Major Karnage by Gord Zajac

series of fingers and toes
slammed into the floor behind him.
    Karnage heard the crackle of a stun stick in front of him. “I got a
bead on him, Sydney.”
    “Stay outta this, Chuckles!”
    “No worries. I got him.” A boot stamped onto Karnage’s back,
stopping him mid-roll. There was the crackle of electricity by his ear
and the smell of ozone. Just as quickly, it spun away as something
crunched and Chuckles screamed.
    Karnage looked up. Sydney was balanced on her pinkies atop
Chuckles’s twitching chest. “Sorry, Chuckles. Got to do this on my
own,” Sydney twisted on her pinkies. There was a sickening crunch
and Chuckles went still. “You understand.” She backflipped off
Chuckles and stood before Karnage. She was shining with sweat.
Karnage took the opportunity to catch his breath.
    “You’re better than I thought.”
    “I gotta say,” Karnage panted. “I’m a little disappointed.”
    “How so?”
    “Your aim sucks. You’re good at hitting your own men. Not so
good at hittin’ me.”
    Sydney smirked. “So what say we stop playing around and get
down to business?”
    Sydney launched forward, fingers and toes flying at Karnage in
every direction. Karnage threw himself to the floor. A finger grazed
his back. His lungs seized and the breath shot out of him. All his
limbs tingled. He struggled up as best he could, clutching his knees
to his chest to catch his breath.
    A toe nicked him in the ear. His left leg went numb. A finger
tapped his elbow. Spots exploded in his vision. Shot after shot
tapped and poked and prodded his skin. Pain exploded all over his
body. He felt like he was being carpet bombed. His every instinct
screamed at him to fight back. To kill!
    He fought it. He wouldn’t succumb. He wouldn’t blow his head
off by giving in to his rage. His troopers were counting on him. Velasquez. Heckler. Cookie. Koch. He recited his mantra, his reason
for living. Velasquez. Heckler. Cookie. Koch. He struggled to his feet,
avoiding some blows, wincing under others. Take it, soldier! Do it!
Your troopers need you! Velasquez! Heckler! Cookie! Koch!
    “Fight back, goddammit!” Sydney screamed.
    Karnage spat blood. The animal in his head was screaming: Do
it, dammit! Look at her! She’s tired! Angry! Her guard is down! Take the
shot, soldier! TAKE THE SHOT!
    Karnage didn’t. Velasquez. Heckler. Cookie. Koch. He slowly pulled
himself to his feet. Velasquez. Heckler. Cookie. Koch. He spat another
mouthful of blood. Velasquez. Heckler. Cookie. Koch.
    “This is stupid!” Sydney shouted. “You’re supposed to be better
than this!”
    “I am,” Karnage said.
    A toe threw Karnage across the room.
    “Then take a shot at me!” Sydney yelled.
    Karnage struggled to his feet. Blood was freely flowing from his
forehead.
    “I can’t,” he said.
    “What’s the matter? Don’t you fight girls?”
    “Oh hell, yeah. I’m an equal opportunity combatant.”
    “Then what’s the problem?”
    Karnage wiped the blood from his face. “Let’s just say I’m waitin’
for a sign.”
    Sydney leaped at Karnage, pinning his arms to the floor,
straddling him with her tiptoes. “What kind of sign?”
    Karnage’s neck beeped. “Attention: Sanity Level downgraded to
Frosty Pink. Thank you for refraining from violent behaviour.”
    “That.” Karnage’s legs flew up, grabbed a surprised Sydney by the
neck, and slammed her into the floor. She was out cold.
    Karnage’s neck buzzed. “Warning. Sanity Level upgraded to
Strawberry Shortcake. Please refrain—”
    “Shut up.” Karnage looked down at Sydney. “You gotta learn to
control your temper there, Captain. No reason for you to lose your
cool. Unless, of course, you object to mindlessly beatin’ on a man.
Which I think you do. So fair’s fair, I guess. Your own moral code
brought you down. Worse ways to lose.”
    He pulled the pistol from Sydney’s belt, happy to finally have his
hands on some serious hardware. He