DEFEAT. 007 – Cheap Cologne. Cheaper Whisky.

[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein’s truest attempt at fiction.   Presented in weekly episodes, the novella tells the tale of Daryl Millar – a hero who dies at the intersection of pop culture, science-fiction, war epic, and fantasy]

Hours Later.

Sweating. Crying. Bleeding. It was at this moment that Riff began to reconsider the value of having stood up against the tyranny of Brady Moore.

Riding the high of telling the most fawned-upon student at school to go fuck himself, the metalhead simply decided to continue practicing guitar. Which was fine, really — it was how he had always intended to spend the afternoon.

But when the corner of his eye caught his father’s pickup-truck swerving down the street and into the driveway, Riff realized he should have at least cleaned up the glass and made an attempt to fix the busted window.

Larry Buckley stormed into the house smelling of cheap cologne and cheaper whisky. He had no intentions of playing investigator, preferring the role of stormtrooper. Kicking down the door of his only son’s bedroom, Larry screamed, “Come here you ungrateful scab! What did I tell you about breaking things you can’t possibly fix?!”

All the heroism possessed when addressing his peer-tormentor faded from Riff. As did the blood in his face. Terrified into inaction, the teenager had no counteractive methods at his disposal. The fist of his father slammed into a mass of face, sending him sprawling backwards behind the amplifier upon which he sat. On his back, all that Riff could manage was to yelp wildly and cough violently.

Blood sprayed upwards and then rested on his battered face.

Summoning his training from the academy, Larry hopped over the amp and spun the perpetrator onto his stomach. Implementing the techniques he learned from being on-duty, Larry slugged his son in the ribs, grabbed him by the mullet and then proceeded to slam his forehead downwardly. Blinded by rage, encouraged by alcohol, and slipping into the all-too familiar script of his work hours, Larry Buckley screamed at his son, “Don’t resist, you fucking crackhead!”

In enough pain to regret pissing his father off but not fully understanding his father’s drunken delusions, Riff cried out, “What–the hell are you talking about? I don’t smoke crack!”

Lieutenant Buckley delivered a swift kick to keep the suspect out for the count. Disgusted, he removed his flask and took a hearty swig to wash away the taste of crime. The room began to swirl.

“What the fuck did I just say about resisting arrest?”