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     | |      c   o   m   m   u   n   i   c   a   t   i   o   n   s     | |
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  ...presents...              Until the Next Time
                                                         by Obscure Images

                      >>> a cDc publication.......1991 <<<
                        -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
 ______________________________________________________________________________


     There were 23 days from the point of convergence to the point of
conclusion.  The deed was done, now there was only coping with it.  You know
what I mean.  Regret, decisions made in haste, paying the consequences of the
action.  I know all about that, at least I do now.  In hindsight it would
appear that things may have been better if things would have gone the other
way.  Oh hell, who am I kidding, both of the choices were equally unappealing.
Too bad people had to die in either case.

     Twenty-three weeks ago I was walking through airport security, with a
plastic/ceramic pistol tucked away in my jacket pocket.  There were no
problems, but that was no real surprise to me.  The miracles of modern
technology can be quite convenient sometimes.  I laughed when I passed several
people that I knew and they didn't recognize me.  I guess I should explain. 
You see, the old me had long brown hair, glasses, and an unsightly month's
worth of facial hair.  To prepare for this trip I had dyed my hair black, and
then cut it down to about an inch all the way around.  As for the glasses,
well, I got myself a pair of contact lenses, although I only needed one.  The
end result, especially when I was wearing a suit and a pair of black wing-tips,
was that of some sort of creepy businessman.  There is always something about
me that is creepy, I still can't figure it out.  I think that it must simply
radiate from my personality, since as clean-cut as I am now, I still get
strange looks from people.  Anyway, I'll get on with the story....

     I took the plane to Los Angeles, where I had some business to take care
of.  Unfortunately for my psyche it was sunny and warm there, even the smog
couldn't dampen the sunlight.  The sunlight always gets me depressed, it has
always been that way.  I think it might be because it reminds me of the
outdoors, which is something else that I really hate.  In any case it gives me
a good reason to put on my special sunglasses.  More about the glasses later,
trust me.  I hail a taxi, a dangerous prospect at the very best, and tell the
driver to take me to the LA Ramada Inn (spare no expense, I always say.)

     On the way to the hotel I think about my job, why had they picked me to do
it?  It didn't take too much thought to realize that the only reason I got the
job is because they didn't think I'd make it out alive.  Well, I think they
might be surprised when it comes time to pay the piper.  According to my false
papers my name is Jason Van Der Hooven, principal stockholder in a Dutch
shipbuilding firm.  Who the hell cares, as long as it gets me in to see the
man.  To be more precise about my job, you could say that I've been hired to
engineer a hostile takeover.  In other words, the vice presidents of the
company want me to blow the shit out of the president so they can take control
of the firm.  It works fairly well for me, I get a cool million dollars and a
chance for some action.

     The taxi pulls into the hotel's parking lot, so I pay the guy and get out.
 After checking in and carrying my bag up to my room I get out my gun to make
sure everything is in proper working order.  The gun is of clear plastic loaded
with explosive ceramic bullets.  There are also some electronics inside the
pistol, but they only help to enhance the intense science-fiction quality of
the piece.  The company paid a small fortune for the gun, and the matching
sunglasses, but if the mission proved successful, it would be well worth the
costs.  Back to the sunglasses, they were a masterwork of micro-
miniaturization, concealing in their thin plastic frames a complex targeting
system and night-vision system.  When I flipped a small switch on the back of
the gun, a grid of luminescent squares appeared on the inside of the lens on my
sunglasses.  A little circle represented where the barrel of the gun was
pointed.  With this system, blowing away the president would be simple.  I
chuckled and put the gun back into my pocket, turning off the electronics for
good measure.  In a few hours the work would be done and I would be on my way
home.

     The time had come, I straightened out of my suit and left for the meeting.
When I arrived at the company's compound, they scanned me for a variety of
devices, and then issued me a temporary ID card.  No problems.  I walked into
the main building and went up to the 3rd floor, where I waited to see the man.
After waiting for a few moments the secretary told me that I could go in and
see him.  Greetings were exchanged, hands were shook, and I suggested that
taking a walk out on the company grounds would be excellent.  He, interested in
buying "my company," declared it a wonderful idea.  Too bad for him, I suppose.

     We had walked into an area where the exquisitely manicured lawn began to
give way to some shade trees.  We were exchanging niceties, when I reached into
my pocket and grabbed the gun.  As I pulled it out I realized that there was no
real need for me to use the targeting, so I left it off.  There was a look of
shock on his face when he saw the gun.  I grinned once before firing two rounds
into his chest.  There was no need for any more than that, as the exploding
rounds had vaporized his chest cavity.  I flicked another switch on the gun and
tossed it behind me.  Before I knew what was going on I heard a noise behind me
and turned around to see a security trooper.  I only saw him briefly, as the
muzzle flash from his gun momentarily blinded me.  By the time my vision
cleared I was on the ground with a couple rounds in my stomach. Consciousness
began to slip, and as the darkness began to overwhelm me I watched my gun melt
into a puddle of molten plastic, and finally a bright flash as the rounds
exploded, destroying any trace of the gun's remains.

     I woke up a couple of days later in the company hospital.  Apparently the
guard was a new guy and wasn't informed of the plan.  I took a couple of
rounds, but they were nicely located so there wasn't a great deal of permanent
damage.  Nonetheless it hurt quite a bit, and I was happy for the pain killers
they gave me every hour.  That was all a couple of months ago, now I'm a
vice-president of the company.  Unfortunately my action served to add to the
flames of the competitive nature of the corporate ladder.  In the latest issue
of the company newsletter, they've added a body count column.  Hell, I've had
to kill several more people who were angling in on my job.  I'm getting too old
for this kind of shit, I think I'll retire before someone does it for me.
  _   _   ____________________________________________________________________
/((___))\|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|Grassroots..............new # soon|
 [ x x ] |NIHILISM.............513/767-7892|Paisley Pasture.......916/673-8412|
  \   /  |Tequila Willy's GSC..209/526-3194|The Works.............617/861-8976|
  (' ')  |Lunatic Labs.........213/655-0691|Ripco II..............312/528-5020|
   (U)   |====================================================================|
  .ooM   |Copr. 1991 cDc communications by Obscure Images.       02/18/91-#162|
\_______/|All Rights Pissed Away.                                             |

