will survive this war..." He repeated it multiple times.

Whilst chanting under his breath, he looked over to his close friend, Private Jordan Rodrigez, he had an M1 Carbine in his hands as well, and a golden necklace hung loose with his dog tags, it was a golden star, a star of David.

The driver turned, shouting as loud as he could, and held up 3 fingers. He heard nothing, but Michael followed his lips carefully. "Thirty seconds..." he said to himself, swallowing all his pride for this life changing moment.

They edged closer to the shore, the gunfire ripped through Michael's ears. The Amtrack lurched to a stop, and behind him, Michael heard his Captain climbing out of the Amtrack. Michael held his rifle in his right hand, mounting the side of the vehicle and climbing up, he peered over, only to be pushed from behind. He landed with a thud in the water, he scrambled up, grabbing his sandy and wet rifle.

He looked desperately around for his Captain, who was sprinting over the beach, his Thompson bouncing around in his right hand. He was jumping over dead men, and hit cover behind a tree. Michael jogged out of the water, and hit the ground with a thud, he tripped due to some of his gear, as he scrambled to get up, a Marine grabbed his collar, trying to pull him up, but by staying still for too long, he merited a death sentence, and a projectile hit the Marine's lower abdomen. Blood sprayed on Michael, and he stared in awe, quickly getting up after shaking away the thought of trying to help.

He jumped over a dead fallen tree, and accidentally stepped on a few bodies. He hit cover behind a rock, a few feet from his Captain, who was clutching his Thompson, peeking through some bushes. Michael turned his head, and saw Jordan hunched over behind a tree about twenty feet to his left. Michael closed his eyes, breathing heavily. He began crying softly, letting tears stream down his sandy and bloodied face...

"The Uniform... you wear... and that golden anchor emblem... you've earned... will make the difference between the freedom of the world... and it's enslavement. And when we have swept upon the main islands of Japan, destroyed every SCRAP of that empire... the victory WILL have been won by you."

Michael remembered these words, what his commander said before he was shipped off that boat and into combat. What his commander said made Michael feel as if fighting this war and risking his life was worth while, to keep his brothers safe...
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I might add that speech was actually real, and was given to the first marines before their assault on Peleliu. This is based off of true stories from the Pacific theater in WWII.

[Kevin]

<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OaRNrDaoMqw" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OaRNrDaoMqw</a>

2015

Universal Union City Eighteen, Somewhere in Russia.

What are the odds?

Beans rubbed his eyes, turning his head slowly to the left. The train was full of people, there was 3 people for every seat in the small car. Beans yawned sticking his legs out as far as he could in order to stretch them. Some people on the train were still unconscious, others sleeping by their own will, others were crying and then a select few were praying.

As it happened, each and every person within the train had the same uniform, each with a number printed across a white strip of fabric on their chest. Beans yawned once more, eyeing everyone carefully, all of the women had short hair, styled into a tight ponytail.

He shifted his gaze down to his legs, between them was a suitcase. He rubbed his nose, and blinked his eyes a few times. Beans stared at the man sitting across from himself, and slowly worked his way down to his hands, they were motionless. Beans dragged his eyes along as the train bumped every few moments. He went down the row, staring at hands. Some were clasped together, some were clutching their owner's knees, some were motionless. As he reached the end of the row of hands, the very last set were shaking wildly.

Beans worked his eyes downward. The legs were motionless, along with the feet, but his hands kept shaking uncontrollably. He moved his eyes up, the motion of the hands quaked up until his elbow, and slowed down as he reached his shoulders. He finally reached the male's face. He knew immediately as he saw the man's piercing green eyes, that it was his brother, Beef.

By some miracle, they were not separated, and by an even greater one, put on the same train car. Beans recognized no one else from Mayberry in the train car, as he assumed that most of the people in the town would have been separated.

Soon, the train lurched to a stop, and the doors opened to a large train station, the exits all covered except one. A voice echoed in the large station, "Welcome to City eighteen..." Beans stopped listening, he looked around the room, the exit doors were guarded at either side by a thing, presumably human. They had white masks with a sort of resemblance to a gas mask.
Pistols were clipped in their holsters, and they seemed to hold a sort of nightstick.

Beans shuffled outside, helped by the constant shoving of the masked figures and other eager citizens. "Rations will contain what you need in order to stay healthy-.." Beans shook his head, still being shoved by the crowds.

After walking with the crowds for several minutes, Beans' hands found their way into his pockets, his hand clasped on to what felt like a plastic card, like a driver's license. He dragged it out, sliding it along his side, and putting it in front of his face. He murmured the numbers to himself, moving towards the letters. It looked like a big jumble of markings, but Beans slowly made the marks into letters, and letters into words. "Guh... Eeeow... Urrge... Will... Sun..." He contorted his jaw to the right, trying to put it together.

Beef was behind him, peeking over his shoulder at the card. "Mine says John, with the same second name as yers. I reckon they think that's our names, yours says... George." Beef nodded approvingly.

Beans dropped the card through a sewer grate. "My name is Beans."

[Kevin]

<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1JANix3fesQ" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1JANix3fesQ</a>

1944

The Island of Peleliu, Japanese Empire.

Watch the tall grass.

Michael walked directly behind the Captain, who seemed to be humming a tune to himself, he turned his head to the left, across the road Jordan was speaking in Hebrew to himself. Michael looked back down the road, ignoring the sights. He looked up into the sky, thinking. After a few long minutes, he snapped his head to the left, "Rodrigez... If you're Jewish... why are you here... I mean... all the Jews I know fightin' went to Europe, not the Japanese Empire."

Jordan turned his head, giving a brief shrug. "Guess it was the weather, and the Krauts have enough Jewish wrath comin' their way." He laughed, looking down to his rifle.

Michael nodded, smiling. He looked to the Captain, who ceased humming the song, he was now simply walking, scanning the trees to his right. "Hey Cap. Where you from?" Michael shifted his helmet upon his head, awaiting an answer.

"Louisiana. Hunted gators with my paw." Was the reply, it was given without his head turning a single degree.

Michael nodded and reached down to one of his pouches, pulling a box of cigarettes out. He pulled one from the box and set it between his lips, pulling a lighter from his pocket. He flipped open the top, giving the lighter a flame. He held the flame to his cigarette, taking a drag. He snapped the lighter shut, jamming it back in his pocket along with his cigarettes.

After some time more of walking, they reached their destination, gunfire rang out ahead, they began to jog, taking a detour through the jungle. After a few minutes of walking through the vegetation, the Captain threw up a fist, crouching. Michael saw nothing ahead, but did the same. The Captain slowly stood, taking aim at the unknown in the tall brush. Two Japanese soldiers hopped up from the brush, one wielding a rifle with a bayonet and the other a sword. Screaming, they sprinted forward. They Captain aimed at the first one, firing a burst of three or four rounds, he fell face first in a large puddle of mud. Before the Captain readjusted his aim, Jordan was on his feet, firing at the second, his M1 Carbine rifle produced two projectiles, the first struck the soldier in the center of his chest, and the second disappeared into the unknown. The soldier tripped, landing in the brush next to his sword.

Michael turned to look at Jordan, he got one glance before gunfire erupted. He sprinted to a tree, taking cover behind it, he cursed as a round tore through the wood, splintering just next to his leg. He peeked out, multiple soldiers wielding rifles were firing upon the group of men. Michael peeked between a low fork in the tree, setting his rifle between the two large limbs. He fixed his iron sights on one of the attackers, squeezing the trigger. The shot shook Michael's shoulder, and he took his eye from the sights, seeing if the attacker was dead.

To his surprise, the soldier was swinging his legs around, clutching his neck. More shots erupted and another soldier fell on his back. After the small skirmish finished, Michael approached the dying Japanese soldier. He stood over him, the soldier couldn't be much older than 18. His eyes were clenched shut, and his rifle was laying across his chest. blood was seeping through his hand, and his legs were still slowly kicking around. Michael bit his lip, looking around, his other comrades were bent over various dead or dying Japanese soldiers, taking their valuables. Michael shifted his look back down to his catch, his eyes were now open, eyeing Michael. He slowly raised his rifle to his head, easing on the trigger, the round caused a sickening 'Thhk' sound as it tore through the enemy's head. Michael's lip quivered.

He didn't know why he did it, or how he mustered the courage to pull off that kill shot, but he somehow did. It was only his first day into combat and he had already executed a man younger than himself for defending his beliefs. Michael bent over the corpse, setting his Carbine aside. He pulled a pocket sized picture from one of the soldier's pouches. The picture depicted a young Japanese family, a mother and father, and a newborn child. Michael dropped the picture on the corpse, grabbing his rifle as he stood, he looked around, gunfire and mortars still echoed in the distance.
Post Auto-Merged: September 04, 2012, 12:07:37 PM
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XwlAiFMsSA" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XwlAiFMsSA</a>

2015

Universal Union City Eighteen, Somewhere in Russia.

The days passed slowly, and the routine was bland. Sitting in the plaza, waiting for something, ANYTHING to happen. The sky was always dark and cloudy. There was no weather patterns, there was no day or night, you relied on how tired you felt to determine the time, and you could be spot on or off by twelve hours. The two brothers relied on half eaten rations found in the trash or street to survive, seeing as they had discarded their identification before they could find out their CID number.

Beans sat in the plaza, staring at the ground. He could feel his stomach's emptiness. He scanned the plaza, units were beating a man to death as he cried for help on the ground, he could the thumps of the stunsticks making contact with the man's body. Beans slowly stood, kicking off one of his shoes. He slowly began walking across the plaza to the scene. He unbuttoned the first few buttons on his jacket, tossing it aside. The jacket was his only layer, and the cold air struck his body like a ton of bricks, but he trudged on. He stopped as he was between the two attacking units. He slowly tapped his tongue against upper teeth, tapping a unit on the shoulder.

The unit stopped, turning, "Get out of here-.." His glare shifted from Beans' face to his now mostly naked body.

A toothy grin spread across Beans' face, and the second unit spun around as well. The man being beaten spit up a little blood, weakly lifting his head to look at Beans, both eyes were bruised and blackened, nearly swollen over, and blood trickled from his nose. Beans glanced at the man on the ground, then staring at the unit once more. "You gon' eat that?"

The unit cocked his head to the side, stuttering under the facemask, "E-excuse me?"

"That there, on the ground, I want it." Beans nodded at the now unconscious man on the ground, his lazy eye darted around uncontrollably.

The unit raised his stunstick, but not fully up as to signal he would hit Beans. "You're-... just.. I-.."

"Simple question, jus' say yes er no." The unit shoved Beans back.

The second unit began speaking into his radio, "I think we have a mentally unstable male here."

Beans turned around, a small crowd had amassed, and they seemed to be enjoying the spectacle to an extent. He snapped his head back around, more heavy boots were heard clomping along the street. Beans began walking away, the units just stared. As he turned the corner, he broke into a small jog, laughing to himself.

Soon he found himself in District 2 of C18. He walked through the trash strewn alleyways, staring at the graffiti on the walls. A man a few inches taller than Beans hugged himself as he walked through the dimly lit alleyway. Beans huddled himself into a small body sized crevice, reaching down to grab hold of an empty glass water bottle. The cold stone against his back made him shiver, but he stayed silent as the man walked through the alley. He made his way by the crevice, and Beans crept out, sneaking behind the man. He stopped abruptly, turning his head to see the bottle make contact with his face, and Beans grin.

He fell unconscious in a pile of trash, blood slipping by a few small shards of glass in his face. Beans knelt down, biting into his neck. He lifted his face up, chewing what he had got out of the first bite, he smiled as blood raced down his chin, dripping onto his pants. Beef emerged from a door in the alleyway, jogging up the Beans. Without question, he dug his teeth into the mans' arm, ripping out some flesh. They sat in the alleyway for an hour digging into the man's body, few people walked by, but all of them rushed by, afraid of what they were witnessing. As their meal was concluded, Beef wiped his mouth on his shirt, speaking in the direction of Beans, "How'd you lose your shirt and shoe?"

Beans turned his head, sucking some blood from his teeth before he spoke, "I didn't like blending in."

[Egf_Adam]

// Ah The good ol' days. When life was as simple as murdering then eating someone in D2 of city 18....feel like such an old fag :c//

[Kevin]

If the music ends before you finish, play it again.

<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iaGtSeqSFe0" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iaGtSeqSFe0</a>

1944

The Island of Peleliu, Japanese Empire.

Michael held his rifle towards the ground, though readily available to take aim at moment's notice. The Captain walked a few yards ahead, humming a tune yet again. Jordan was a few yards behind Michael, speaking softly in Hebrew. In the distance, constant machine gun fire cackled. As the minutes dragged on and the airfield came into view, they began jogging.

The Captain stopped in a mortar crater, where a few men rested, a machine gun sat at the edge, firing ahead at the enemy. He looked at the men's arms, finding the highest ranking of the men, who happened to be a Sergeant. "What's the situation?"

The Sergeant turned his head towards the Captain, setting his Garand to the side. "Well it ain't a fuckin' good one. Japs are ahead in the field tearing our men up. Rifles mostly, but there's a few MG's and further in the field, there was a tank. If there's one, chances are there's more."

The Captain gave a nod, bringing his squad ahead, as they reached a more dangerous area, they began sprinting. Bullets whizzed by the men, behind him, Michael heard a sickening bullet impact, flesh being torn. A young soldier behind him tripped, screaming helplessly, his leg was shredded by a machine gun. All the men knew they couldn't help, and that staying still while not being in cover would bring inevitable death.

All around, men were collapsing. One particular person caught Michael's eye as he got shot. The projectile quite obviously hit him in the ribs and he jerked to the side, the machine gun tripod hoisted over his shoulders stayed with him until he hit the ground, snapping his neck. Michael shook this away, and dove into another crater with his Captain. Then along came Jordan, and a few other surviving soldiers.

Michael peeked out of the mortar crater, about a half dozen enemy soldiers were charging the crater, the two at the front waved swords in the air, while the remaining four charged with their rifles at their hips, bayonets facing the Americans. Michael propped his Carbine on the edge of the crater, fixing his sights on one of the lead men, who was about fifty feet away. He yanked his finger on the trigger, the rifle slammed his shoulder back a bit. The soldier tripped to the ground, sliding to his side.

Before he could fix his sights on the next closest, Private Mueller was next to Michael, he clutched a M1 Garand, which was propped up similar to Michael's. He pumped on the trigger twice, the first round blew into the soldier's thigh, making him fall to the ground, the second whizzed over his head, causing the soldier behind him to be thrust backwards from the raw of the 30-06 round. Blood sprayed from the soldier's chest, and he fall on the wounded soldier. Michael snapped his eyes to Mueller who took his eyes from the iron sights to look at the two men he had shot.

Jordan was crouched behind Michael, aiming his Carbine at those charging, who were now but about twenty five feet away. Jordan was aiming at one of the soldiers as Michael could quite obviously see, he eased on the trigger as he got slightly closer. The recoil from the rifle made Jordan slip slightly, and he fall backward into the center of the crater, but Michael watched as the soldier's helmet fell off his head, and a few small chunks fall in the rubble and sand. The soldiers fell face first, arms by his side, and he slid a little after his tumble.

As the soldiers reached ten feet from the crater, the Captain stood, hip firing at the two remaining attackers, both of which took several hits before falling to the ground, inches from the crater. Michael looked up to the Captain, having a view of his name stitched onto his sleeve, it read 'Wilson', though it was a bit harder to read due to the mud and being faded.

The squad stood, sprinting to the edge of the airfield, and once again entering a jungle. They walked slowly, examining all they could, ahead was a machine gun next, a solid concrete pill box. The  Captain threw up his fist, and crouched, Jordan was right next to the Captain, Michael a few yards behind, whispering to Mueller.

"Hey. Hey Neill, where yah from?"

"Boston." Michael said, keeping his rifle slightly raised, in the direction of the pillbox.

Mueller nodded, "Irish American, eh?"

Michael nodded, "Mom and Dad were immigrants. Pop works for peanuts down at the docks."

"Got a gal waitin' for you at home?" Michael shook his head.

"She left me. With a daughter. The folks are watchin' 'er for me."

Mueller raised an eyebrow, "Wait, how old are you?"

Michael turned his head to look at Mueller, he was young, not much older than 18 for sure. He had no distinguishable accent attributed to him, but was scrawny. Michael wondered how he could carry the pounds upon pounds of gear. His scrawniness didn't help with his babyish looks, either, his bright blue eyes and blonde hair must have gotten him a few girls, Michael thought to himself. "I'm twen'y seven. Eight in February."

A few shouts in Japanese were heard echoing through the small chimney at the head of the pill box. Michael snapped his view back to the emplacement.  "Neill, Mueller, since you like talkin' so much, I'll give you two a story to tell. Clear the bee hive." The Captain said it without losing sight of the small nest.

Michael bit his lip, looking to Mueller, who frowned. "Want a fuckin' invitation? Do it now you pussies."

Michael growled slightly, but made his way through the vegetation keeping his rifle pointed towards the pillbox as he stuck low to the ground. Mueller followed not far behind, Michael looked at the small brass chimney on the top of the concrete structure. He pulled himself on top of the pillbox, the talking hushed. Mueller watched as Michael pulled the pin from a grenade. He used his free hand to toss his rifle to the side, and lift off the top of the brass tube leading into the heart of the pillbox.

He sighed heavily, letting go of the spoon, it flied off, clattering to the ground lightly, and a small hissing was heard from the grenade. Michael counted a few quick seconds, and shoved the grenade through the tube. Cries and shouts were heard, followed by a deafening boom, and then more shouts and screams. Michael crawled to his rifle, hopping down to accompany Mueller. "You first." Michael nodded to the entrance.

Mueller sniffled, then turned and shuffled to the back entrance of the pillbox. He raised his rifle quickly, and fired at the unknown with his M1 Garand, a dead and somewhat burned Japanese soldier tripped through the entrance, topping Mueller onto his side, his Garand near his back. Michael kicked the corpse off Mueller, and turned to aim in the entrance a young man was running out, he stopped short at the sight of Michael and Phil Mueller.

Michael met the soldier's eyes, he was definitely not 18 yet, perhaps 16, or maybe even younger. Michael kept his aim, the soldier had a blackened face, and a torn white battle shirt, He had a shaved head, and soft brown eyes. Footsteps were heard behind Michael, then they stopped, the teenagers expression turned from scared to blank, and his head turned a few degrees to the right, Michael turned, and the Captain was aiming his Colt 1911 .45 pistol, he squeezed the trigger a single time. Michael snapped back around, the teen was sliding down the wall, blood smeared where he slumped down. Mueller turned to face the Captain, "What... the fuck..."

A picture of the scene, sorry if it sucks.
http://steamcommunity.com/sharedfiles/filedetails/?id=96456401
The img tab didn't work.

"Shut up boy, we were sent here to kill these fuckers. How we do it don't fuckin' matter. I expect every Jap you aim at to die. If you ain't up to it, then you don't belong in the marines." The Captain clipped his sidearm back into it's holster. Behind the Captain, Jordan shook his head, and clutched his golden necklace in his right hand, and his rifle in his left.

Michael entered the pillbox behind the Captain, picture were pinned to the wall. Michael took particular notice to one that depicted the teenager, standing with a large grin next to an older looking man, presumably his father, and a woman with her hands clasped together at her front, though it was black and white, Michael could tell that the woman's dress was colorful.

On the ground, an enemy soldier's hand twitched, the Captain raised his Thompson, pulling the trigger a single time at the soldier's head, and the hand stopped. Captain Wilson smirked, walking towards the exit of the pillbox.

[Kevin]

<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AzksL5-jVbk" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AzksL5-jVbk</a>

The main focus of this chapter is Beef, and developing him more, seeing as he's a bit quieter than the others.

2015

Universal Union City Eighteen, Somewhere in Russia.

Beans' head slammed into the wall behind him when he was shoved into it, causing a sickening crack, but he stayed on his feet, still snickering. The man on the other end of the shove was tall, at least 6'2, and African American. His eyes were piercing and brown, and despite being very skinny and nearly malnourished, he had broad shoulders. "Fuckin' freak, man. Voodoo shi'.. Eatin' people an' shi'..."

Beans held his head low, and blood seeped through his hairline, racing down towards his lazy eye. Though he hung his head, he didn't break eye contact, or didn't break his child like laughter. A few fresh bruises and burns were scattered from his chest from recent beatings, and this wasn't the only fight Beans received the scars in. "All I had since I got 'ere was white meat... you have enough of the dark stuff to go around, ain't that right?"

The man stepped back nervously, holding his arms out to keep Beans back. Bean's lazy eye trailed away, and he noticed a dark figure at the end of the alleyway. The figure's knees were slightly bent, and his back was lowered, the silhouette of a pipe hung from his right hand. Beans looked back to the large man, who kept his eyes on Beans. "I'm gon' go man... you gon' die soon though, man... I swear people will kill you, man..." He said as he backed slowly towards the figure.

Beans stifled a laugh, breathing heavily from his lack of breath from all the previous laughing, "Naw, nig', you gon' die right 'ere... right now." A large grin spread across his face as he ceased laughing.

The large man cocked his head to the side, nervously stuttering, "W-whatchu m-.." The lead pipe slammed into the side of the man's head, and he tripped to the side, unconscious, Beef emerged from the shadows with the lead pipe hanging loosely from his grip.

Beef flashed a smile, walking out to hug Beans. "Yer one dumb son of a bitch, I'll tell ya Beans."

They both looked down to the man who squirmed on the ground, as he coughed, blood flew with the bursts of air, leaving small drabs of red on his face, uniform and the cold, dirty ground. Beef turned fully, stepping forward and delivering a fatal kick to the side of his head. After a few more moment of even more intense shaking and grunting with pain, his arms, legs and head listlessly laid on the ground.

Beans and Beef looked to eachother, nodding. They sat in the alleyway for a few hours, eating. Beans inspected Beef thoroughly for the first time in a long time. Compared to Meaty, who held a striking resemblance to Beans, who resembled George Senior, Beef was more like their mother. Instead of the common Wilson's hard blue eyes, he had deep, hypnotizing emerald green eyes. He was lankier and smaller looking than Beans, mostly because he usually held his shoulder lower and lazier than the other Wilsons. His hair was a dark chessnut brown, as Beans had lighter brown hair. Beans and Beef were best friends and brothers, and Beef was the main reason Beans even learned to read to the extent he can, which isn't much.

Beef was by far the most educated of the Wilson brothers, and other than Mary, Beef was obviously the smartest. Instead of hunting and fighting and wrestling all day like Meaty and Beans, Beef read a lot, still taking part in the tough physical activities a lot more than working on his education. Beef also knew his whole alphabet by heart, which was an accomplishment, because on occasions that Beans recited the alphabet, it came out as "A, B, D, C, F, G, E, and then all the other 'uns."

After concluding their meal, they both stood, walking together inside the D2 Apartment block. A weak looking young man with dirty-blonde hair glanced at Beef and Beans, hopping up immediately. "I-I better get going..."

As the young man shuffled by, Beans snapped around, throwing a fist into the back of the mans' head. He stumbled forward, his hand reaching to the back of his head as he fell onto the floor, his face bouncing off the wooden floor. Beef looked to Beans, shrugging, he looked back to the young man, "Get the fuck outta here puss-cake."

The young man whimpered, staggering out of the apartment block, Beef looked to Beans, grinning, "Yer an asshole, know that?"

Beans grinned back, "People best get used to it then."

[Egf_Adam]

// Awesome a chapter based on meh thanks bro ! //

[Kevin]

<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JsFwPDRJeAw" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JsFwPDRJeAw</a>

1997

On the road to Mobile, Alabama, in the American South.

Beans turned spun the steering wheel, pulling next to the gas pump. He reached over, pulling the door handle, the door creaked open, and a few rusty flakes of paint fluttered to the ground. Beef hung his head over the back of the seat, breathing slowly in his sleep. Beans yawned, looking down to see if his dirty brown boots were still tied. His faded and torn jeans were stuffed into his boots nearing his feet, and his dark blue flannel shirt hung down loosely and comfortably to his belt line, moving slightly with each step.

As he neared the door, he peered over his shoulder at the rusty 1980 pickup truck, which he obtained without having a license. Meaty, being a small child, sat on Beef's lap, sleeping soundly against the door. Beans turned back towards the door, shoving it open, the bell hanging in front of the door shook as the door swept underneath it, emitting a few small 'Tings' throughout the small shop. He looked to the counter, a tired looking woman sat on a stool behind the counter, she had a caramel brown tone, and shoulder length jet black hair, Beans turned towards the coolers where the beverages were kept, commenting on her to himself, casually including 'nigger' in the comment.

He pulled open the cooler, looking over the various beverages, grabbing two glass bottles of Coca-Cola from one of the rows. He continued to the far side of the store, grabbing a package of beef jerky, and a few granola bars. As he began to make his way to the counter, a man burst through the doors, he was missing his shirt and his pants slipped down his legs a bit due to a lack of a belt. He had sunglasses on, and had a black bandanna wrapped around the lower half of his head, covering his mouth and bottom part of his nose.

He raised a sawed down revolver at the woman behind the counter, jagged pieces of the barrel stuck out, you could tell he did it himself. Beans, slowly bent down behind the shelf, gently laying down the items, luckily not making much noise. Beans heard the man demanding the money in a booming voice, and the woman crying. Beans erected a bit, still staying low, he saw the man pull the hammer of the gun back, and Beans slowly wrapped his hand around his Colt 1911 as the handle stuck up a bit from his waistband.

All in one motion, Beans grabbed hold of the slide of the weapon, yanking it back and letting it snap forward, which caused enough noise. In a split second Beans stood up fully to aim at the assailant, just in time to see his head turning.

As his head fully pointed in the direction of Beans and he began to shift his aim towards Beans, his finger naturally tensed against the trigger. Being indoors, the shot tore through Beans' ears. The bullet dug through the man's head, and his deceased body fell backwards onto the counter, rolling off onto the dirty gas station floor like a rag doll. A pool of blood began collecting around his head. Beans looking down to his gun, casually switching the safety back on. Where the serial number normally would be, deep marks in the gun were seen.

After jamming the pistol back in place, Beans looked back towards the counter, the woman eyed Beans, terrified. She slowly peered over the counter, and as she saw the body, she screamed at the top of her lungs. Beans grabbed his items, approaching the counter. He set them down, and walked behind the counter, grabbing a few packs of cigarettes and a lighter from the rack.

After walking out with his items and putting them in the car, he returned back into the gas station with Beef. Beans grabbed both of the woman's arms, leading her outside, "Yer comin' with us."

Beef followed close behind with the small amount of money from the cash register. After a few minutes of returning words and comforting the woman, Beans led her to the truck, letting her sit in the front, while condemning his two brothers to the back.

The woman couldn't have been much older than 20, while Beans was 19, Beef 18, and Meaty about 7 or 8. After a period of about 20 minutes of driving down the empty and cracked road, lights approached the front of the truck from the front, they were flashing red and blue. As the source of the lights neared, sirens blared, and a police car sped by, presumably to the scene of the crime.

Soon the woman was asleep, and Beef and Meaty were in the back of the truck, probably talking or playing a game to pass the time. Beans looked at the radio's clock, it read '5:49' He spun the radio dial, tuning into the local rock station, "Good mawnin' Alabama, time's about six AM, and for those of ya'll awake, we some breakin' news. A gas station outside Mobile, Alabama just got shot up, the cashiers nowhere tah be foun', an' the gunman is stiff as a board wit' lead in his head. I leave you now with some Rollin' Stones-"

Beans turned the dial into the off position, sighing. As they passed a sign, Beans opened the window to the pickup portion of the truck, Beef translated the jumble of letters for Beans, "Mobile's comin' up in five miles."

[Kevin]

1944

The Island of Peleliu, Japanese Empire.

The Captain walked towards the sound of gunfire in the distance, his Thompson was slung over his back, and he walked with his pistol in hand, flicked the safety between the on and off positions. Michael walked not far behind Captain Wilson, and behind Michael, Phil and Jordan walked close together.

Through the trees and vegetation, they saw the airfield ahead and began jogging, occasionally walking through deep and sudden puddles of mud. As they neared closer to the battle, they hastened their pace, quickly emerging from the side of the airfield, directly ahead was a crater in which two Japanese soldiers sat, one was firing a machine gun towards the Marines down the field, while the other scanned the other craters for enemies with a pair of binoculars.

The Captain holstered his Colt, hunching over a bit. He unclipped the top of a sheath, pulling a new looking trench knife. He snapped his head around, saying in a low voice, "Phil, bayonet."

Michael and Jordan exchanged glances, as they did not have knives, nor did they use a Garand, meaning they didn't have bayonets. The both of them emerged from the vegetation, sprinting towards the crater. The machine gunner noticed them after hearing the heavy footsteps, and tried lifting the machine gun up and readjusting it to face the two men.

As soon as he set it down on the edge of the crater, Captain Wilson dove, sending the machine gunner into the crater, and knocking over the other soldier as well. Michael lifted his head to see the spectacle. The Captain send the knife into the throat of the machine gunner, and as the second Japanese soldier threw himself onto the Captain's back, Mueller stuck his rifle down towards his back, in turn sending the knife into his back.

The soldier screamed out, rolling off of the Captain, and Mueller raised his rifle, firing into the soldier's head. Jordan jogged sprinted to the crater, luckily not being hit by any gunfire, Michael followed close behind. The Captain layed his Thompson down, grabbing the binoculars and scanning the surrounding craters. "Enemies in the craters ahead, fifty meters away I'd say... Tank movin' up at the edge of the field... a few buildings between us an' the tanks, on the side... All beat up by mortar fire, but there's still movement in 'em..." He tossed the binoculars aside, grabbing his Thompson.

Captain Wilson slowly turned his head to Mueller. "Take out the nips ahead."

Phil looked back at the Captain, "You know what... fuck no, I ain't riskin' my fuckin' ass to take out a few orange bastards that are hidin' in a hole."

The Captain grabbed the Garand, shoving it Michael's way. "You do it. Swap guns with Mueller, this one got more range and Mueller is a pussy. And he ain't gettin' promoted any time soon."

A pic of the scene.
http://steamcommunity.com/sharedfiles/filedetails/?id=97786117

Michael tossed his Carbine towards Mueller, along with all his ammo. Phil tossed him all of his clips and the bayonet. "Have fun bein' the Cap's bitch, Neill."

Michael bit his lip, peeking up from the crater, a few shots threw dirt onto Michael, he ducked back down. "Cap... they got us pinned down, it's going to be damn near impossible..."

He stared at Michael, parting his lips for a few moments before speaking, taking a deep breath. "Neill, Mueller, Jew... My God damn job ain't to make sure you get back home safe to yer mommies. My fuckin' job is to make sure we tear down this empire, and to make sure we kill a whole lot of nips. Whether or not you want to do what I say ain't my problem. I am a Captain for a reason. Now you do as I fuckin' say and stop bein' pussies, your job as SOLDIERS is to follow orders and do what it takes, not to whine about how you might die."

He shifted his gaze over the three men, hanging his head low. "Now Neill... do it."

Michael sighed, he trembled in fear as he slowly laid his rifle on the edge of the crater, he eventually let his eye peek through the iron sights, a head poked up from the other crater, and a rifle moved up between two rocks, shifting to aim at Michael. He quickly fired at the top of the head, missing, the head poked back down. After a few moments, an arm popped up holding a Japanese style grenade. The arm tilted to the side, and began to arch towards the crater the Marines were in. Michael snapped his aim to the arm, firing a few shots quickly, one of them make contact, and the arm sprayed blood, the grenade falling back into the hole.

Screams and cries were head, followed by an explosion, an arm soared through the sky, landing near the Marines' crater. Michael slid back into the center of the crater with the others, fire kept up around them, but the Captain removed his helmet, using it as a sort of pillow, basking in the sun. After several minutes, a squad fell in the crater with the other four marines, they quickly assembled a mortar. One of the mortar-men grabbed Jordan's arm, speaking in his ear so he could hear, "You got to tell us where to adjust!" Jordan nodded promptly.

One man adjusted the mortar, while another dropped a shell into the tube. Jordan watched, an explosion occured behind a squad of Japanese riflemen who were running down the field, a few of them fell forward and ceased movement, while a few roared for help and tried to crawl away. Jordan turned, "There's another squad movin' up, adjust twenty meters to the right and fifteen back."

He snapped back around as they dropped another shell into the tube, the explosion occured in front of a squad this time, sending most of them onto their backs, dead. After about ten minutes of helping take out a few squads, the Marines moved back into the jungle once more, to advance on the enemy. In the jungle, after walking for several minutes they came across a wooden hatch hidden among the dirt.

The Captain looked up to the three. "Mueller first, then Neill, then Jew."

Phil grunted disapprovingly, but lifted the hatch, sticking his head into it and looking around, upon pulling it out he said, "Well I see where it leads, but we need to crawl all the way through." And so they did.

As they crawled through the small tunnel, Japanese chatter was heard. As Mueller got within feet of the small room at the end of the tunnel, he pulled a grenade from among his gear, pulling the pin. He muttered to himself as he slid it into the room, "Take this you yellow fuckin' assholes."

After the explosion, Mueller quickly made his way in, a few Japanese men were shredded by shrapnel, but then one or two coughed for air, their faces bloody and covered in dirt. Phil approached the Captain from behind, yanking his Colt from it's holster as he was focused on a map on the table in the center of the small, low room. The Captain turned as Mueller took aim with the pistol at one of the dying soldiers. He hardened his expression, pulling the trigger twice, the soldier absorbed both bullets, sliding from his sitting position into a ball on the ground. Before he shifted his aim, the Captain grabbed the pistol, pushing Mueller over.

"You fucking idiot!"

Mueller screamed angrily, "You said we need to kill all the nips, so why the fuck does it matter how I do it?!"

The Captain holstered the pistol, "Kill all the nips you want, just DON'T use my fucking guns when you do it."

Mueller stared blankly, picking up his Carbine. He walked over to the second dying soldier, firing four rounds into his chest. He looked back to the Captain who watched, "Better?"

[Kevin]

<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fzSskwpLiWY" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fzSskwpLiWY</a>

2015

Universal Union City Eighteen, Somewhere in Russia.

Light steps echoed through the small lanes and alleyways of City 18's District 2. The feet belonged to Beef, who shuffled down a narrow lane, somewhere throughout this concrete jungle, he heard the struggle and grunts of a fight. As he reached the corner of the alleyway, he hit the wall, peeking out, down a small slope towards a small courtyard. He eyed the courtyard, the half naked Beans came into view, he was bloodied and bruised, but stood strong. Two men came into view, in front of Beans, and shouting was heard.

Beef turned his head to the ground, grabbing a rusty screwdriver with his clammy hands. He came from his hiding spot, jogging down the alleyway, As he drew closer, one more man was seen, panting as he sat on a bench, his arm bled. Obviously Beans was in the mood for some meat.

Beans slid down a chain link fence, his fingers wrapped around the chain in several areas. The smaller of the men threw a first at Beans' head, who merely let his head slam to the side, and laugh away his pain. Beef walked casually behind the two men, tapping the larger one's shoulder as the smaller of the two raised his fist once more.

As the man turned, Beef reared his arm back, driving the rusty tool towards the man's face, it tore through the man's brown eye, and kept going until Beef hit some resistance. He released the screwdriver, snapping around as he expected an attack, and he was right. The man who was resting was behind Beef, and as he swung a jagged steel shank at Beef's head, he ducked, making the assailant miss the attack.

As the shank safely flew over Beef's head, he threw a fist up towards his chin, which stuck him. He stumbled backward, tripped over some various junk, the shank fell among a pile of trash. As Beef turned to face the other attacker, Beans had him on his knees, strangling him. He grabbed a pencil from the man's shirt pocket, stabbing it through the layers of skin into the man's neck, and he gagged, sending blood onto Beans' face. Beans released him, he rolled onto the ground, squirming in pain until he died.

The third attacker was back up, and sent a kick towards Beef's jewels. Beef took the kick, falling over in immense, but temporary pain. Beans charged forward as the kick concluded, he turned his shoulder towards the man's chest, sending him to his back. He raised his covered foot, stomping on his face, a crunch was audible.

Beef stood stiffly, and set himself down near the man, biting into his shoulder as Beans held him down. "Aghhh! Help!"

Beans cocked his head to the side, "Wha's wrong asshole? Can't handle the pain?" Beans shook with joy for a brief moment, stifling a laugh.

Beans' expression turned from childlike wonder to a hard, serious face, he pressed down with both thumbs against the man's throat, cutting off the man's air. He held down until the man's arms and legs stopped moving completely, and he bent over to take a hearty bite out of the man's rib area. Beef licked his index finger, looking up to Beans, "What was the fight about, anyways?"

Beans shrugged, "I don't really know... But it was worth it, eh?"

Beef rubbed his eye with his knuckle, "I guess so."

[Kevin]

<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cM4kqL13jGM" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cM4kqL13jGM</a>

1997

Mobile, Alabama, in the American south.

The sun shone brightly down upon the American east coast, resulting in immense and uncomfortable humidity and heat. The trio's rusty Ford pickup grinded to a halt in front of a small row of run down looking shops. Beans yanked his handle, pushing the door open. Beef vaulted out of the back of the pickup, leaving Meaty in the back, and the woman asleep in the passenger seat.

Beans and Beef exchanged nods, speaking in front of an unfriendly looking hardware shop. The windows were boarded shut, and he red and white painted sign hung loosely from it's bolts. "You sure this is the right place, Beefy?"

Beef gave a quick nod, "Been told it's one of the only places to get it in this part o' Mobile."

Beans sighed reluctantly, shoving the door open. A tall man with a shaved head towered over Beans as the door creaked open, he glared down at Beans. He wore a loose and oil stained gray t-shirt, and ripped jeans tucked into his black combat boots. The SS Thunderbolts were tattooed on his right arm, along with other symbols of the Nazi party, including two swastikas on either side of his shaved head.

Beans bits his lip, slipping by the large skinhead. Sprawled across the floor were dozens of junkies, male, female, young, old, but all very very poor. Some had pipes hanging from their shivering mouths, and one particular woman caught Beans' eyes, as she was repeatedly stabbing herself with an empty syringe, crying. Beans finally reached the back room of the hardware store, a man sat behind a coffee table, he had pale white skin, and very short black hair. Tattoos spanned across both arms, and his neck, and like his friend, they were all related to the Nazi party in some way.

"What do you hicks want?" He said, his gaze not leaving his hands which were folded in his lap.

"Some rocks, we got money." Beans said, tossing a few small bundles of bills on the table.

The dealer flipped through the money briskly, counting it up. He opened a briefcase which he kept under his chair, opening it on the table, inside were large bags, filled with the white rocks. He picked through the case, picking out a small bag, tossing it to the two young brothers.

"Now get the fuck out before Louie there gets the wrong idea."

Beans turned slowly, the alleged 'Louie', the large skinhead with the swastika tattoos, stood in the doorway, a dull looking revolver hanging from his hand. The two brothers quickly worked their way out, Beef hiding the baggie in his shoe before exiting.

Meaty clung to the side of the pickup, swinging back and forth, the truck swayed slightly as he peaked each time. Beef sighed as he climbed into the truck, "Cut it the fuck out Meatcake."

The woman sat awake, and as the engine roared to life, she flipped through the radio stations. Beans pulled away from the shop, turning his head slightly, "What's your name, sweet black?"

The woman giggled a little, "It's Denise, and you?"

"Everyone calls me Beans. I reckon you an do the same. And those back there is Beef and Meaty, Beef being the big 'un."

Denise nodded. "Well I guess uh... thanks for helping me back in the store... But uhm... why exactly are you bringing me to Mobile?"

Beans shrugged. "Well I thought I'd come here and see if it's any better than Louisiana, I guess yer just along for the ride. for now."

After about a fifteen minute drive, Beans turned into a completely empty parking lot, shopping carts and litter of all kinds were strewn all over the lot. A group of dirty and seemingly homeless men sat shaking on a grassy patch along the far end of the lot, they sprung up, meeting Beans and Beef halfway, Meaty's laughter was heard at the other end of the lot.

One of the dirtier men stepped forward, his gray beard was matted together and moved with his jaw as he spoke in his raspy and tired voice, "You got rocks, man?"

Beans nodded, motioning to Beef, who lifted the baggie from his pocket, the small tribe of junkies exchanged whispered remarks and cried out excitedly. The lead junkie turned, "Get some money together boys!"

The five men emptied old McDonalds cups and turned their pockets inside out, the small pile mostly consisted of coins. "Alright, how many magical stones can we afford?!" Beef totaled the money together, "Give 'em two, Beans."

The homeless men moaned in unison, obviously upset that they couldn't afford as much as they wanted. One of the junkies hopped forward, swinging his fists wildly, "Thieving bastards, don't touch our chiquita Banana!"

Beans took a hit directly to his temple, and he tumbled over, dropping the baggie of crack. One of the men hobbled forward, grabbing the bag as Beans staggered up. He looked around in his dazed state, three of the men made off across the lot with the crack, but weren't anywhere close to being Usain Bolt. The remaining two closed on Beef, who was aiming at them with his Glock, the serial number obviously etched off.

Beans yanked his Colt 1911 from his waistband, shakily taking aim. He fired a shot towards the evading homeless men, one of them stopped dead in his tracks, and made his way to his knees, whilst keeping his hands up. Beans sprinted behind the men, and made up for lost distance easily, as they weren't the most athletic junkies. Soon they met an alleyway nearing the end of the parking lot, Beans wasn't far behind, and slowed down while still running. He stuck out his pistol, pulling the trigger twice, one of the shots hit the lead man and he fell onto the asphalt, sliding to halt.

Beans stepped on the man as he continued running, a chain link fence blocked the end of the alleyway as Beans slid into it, watching the pathetic man cry like a child as he tried to climb the fence, slipping down due to his intense fear. He spun around as Beans drew closer, he sobbed, throwing the crack at Beans, luckily not spilling. "Take it! P-please don't kill m-..me..." After finishing his sentence he eased back into crying.

Beans reached down, grabbing the crack and jamming it into his pocket. "You're lucky yer so fuckin' pathetic." And with that he walked out of the alleyway. Across the parking lot, several shots echoed off the buildings, and the men in front of Beef fell in the distance. The lead junkie writhed in pain on the ground, cursing in between sobs.

Beans slowed down as he passed the dying man, firing the remainder of the magazine into his back, his cries grew louder after each impact, but died down slowly after as the pool of blood quickly thickened. Beans slowly looked up, Beef was jogging back towards the truck, but his head was turned and he was waving his arms wildly, gun in hand. His shouts were hard to hear over the cry of sirens in the distance, "Hurry up!"

[Kevin]

<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nROt_sDos30" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nROt_sDos30</a>

1977

Daytona, Indiana, in the American Midwest.

His steps we slow and heavy, he wheezed a bit as he walked. His eyes were deep, icy blue, as if he could see right through you. His hair was gray, and thinning. Most of his teeth were yellowing, and others were missing or chipped. His left hand was a but a stump, shivering with each step.

As he walked through the darkness and across the street towards the convenience store, he felt a pang of happiness, as if all was well. As he neared the door, he smiled, looking up towards the moon, "I'm doin' what you told me to do, Jeffrey." His grip around the machete that hung from his remaining hand tightened, and his veins raised underneath his old and freckled hand.

He knocked the door open with his shoulder, stopping. A young woman stared into the cooler, examining the beverage selection. She slowly turned her head, and shifted her gaze between the man's machete and his blank face. She slowly shut the cooler, turning to face the man.

The man slowly began walking forward, his steps tapping rhythmically throughout the small supermarket. He stopped as he was face to face with the young woman, her lips quivered, and she silently began crying, tears streamed down her face, but she made quite sure that she didn't make any noise.

The man parted his lips a bit, the ends of his mouth forming into a smirk, he spoke in a soft voice, as if he was talking to a small child in the dead of night, "Get out.."

The woman quickly shuffled past, the clerk, obviously not having noticed the aghast woman or the armed man, continued to flip through his novel. The old man tilted his head upwards, the clock's arms slowly edged their way to the midnight position.

The aged man stared for about a minute, all arms of the clock hit the midnight position at the same time, and turned on the ball of his foot, walking briskly to the counter. He let the blade rest on the counter as he stared coldly at the cashier, he set down his novel, "No liquor purchases aftehhh-.."

His eyes met the blade, and as he made eye contact with the old man, he raised the machete, swinging it down upon the man's shoulder. The blow ripped through his shoulder, but hit the bone, stopping the machete. He yanked it out, the man was already screaming, and blood sprayed all over the surrounding area from the blow. He raised the machete again, swinging it from the side into the man's neck, he took the blow, and fell off of the stool, onto the floor.

He began crawling from behind the counter, gagging as blood sprayed from his neck and arm. He made it halfway out the door before collapsing upon his chest, the door rested against the man, staying open. The old man walked down the front of the store, staring down each aisle.

A middle aged woman appeared from one of the aisles, letting go of her basket, the fruit rolled onto the floor. She turned, and began running down the aisle, crying and screaming. The old man's jaw twitched and contorted, and he threw the machete down, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a snub nosed .38 special. He reached the aisle as the woman was halfway down it, she had slipped in her adrenaline rush, and began to get up, still crying.

The old man raised the revolver, firing three shots towards the woman. Each shot impacted, two hitting her in her side, near her ribs, and the last one in her leg. She rolled onto her side listlessly, dead.

The old man dropped the revolver, and sat on the floor, crying. "I did it Jeffrey...  Are ye happy, Jeff?"

The door creaked open, and multiple shouts were heard, "Daytona Police, don't fucking move, sicko!"

[Kevin]

<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71iLRDoCWmU" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71iLRDoCWmU</a>

1977

Dawson County Courthouse, Outside Daytona, Indiana, in the American Midwest.

"Two counts of murder in the first degree..." The judge sitting behind the podium removed his glasses after setting down the investigation papers.

"Now, Mister Wilson... you realized you killed two people, twenty year old Martin McGregor... a college student who had a bright future in law, and fourty three year old mother Melinda Barbrady..."

Mister Wilson nodded without hesitation, "Yes, I did, sir."

The judge stared blankly at the defendant, his eye twitched ever so slightly, and Wilson could feel the happiness rising again inside him. The muscle of his chin pulsed up and down, and he smiled lightly. "I did. I killed 'em."

The judge simply continued to stare. The jury stayed completely silent, but the diverse group that would seal Wilson's fate all shifted uncomfortably. Wallace Wilson leaned back in his seat easily, no lawyers by his side, no family in the audience whom observed the spectacle. Wallace tried to smother his happiness, but he couldn't, he smiled dumbly, the ends of his smile coursing up and down as if he was about to cry, but he remained smiling.

A teen in the stands hopped from his seat, shoving others out of his way, people began screaming, and people were heard crying. Wallace remained staring forward, the police within the courtroom shoved through the lively crowd. "He's got a knife!"

Wallace continued to stare forward, speaking slowly and deeply, "See how riled up folks get when someone they love ge's hurt?"

The judge stared accusingly at Wallace. "Excuse me?"

"Animal nature, sir.. if a fellow pride member or some'un from the clan or whatever ge's hurt... ever'body get's riled up... only makes things worse... for ever'body..." He said it without showing any enthusiasm or regret, he just said it.

People in the crowd were crying and screaming, cops were dragging the man out as he cried like an upset child, "Maaarty!"

Wallace Wilson turned his head, observing the spectacle. An elderly couple held eachother, the man sobbed into the woman's shoulder, speaking between sobs, "W-why'd she ha-have to gooooo..." He cried it as if physically pained.

Wallace turned back, the judge flipped through the some papers, writing something on them in a black fountain pen. He put on his glasses, biting his tongue lightly, breathing deeply. "Wallace William Wilson, by the power invested in me by the state of Indiana, I sentence you to two life sentences in Dawson State Penitentiary, without the opportunity of parole. Have fun spending the rest of your life in jail you filthy piece of shit." He grabbed the gabble, slamming it down upon the wood pad, thereby making the sentence final.

Wilson's armed were forcefully grabbed by someone and bound together by the cold metal handcuffs. He was lifted to his feet, and he nodded curtly to the judge, "Seeyeh in hell, you crooked bastard." And with that, he was dragged out of the courtroom, taking blows from upset family members, and to no one's surprise, the police didn't make any attempt to stop the attacks.