by Mark Ellestad
As the monster emerged from behind a blood-red curtain, the sea of faces below him gasped.
The creature moved forward deliberately, like a force of nature. His metal shod claws thoomed loudly on the ebony surface under his feet with every stomping footfall. THOOM
He was green. And over seven feet tall, weighing three hundred and fifty pounds, half rock-hard muscle, the other half gleaming metal. Guns of every shape and size were strewn about his body with reckless abandon. Where his left arm should have been, a massive multi-barreled machine gun was attached. And a rocket launcher. And a flame thrower. THOOM
His right arm was home to a massive blade, and grafted on to his elbow was a vicious spinning saw. A belt was slung across his hips, complete with dangling grenades. From the waist down he was more machine than flesh, his legs driven by massive pistons, and his feet were shiny and covered with machinery. THOOM
Black tubes sprouted from his body, and gears were visible at his joints. A faint electronic whining could be heard, if you were close enough. Not that anyone wanted to be.THOOM
His face was coated with the same leathery reptilian hide as his body. His head was hairless, and inch-long fangs glittered beneath sinister yellow eyes. THOOM
One could imagine entire worlds cowering before the sheer violence held in his form. It was easy to see how hundreds could have fallen to the jagged blades on his body. And the numbers slain by his ludicrously large firearms were probably unfathomable. And the fact that his backpack full of missiles didn’t over-balance him was also cause for awe. THOOM
All this and more passed through the shocked eyes of the suddenly still masses arrayed beneath him as he reached the end of the runway. For a brief second, his body was frozen, and he sneered at them, his hissing visage godlike as he glowered down on pathetic mortals. A killer, no doubt about it. He turned.THOOM
A killer fashion model, anyway.
Frank slumped, and sighed heavily once he was sure the curtain blocked the crowd behind him. He could still hear the thunderous applause from the mercenary generals. The arms bazaar was going well, and apparently he had been another big hit.
He started moving to the back of the building were his chair sat, eager to take his aching teeth out. All around him other models scurried, slithered, and plodded their way past him, all getting ready for their own appearances. And behind them scurried the inevitable hairdressers, make-up artists and coaches, all yelling at once, of course. “What a racket, I never sshoulda ssigned on for ssuch a sstupid gig.” he muttered, his oversized fangs lending a pronounced hiss to his voice.
Copyright © 2005 by Mark Ellestad