New York City, New York, USA, July 4, 1944
Sergeant Armando parked the truck just outside the Empire State building. The Fuhrer had given him clear instructions. "Go to the center of New York and hit the box with this hammer, your country needs it of you." mind you; he actually heard these orders from his commanding officer, Doctor General Geisthund. But he was told it came from Hitler, and what fool would lie about such a thing. As he walked towards the back where the mysterious metal box was kept, Armando observed his surroundings. He saw a happy family, a married couple and their three young children. Their faces were plastered with a gaiety that frankly sickened Armando to no end! The sooner these air-headed American pigs were ruled over by the Reich, the better. But he had other concerns than his nation's inevitable world domination. The box stood where he left it, wrapped in chains and with a small blinking red light on the side facing him. Hanging from the wall next to it was the large hammer he was too strike it with. He still wasn't exactly sure what his superiors hoped to achieve with this, but his trust drove him to lift the heavy hammer over his head and walk towards the box.
"Well..." whispered Armando to himself in German just as he started to swing the hammer "… lets get this over with- aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!"
Today was a fine day for Doctor General Geisthund. His contributions to German war effort had finally paid off. Not only had he developed the atomic bomb and used it to throw America to its knees, but also may now have the key to developing the finest super soldier that the world had ever seen. He saluted to his guards as he walked past. Both of them were previous prototypes (Alpha-A specifically) that, while not fit for the battlefield, were sufficient in keeping his various laboratories all over the world safe from intruders. Their bald, vein-covered heads and muscled bodies made them stand out from other prototypes. They were neither the smartest nor the strongest models, but they were certainly stronger than most other human beings. As he reached the final floor of his facility Geisthund became filled with euphoria as he observed the finishing touches on his latest project being done by five of his most prized scientists. Upon a metal slap lay the latest in what will be a great line of battle-ready super soldiers. The doctor turned to his scientist and coughed as a call to attention.
"Doctor Berthold, what is the progress on Omega-B?" asked Geisthund to the tall, slender scientist in the raggedy lab-coat.
"He should be ready for testing tomorrow morning Herr General,"assured Berthold in a high-pitched, crackly voice.
"Excellent! When the Fuhrer sees this creation of ours, he will be most surprised," Geisthund cackled to himself at the thought of his monstrosity's big unveiling. "Wake him."
Berthold did not need to be asked twice. He nodded to his rotund, bearded colleague, who stood next to the life support equipment. The fat scientist flipped a small switch, a small ticking noise followed. Suddenly, the figure lying upon the metal slap became conscious; he writhed with pain as electricity flowed through his body. The obese doctor flipped the switch into the off position, now convinced that their master's pet project won't fall back to sleep on them.
Armando had a splitting headache; it was probably either the 5 gigawatts of electricity that had just coursed through his spine or the bright lights of the grim hospital room that he now found himself in, though he was more concerned about how he got here in the first place. The last thing he remembered, he was carrying out his mission, then next thing he knows, he's enveloped in a bright white light and an intense painful burning, then everything went black. Now that he was here, he observed his surroundings a bit more. Various forms of electronic equipment, some of which appeared to be of medicinal use, others having an unknown purpose, while the rest of it appeared to have no real purpose at all, surrounded him. He turned his head to the left and noticed a gang of hairy, smelly, old men ogling him like he were a schoolgirl stripping in the park.
"What in Dante's Inferno?" Armando thought to himself.
He noticed he was also strapped down to a metal slap and was dressed in a heavy (and quite frankly, ugly) green suit. It also met his attention that a mask of some sort covered his face and that he now wore a pair of bright red boxing gloves.
"Where am I, What happened, who are you, what's with the outfit?"
"GREEN IS A PRETTY COLOR!" screeched the tall old man, baring his rotting teeth as he did so, obviously offended by Armando's insult to his fashion sense.
"Please Berthold, contain yourself. Not everyone is as sophisticated as you when it comes to beauty."
Armando knew that voice! He turned to his right and observed a man of average height. He wore a creamy-bone white lab coat with a Waffen-SS General's uniform beneath it. His shoes were well polished, a blade-like claw hung where his index finger should have been, a scar slid across his bony face all the way up to his false eye made from the finest Nazi gold with a swastika carved in the place of a pupil.
"Herr General?" cried Armando in confused joy. "You have no idea how happy I am too see you. Do you know how I got here?"
Doctor General Geisthund walked closer to Armando and patted him on the shoulder before answering him.
"I am most pleased to see that you are in good mental condition Sergeant, considering what you went through two years ago," Said Geisthund in a fatherly yet contempt filled voice.
"Two years?" Armando was shocked. "What the hell happened to me General?"
Armando's beloved general turned his back to him and pulled out a cigarette, which he lit and took a big long puff of before facing the strapped down soldier again.
"Two years ago, Sergeant Armando, the Fuhrer sent you on a suicide mission to set off the world's first atomic bomb within the streets of New York City…"
Atomic bomb? Armando did not know what that was.
"…The bomb rendered the entire city and every man, woman, and child within it to charred, radio-active remains. Or at least that's what should have happened. After conquering the United States, a team of men and I explored the city's ruins. Just outside the sagging frame of the Empire State building lay your disfigured," disfigured? "Slightly burned," slightly burned? "Yet miraculously still living body. You glowed with radiation, so much so that it burned out the retinas of the man who found you… it's dimmed down a bit in recent months, but we can still see a bit of it glaring through your mask visors. But moving on! I saw a great potential in you that day, a potential for greatness that only I could help you reach. Moving you out of the 'city' was impractical and dangerous at the time, so I instead had a facility built just on its outskirts and placed you on the bottom level where my most loyal collaborators have been 'refining' you since."
Geisthund looked down at Armando, who just stared at him silently.
"I'm sorry Herr General, but I just barley understood you, maybe if you took off this mask?"
"I'm afraid that is an ill advised action Sergeant," Replied the General as he stomped on the butt of his now burnt out cig. "You see, the alterations that Doctor Berthold and his companions have made to you have rendered you incapable of breathing normal air. Your body now requires a gas that I like to call… flatulium." Geisthund giggled to himself at the mentioning of that word, as did the other scientists who, unlike Armando, were apparently in on the joke. "Your mask you are now wearing draws in and converts methane in the atmosphere into flatulium so that you may have proper respiration."
"Wait," interrupted Armando, apparently not happy with where this exposition was going.
"Are you saying I breath farts now?"
Geisthund fought back a snicker.
"Yes, that sums it up pretty well."
His posse did not show the same amount of self-control however as they broke into a loud chorus of chortling, guffawing, and hooting as the schadenfreude present in the room reached critical mass. Geisthund released a large cough, which brought the scientists back under control.
"You mean to tell me that the you and Fuhrer sent me on a mission with the intention of killing me, then turned me into a fart breathing mutant when I survived?" asked Armando in a dazed voice.
"A super soldier to be more specific, a combatant who is durable against damage and is proficient in both punching and kicking, small goals you know," responded the general rather casually.
Armando calmly nodded then suddenly shook in a violent rage
"You bastard! You sent me to kill myself, not to mention thousands of civilians, and you didn't even have the guts to tell me what I was getting into?"
If they could see Armando's face right now they would have seen him nearly frothing at the mouth.
"If it makes you feel any better, Adolf Hitler himself chose you for the mission," said Geisthund as he strolled to the door.
"How in god's holy name should that make me feel any better?" the general didn't respond to the enraged super soldier as he had already left him alone with the five other scientists.
"Be doing of the sleeps now, monster!" the fat one commanded in a deep, sloshy, groaning voice.
"Let me go! I'm going to kill him! I'm going to kill you all! Do you hear me! Every single last one of you pigs is going to be slaughtered!" Armando had never felt so betrayed before.
Even though he continued to struggle as the night dragged on, the scientists spent their time either performing their duties or just procrastinating. The fat scientist sat on a stool near Armando's slab greedily eating a ridiculously large bowl of sauerkraut and releasing gigantic gusts of flatulence every two minutes. Armando didn't know what sickened him more. That the fat bastard would do this so close to his face, or that he found it fantastically refreshing. The midnight hour had been reached and still Armando fought the leather straps holding him in place, groaning with aggravation as he did so, this began to annoy Doctor Berthold.
"ACK! Silence, you stupid creature!" suddenly the straps finally gave in to the stress placed upon them and snapped apart.
Armando was finally free.
"No! Stop him! He must not get away!" Berthold snarled as he grabbed a nearby scalpel and swung it at Armando. He barely managed to dodge the mad doctor's blows, but he was greatly impressed by how quickly he was able to react to the attacks. Whatever changes these men made to him, they were definitely for the purpose of combat.
"Call for help NOW!" wined Berthold to the shorter member of his group who nodded and ran to the intercom.
Armando saw this however and before the small scientist reached his destination, smashed the intercom box with his gloved fist, rendering it unusable. The diminutive old man ran and cowered behind the obese scientist.
"We go to escape pod now?" asked the gargantuan scientist in his slurred voice.
"Yes, we must go warn Geisthund!" screeched Berthold as they ran towards a large pod in the center of the room.
As Armando chased them down in blind fury, the scientists found themselves unable to all fit in the pod.
"You satisfy monster's hunger!" the fat one roared as he kicked the little doctor out of the pod and sealed the sliding door. As the pod prepared to leave through a hole in the ceiling, the tiny scientist was left pounding on the door, crying.
"No! Berthold, Hans, someone let me in please! Ah!"
The petit old man just managed to duck as Armando punched a dent into the door above his head. The pod took off via rocket propulsion, disorienting Armando long enough for the small scientist to flee out the door. Once Armando was aware of his surroundings again, he saw that his captors had escaped from a now sealed hole in the ceiling. It became quickly apparent to Armando that his enhancements did not include improved jumping ability, so it was obvious he would not get his chance to kill any of those cretins.
"Attention all Alpha-A units!" or maybe he would "This is Doctor Dell Adelbert, project Omega- B has escaped his binds and IS TRYING TO KILL ME! Stop him at any cost! I am on my way to the exit floor, make sure he does not follow!"
The small scientist had found an intercom and alerted the guards.