Radiation: Tales of the New Age - Volume 1: Skallen

Chapter 2: Mr. Sandman

Jager stretched and yawned pushing a cart, covered by a tarp, down the dank narrow hallway.  Several years had passed since the incident at his hometown, and had struck out on his own, and since then he had changed significantly. He was now hunting those warriors in red, trying to find anything he could on them, which had led him to a small scouting party. He promptly disposed of all except for one.

He soon came to a heavy metal door, and slid open a slot in the rusty metal.

"How's my favorite guest doing?"

There was a faint moan from inside.

"Great!"

Jager unlocked and slid open the door, wheeling it inside to see his guest. They were dangling from the ceiling, with their arms forced above them, tied to a large wooden beam, and a burlap sack was tied around their head. They wore the red sashes of Tsavo's guards, the only difference being they had more ammo and food pouches, along with a ghillie suit that was packed away in a large backpack they were carrying. Jager reached over and ripped the sack away from their head, revealing a bruised and broken man.

"Morning sunshine. Have a nice nap?" Jager said, pulling the tarp off the cart, making sure to stand in between the prisoner and the cart so they couldn't see his tools. The prisoner let out a moan.

"That's what I like to hear. Alright, so," Jager leaned in close, "are you ready to cooperate today?"

The prisoner looked over at him and spit, landing on Jagers shoulder.

"That's what I like to hear." Jager turned back to the cart.

"Do you like music big guy?" he turned back around and he was holding a CD player in one hand and a tire iron in the other. "I've always been a fan of listening to something jazzy while doing trivial work, how about you?"

The prisoner squinted a bruised eye at him.

"I'll take that as a yes." Jager placed the CD player on the ground and hit play. It whirred to life and began to spit out a chorus of women singing.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

(bung, bung, bung, bung)

Jager walked over.

Make him the cutest that I've ever seen

(bung, bung, bung, bung)

Jager swung the iron into the prisoner's core.

Give him two lips like roses and clover

(bung, bung, bung, bung)

Jager slammed the iron into the prisoner's knee.

Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over

Sandman, I'm so alone

Jager grabbed a blowtorch off the cart and began to heat the curved end of the tire iron.

Don't have nobody to call my own

Please turn on your magic beam

Jager pressed the hot end of the tire iron to the prisoner's forehead.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream...

Jager snatched the CD player of the ground and paused it.

"No no no, this isn't working, I can't hear my music over your screaming, I hope you're happy."

The prisoner breathed heavy, tears streaming down his face. Jager walked over and cupped his face in his hands.

"Shhhhh, it's okay, you can make this stop by just telling me who your boss is. Is that too much to ask?"

The prisoner stared into his eyes.

"Th-the Matriarch."

"Pardon me?"

"Sh-she's the one wh-who sent us."

"And where can I find her?"

"East c-coast."

"Well thank fuck you told me, I thought I was going to have to break every bone in your body, instead, I only had to break most.  Anything else you wanna tell me?"

"S-she has six main Generals, I don't know them th-though, I just got enlisted a week ago, please..."

The prisoner sobbed as Jager patted the top of his head, then his eyes lit up.

"That reminds me, I wanted to get your opinion on something." Jager returned to the cart and pulled a mask out from the bottom tray.  It was a completely black mesh hood, similar to a ski mask, but the front had an iron plating shaped skull sewn on, missing the lower jaw. He pulled the mask on and then pulled a hood over it.

"Well, what do you think?" Jager said, striking different poses.

"I-It looks nice," blood dribbled out of his mouth, "c-can I go now..?"

Jager slowly walked over and placed his hand on his bloody shoulder, causing the prisoner to grunt in pain.

"Of course, but first, I have one last question, what is going through your mind right now?"

"W-what?"

"I mean, this has probably rocked your world, right? Your whole scouting party dead, you, being forced down here into this rotten hole. Pretty crazy right?"

The prisoner weakly nodded.

"I would give anything to see inside that head of yours..." Jager glanced at the tire iron in his hand, "...oh yeah."

Jager brought the tire iron down on the prisoner's skull, denting it inwards. He swung again and again, then pulled the fractured skull apart, sending fragments onto the concrete with a series of sickening splatters.

"Huh, I'll be damned, it's mostly just mushy red stuff."

Jager shrugged and walked out of the room, tire iron over his shoulder, whistling, and slammed the heavy door behind him.