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The Blade in the Serpent	By : nightfire69 Category: +G through L > G.I. Joe Views: 1271 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own G.I. Joe, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Blade in the Serpent
- 1
Feedback: Oh yes

Rating: NC 17

Genre: Very Dark Suspenseful Horror

Universe: Alternate Universe

Warnings: Extreme violence and extremely strong language.

Main Character(s): Cross Country and Thrasher

Notes: By the end of this story you will be more than likely be very confused. That’s the whole idea. It’s in an alternate universe first and foremost. And it’s a prequel to a much larger story I got rumbling through my head at the moment. This story could easily be a stand alone story if need be, but one would have to under stand this story’s Cross Country’s back story to really fandom what’s really going on. So if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to write me. Also, if you see any fragmented sentences in this story, they are on purpose; for the simple fact normal people don’t speak grammatically correct English and unfortunately most computers that have grammar check don’t seem to know this.

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He was running. Running as fast as he could; through the high grass and vines of the Florida marshlands. His breathing was erratic and fast. As the day light started to quickly diminish; the more Thrasher stumbled through the cypress trees and mangroves of the swamp that seem to look more cruel and menacing by the minute. “Gotta get …a, away! Gotta…agh, get away before… he gets me!” Thrasher stammered in fear and exhaustion trying to desperately find Zartan’s shack and his Thunder Machine.

Scrambling to find his way through the increasing darkness; Thrasher was getting more confused and desperate to what was happening to him. All he could recall is that he was at Bayou World fixing the weapons on the kiddy cars when this crazed G.I.Joe driving a HAVOC started to chase him out of the park and through the swamps. If he in his Thunder Machine he would easily take care of this deranged Joe, no problem, but he wasn’t even near is beloved rig and that thought scared him the most.

As the last bits of light shot through the smooth intertwines of the trees; Thrasher could hear the deep thundering roar of the HAVOC’s engines getting insanely closer. Not looking at where he was going; Thrasher accidentally stepped on an alligator tail. Then coming out of is mini fugue and seeing what he just stepped on, he looked around to see that he was in a fairly crowded alligator hole. Swallowing hard, Thrasher tried to keep as calm as he could in a situation like this, which was almost impossible. He had to quickly find another way to the shack and his rig…fast. That’s when the HAVOC’s high beams came on. Turning around, Thrasher looked at the light and froze like a dear in the middle of the road. Realizing that he had no other choice; he quickly ran through the alligator hole till he saw the shack and his precious Thunder Machine. “Bloody ‘ell! I need my fucking keys!” yelped Thrasher as he quickly thumbed through all his pockets to find the keys to the Thunder Machine. Then starting to panic about not finding the keys as he ran. “God fucking damn it! Where are those damn keys?”

Looking in his pockets again and again; with his hands shaking terribly, Thrasher yipped at himself into a good, hard panic. “I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die!” Then he finally found his keys to the Thunder Machine in his front left pants pocket. Then kissing his keys he then said with a nervous laugh, “Oh, God yes, yes, yes!” Seeing his rig within reach, he accidentally tripped on a root and fell on a mound of fire ants; dropping his keys. Quickly grabbing his keys; he quickly stands only to realize that there are fire ants crawling on him. “Shit, Ants! Get off, get off, get off!” While freaking out about the fire ants, Thrasher mistakenly throws the keys under the Thunder Machine. Then realizing what he just did. “Oh…fuck!” snapped Thrasher as he dived down to retrieve the keys which were almost beyond his reach and seem to try to move away from him the best they can. Seeing the light from the high beams, he started to panic again, “Get…fucking…over…here…you…fucking…keys!” Then stretching his right arm as far as he could, then he barely grabbed the keys with is right pinky, “Come on, come on! Ugh, imm… Gotcha!”

Then moving out from under the Thunder Machine, Thrasher quickly jumps in his rig, putting the keys in the ignition to only have the engine to the Thunder Machine stall on him. “What the? God damn it; don’t do this to me! Turn over! Turn over! God fucking damn it, turn fucking over!” shouted Thrasher as he tried several times to start the very uncooperative engine. Seeing the HAVOC come clearly into view in front of him, Thrasher slams his fits on the steering wheel to only have the Thunder Machine finally start. “Finally!” said Thrasher infestation until he sees a Lancer missile coming right at him. His eyes opening wide he quickly jumps out of driver’s seat of the Thunder Machine, while the missile explodes scattering him and metal shrapnel that was his beloved Thunder Machine all over the place.

Seeing his Thunder Machine destroyed beyond repair; Thrasher looks to see the Joe park his HAVOC, then push a button on the HAVOC’s drivers control panel, which started playing the dark pounding melodies of Marilyn Manson coming from the speakers of the Joe’s rig. Then without a moments notice, he got tackled by the HAVOC’s driver. With the flames of the now unrecognizable Thunder Machine lighting the face of his mysterious pursuer, Thrasher finally recognizes the Joe. To his shock an outright horror and extreme confusion, this psycho Joe was none other than…Cross Country.

“What the?” asks the very confused Thrasher as Cross Country pinned him to the ground. “Hay, buddy. Did you miss me?” mocked Cross Country with a playful, taunting tone while looking at the fear on Thrasher’s face. “Ah, tich, tich. What’s the matter Thrash, don’t you like me any more? Well, guess what?” That’s when Cross Country’s gave Thrasher a vary malicious smile and his voice became icy cold and dripping with spite, “I don’t like you either.”

“Get the fuck off of me you sick freak!” screams Thrasher as he struggles with Cross Country on the soft and muddy ground. Rolling on the ground, both men where splashing mud and muck all over; till Thrasher was in the right position to escape from Cross Country. Crawling away from the crazed Joe, Thrasher thought he got far enough away till Cross Country got a good hold on his right ankle. Pulling Thrasher back with both hands towards him, Cross Country then roared, “Come on you damn basterd! Struggle, make it worth my while! Give me something to look forward to…your slow painful death!”

Turning him over with both arms, Cross Country then starts to quickly stand over Thrasher with his right foot placed between Thrasher’s legs and his left foot just on the outside of Thrasher’s right hip. “Ugh,” gasped Thrasher, “Fa…fucking mutie freak!” snarled Thrasher as he tries to stand. Smiling with malicious delight Cross Country then says, “You have no…fucking…idea!” barreling his right knee into to Thrasher’s chest. Thrasher exhales sharply as he looses his breath. Then Cross Country proceeds to pummel thrasher in the face. RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT. Blood trickles down Thrasher’s face as his nose is now bruised, beaten and bloody.

Taking sharp, shallow breaths, Thrasher tries to come to terms to what was happening to him. Looking at the corner of his right eye, he saw a decent sized peace of metal from his former Thunder Machine. Maybe, just maybe, he could talk Cross Country so he can distract him long enough to grab this chunk on molten metal and hit him with it.

“Why… are ya…you do…d…doing thi…this ta…to me?” begged Thrasher with his face twisted in pain as he reached for the chunk of the Thunder Machine. “Well,” said Cross Country in a very calm, very civil manner. Not like the crazed psychopath that he was a few brief moments ago. Then Cross Country gave Thrasher a look of delight and babbled gladly just before he started to look for some thing in his right shirt pocket, “I just don’t like you.” And proceeded to look into his pocket.

Seeing this as his best time to strike the delusional G.I.Joe; Thrasher grabbed the piece of metal and swung his arm towards Cross Country’s head. Not finding what he was looking for, Cross Country decided to look in his left shirt pocket. That’s when he caught out of the corner of his eye a slab of metal in Thrasher’s hand coming towards his head. Quickly grabbing Thrasher’s right hand with his own, Cross Country snaps, “What in tar nation are you doin’ boy!” Taking the piece of metal out of victim’s hand, Cross Country slams Thrasher’s right arm to the ground and stabs Thrasher’s wrist with the sharp, jagged side of the piece of metal. “AH!” screamed Thrasher. “Maybe that will tech ya manners!” barked Cross Country, “Stupid Dreadnok. Might as well pin the other one while I’m at it. Good, I found the bugger.” Said Cross Country as he pulled out a flathead screwdriver and slammed it through Thrasher’s left hand. Thrasher let out another piercing scream. Then taking his mallet from his tool belt on his left pant leg, then Cross Country snapped, “Ah, Shut the fuck up!” he then knocks Thrasher out cold.

Getting off of Thrasher, Cross Country then walks up to his HAVOC, jumps up to the driver’s seat to start it up the HAVOC. Driving his rig around, Cross Country arranged his HAVOC to have it park firmly on Thrasher’s legs. “Shit!” shrieked the now awake Thrasher. Then climbing down from his HAVOC, Cross Country walked up to Thrasher, placed his legs on ether side of him and bent down to look at the now helpless Dreadnok. Looking at his captor’s eyes, Thrasher saw someone he didn’t recognize. Not the good ol’ boy redneck from Appalachia who played country western music; but a deranged, murderous, psychotic sociopath who for some very strange reason listened to Marilyn Manson. And that very thought made this whole situation all to unnerving for him. His breaths were very shallow and painfully sharp, but he did say something that really caught Cross Country’s attention. “You’re…nnn…not…hh…him. Ya…you look…like…hh…him, ba…but …ya…you’re…nnno…not…him.” Said Thrasher trying so hard to ignore the indescribable pain in his wrist.

Pulling out his large survival knife from his left shirt pocket, Cross Country looked at the knife like he was inspecting the craftsmanship of the handle an especially the blade; then at Thrasher. He did this without saying a word. Then he looked back at the knife an again back at Thrasher. Each time he did this Cross Country’s face started to brighten with a smile that was becoming more Cheshire cat like by the second. Then Cross Country said in a mocking sing-song tone, “You’re partly right. I’m not him. At least not your Cross Country anyway.” And that is when Thrasher felt the horrific sting of the survival knife stab him in the upper part of is belly and cut him slowly down to his pelvic region.

“What’s wrong Thrasher?” said Cross Country in a very mocking baby tone as if Thrasher was a young child, “Does it hurt?” Then dropping his survival knife on the ground and preceded to bury his left hand into Thrasher’s gut. He then started to pull out Thrasher’s small intestine and throwing it to the alligator hole next to him for the alligators to feed on. Seeing Thrasher thrash about, he then dug deep into Thrasher’s chest and grabbed Thrasher’s heart. When Cross Country started to hear the last few shallow breaths of his victim, he then said in a frozen cold tone with the cruelest, most wickedly sadistic look on his face, “I sure fucking hope so.”

Ripping out Thrasher’s heart from his body, Cross Country stood up and walked up to the side of Zartan’s shack. Writing in big letters “Your Next!” with Thrasher’s blood. Walking back to the now dead Thrasher; he bent down grabbed the piece of metal the pinned down Thrasher’s right wrist and Thrasher’s heart and walked back to the shack wall and stabbed the heart into place where the period of the exclamation point was. Turning around and walking back to Thrasher to pick up his tools. Then to the shore of the swamp wash them and his blooded cloves off.

Getting up from the swamp, he shook his gloves and tools of and proceeded to put the back in their appropriate pockets. Taking a big breath of lung filling air; Cross Country walked back up to the gutted out corps of Thrasher and looked at it. Giving out a deep sigh of annoyance he started to lecture the now deceased Dreadnok. “Well, well, well. Look it we have here. Laying down on the job are we? I know that Zartan an’t gonna be to damn happy seeing you all layin’ about like a dead pig in a poke now is he? Now you’re probably thinkin’ ‘Why in the hell did this crazy redneck go and done kill me for?’ Well let me tell ya why.”

Clearing his throat, Cross Country then started to give a speech that was worthy of a southern Baptist minister who was laying verbal waist of a fire and brimstone to his congregation; with all the hoopla and physical ferocity of circus sideshow caller. “Because, I hate you! Yes, you heard me right, I hate you. As long as I have known you and every time we’d meet, you and that fucked up road warrior Thunder Machine of yours try and try again to kill me and destroy my baby girl!” pointing to his HAVOC. “And you have the damn fuckin’ audacity to get me all riled up again an again an again. Well, I got even. I spied on you till I knew it were the right time to strike. And guess what? I did! Ha! To see you runnin’ away from me, screaming like a little girl when I was killin’ you. It was all worth while. Yep. It was all worth while.”

Stopping a bit to clear his thoughts, he then continued to lecture at Thrasher. “You wanna know somethin’ else, after all the shit you seem to put me through over the years, you are the one who help me see the light so I could be a way better person than you. You also have shown me that I picked the winnin’ side in the end. Yes surrey bob, ‘cuse of all the things you have done, I decided to be a lot more merciful on you tonight than I should of been.” Then looking at his watch and realizing it was getting late and he needed to return to base as soon as possible to report on his successful mission.

“Well, Thrash, it’s been a hoot; but I gotta mossy back to H. Q. pronto.” Walking back to his HAVOC, he turned around one last time to see the devastation that he caused. With a look of utter rapture an a smile ever menacing evil, Cross Country said in mock disappointment, “It’s to damn bad that I won’t be here to see the look on that fuckin’ asshole Zartan’s face when he sees this. It should be down right priceless.” Turning back towards his HAVOC, he climes into the driver’s seat and starts his rig up. Pushing pause on the HAVOC’s CD player that was playing Marilyn Manson, Cross Country pulls out a remote from his right shirt pocket and pusses a button to reveal a glowing white hot hole that seems to grow ever so larger by the second. As the mysterious hole is big enough for the HAVOC to enter, Cross Country grabs the HAVOC’s CB and starts talking in it.

“Hay, it’s Cross Country. My mission is a complete success. I’m gonna head to the repair bay first. I used one of the CHAOS’s Lancer missiles and I need to get a new one loaded up before the next target site is up. After I get my little girl settled in I’ll give my full report. Cross Country out.” Hanging up his CB, Cross Country drives his black colored HAVOC into the strange white hole. As the hole starts to close, Cross Country then yells, “Yo, Cobra!” as he and the white hot hole disappear from sight.

The End
- 1
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The Blade in the Serpent