Saturday, March 29, 2008

Guest Writer, Artist and Musician's Debut at 2sides2ron: Willie J. Phillips

The following presentation is a bit of a departure for 2sides2ron and the International Carnival of Pozitivities. Please welcome the work of my friend, Willie J. Phillips of Durham, NC. Willie is a talented author, artist and rap artist. He is the driving force behind a local hip-hop group, Shadowstar, whose lyrics are thought-provoking and whose music is as professionally stunning as any that I have heard from major labels.

This post is the first in a series of chapters of Willie’s science-fiction martial arts novella, Godfist Legend: Zero7. This work is not HIV related, but it seemed to me that I could promote Willie’s work as a ally of the HIV community and as my friend. This work should offer a bit of a diversion from the usual HIV related posts for our readers. Please let us know what you think. Subsequent chapters will be posted in future months.

All images and the text in these posts are copyrighted by Willie J. Phillips. You can click on any image to enlarge it for viewing. To learn more about Willie or his music, Shadowstar ex Machina, please click here to email Willie directly.

Ron Hudson


Godfist Legend: Zero7 Chapter 1



It's cold here. The warm softness of the incubation chamber was not enough to rival the harsh, lifeless chill of the technicians' tools. Testing is always so impersonal, but today's attendant seemed particulary calculating. This is the tenth in a series of what was to be 100 tests. "the 4000th year Fist" project was very secretive, to the extent that I don't even know where I am right now. What's really strange is that I know I'm not supposed to be thinking these things right now. How do I know all this? I don't even feel like myself.

I'm being moved. strangely enough, I'm starting to feel the routine numbness wearing off. It's not supposed to do that until I wake up at home, but how have I been getting there? Who places me back in my bed? Who am I, really? Memories flood into my brain like a sudden blast from the mighty Poseidon. I see my hands sweeping through a man's mouth, severing his head completely. My fists crash into someone's chest cavity multiple times. I feel the reverberance of hundreds, thousands of earth-shattering punches, the pain of my swollen knuckles bloodied from countless assassinations. I can't take it! The tests drive me to the edge of my emotions and further.

My mind...can't take it...too much blood!

They want a dragon? They want the ultimate warrior? I know who I am. VOSHUA DESERE, master mask-maker and sole proprietor of Fisticuff Hotel! A genetically enhanced assassin, stripped of my family...torn to shreds by a dizzying cocktail of murder and love-loss. The Golden Triumvirate will pay!

Color returns to my body as the drugs wear off. The heat of a familiar rush of adrenaline courses through my soul. Too many times this feeling came over me just before a kill, and now it will be used to free me. The technician has no idea; there are no random examinations allowed in the transport halls of NewShanjia Echelon Facility. Now they'll wish there were. We're almost there.

The 'exiting chamber'; a chute for shipping returning subjects disguised as a garbage disposal unit on the outside.

"Is he ready for reinsertion?" another technician asks from his pristine exam table. Looks like there will be plenty of weapons available should the need arise. "This will be his first imprinted 'multiple target' assignment, so we ought to confirm his status before reinsertion."

"Agreed. I'll prepare him," my attendant chimes as he approaches my rolling gurney. Sweet merciful goddess, they're going to let me out themselves. but what if this one notices my changes before unlatching the restraints? I need him now, but how do i connect with him without attracting unnecessary attention.

His hands brush against mine, then his lower abdominal is pressed against the side of the bed. Thank the goddess for highly detailed sterilization rituals and excessive protection from microbes.Insulated operating gloves kept the brief moment of contact from transferring any body heat. His fingers are closing in on the leather harnesses, which means hes going to have to lean down to me. I slow my breathing and heartbeat, no sound, just mounting tension. The suspense seems to cause time to slow down as the fasteners are unlocked one by one.

Two left...bothersome things...one left, almost there.

Before it's completely unlocked my index and middle finger are tightened in protrusion as my remaining fingers close into a supportive fist. Forcefully thrusting my flesh-made knife into the tech's zyphoid was simple, and a swift psychological transfer warned the hapless attendant not to move or scream. He obeys completely and continues freeing me. I assure him that his role in my freedom bought him a one-time-only ticket to life as long as he did not hinder me in any way. One man may seem insignificant to you, but this 'one man' knows more about me than I know myself, so he is utterly NEEDED.

I'm free! My wrists thank the gods by allowing normal blood flow to resume effortlessly. My mind is buzzing with the programmed 'martial science acquirement protocol' and my library of deadly techniques; a small reminder that the 4000th Year Fist was to be my permanent companion. Fine by me. My father wanted me to continue my martial arts studies anyway.

"When I say so," I advise my new partner, "lie on the floor and crawl UNDERNEATH my bed. You don't need to do anything else until I'm finished with the other. Do you understand?" A fearful nod lets me know that I have nothing to worry about concerning his loyalty to me.

Time to win.

Click to proceed to Chapter Two

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