Immortal Man-in-Darkness of the Great Ten in…

WE WHO ARE ABOUT TO DIE…

By Desmond Reddick

“Prepare the medical bay!” a technician shouted as the large transport ship opened its cargo hatch.

“There is no need,” came the booming voice of China’s champion. “Ironically, Kobra’s scientists created a dragon that was…a great strain on Dragonwing.”

His iron skin scraped against itself as he walked first down the ramp. August General In Iron carried the pride of a billion people in his imposing frame. He walked with purpose and without insecurity.

Their conversation might have been cryptic to one who did not know the circumstances, but I knew full well to whom they referred.

As the other members of the Great Ten, China’s super-functionary team, descended the ramp, she arrived: Dragonwing.

Sleek and black, Dragonwing was the world’s most unique fighter jet. Rumors through the ranks of the People’s Liberation Army said that Dragonwing was found on the same clandestine mission that gave August General in Iron his powers and the Socialist Red Guardsman the technology to create his containment suit.

As she landed lightly on the tarmac, Dragonwing sighed before releasing its pilot. The technicians quickly dragged a large plastic tarp under the cockpit and backed away.

Like a woman’s water breaking before birth, Dragonwing made a POP and WHOOSH sound as the pilot landed onto the centre of the tarp amidst the pinkish amniotic fluid he had been submerged in moments before.

The technicians moved closer and pulled the tarp out from under Dragonwing into the open air. His black suit symbiotically retracted, revealing the desiccated body underneath. Without the powerful black substance holding his flight suit together, his mask fell off of his face.

My urge to step forward and pay my respects to the Immortal Man-In-Darkness was overpowered only by my respect for protocol.

From where I stood, I could see the mottled skin pulling back from his mouth, baring yellowed teeth and blackened gums. His tongue lolled in his open mouth. I couldn’t tell if he was fighting for air or trying to speak.

The medics began, on instinct perhaps, to move toward him. His outstretched hand, palm out, halted them.

Thundermind, eyes glowing with the fabled enlightenment of a Bodhisattva, hovered over towards the Immortal Man-In-Darkness before speaking.

“Any one of us could ease your passing,” he said.

“In a multitude of different ways,” the lovely but deadly Ghost Fox Killer spoke as she began to remove her glove by pulling each finger lose separately. Her touch killed and would certainly end his pain.

“No,” he spoke with a voice faint but firm. “it is my honor and duty to see it through. It has been an honor serving with you all.”

And with that, his chest jerked upward as if he were about to gag. Instead, he collapsed onto the slick black tarp beneath him. Amniotic fluid splashed up around his limp body, but we were the only ones to see it as everyone else had turned to let him die. We hopeful few.

I was eleven years old, and my parents had taken me to a job fair.

I had never been around so many people in my life. I was overwhelmed. Walking down halls in a sea of people, I lost my parents. I was terrified.

Then I came across the People’s Liberation Army Air Force display. There were large pictures of powerful jets screaming through the air and men in uniforms. It was all very impressive.

A man in uniform directed me toward a black box with posters of jets running along the side. Inside, he put a helmet on my head and closed the door, leaving me in the dark warm black room lit only by a dull red light.

In front of me, a screen turned on. This was a flight simulator.

As long as I could remember, I was fascinated by planes. I played with them as a boy and would stare if they flew overhead. I also pretended to fly while sitting in the bathtub, but never had I been placed in so close an approximation of a plane before.

The only thing I remember of it is that I felt like I was home. I must have done well because the man, who told me he was a pilot and representative from Air Force recruitment, kept me with him and talked to me until my parents found me.

Before they arrived, the final thing he asked me that day was what I wanted more than anything else.

“To fly for my country,” I told him.

That was six years ago. Now I stood on the launch bay of the Great Wall Facility of the Great Ten Super-Functionary Directive with five other men, just as accomplished as I. I’m not the only seventeen year old pilot in the Air Force, but I am certainly the most decorated.

Leong Yat-Sen stepped in front of us, scanning the line of young fighter pilots. His position as managerial commander of China’s super-functionary program made him one of the most powerful men on earth. Dressed in a fine suit, his military rank and power was displayed not in his uniform but in his posture and steely gaze.

“You six!” he bellowed. “Only one of you will be chosen. It is Dragonwing that will choose.”

He gestured to the beautiful black plane before us.

One pilot, another young man though not as young as I, ran up to Dragonwing and put his hand on her fuselage. Immediately, the black surface of the jet retracted from his touch.

“No!” Director Leong waved the pilot away.

The young man wisely complied.

The other four men walked slowly toward the jet, and each one before me had their tactile applications revoked.

I stepped to look at the beautiful creature from the front. I slowly reached out, my elbow shaking with anticipation, and touched what passed for the nosecone. For a pregnant moment it was silent on the launch pad and my hand brushed gently against the warm body of the jet.

Suddenly, Dragonwing’s nosecone undulated underneath my hand, sending ripples across the entire body. At that moment, I felt a warm glow emanate through my own body, giving me a sense of peace I had yet to know.

Director Leong stepped to me, bowed shortly and handed me the black mask that had fallen off of the previous pilot only minutes ago.

With a tear of pride streaming down my face, I placed the mask over my eyes, nose and mouth and immediately felt my body contracting. The tip of my head through to the tips of my toes were immediately covered in a matte black thin symbiotic film. It was developed over several years of research on Dragonwing as a way to protect the pilot from the corrosive nature of the amniotic fluid he would be submerged in on missions.

I was immediately drawn to her.

Standing under the cockpit, the black tendrils of Dragonwing’s skin drew me up inside it. I floated ecstatically in the pink-hued fluid, feeling the warmth. Yet, at the same time, I could feel the cool air from outside on my arms as if Dragonwing’s skin was my own.

“I’m home,” I said to her as I descended to the pilot’s seat. I settled into the seat and placed each hand on their corresponding cylindrical towers: the controls. With a thought, my beloved Dragonwing lifted into the air and jettisoned up into the lower atmosphere.

I felt no gravity, but the amniotic fluid was already making my body scream in burning pain. However, there was no pain in this mortal realm that could deter me from whatever my mission may be. As long as I am with Dragonwing.

A year of my life may be gone after this short flight, but it is surely worth it.

My name was Chen Nuo. Since childhood, I have been preparing for this moment. The best of a billion at flying aircraft, I am honored to fly, and die, for my country.

I am the Immortal Man-In-Darkness, at least for the time being.

End