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8/8/2019 The Country Man Reloaded
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Bad Day These days, the Vanderbilt YMCA in Encino is being visited by what must be thelargest most eerily intimidating man ever known to the world. He works out every day,
around 10:30 A.M. He's a mountain of a man, in fact such so, that his countenance is
quite frightening. Nevertheless, they do not interfere with his workouts and nobody tries
to pay him any mind. They just want to stay as far away from him as possible, wherever
he goes, not just the Encino branch of the Vanderbilt YMCA gym. And his name is The
Cowboy Man!
Enormous biceps, about the size of a large basketball grotesquely protrude from the
Cowboy Man's arm. However, this is all we see, as he injects himself with another dose
of Synthetic Anabolic Growth Hormone. As he digs the needle deep into his monstrous
biceps, blood and clear fluid mix and dribble down his arm. "Ahhh, there we go." Hisvoice is low, course, deep. A voice that should not belong to a man, but rather a beast.
On TV, he watches an old re-run of Baywatch. It's been his favorite TV show for the
past month, and he tips the brim of his cowboy hat to a young Pamela Anderson, a
large bulge beginning to protrude from the groin of his tight Levis. "Top of the mornin' to
ya hon'." We still can't make out his face, as it's lost in the black shadow cast by his
cowboy hat, but the mere shape of the head underneath is almost twice as large as a
normal mans head should be. And yet, we catch a faint glimmer in his eye, as he
continues to gawk at the two bristling cantaloupes on TV. As he finishes injecting
himself with another 5000 milligram dosage of Synthetic HGH, he begins to glance
longingly at the othersyringe that lay solitary on the stained coffee table.
"Aahhhhsnorthere come that darn' skag!" He spits and sits the HGH needle down,
then reaches for the other one. He exams it closely for any residue buildup in the
inside. "Aah, it should do for nother' go." He sets it back down and pulls out some
black tar heroin wrapped in plastic from his pocket, and a spoon from off the coffee
table. The chunk of black tar from his pocket is about the size of a small truffleenough
to knock out an ox. He sucks up about 75 units of water from a glass, squirts it back
into the spoon with the chunk of black tar, and proceeds to melt it from the bottom with
his lighter. After making sure the solution is well mixed with the plunger of the syringe,
he drops a condensed cotton ball into the solutionit puffs up like a sponge.
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"Oop, there you go baby." He sucks all the heroin out of the cotton and proceeds to
inject himself in the same arm he injected his mega HGH dose with. He slowly lays
back in the couch, his enormous body beginning to dissolve into the sofa. Then, he
suddenly snaps back up"Aw, shucks! Gotta work out!"
He squeezes himself into the drivers seat of his vintage '68 Chevy, its indigo blue paintjob has started to flake away long ago, and now appears two-toned as a result. He got
the tires upgraded to 35's with a small lift at PepBoysforfree! But only after
succeeding in beating the shit out of the manager, busting his face up irreparably and
causing some serious damage to his ribs. And then holding his only two mechanics
prisoner, pretty much making them do the job at gunpoint. The manager was no slouch
either, a 250 pound former collage football linebacker, who couldn't hack it in the pros.
So he turned to middle class life with style, becoming a wife beater in his off-time.
Guess the manager at PepBoys got what he deserved when the Cowboy Man visited
his shop that cold November afternoon. Then there's yet other tweak-jobs on the '68
Chevy that create quite a spectacle on the road. The first one being the fact that there
are no doors on the cab, and the roof of the cab has also been removed, this being
done, so that the Cowboy Man can more easily fit inside, and even now, as he turns on
the ignition and cranks it in reverse, he sits like a hunchback in the seat of the cab. The
second, even more bizarre modification, is that the Cowboy Man's feet almost touch the
groundeven as he sits inside the cab! The floor plate has been removed, and the
entire pedal/throttle system has been lowered to support his enormous body. He pulls a
cowboy-killer out of the box with his teeth, and screeches onto the black-top, doing
about 85. The cops have long learned to stay away from an old '68 chevy, with several
bizarre custom jobs done to it. Hell, the Cowboy Man don't even pay insurance
anymore, and his license expired two years ago.
He's been doing well in staying low enough not to get noticed by the Country Man, but
that is all about to changetoday. His ego has grown way out of control, and something
needs to be done about it. There's only one man the Cowboy Man fears, and that's the
Country Man. The Cowboy Man is forgetting how unpleasant it feels to be on the
receiving end of the Country Man's otherworldly wrath, and he needs to be reminded ofjust how that feels, one last time. Before his encounter with the Country Man, he feared
no one, because there was no one bad-ass enough to take him on. There goes that old
saying, "There's always someone bigger, or badder, or both."
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Well, that old saying does not apply to the Country Man, it stops with him. No one is
badder than the Country Man, bigger maybe, but never badder. The Country Man wins
every time.
Yep, the Cowboy Man makes quite a spectacle of himself, every time he drives down
Ventura Boulevard. He looks like Mr. Clean on steroids as he sings to his favorite
country artist, David Allan Coe; "Now you can call me Jerry, Or you might call me
Moe, You may call me David Or you might call me Coe!" Suddenly the tape player jams,
and his music stops. The Cowboy Man starts to throw a fit; "Damn!" He slams the
dashboard with his fist, doing more damage than anything else"Work! Ya piece a shit!"
The music suddenly comes back on, as if frightened back into operation by the Cowboy
Man, and he continues to sing along; "But youre gonna have to server
somebody, Serve somebody, Serve somebody,
Serve somebody. It may be the Devil, Or it might be the Lord, But youre gonna have to
serve somebody!" Up ahead, the green light begins to turn yellow. "You call me
RJ, You can call me Ray, You can call me anything, I dont care what you say"
Suddenly a rock slams against the side of the Cowboy Man's temple, making a
painful thwackingsoundTHWACK! Amazingly, the Cowboy Man is temporarily
stunned, and he drives right through the yellow light, that's now turned red. Only to be
slammed by something much largera semi, on full load, slams against the passenger
side of his truck going about 55. As his truck gets T-boned it crushes the entire rightside of his truck, and the passenger side of the frame breaks into several pieces which
fly into the air. Shards of glass and metal explode, and rain down on a surprised crowd
of onlookers. And as the truck gets slammed down on its side, the Cowboy Man takes
the brunt of the force with his bare hands, as they kiss the glass and metal laden
asphaltSMUUUUCKRUNCH. The PeterBilt semi-truck continues to barrel through the
Cowboy Man's quasi-totaled '68 Chevy, but by now has slowed down to about 15 mph.
Twenty seconds later, yet seemingly like an eternity, both the quasi-totaled Chevy and
the PeterBilt, which only suffered scratches and dents to its bumper, both come to acomplete stop. The Peterbilt blows dust up into the air, as the operator finely succeeds
in fully engaging the brake system, and all becomes silent.
The crowd that just witnessed the collision cautiously begin to creep closer to the
Cowboy Man's truck, out of sheer morbid curiosity. And suddenly they hear a ferocious
cry, filled with pure rage emanate from the hulking form inside the cab of the Chevy.
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The crowd disperses like a frightened flock of seagulls, and that part of town becomes
akin to a ghost-town. Save for the operator of the PeterBilt, who has become to
frightened to even attempt to get out of the cab of his semi and try making a run for it.
The Cowboy Man suddenly busts out of the cab of the Chevy like a jack-in-the-box
from hell, and stares straight at the frozen driver in the cab of the PeterBilt. To the truck
drivers growing horror, the Cowboy Man's eyes have turned blood shot, and they
appear to bulge out of their sockets, making the Cowboy Man appear more like some
twisted cartoon character, than anything else. At closer glance, one would notice that
the tiny red veins that cover the sclera of his eyeballs now appear enlarged, and pulsate
grotesquely with a life of their own. The Cowboy Man's tight Levis now hang off his legs
in tattered rags, and as he begins to walk toward the cab of the PeterBilt he tears what
remain of them off his body completely, including his shirt, which was tattered to begin
with. All he wears now are his $500.00 Alligator skin cowboy boots, and his $300.00
Serratelli western fur felt cowboy hat, which both, amazingly, did not suffer very much in
the accident. Now he's beginning to look like his 'ol self againbizarre!
The Cowboy Man busts the drivers side window open with his fist, and yanks the
driver out by his collar. Huge chunks of flesh tear away from the screaming truck
drivers body, as he is thrown down onto the glass shard littered blacktop. "Help!"
Screams the bawling truck driver. "Somebody! Help!" The Cowboy Man lifts him back
up by his collar, and the truck driver flies through the air as he gets slammed up against
the side of the flipped Chevy like Raggedy Ann. Next, the Cowboy Man proceeds to
serve him with severe blows to the face; THWACK! The first blow dislocates the truck
drivers jaw, rendering him incapable of uttering anything audibly understandable, other
than a pathetic whiny bawl, that grows more horse and weak with every blow he
receives. THE-WWWWACK! The second blow tears his jaw completely off, and the
Cowboy Man watches it hit the ground with a blank glare, then looks back up at his
victim. The Cowboy Man doubles up and puts his all into the third blow, which tears the
truck drivers head completely off. But it does more than that, as the Cowboy Man's fist
of steal connects with side of face, what remains of the truck drivers skull shatters andexplodes. Chunks of shattered skull, brain and flesh spray the Cowboy Man's horrific
face, which has only seemed to become more imbued with inhuman rage than ever, as
if the very act of horrific violence only fuels his rage, rather than satisfy it.
After he finishes his business with the truck driver, he walks back to his Chevy.
"Humpghh . . . . Humphghh . . . Hueaa!"
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He flips his Chevy back onto its wheels, almost effortlessly. Then stretches the quasi-
totaled steel frame of the cab wider open and plumps into the drivers seat just as
effortlessly.
He cranks it back into life, and peels out of the wreck/murder scene and toward his
original destinationThe Encino branch of the Vanderbilt YMCA gym. "I'll be damned if I
get cheated out a 'nother work-out today." Hisses the enraged Cowboy Maneyes still
ridiculously blood-shot.
CRAAAAAASHHHHH!! The unmistakable sound of shattering glass and concrete fills
the Vanderbilt YMCA building like a rude alarm, as those on the first floor begin to
scream. Smoke and dust begins to billow up the stairwell that leads to the second floor
gym. "Jesus! Did you just hear that?" Says one of the front desk attendants to the
other. "I've got a bad feeling about this Jason." Replies the other, he gives him aglance that says everything. "The Cowboy Man, right?" "Uh, Yeah Jason." "He must
have survived the crash, holy fuck! We're screwed!" One of the front desk attendants
screams to everyone in the gym, "Get the fuck out everybody! The Cowboy Man is
here! And he's pissed!"
Just then, they begin to hear him coming up the stairwell, breathing heavy. He
appears in the entranceway, pretty much nude, and staring blindly with a gore spattered
face at the two frozen desk attendants. One of them manages to utter a sentence to the
Cowboy Man.
"W-we've been watching the news on TV. The cops have . . . thethe c-cops have
had it with you."
Suddenly the Cowboy man jerks his head up toward one of the TVs in the corner of
the enormous room. He watches with a blank expression, a news anchor standing
within the wreck/murder scene that he just left no more than 15 minutes ago. News
anchor; "Witnesses reported watching someone called the Cowboy Man brutally murderthis truck driver, after he survived a collision with his semi-truck"
To the Cowboy Man's chagrin, he watches as his mugshot is plastered all over the
channel 4 newsfor all of L.A. see. Guess he could kiss his plans to stay low in
California goodbye, hell, he might as well kiss his plans to stay low anywhere goodbye
now. The Country Man is bound to find him, it's only matter of counting down the hours.
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The two frightened desk attendants watch, as his bloodshot eyes begin to bulge out of
their sockets again. A single vein appears to bulge out from the center of his forehead
perhaps from pure stressand a solitary bead of sweat rolls down his left cheek. He
clutches at his head, as if tormented by neuralgia, and bellows in child-like frustration.
He appears driven way beyond his limits, and he seems to have already snapped.
His actions now, whatever they may be, are completely unpredictable. He walks up
to the front desk, and cries to the attendants; "Give me 'ya phone." However, they do
not respond. They only cower under the counter. The Cowboy Man bellows louder this
time; "Give me 'ya fuckin' phone before 'ya make me take it from 'ya!" Slowly, a hand
holding a cell phone slowly rises up from behind the counter, shaking violently. The
Cowboy man eyes the hand, and licks his lips. He reaches for the phone and tears the
desk attendants hand right off of his arm. "Aaaaaaaahhheeeeee!!" The desk attendant
falls back, clutching at his bloody stump as the Cowboy Man walks away. Those still
cowering in the weight room gasp in horror as the Cowboy Man begins to eat the hand.
He nonchalantly chews on fingers, making a grotesque crunching/squishing sound in
his mouth as he dials a number on the cell-phone. "han't had unch yet, orry. Ot' inda
ungry." Nobody says anything though, they just continue to gape in horror, as their
frozen minds attempt to process what just took place. At the same time, the desk
attendant continues to scream in agony, writhing on the floor in his own pool of blood.
The Cowboy Man sits down on a flat bench and talks to someone on the other end ofthe line, as he continues to snack on the torn off hand. "I ont oo own eer! Ing all a 'em!
The Ountry Man ill be ear oon!! I eed help!!" As the Cowboy Man finishes speaking to
the unknown man on the other end of the line, he finishes his handysnack, then throws
the cell phone at one of the TV screens on the wall. It shatters into a thousand pieces.
"Fuck!!!" By now, most have already snuck out of the room, but a few still cower in the
corners, too frightened to move. The Cowboy Man proceeds to put ten 45's on each
end of two six ft. barbells for a total of 900 pounds per barbell. With each 900 pound
barbell laying lengthwise beside the flat bench, he lies down and grabs both barbells.He curls each of them up into the air, then heaves them straight up and proceeds to
bench press 1,800 pounds with minor difficulty. The massive amount of weight on the
barbells causes them to bounce and bend in a bow-like fashion. He reaches 50
repetitions before decided to give his arms a rest.
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ReloadWe can only see the Country Man's face below his nose, as he lights a Newport and
takes a long dragan after sex muscle relaxant. Broken morning sunlight shines onto
the Country Man and his unknown companion through unseen venetian blinds. The TV
can be heard in the background, as a news channel reports the whereabouts of the
Cowboy Man within a fitness center in Encino, California. On the TV, the news anchor
speaks; "LAPD has deployed their S.W.A.T. unit to take out the Cowboy Man, who has
become a high-risk target ever since his first murder back in 1994."The Country Man gives a slow, almost cynical laugh"You ain't gonna take out shit."
Then takes another long drag off his Newport. Too lips lock, and bodily fluids are
exchanged for a good two and a half minutes. Then the Country Man gives his one-
night mistress the usual farewell speech; "Gotta go baby, something went down, not toolong ago"
The Country Man could be made out well within a crowd, he never was one to blendin. Even now, as he exits the air-bridge and enters the terminal. He's definitely one of
the taller men, standing close, if not right at seven feet. He weighs close to 280, but he
hides that weight extremelywell. Anyone looking at his tall, slender form would never
have guessed that 280 pounds of sinewy muscle envelopes that tall frame. And even at
the size he is, he does not come across as an outwardly large man. Perhaps it's his
somewhat feminine face which helps to detract from his rugged nature. The masculine
aspects of his face only show upon closer observation. The 5 o'clock shadow that
compliments his pallid facewhich is almost as white as a bed sheetenhances his sex
appeal on those lonely nights. And he's rarely seen without his vintage Robert La
Roche sunglasses, with jet black lenses. He's also finicky when it comes to his hair.
Preferring to keep it parted severely to either the left or right side of his face, so that
one cannot see his face from the side depending on which side is covered by the shiny,
straight, jet-black hair which covers it.
The Country Man strides down the center of the LAX terminal like he owns the place.
He doesn't even slow down or make way for those walking past him, but instead makes
them make way forhim. For those more stubborn individuals, a slight twist of the
shoulders is all we see him make, as his vintage Burberry trench-coat blows in the rush
of air caused by his brisk stride.
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The Country Man can smell blood, and the Cowboy Man already knows it.
"Lookin' forward to re-introducing myself with a brisk ass-kickin' Cowboy Man."
The Country Man already knows where the Cowboy Man is penned up, all he needs
to do now, is catch his chauffeur at valet pickupand quick. Oh, and he needs torestock on a few toys too.
Just as he finishes smoking another Newport, his chauffeur pulls up in a Custom
Chrysler 300 Limousine. The black tinted passenger side window rolls down, and a
small, middle aged man with a trimmed goatee peers out at him, a welcome smile
adorning his face.
"Are you ready, sir?" The Country Man flicks his cigarette stub on the ground, and
gets in the second row passenger seat.
"Take me to Antonio's place. He says they've just received some new toys I'd be
interested in for this mission."
"Very well, sir."
After almost an hour of driving through LA, they enter into a distinctively upscale
neighborhood laying north of East Hollywood, just south of the Santa Monica
Mountains. A scenic ride looking into the southern face of Griffith Park just
accompanied the Country Man's last several minutes into Los Feliz, and now, they pull
into a gated driveway leading to Antonio's Los Feliz Mansion.
The chauffeur sticks his head out the drivers window to answer to a voice coming out
of a hidden speaker-box.
"What's your business?" Asks a feminine voice in a not-so-friendly tone.
"I'm the chauffeur Antonio sent to pick up his guest . . . the Country Man. Apparently
he has some important business to tend to, before his next mission into Encino."
"One moment please." After five more minutes of waiting, the wrought iron gate
opens up and they're greeted onto a paved driveway lined with lavish ornamental
magnolias. Another four minute drive, and they are parked outside Antonio's mansion.
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Antonio makes the Country Man feel right at home, as he relaxes on a plush leathercouch, and sips on a crystal glass of Caol Ila 18 on the rocks. Antonio sits directly
across from the Country Man in a late Victorian style lounge chair, dressed for the
occasion in a grey Armani leisure suit. He appears younger than his middle-age would
suggest, looking more like an older, but suave spanish strip-dancer.
Antonio; "I'm so glad you could make it today Country Man, I promise, you will not
leave here disappointed."
"Believe me ol' buddy, I would not have missed this opportunity for the world. I know
what kinda shit your capable of acquiring." The Country Man takes another long sip off
his Caol Ila. "So, you got em' or what?"
Antonio briskly snaps his fingers, and two large men come out of no where with large
black combination briefcases in their hands, almost as if on cue. They each set their
briefcases down on the large crystal coffee table that sits in between Antonio and the
Country Man, and proceed to open them up.
Antonio; "You had told me over the phone that you were looking for two Micro Uzis,
and an AA-12 shotgun with licenses, is this correct?"
"Yes, they're really only manufactured for military and police use, that was the main
reason I was having difficulty acquiring the weapons and permits. But the permits werejust an after thought, it's really just the weapons I give a damn about."
"Let me tell you, the Cowboy man is not really a man, but some type of demon. Single
shot, and semi-auto will only piss him off. I need bad-ass shit that's fully automatic, and
fires heavy to slow him down at that critical moment. And when it comes to
concealment, the Micro Uzi is the perfect weapon."
Antonio breathes in deep, and begins to survey the weapons in the briefcase. "Very
well then, I've got just what you ordered, and more. First, these two Micro Uzi's came
with complimentary accessories, made just for the weapons at a special wholesale
price. Still, they weren't cheap, at roughly 1600 per unit. There's also two licenses for
the weapons under the briefcases foam padding."
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Country Man; "Just goes to show you how rarely they're used outside of Israel as a
combat field weapon. But they sure are beauts aren't they? These babies can fire 25
rounds in less than 30 seconds." The Country Man takes one of the Uzis in a briefcase
and sets it down in front of him. He surveys the Uzi, still in its case, running his fingers
over the shiny metallic body. He then grabs the AA-12 still in its case beside the coffee
table, pulls it up and snaps it open. He pulls it out of its case, and tucks the butt stock
between his chest and shoulder. He points it at an indiscriminate target in the room, as
he centers his sites through the front and rear apertures. "Good luck mending your
wounds after I get through using this baby on your ass, Cowboy Man!" The weapons
body is thick, and heavy duty as he sets it back in the foam padding. He pulls a wad of
hundreds out from one of his inside pockets. He slaps it on the coffee table"Done deal
then, go a head and count it out. There should be a little extra in there for your superior
services."
Again, Antonio snaps his fingers, and one of the large body guards picks up the wad of
hundreds, and begins to thumb his wetted fingers through it.
"It's all there Antonio." Says one of the large men, as he hands him the wad of
hundreds.
Five more Caol Ilas and three hours later, the Country Man is ready to call it a night.
Antonio has already made arrangement for him to crash in one of his luxurious guest
suites before his battle with the Cowboy Man tomorrow. The Country Man gets up, and
exhales deeply as he gives his sinewy torso a good stretch.
Country Man; "Well, ol' buddy, think it's time I hit the can."
Antonio; "Rest well my friend. And do me favor will you? Take care of that demented
thing for good this time,please. Make the world a better place to live."
Country Man; "Ol' buddy, with all the toys you just gave me, it'll be my pleasure."
The Country Man had to include a shotgun in his arsenal, as it's always been a classic
favorite of his when it comes to blowing away the bad guys. However this particular
shotgun is not your run-of-the-mill 'cock, lock, and ready to rock' bad boy toy. It's a
AA-12 Atchisson Assault Shotgun.
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The Country Man, a shotgun connoisseur, realized that a run of the mill shotgun would
not produce effective enough results on the Cowboy Man, so he turned to what must be
the most outrageously devastating hand-held anti-personnel murder machine in
existence. One of its key features that made the Country Man almost wet himself over
was its development in conjunction with the FRAG-12. A new type of shotgun cartridge
in which each round is a small, flighted high explosive, accurate up to 175 metres.
Another one of the AA-12's many bad-ass features is for the capability of its
aerospace-grade stainless steel body to preform its own self cleaning and self-
lubrication checks, from carbon released from the shells detonations. Many a user
before have reported to have fired an upwards of 9,000 rounds without ever cleaning or
lubricating the weaponsomething the Country Man is very grateful for, since he
considers having to clean a gun a waist of time.
The Country Man figures he'll use the AA-12 on the Cowboy Man as the 'final blow', or
the 'grand finale' in what will be to him, another glorious orgy of carnage and
bloodletting upon a well deserving victim.
On top of this, he also got a belt of Mini Bo-kri crystalline bladed throwing knives, in
which he's black belt certified in the Tikicha Ninga throwing technique. The Country
Man figures if he could get one or two to stick in the Cowboy Man's eyeballs, it should
give him more time to plan out his next move.
Once inside the guest bedroom, the Country Man locks the door behind him, drops his
briefcases full of toys on the floor, and lets his body fall upon a hand-made spanish bed
of luxury. No more than a minute later, the Country Man's in a deep sleep, unaware that
his opponent has made the 12 o'clock news on the widescreen that sits just across the
room.
The Country Man is pleasantly woken to electric venetian blinds, set to let the sunlight
in at 9 o'clock sharp. And now, he steps out of the bathroom with a towel wrappedaround his waist, fixing his eyes yet again on the widescreen opposite his luxury bed.
The Cowboy Man has become the focus of every news headline, on every channel in
Los Angeles, and his notoriety is not just limited to Southern California. LAPD S.W.A.T.
surrounding a vandalized southern california fitness center has become a familiar sight
to news junkies nationwidethanks to the news choppers that have begun to swarm
over Los Angeles like flies on shit.
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"Yep." Says the Country Man to himself"The Cowboy Man's days are numbered."
The Country Man's body is a horrific sight to behold. If his head looked anything like the
rest of his body, it would certainly have been more difficult to have gained the friends in
high places he's acquired. And his sex life would be down right pathetic. He appears to
have lost most of the epidermal skin layers from the base of his neck down. What his
body's been left with is a grotesque superficial layer of fascia, that has hardened into a
tough, clear protective layer of flesh. Sinewy muscle fibers are seen, under hardened
superficial fascia, making him appear like a real-life artist's anatomical model. For
those, wondering how he gets chicks in bed, he wears a fake skin layer on those lonely
nights, that feels just like the real thing to unsuspecting mistresses.
The Country Man wears a secondary protective skin layer on a daily basis. A tough,
stretchy Kodiak hide. It protects in conjunction with the physiology of the superficial
fascia underneath. And ingenious straps run down the front torso and legs. The Kodiak
hide is in part, responsible for his skin disfigurement, and holds the key to a
supernatural origin of what he's become today. He slips into the hide, and straps it tight
to his body. He slips about four dozen Bo-Kri crystalline throwing knives into hidden
slits throughout the Kodiak hide that now envelopes his body, and gazes out the
window, into a sprawling LA suburb bathed in morning sunlight.
As the Country Man prepares to unleash his fury upon the Cowboy Man, he gradually
turns into someone else. A a psychotic nomad, a deranged wanderer who traverses theCountryleaving the spilt blood of opponents in his wake.
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The Final Blow
Lenco BearCat Armored Assault Vehicles surround the Vanderbilt YMCA like machinesprepared for urban armageddon, as two SWAT helicopters provide aerial
reconnaissance in preparation for a rappelling assault. The LAPD has no idea the
Country Man will soon storm in like a one man army, let alone that only he can destroy
the Cowboy Man. They only know that previous attempts to arrest the Cowboy Man
through traditional means had failed every time. And those who survived, would report
horror stories that would make even the most seasoned officer cringe in terror.
It took two years between the time the Cowboy Man was first spotted in LA and now
for the incident commander to grow a pair, and request SWAT to take him out. But it'll
soon be realized that even SWAT's forces are futile against the Cowboy Man.
A 50 man dismounted SWAT team, positioned strategically outside the Vanderbilt
YMCA fire flash bang grenades and tear gas rounds into the first and second floors.
White smoke billows out of the building, and forms a hazy cloud above the gathering
SWAT forces. Not more than 20 seconds later, a roaring bellow is heard emanating
from the second floor"RRHOOOOOAAAAGGGGHH!!!" One of the startled SWAT
officers yells to his teammate;
"Christ! Sergeant Erickson, did you just hear that?!"
"Yeah, that's the Cowboy Man alright." Several shots are fired out of pure shock, and
a voice immediately begins to scream from out of a loud speaker, from the tactical
command post"Hold your fire! I repeat! Hold your fire!"
Inside, three hillbillies from Barstow gaze out the shattered windows, and onto the
gathering SWAT force below. They appear more like the three stooges with gas masks
on, as they slap, thunk and shove each other in brotherly quarrel. They're the helping
hands the Cowboy Man requested just after he first entered the Gym, almost 24 hours
ago. They're to act as an initial defense shield against the Country Man. But in reality
it's a suicide mission for these three dumb and unsuspecting abettors of crime.
In one of the dim corners of the gym, the Cowboy Man's hulking form can be seen
within a shroud of chemical and thermal smoke.
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He's hunched over with his head down so that we cannot see his face, but he lifts his
head up briefly, and gazes out one of the shattered windows beside him. His eyeballs
grotesquely protrude from the sockets of his skull, and veins bulge from them like some
real life alternate take on a Ren and Stimpy cartoon show. His facial features have also
contorted into a sickening spectacle of rage. He doesn't even look like the same 'man'
he previously was, just hours ago. His face almost completely devoid of life and
expression, as if he were a walking mannequin from somebody's forgotten nightmare.
It's gonna be a long and dark night for the Cowboy Man, a night that will be his very last.
And as dusk turns into night in the city of angels, a demon still lurks inside a VanderbiltYMCA in north L.A., and the LAPD S.W.A.T. prepare their full scale assault on the
Cowboy Man. Negotiations for a peaceful surrender failed to fall through, and the
S.W.A.T. have been left with no choice but to test the Cowboy Man's will with brute
police force.
The Country Man speeds through traffic down the Ventura freeway in his cherryred Ferrari V4 prototype. A Motorcycle not yet manufactured for the public, which came
off the drawing board of Israeli designer Amir Glinik just two years ago. He swerves in
between traffic flying at an insane 190 mph, with a little help from a modified engine
from a Ferrari Enzo. He takes the last swig from his bottle of Tanqueray's Rampur gin,
and shatters it against the drivers side window of a car as he passes it by. He carries
the mini-arsenal he acquired in Los Feliz under his trenchcoat, partially hidden fromview within the 190 mph winds. The two Micro Uzis are strapped snugly against the
inside of his trench coat, inside hidden pockets, and his AA-12 Atchisson Assault
Shotgun slung behind his back. A 50 ft. belt of Uzi rounds hangs across his torso, and
two FRAG-12 ammo drums are clipped to his waist. The Country Man is coming to
claim fate, speeding out of the night lights of L.A. like some 21st Century Grim Reaper.
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BOOOOOOOMMM!!! Explosive charges thrown into the demolished entranceway of
the Vanderbilt YMCA ignite. And a close quarters SWAT team of twenty-five men rush
in with carbines and shotguns at the ready. Suppressive fire is shot by the men in the
front, as they rush into the lobby and form a defensive perimeter. Soon after, the team
leader signals for ten men to go down the left hall, and ten men to search the right,
while the rest keep their positions providing cover for their return. The building's interior
is pitch black, illuminated only by the flashlights mounted on their carbines. And with
every pivot around a corner's apex their nerves become less stable, and more frayed.
Nevertheless, they complete their search of the first floor without finding the Cowboy
Man, indicating that he most certainly still lurks above, on the second floor. Almost as if
he were waiting, drawing them into some appalling web that only the Cowboy Man
could've concocted.
Amazingly, the SWAT team's will is not broken, and the team leader resolves to go
ahead and proceed with the second floor searchvery brave men indeed. Just as they
proceed to rush up the stairwell leading from behind the desk of the main lobby, the
muffled scream of their incident commander is heard, coming from the command post.
Followed by approaching choppers.
Team Leader; "I'm not getting comms from command! Can you hear what he's
saying? I can't hearshit!"
His men all reply that they cannot make out what he's saying, and just as they continue
to rush up the stairwell, shots are heard outside the building.
Team Leader; "He must be trying to escape out one of the windows! Hurry up! Let's
go!"
They begin to run up the stairs as fast as their legs can carry them, certain that they've
somehow acquired the upper-hand over the Cowboy Man. The unmistakeable noise of
helicopters has reached its apex outside, as airborne SWAT prepare to rappel onto theroof of the YMCA. They reach the top of the stairwell and enter the second floor gym,
scanning the enormous room with their mounted flashlights. From out of the darkness,
three men come walking toward them with their hands behind their heads. Obviously
not expecting to put up any fight against the SWAT. A solitary corpse lays on the floor
not far from the entrance, brutally mauled.
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It appears to be the corpse of a young man. By now the shots have become all but
drowned out by helicopter rotors and engines. And the action seems to be taking place
outside instead of inside, in the form of an eerie, unheard ruckus.
Team Leader; "Stop where you are! Keep your hands behind your head!"
The SWAT team approaches them with their weapons still at the ready, and as they
proceed to cuff them, they give them their Miranda Warning; "You have the right to
remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You
have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be
appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?" But
the three stooges only give a creepy cackle, as if the whole things seems like a joke to
them.
"What the hell?!!" Yells one of the bemused SWAT officers.
Team Leader; "We've got to figure out what the hell's going on!" He tugs on the wire to
his headset and pulls out the mic. It dangles from his hand like a useless toy.
Team Leader; "I'm not getting shitfrom command!"
The three stooges continue their eerily bemusing cackling.
The Team Leader screams; "And can somebody please shut them the hell up?!"
The SWAT team slowly and silently walk toward the center of the rooma fatal mistake.
Suddenly, one of the men spots an illuminated area in one of the far corners. And to
his horror, realizes that the Cowboy Man guilefully breached the ceiling, and crept onto
the rooftop. But by the time he attempts to relay this information to his fellow SWAT
team, it's far too late.
CRRAAAAAAAASSSSHHH!!! The Cowboy Man crashes through the ceiling. Falling
directly behind the SWAT team and their three arrestees, blocking the entrance to the
stairwell leading back downstairs.
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SWAT officers; "Fuck!!" "We're trapped!"
Team Leader; "Fire at will!! I repeat, fire at will!!"
The hulking form that's the Cowboy Man is lost in a blaze of glorious carbine and
shotgun fire. And from the outside, perimeter security forces watch as the second floorbecomes illuminated by rapid gunfire. But the gunfire stops, just as quickly as it began.
"Did they get him?!" Yells one of the men, watching from outside.
But nobody says a word, only the intense noise of the choppers above still fills the
night air.
And then it happens, intense screams begin to emanate from inside the second floor,easily heard over the roaring choppers above.
"Christ! Can somebody get the comms to work again?! That thingfucked everything
up!"
Just as the close quarters SWAT team prepared to search the second floor, the
Cowboy Man successfully breached the ceiling, somehow silently bypassing their
motion detectors. When he got on the roof, he threw an enormous chunk of concrete at
the SWAT's main communication antenna, screwing up their comms.
Eerie screams and sporadic gunfire continues to fill the second floor. But with each
sound of tearing flesh and crunching bone, the gunshots become fewer and fewer.
Another man on the outside; "Fuck! Somebody get back-up in their! Now!"
Just then the airborne SWAT team are seen rappelling from two choppers directly
above the YMCA.
"Holy ghost of christ! Thank god!"
Inside, the Cowboy Man awaits the incoming SWAT team from the air, with open, gore
spattered arms. He stands in a battle-ready slouch. His hat has long been blown off his
head, but he still wears his cowboy boots. But oddly, his toes poke through the ends of
them, as if his entire body grew larger since he was first attacked by the SWAT.
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His head and hands definitely appear larger, and his frightening face is so blood-
bloated that it appears as if it might explode at any moment. His skin is riddled with
bullet holes, and his entire body covered in blood, but it has not appeared to slow him
down at all. If anything the small arms attack did just what the Country Man said it
would domerely piss him off more.
As the next SWAT team comes crashing into the second floor from above, they
immediately begin to spray the Cowboy Man with a torrent of sub-machine gun, carbine
and shotgun fire. The Cowboy Man's putridly red face, bloated with rage utters a
terrible bellow as he manages to brings his arms down hard on the concrete floor. The
SWAT team is sprayed with flying chunks of cement, and some of the members fall
down. The Cowboy Man grabs two sub-machine guns from the fallen, and uses them
against the SWAT. He continually sprays the room, until all of the men cease standing.
Suddenly, the Cowboy Man hears the sound of a motorcycle engine coming into the
parking lot. It screeches to a halt, and the Cowboy Man gives a cold shudder as he
glances behind his shoulder, and out one of the shattered windows. The Country Man
has arrived.
An argument is heard outside, and the Cowboy Man finely hears it; "Alright, he may be
our last hope."
The Cowboy Man is thrown into a bizarre temper-tantrum as he begin to slam his rage
bloated head against the concrete floor repeatedlyTHUNK-THUNK-THWACK-THE-
WACK!! His head grotesquely pops in the form of a sickening puss bomb, covering the
walls with a pungent and nauseating discharge.
"AAAAAAEEEGH-AAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHH!" The Cowboy Man tears the
remaining skin off his face in state of trancelike fury. What remains is a horrific sight, as
the superficial muscles of his face warp into a grisly and repulsive physiognomy. His
eyeballs jut out their sockets and take on a life of their own. As they begin to squirm likeextraterrestrial maggots, as if they no longer wish to be a part of this nightmarish
countenance that's become the Cowboy Man's face.
"Looks like you aren't doing so well, Cowboy Man."
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The Cowboy Man gasps to find the Country Man pointing two Micro Uzis into his
already mutilated face. The Cowboy Man shudders with surprise; "H-how did 'ya sneak
up on me . . . so fast."
The Country Man; "Never mind that ol' buddy. Looks like this might be easier than I
thought." Suddenly, the Cowboy Man's grizzled face is lost in a torrent of Uzi fire, as the
Country Man unloads his entire ammo belt of Uzi rounds into what remained of it. After
almost ten minutes of non-stop Uzi fire into the Cowboy Man's grizzled face, the
Country Man vanishes into the thick gun smoke. As the Cowboy Man is given time to
collect his rapidly diminishing wits, an appalling sight emerges from the diminishing gun
smoke.
The Cowboy Man's skull is now grotesquely bloated. As cracks have formed
throughout his skull. Brain matter can clearly be seen underneath, but his brainappears to be made of giant black maggots, densely packed inside his giant cranium
like demonic sardines. As they continue to writhe and squirm under his skull, his shiny
black maggot brain continues to swell, and loosen up, making the cracks in his skull
grow continuously worse. His skull is almost completely visible now, the white bone
sticking out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of his body, but shreds of muscle still
hang loosely off the bones of his face. His bone is surprisingly hard, much harder than
human bone, and able to withstand close range gunfireas the Country Man already
proved.
The Cowboy Man"MY MAGGOTS!!!" "MY MAGGOTS!!!"
He begins to blindly run after the Country Man. Since skin no longer covers his face,
his sense of smell has amplified twice as strong as that of a dogs. And after barreling
through concrete walls, finds the Country Man downstairs, behind the lobbies front
desk. He goes to punch the Country Man in the nose with all his might. The Cowboy
Man moves amazingly fast, but the Country Man is amazingly faster as he twists his
shoulders and pulls the Atchisson Assault Shotgun from behind his back, and fires.
The Cowboy Mans flesh is blown off his forearm, leaving a grizzled ulna and radius
hanging with torn flesh. His fist reduced to mere bone. The Cowboy Man screams;
"AAAAAAAEEEEEE!!" This time, the Cowboy Man can feel pain, and he kneels down
before the Country Man in agony. Even his skull conveys pure pain, as his grizzled jaw
gapes wide open in utter torment.
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The Country Man; "Felt good, didn't it. I betcha' want more, don'tcha boy?"
The Cowboy Man; "NO! STOP! IT HURTS!!"
The Country Man; "Men smarter than you made toys like this, so that creatures like
you could be put down quickly, and effectively!"
"I'd say they did a pretty good job, wouldn't you?"
The Country Man proceeds to unload both his FRAG-12 ammo drums onto the
cowering form that is the Cowboy Man. The sound is deafening, as the Country Man is
spattered with chunks of flesh and bone from the Cowboy Man.
"Jesus, what in God's name is that man doing to the Cowboy Man?!" Says one of the
SWAT team members outside.
"Jerry, I don't know and I don't care. All I give a damn about right now is that he kills
the Cowboy Man. I don't ever want to have to deal with that thing ever again."
"Amen to that brother, amen to that."
Ten minutes later, the deafening roar of Atchisson Assault Shotgun fire stops. And the
Country Man coms out of the ravaged entrance of the YMCA, now billowing with
residual smoke from the FRAG-12 rounds.
Almost immediately, the SWAT begin to applaud the Country Man, shouting for him in
praise for his victory over the Cowboy Man.
SWAT team members; "Holy shit! He did it! Whooo-hoooo!!" "Wow!! The Cowboy
Man's finished!!" "Who in the hell are you?! God?!"
The Country Man becomes engulfed in adoration, as men begin to flock toward him.
And the incident commander comes out of the tactical command post, to ask him onequestion. He shakes the Country Man's hand vigorously"Would you like to become a
SWAT member son?! You would make an outstanding team chief!"
The Country Man; "Ah, thanks, but no thanks. I stay solo."
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Suddenly, like a nightmare coming back to haunt them, the Cowboy Man's grizzled
frame comes slowly hobbling out of the YMCA entrance, with a pathetically limp gait.
Just a stripped skeleton, with shredded flesh hanging off it, wobbles and then crashes
to the ground.
They all give a huge sigh of relief.
The Country Man; "I'd advice you finish him off with an underground nuclear
detonation. I can give you security clearances for access to the Nevada test site, where
his corpse can be taken for a more thorough extermination."
Incident Commander; "I will be sure you will receive our medal of heroism for your
actions here tonight. Absolutely amazing."
The Country Man; "Thanks, but I think it's the men who died here tonight, who are the
true heroes . . . remember that."
As the Country Man gets on his motorbike, he's given one last standing ovation in
appreciation of his ruthless and stunning handling of the Cowboy Man. He peels out of
the parking lot, and back toward LAX. To drink himself unconscious in a first-class seat
on Jet Airwaysback to the east coast.
END