by Michael Todd
Katie groaned. But Catwoman has been seriously underrepresented in cinema. Every Catwoman I’ve ever seen has been absolutely terrible. She’s not a good guy. She basically does good things to get her way. I don’t like her.
What about the blonde one?
Michelle Pfeiffer? She wasn’t a hero. She was a goth BDSM kinkster with a thing for cats.
She sounds right up my alley.
Juntto stood up and cleared his throat. “I would like you all to know that Morpheus and I will be coming to the next battle. We are both great leaders. In this form we will subjugate the people, and I will fight for control of the world.”
Katie stared at him with wide eyes. “First of all, you have Morpheus all wrong. He fights for the people, not to subjugate them. Secondly, you will never control more than your Xbox while I am around. Take a seat, big guy.”
Juntto pouted. “Fine, but one day...”
Katie just shook her head.
Arnold Schwarzenegger sat happily at LA Prime, one of the finest restaurants in Los Angeles. The off-white linens matched the floors, and ultra-modern techno-jazz pumped through the sound system. His agent Bryan sat across the table, carefully cutting a piece of his filet, eating it, and sipping his red wine. “Perfect medium rare.”
“You see the fat? This will kill you one day.” Arnold swallowed his bite of fish and shook his head. “You were saying they want me to continue doing these spin-offs of The Terminator.”
“They think this one is going to be huge. So, yes, they’re already working on the next one.”
“Do they have a script?”
“No.” Bryan swirled his wine. “They’ll shoot the action scenes and write the script later. You know how it goes.”
“You would think that with how old I have gotten, they would back away. But no, here I am, getting ready for shooting in three days. It’s fantastic.”
His agent gave him a grin. “Well, CGI is an amazing thing. Besides, Arnold never gets old to the people. They elected you governor, for God’s sake. Governor of a Democratic state, and you are a Republican. It just goes to show that clout counts for something.”
Arnold ate a piece of fish and sighed. “True. Though I am not sure how many more times I can say, ‘I’ll be back,’ without feeling like an idiot.”
Bryan put his fork down and pointed at him. “Hey. Hey. What kinda talk is that? You’ll say it a million more times if it gets you these acting gigs. Seriously, what else are you going to do with your time? Golf?”
Arnold shrugged. “I’ve been getting pretty good at my game. But no, I like being in the studio. I would like something more. A serious role in a serious film. Shakespeare, maybe?”
“Something like, I don’t know, Commando and Juliet?”
“No, no Commando. Maybe King Lear?”
The waitress came to the table and dropped the check. Arnold stared at the bill, but Bryan grabbed it and handed her his black card. “Arnie, people love the action stuff.”
Arnold thanked him. “Look, Bryan. I am in my seventies. I want to work, not only my body but also my mind and my abilities. I know that you want me to make more movies, but this one is good for now. We can talk about things later. Don’t be so glum. You still get paid.”
Bryan chuckled. “That I do. You ready to get out of here? Your assistant told me not to let you stay out all day.”
The two of them pushed out of the restaurant doors and into a huge crowd. Flashbulbs popped and sizzled. Arnold smiled, waving at everyone. A TMZ reporter leaped in front of him. “Can I have a couple of minutes?”
Arnold shrugged. “Sure. I’ll catch you later, Bryan.”
“Arnold, what do you have to say to the people who are claiming you are too old to act in the next Terminator movie?” the reporter asked.
Arnold looked directly into the TMZ camera. “I’d say they should stop worrying about me and my age and worry about what they can do to save the planet. If the directors want me, of course, I will be in the movie. The Terminator is historic. In my opinion, they have all been successful. I can’t imagine anyone else continuing to act in their seventies while also being a leading figure in the political arena.”
“Does this mean you have further aspirations in regards to your political career?”
Arnold laughed and patted the reporter on the shoulder. “It means nothing like that. It means I have a lot of different directions I am currently exploring. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to get to. Thanks, guys.”
Arnold pushed through the crowd and waved as he stepped into the back passenger door of a blacked-out SUV parked on the curb. His chauffeur closed the door, and they sped off. Arnold relaxed in his seat.
He watched out the window as they drove through the hills back to his mansion. They pulled through the giant privacy gates and parked. The driver opened Arnold’s door, and Arnold slid out.
Arnold shook the driver’s hand. “Thanks, Mike. That will be all for today.”
An unearthly howl cut through the air. Arnold and the driver both turned to see the very air in front of them tear open. The tear expanded into a huge portal, and Arnold shielded his eyes against a rush of hot air.
Baal, huge and scaled and charred from head to foot, stepped through the portal. A band of smaller snarling demons rushed through, hovering around his ankles.
Arnold put his hands on his hips. “This is private property.” The demons didn’t care. They scrambled across his driveway. Arnold pushed his driver to the side as one of the demons leaped forward. The driver fell to the ground, and Arnold grabbed the demon by the throat. He swung the demon, whipping the thing back and forth like a rag doll. Arnold slammed the beast into the side of his SUV over and over, until the demon burst into ash.
Arnold frowned at the dust covering his sport coat, then took it off and laid it carefully over the hood of the SUV. He spun around to face the giant demon. “How dare you come to my home? Who the hell are you?”
Baal tilted his head back and laughed loudly. “Kill him.”
The rest of the demons ran for Arnold, who grimaced and started throwing punches, knocking the smaller demons around. One slashed his shirt to ribbons. Arnold gritted his teeth and pulled the beast’s head off.
While Arnold was occupied, Baal grabbed the driver. He casually ripped the man apart and ate him like a handful of pretzels.
One demon ran up the side of the SUV and dropped onto Arnold’s shoulder, slicing him across the cheek with his claw. Baal winced. “Careful, Moloch wants him back with as little outward damage as possible.”
The demon was so busy listening to Baal that he didn’t see Arnold pull a knife from his boot. The actor reached back and grabbed the demon’s head, then pulled him forward and stabbed him repeatedly in the neck. The demon teetered and then fell, turning to ash before he hit the ground. Baal was impressed that this human could do such damage, but as he looked closer, he realized the actor had no red in his eyes. In fact, Baal couldn’t sense a demon inside the man.
“Take him!” Baal shouted.
One of the demons flipped through the air, knocking the knife from Arnold’s hand. Another kicked him in the backs of the legs, dropping him to his knees. A medium-sized demon sauntered up and grunted at the others. They grabbed his head and pulled it back, exposing his large throat.
Arnold thrashed, but it was too late. The demons had him, and as strong as he was, he was no match for them. “You will regret ever doing this, demon scum. I am guilty of no crimes. I promise, you may get my body, but never my soul.”
Baal swished his arm, tired of hearing his Austrian accent, and the medium-sized demon drew his claws across the actor’s neck. He watched dark blood spill out and soak the front of Arnold’s blue shirt. The demons let the big man go and he grabbed his throat, gurgling and spitting. He fell to his side, coughed, and rolled over on his back. He looked up at the cloudless blue sky overhead and whispered, “Ich komme wieder.”
After a moment, his eyes shut. All
life had left his body.
Baal walked over and stared down at him. “Good. Now bring him back to hell. Moloch wants to see the body.”
Baal opened up a gate and walked inside. The rest of the demons gathered around Arnold’s body and picked him up. They carried him over puddles of blood and into the portal.
It snapped shut, and the day was quiet. On Arnold’s house, the green lights of his security cameras blinked.
12
Moloch was in his study, staring down at Arnold’s corpse. Baal stood next to him. Both of them had their heads tilted to one side, their hands on their chins. The blood had coagulated on the actor’s neck, and his body was starting to turn blue.
“He is pretty big for a human, I guess.”
“Absolutely.”
Moloch raised a finger inquisitively. “But you say he was killed and didn’t turn to ash. No demon came out?”
Baal shook his head. “No, but he did kill two of ours bare-handed. It was pretty badass. For a human.”
“He looks pretty lame to me. Maybe it’s the death part.”
Moloch stepped back and flicked his fingers. The corpse rose on its own, dangling there like a wooden marionette. Arnold’s head lolled back dangerously, threatening to fall right off. Moloch flicked his fingers again. Arnold’s head straightened out. “He just looks so much smaller than the Terminator.”
Baal wrinkled his nose. “And old.”
Moloch put down his glass of whiskey and rubbed his hands together. “Okay, okay. Maybe if I just give it a little something, here.”
The corpse twitched, as if on strings. It quickly moved into a bodybuilder’s pose. His arms were curled on either side of his head, biceps flexed rigidly.
Baal squinted. “I guess I can see it. Maybe in the movies, they put a bunch of makeup on him or something.”
Moloch was determined to see the guy as he was spotted. “All right, step back. Let’s see him in action.”
Moloch moved the body to the center of the floor. Arnold’s head continuously flopped. Moloch snapped the body to attention. Suddenly Arnold was dancing across the floor, kicking and punching as Moloch controlled him. “It was like this, and that, and then he punched like this.” When he was done, Arnold’s body hung in empty space like a puppet.
Baal started to chuckle. “You should make him dance.”
“This is serious stuff, Baal.”
Moloch looked at Baal and then back at the corpse. A smile crossed his lips. “What shall we have? The waltz?”
He flicked his wrist, and the body whirled over the ground. His wobbling head was the only thing that gave away his body’s state of being very dead. Moloch laughed and stopped the body.
Baal clapped his hands excitedly. “Oh, oh. Do the YMCA song.”
Moloch flipped his hand. In one motion he created a disco soundtrack and a mirror ball spinning overhead. Arnold danced across the floor to the beat. Moloch moved his fingers like a puppet master, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth as he concentrated. Arnold’s arms moved to the sound, making each letter. Baal towered over the corpse, making the same movements.
Moloch stopped him again, laughter bringing tears to his eyes. He sat down in the chair and flipped his wrist. “Let’s see some street dancing, yes? How about a head spin?”
Baal’s face fell. “I wouldn’t do that.”
Moloch had Arnold upside down already, both hands supporting him. He dropped the corpse to do a head spin. As soon as his arms retracted, a loud pop echoed through the room as Arnold’s neck broke, oozing old blood onto the floor. His body fell in a heap.
Moloch grimaced. Baal gasped and covered his mouth with one hand.
Moloch reached over and rang his bell. After a moment, several demons hurried in. “Take away the body.”
The demons looked at it strangely for a moment. It took three of the fiends to carry the collapsed actor away. Baal and Moloch both turned to the fire of souls and stared into it, thinking about what they had just witnessed. Moloch took a sip of his scotch. “I think that we can agree, that was not the right person.”
Baal nodded. “I believe that is the consensus. He did die a glorious death, though. He fought until the end, and he did a damn good job of it, too. I thought that with the flash of bravery in his eyes he might have fought off the larger demon, but he was dead before that could happen.”
“A brave death! Good for him.” Moloch began to laugh. “We aren’t the bad guys here. We offer the humans the opportunity to live a life that is special, based on how well they accept their death.”
Baal lifted his glass. “Very true. We should be lauded for our efforts to help humans ascend to the next level…”
Moloch smirked. “Of hell.”
Baal cleared his throat. “Well, most of them. I have to point out here that when Arnold died, he went to heaven. I could feel it. What they did with him after that is anyone’s guess. I definitely felt the burning in my veins from the white light.”
Moloch sighed. “We can’t win them all, that’s for sure. He was a Republican, helped the mentally disabled, and fought to save the Earth. It was like a slam dunk for him. There wasn’t much we could have done.”
“Wasn’t there some business with a maid?”
“Don’t ask me how the heavenly calculations work.”
Baal shook his head from side to side. “Too bad he didn’t have a demon in him. He would have been unstoppable. We could have used him.”
Moloch walked to the window overlooking hell. “Yes, well, we have plenty more down here to choose from, and fresh ones coming down every day. Since the forties, they rain down here like no one’s business. I knew the creation of pop culture up there would brighten our days.”
Baal nodded. “Oh yes, that was your greatest achievement. Next, you have to take Earth. Then there is no tricking them, it just is what it is.”
“Perhaps, although I think once we take it, it will be centuries before they decide to worship us. There will still be those God sneaks through when they die. Nothing like now, though. We will be in control of Earth. Besides, he has a ton of other pet projects. He should just let the humans go.”
Baal shook his head. “He is stubborn. This was his creation, and he doesn’t want to see our grubby hands on it.”
Moloch turned quickly. “Right. But this time, the big guy might not have any choice in the matter. He won’t come down himself, and angels aren’t quite what they used to be.”
Baal considered the pool of human blood on the floor. “One thing does bother me.”
“What’s that?”
“If this Arnold didn’t come to hell and beat our demons to shit, who did?”
“Right, go right, you fucking idiot,” Juntto screamed into the computer microphone.
“Looks like you’re going down again, asshole,” a kid’s voice echoed from the speaker.
Juntto was astounded by the vocabulary the prepubescent teen on the other end of the computer had. He had learned how to play online against other people, and found his rivals to be from all over the world, but mostly children. At first, he had been a bit shocked at the language the kids used, but he admired it. Juntto wondered if he would have the same smart-ass mouth in person.
“Why do you sound like the guy from The Matrix? Are you one of those goth freaks who sits at home and faps it to pictures of Matrix code?” The kid laughed loudly.
Juntto was confused. “What the fuck is ‘fap?’ Wait…fuck, no, pick up the sword, you fucking asswipe.”
The kid sighed. “You really need to control your anger. You sound like my dickhead stepfather—and you’re yelling at your own character, who is controlled by you.”
Juntto slapped his hands on the keys, moving his head right and left with his character. “Maybe your stepfather should teach you some manners, kid.”
The kid chuckled. “Or maybe I should just put your character out of its misery. Seriously, dude, you look like a Viking with Downs syndrome. Who picked that sk
in for him?”
“Shut up and play the game,” Juntto growled.
The kid laughed even harder, demolishing the troops Juntto had lined up to protect his castle. He had switched games and was finding that he didn’t much like being the emperor of his own lands. Maybe he liked the title, but the actual duty was bullshit. He bit his lips and made a couple of shifts in his players, trying to get them to do what he wanted them to. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as good as the kid on the other end.
“Dude, you put your main defense right in the path of my cannon.” The kid chuckled again as the cannon fired.
Juntto slammed his hand on the desk. “Fuck. I still have a shot. I’m not going to give up yet.”
The kid made another move. “Unless this is one of those war movies where you’re going to pull some sort of crazy shit and bring in hidden troops, you are going down. Your shit is mine, bro. Just give in.”
Juntto gritted his teeth. “Even if I go down, I’m taking some of your men with me.”
The kid sighed. “Fine, embarrass yourself.”
They both made move after move. The play was like an elaborate game of chess set in a medieval time period. Juntto made the last move he could, a Hail Mary, and held his breath. The kid moved into position. His cannon blasted through the frost giant’s troops and the wall surrounding his castle, and the enemy troops poured in.
Juntto’s head hung low. “By my frozen balls!”
The kid cheered. “That’s what I’m talking about. What you got in here? Better be some good shit.”
Juntto pulled off his earbuds and threw them down. He had spent days searching for the goods he had hoarded, days building his castles and villages, and all for some pimple-faced kid to steal it right out from under him. He thought about tossing the damn computer right out the window.
Then he thought about fashioning a spear and hunting the child like a wild boar.
He sighed and wiped his face. “They would kill me if I did that. Paperwork.”
Instead, he sat there tapping his fingers on the tabletop. He eyed the stats screen and watched his name drop.
