Part 3: A is A and Dead is Dead
Part 3: A is A and Dead is Dead
Dagny was in a moral quandary. While she had no problem taking the arms of the fallen, she was having difficulty deciding whether to loot the houses of the residents of the Drassen airstrip. The tenets of her moral philosophy prevented her from taking what was unearned, and what was owned by another, without proper compensation. Yet, the medical kits and gasoline to be found in the hands of the local residents were utterly necessary for her cause, a cause which could earn them liberty, something worth more than all their possessions put together.
Loot from Drassen airfield. Not shown: GOOD FUCKING ITEMS
No one on Earth could help her with this problem. And so, Dagny closed her eyes, put her hands together, and prayed for divine assistance.
"Jesus, if ever I built a holy temple for you, if ever I sacrificed the noble lamb and goat at your altar, come to me now."
A feeling of warmth came over her, and stars crowded her vision. She knew she was in the presence of a divine will. It smelled a little like bong water.
Jesus would only partake of the savour of the unblemished lamb. Accept no substitutes!
"Jesus hears you, my child. He is pleased with your love for the unrestricted flow of capital and labour. He is satisfied with the propitiations offered in the past, and feels that it is acceptable to return the favour. What can Jesus Christ LLC do for you today?"
Dagny thought for a moment, and answered.
"Is it moral to take from these townspeople? You know my heart on the matter; what is your judgment?"
Jesus replied immediately.
"Dagny, you are stronger than these people. It is written that the weak shall be subject to the stronger. Not in the Bible, but somewhere equally good, possibly Plato. Think of it this way: if they are incapable of protecting their property, do they deserve said property? In what sense has one earned their property if they cannot retain their property?"
Jesus always provided trenchant insight into complex moral affairs. She now knew why his symbol was that of the sword and the crescent moon, for he preached horrific violence by night. She smiled and nodded.
"Thank you, Jesus. Shalom."
With that, the divine will dissipated, and Dagny was left alone, yet more heartened than ever. She turned and approached her teammates.
"Loot the town. Take what is needed. If any man should stand in your way, kill him. Know that you have Jesus' divine sanction in this."
Gasket looked relieved. He fingered his rosary and prayed that Holy Mary, Mother of God, Daughter of Athena, was equally happy with his conduct. He aimed to be righteous.
After a bloody pogrom the likes of which Arulco would never see again, it turned out that the medical kits and gas weren't so necessary after all. But at least Dagny felt that she could simultaneously loot the townspeople and continue her epic struggle against publicly subsidized healthcare. And contemplating the dozens of bodies burning in a towering pyre soothed her soul. She knew that they would be with Jesus soon, who brooked no union negotiations and always paid a fair wage voluntarily. Plus, his corporate growth was stellar, easily top 10 material.
Rather than rest and celebrate their victory, she elected to push south, into Drassen's residential sector. It was still dark when she and her troops crept in, and before long they had slaughtered a few unarmoured guards loitering in the light of an aluminum-sided shack.
Biff theorizes that porch lights are little tiny angels sent to help them kill enemies at night more effectively. This is not as absurd as it sounds
Drawn like gnats to the light, Deidranna's soldiers ran in, one after the other, seeking the source of the awful racket that was disturbing their creepy midnight Ouija game. And one after the other, they were gunned down by a ravenous man-thing and a disaffected French ex-pat who is mesmerized by her own mediocrity.
The twinkling of those soulless eyes suggests this is hardly the first time
With her enemies taking a long dirt nap, Dagny decided to explore the sector. She came upon an interesting sight: a group of tiny capitalists expressing their desire to exchange their labour for the generous wage of a morally irreproachable entrepeneur.
Children are tiny nutrient factories
Dagny was running up to congratulate the owner of the fine establishment on her efficient allocation of labour, when the *crack* of a firearm resounded from behind her. All the industrious tykes dropped to the ground, an expression of their egoistic desire for life, while the brains of Doreen Littleham, erstwhile sweatshop owner, were splattered on a nearby cliched TEAMWORK office poster. No one moved. Slowly, Dagny turned around, and found herself staring at Ira, who was holstering her gun with a kind of sheepish expression. Dagny motioned as if to say 'Why?' but Ira merely grinned and twisted her index finger in her cheek, a gesture of innocence. At least, it would have been a gesture of innocence if her face were not caked with blood-soaked dirt, and her fingernail not razor sharp from scraping the marrow out of the bones of fallen soldiers. Dagny turned around and sighed, stooping to collect the leavings of the now-deceased Doreen. Money and a key. Hmm. With the aid of the key, she was able to open a locked closet, wherein she found another MP5K, which she gave to Gasket. Satisfied, and clad in fashionable and inexpensive 'I Heart Deidranna" T-shirts, the gang made their way south, to the Drassen mines. It would be WINNER TAKE ALL.
Dagny's men were set upon almost immediately when they entered the mine sector. Once again having the advantage of darkness, they slaughtered their foes with ease. That is, until a sexy Amazonian blonde woman charged forward with a dangerous-looking submachine gun in hand. Dagny salivated at the prospect of having such a weapon for herself. She took aim and fired.
There's something touchingly human in slaughtering a group of ill-trained conscripts by the light spilling out of a church
In the distance she heard a muted 'thwup' as her hollow-point 9mm passed through the head of the noble warrior, dropping her to the ground like a sack of Russet Brown Prince Edward Island potatoes, $4.99/lb at your local greengrocer.
Dagny wanted to say 'Booya' at this point, but reminded herself of her New Year's Resolution
Dagny sprinted forward to collect the weapon, and narrowly managed to avoid the incoming fire that reproached her for her greed. Screaming obscenities, she ordered her team to vanquish the fool who dared assault Dagny Taggart, Vice-President of Operations at Taggart Transcontinental. They surged forward as a single unit and blew away three more soldiers, the last falling to Gumpy's flabby arm.
While Gasket's grammar is questionable, the locative powers of his stomach are not
Gumpy stood and blew a wisp of smoke away from his gun. "Just call me Harry... Dirty Harry," he said smoothly, his voice hardly cracking at all. Gasket looked at him, bugeyed.
"The Dirty Harry that fucked my sister? Why you lily-livered dogshit, I'm gonna crack your fucking skull open."
Biff stepped between them, unbuttoning his sweater vest in a gesture of intimidation. That is, if one is intimidated by a sunken chest peppered with patches of pubescent firehair.
"Now, now... fellas, there's no need for that. We just... uh... just killed some guys and... teamwork. You know." He nodded emphatically.
Flo sighed romantically.
"Oh mon Biff, you 'ave such a way with words! Perhaps you could tell me 'ow beautiful I am... in private?" She winked, a horrifying expression. Biff nodded and smiled, then seemed embarassed by the combination of gestures, and nodded without smiling. The two retired to an empty shack for a midnight tryst.
Meanwhile, Gumpy and Biff had cooled their jets and backed down. Gumpy twirled his gun on his finger before holstering it, while Gasket lovingly caressed his new MP5K and whispered sweet nothings into its gas-operated feedback mechanism, before slathering the gun barrel in Vaseline. Looking around slyly, he sauntered off into the darkness.
Dagny merely stood silently. She had taken out life insurance policies which paid triple if any of her mercenaries died from wounds inflicted by teammates. While she obviously stood to get richer by taking over the country, there would be no shame if she simply cashed in their policies and hired some more skilled, sexier mercs from AIM.
She ordered them to stand down for the night, and took it upon herself to survey the booty.
I like to imagine that Gasket is 'selling' me these weapons. That's his tough negotiator face!
Impressive. The Carl Gustaf and Mini-14 would drastically extend the range of her mercs. Furthermore, the purple AET ammo would give some serious punch to what was already a fearsome submachine gun. She would have to order her team to discard their hollowpoint ammo - the enemies from here on out would be wearing substantial body armour.
She uttered a silent prayer to Jesus, thanking him for his help.
Somewhere in Heaven, Jesus took a massive toke, and winked.
Next up: The First Rule of Fight Club is oh god bees