Blindsided
Blindsided
It was a sweaty summer day years and years ago. His mind was not merciful enough to allow him to forget the details. But when had fate shown him any mercy? Certainly not that day, as he stood on a platform in the sweltering heat, looking down at a legion of men uniformed in blue. He tried not to let the early signs of heatstroke show in his voice. “Gentlemen, on my mark.” He withdrew a gun from his jacket, took aim, and fired a shot directly through the fortress's satellite dish, shattering it. Every man likewise retrieved his own gun and fired at dummies emblazoned with SPORK insignias.
Gun in hand, Skarr observed hungrily, waiting for anyone to miss the target so he could fire a warning shot at the ground. That was the most fun part of training exercises. But he wouldn't have a chance to enjoy it, because through the door to the training grounds stormed Hector – all of him. The breeze tousled his black hair, and his shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show off his chest hair and gold chains. He was rolling up his sleeves. Not showing quite enough body hair, are you, sir? Skarr crossed his arms.
“What was that?” Hector demanded, gesturing to the smoldering empty space where the satellite dish had been. “My lady friends and I were watching Ship of Amor.”
“Oh dear. I'm afraid I was doing a little target practice.” Skarr caressed the barrel. “My sharp eyes never fail me.”
Hector was not listening to Skarr, but that was nothing new. Instead, he was staring down at the troops shooting the dummies – each other as much as the burlap ones. “Wait, they're fighting with dolls?”
“The simulated SPORK operatives are not dolls. They are specifically designed for use in weapons training.” Down below, one trooper fired a shot that missed his target, hit a tree, and sent a branch toppling into the arena, knocking out the shooter. The surrounding men yelled and fired at the branch. Skarr looked away, embarrassed, but Hector was furious.
“This is just pathetic. No wonder SPORK has gotten past them so many times. I could train them in Cuban martial arts in no time flat.”
“Absolutely not. These men have no need for your primitive punching and kicking. Why waste time on hand-to-hand combat when they will never be unarmed?” Skarr proudly held up his own semi-automatic, and the troops cringed. “I am never without the great equalizer here.” It was satisfying to see the effect he could have on his men just from a simple motion, standing high above them, where he belonged. As much as he hated to admit it, it also protected him from needing to fight with his bare hands against men much larger and stronger than himself. Without his weapons, he knew he would never have risen to the rank of general, but would have been relegated to a life as an under-lieutenant mopping the mess hall and getting his nose broken during war games. I was a perfect choice for general. Even more so when each of the other candidates just happened to be found riddled with bullet holes. He was not about to be humiliated by his own men.
Unconvinced, Hector aimed a sharp elbow strike at a shelf mounted against the outer wall of the fortress. The wood disintegrated at impact, sending bullets, shurikens, scissors, dynamite, and other dangerous goodies scattering across the platform. With that, all the men stopped firing to see what was going on. “I still got it,” bragged Hector, flexing for his lady friends, who had come to the window to admire him.
Skarr gritted his teeth. “That does it! You are interfering with military operations. Why don't you go back up to your room and play with your women and your bathtub full of dollar bills and sit quietly while I conquer the world?” Out of breath with sides heaving, Skarr pointed at the window. The bikini-clad ladies disappeared, not wanting any more bullets heading in their direction.
“I have a better idea, General. Let us have a duel so that the men can decide for themselves.”
“Nonsense. They carry assault rifles, their bulletproof vests have a compartment for a handgun, their pants are loaded with grenades, and if all else fails, their helmets have a self-destruct feature. I tell you, they will never be caught unarmed.”
Hector wrenched the firearm from Skarr's grasp and flung it as far as he could. It disappeared into the trees beyond the compound. With a smirk, Hector then wrapped a hand around Skarr's throat and raised him off the ground, shaking the smaller man. Skarr gasped and clawed frantically at Hector's hand. Hector, meanwhile, was flashing a winning smile at the troops, who had all set their guns aside to watch. As Skarr's face reddened, Hector sneered, “You are unarmed now.” A pulse of cheering rose from the crowd of soldiers. Skarr's struggling became convulsing, and Hector tossed him down onto the platform, where he lay coughing. The cheering died down, the troops disappointed that Skarr's punishment might be over. With one hand, Hector signaled for the troops to wait. He then knelt down close to Skarr, where he commanded, “Go on. You may take a head start.”
Still catching his breath, Skarr stared blankly at Hector, not entirely believing that his commander was serious. But when Hector formed a fist and backed up to gain some distance, Skarr suddenly decided to take him up on his offer of a head start. He staggered to his feet and made a run for it with Hector in pursuit. The men below roared and applauded. Skarr had nearly reached the stairs down from the platform when Hector leapt into the way and loomed like a wild beast. Shrieking, Skarr turned and looked desperately for any other path of escape, but there was none. He peered over the edge, where he saw men glaring at him and hissing from the dirt arena. What good is being second-in-command if I am left so utterly powerless? The platform had to be 50 feet off the ground. Jumping would be suicide. Perhaps not from the fall itself, but from having enough bones broken to be entirely defenceless against Hector, who wouldn't see a severed spinal cord or traumatic brain injury as an reason to call off a duel.
With no way down and Hector charging at him, Skarr turned his eyes to the weapons strewn across the platform. Nearest to him lay a pair of shiny scissors. He took them up and opened them, aiming at Hector. “Don't come any closer! These are multi-purpose scissors!”
Darkly laughing, Hector sped up, went airborne, and placed his foot directly into Skarr's midsection, knocking the General backwards. Skarr was uncertain how many more times he would be able to get back on his feet. Fingers still tightly clutching the scissors, he extended them in front of his body with a trembling hand. Seeing that Hector was still undeterred and raising his arm for another strike, Skarr turned and began to run with the last of his strength. Hector made a swipe for Skarr and missed, falling face-first onto the platform with a grunt. Skarr turned to look, and noticed that his aggressor seemed to be down for the count. Unable to proclaim victory or even muster a laugh, Skarr grinned and raised his scissors skyward as he ran. It was as much a shock to him as to the hundreds of men who saw it that Hector was able to extend an arm and catch Skarr by the ankle.
Remembering what happened next was surreal every time. Skarr knew it must have taken only a fraction of a second; there wasn't even time to see the tips of the scissors coming as he fell. But when it haunted his nightmares, he seemed to spend the whole night feeling the tight grip around his ankle, his body falling, and then...
One blade pierced his left eye, the other blade gouged into his cheek, tearing the flesh this way and that. The searing pain was unlike anything Skarr knew existed. His vision was flooded with red, distorted, and then disappeared. His screams filled the compound, drowned out only by the crashing waves at the edge of the island. Unable to see their General lying prone on the platform, several of the men stood on their toes or jumped to see what had happened. All was revealed when Skarr wobbled to his knees, blood gushing from his left eye and cheek, where the scissors were still deeply embedded.
Hector, who had just gotten back on his feet for another round, did not see what had happened; he had only heard the terrible screams followed by deafening silence. “Once again, Cuban martial arts wins the day!” Hector announced, raising fists into the air and laughing maniacally. There was no response from below. The entire army was motionless, some with faces frozen in terror, others looking deviously amused, and several on hands and knees vomiting. Looking down at his own feet, Hector noticed that one of his feet was standing in a pool of blood. “Skarr?” And that was when Hector saw him. In seconds, Skarr lost consciousness and collapsed on his side.
When Skarr awoke again, he was strapped to an operating table in the lab, or rather, what was left of the lab after Hector fired their mad scientist for keeping the antifreeze in fruit juice containers. The left side of his face burned and ached, and he realized he could only see with his right eye. Exhausted but frightened, Skarr fought against the straps, looking around for anyone who could come to his aid. Then he saw a face. It was clumsily half-covered in bandages, held in place with blood and tape. The visible eye widened and mouth opened as he screamed.
As he wailed in terror, footsteps from the hallway came closer. In came Hector, flanked by a handful of troopers. “Ah, good. You're awake.”
“What's happened? What have you done to me?”
“Relax. You had a pair of scissors in your eye, but everything is under control now. You know, I had no idea someone as small as you had so much blood! I mean, there was blood all over the place, and it kept coming when I turned you over, and then more came out when I kicked you and shook you and said, 'Skarr, are you okay?' Then you went all twitchy so I tied you to the table.”
Skarr's good eye went a little twitchy. “I demand you let me go this instant!”
“No can do,” said Hector, shaking his head. “After I took Enrique to the vet for his special operation, he looked so sad wearing that big white cone. So I took it off, but he went right back to licking his...”
“I don't want to hear it!” shouted Skarr. He paused and continued in a voice that sounded more fearful than he intended, “I want to know what has become of my eye.” There was silence for a moment. None of the men would look at him. When no answer came, he resumed straining for freedom. “Let... me...”
“Okay, okay!” said Hector. “I was trying to get some bandages for your face, but I couldn't cut the box open because you were hogging the scissors.”
“I was...”
Hector placed a hand on Skarr's forehead to keep him still. “So I pulled them out, which seemed like a good idea at the time...” Skarr stared up at him, but seemed to be looking through him in a daze. His hearing faded in and out, sometimes picking up Hector's voice, other times just white noise. “...then there was more blood, and I thought maybe I should put some gloves on...” Noise. “...didn't know eyes came out like that...” Noise. “...back in and now it's better than ever.”
Skarr raised his eyebrow. “B-better than ever?”
“Sure. I can show you, but if you do like Enrique, I will have to put you in the cone.” He unbuckled Skarr and handed him a mirror.
Skarr held his breath as Hector unwound the gauze from his face. Peeling away tape and dried blood was excruciating. At last, the swollen left side of Skarr's face was uncovered. With horror, Skarr found that his left eye was spectrally white and unseeing, and underneath his eye was a jagged red scar. “Heavens!” he cried, examining it. “How is this better? I'm half blind!” The edge in his voice returned, and it felt like both of his eyes were on fire.
“Well, I gave it some thought. You will look much more like an evil general with your eye like that. Which will make Evil Con Carne look much more legit.” Hector wasn't done thinking. “And it's kind of funny if you think about it. I mean, your name is Skarr, and now you have a scar. A scar for Skarr. You see, funny. Well, maybe you don't see, but you know what I mean.”
Skarr screamed again, another of the hollow, anguished screams that come from unimaginable pain. This was more than the pain in his eye and his face. This was the pain of Hector having done this to him, and instead of taking him to a doctor, performing amateur surgery on him in the basement. He shoved the mirror aside and buried his face in his hands.
Looking on awkwardly, Hector said, “I can see that you have a lot on your mind. I'd better be going. I think I have a doorbell. I mean, I think I heard the doorbell. Hasta luego!” Hector and his minions disappeared as fast as they could.
This time, it was Skarr who was not listening. After several moments in silence except for the sound of his own laboured breathing, Skarr again picked up the mirror. None of the shock had worn off. He loathed his reflection, which glared hideously back at him. Upstairs, Skarr could hear lively music and Hector's voice followed by female laughter. Skarr clenched his fists. “Hector has no idea how it feels to be disfigured. He will never know.” Depleted, he lay back on the table and wiped his eyes, which both brimmed with tears. His voice quivering and weak, he resolved: “He will pay.”
Gun in hand, Skarr observed hungrily, waiting for anyone to miss the target so he could fire a warning shot at the ground. That was the most fun part of training exercises. But he wouldn't have a chance to enjoy it, because through the door to the training grounds stormed Hector – all of him. The breeze tousled his black hair, and his shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show off his chest hair and gold chains. He was rolling up his sleeves. Not showing quite enough body hair, are you, sir? Skarr crossed his arms.
“What was that?” Hector demanded, gesturing to the smoldering empty space where the satellite dish had been. “My lady friends and I were watching Ship of Amor.”
“Oh dear. I'm afraid I was doing a little target practice.” Skarr caressed the barrel. “My sharp eyes never fail me.”
Hector was not listening to Skarr, but that was nothing new. Instead, he was staring down at the troops shooting the dummies – each other as much as the burlap ones. “Wait, they're fighting with dolls?”
“The simulated SPORK operatives are not dolls. They are specifically designed for use in weapons training.” Down below, one trooper fired a shot that missed his target, hit a tree, and sent a branch toppling into the arena, knocking out the shooter. The surrounding men yelled and fired at the branch. Skarr looked away, embarrassed, but Hector was furious.
“This is just pathetic. No wonder SPORK has gotten past them so many times. I could train them in Cuban martial arts in no time flat.”
“Absolutely not. These men have no need for your primitive punching and kicking. Why waste time on hand-to-hand combat when they will never be unarmed?” Skarr proudly held up his own semi-automatic, and the troops cringed. “I am never without the great equalizer here.” It was satisfying to see the effect he could have on his men just from a simple motion, standing high above them, where he belonged. As much as he hated to admit it, it also protected him from needing to fight with his bare hands against men much larger and stronger than himself. Without his weapons, he knew he would never have risen to the rank of general, but would have been relegated to a life as an under-lieutenant mopping the mess hall and getting his nose broken during war games. I was a perfect choice for general. Even more so when each of the other candidates just happened to be found riddled with bullet holes. He was not about to be humiliated by his own men.
Unconvinced, Hector aimed a sharp elbow strike at a shelf mounted against the outer wall of the fortress. The wood disintegrated at impact, sending bullets, shurikens, scissors, dynamite, and other dangerous goodies scattering across the platform. With that, all the men stopped firing to see what was going on. “I still got it,” bragged Hector, flexing for his lady friends, who had come to the window to admire him.
Skarr gritted his teeth. “That does it! You are interfering with military operations. Why don't you go back up to your room and play with your women and your bathtub full of dollar bills and sit quietly while I conquer the world?” Out of breath with sides heaving, Skarr pointed at the window. The bikini-clad ladies disappeared, not wanting any more bullets heading in their direction.
“I have a better idea, General. Let us have a duel so that the men can decide for themselves.”
“Nonsense. They carry assault rifles, their bulletproof vests have a compartment for a handgun, their pants are loaded with grenades, and if all else fails, their helmets have a self-destruct feature. I tell you, they will never be caught unarmed.”
Hector wrenched the firearm from Skarr's grasp and flung it as far as he could. It disappeared into the trees beyond the compound. With a smirk, Hector then wrapped a hand around Skarr's throat and raised him off the ground, shaking the smaller man. Skarr gasped and clawed frantically at Hector's hand. Hector, meanwhile, was flashing a winning smile at the troops, who had all set their guns aside to watch. As Skarr's face reddened, Hector sneered, “You are unarmed now.” A pulse of cheering rose from the crowd of soldiers. Skarr's struggling became convulsing, and Hector tossed him down onto the platform, where he lay coughing. The cheering died down, the troops disappointed that Skarr's punishment might be over. With one hand, Hector signaled for the troops to wait. He then knelt down close to Skarr, where he commanded, “Go on. You may take a head start.”
Still catching his breath, Skarr stared blankly at Hector, not entirely believing that his commander was serious. But when Hector formed a fist and backed up to gain some distance, Skarr suddenly decided to take him up on his offer of a head start. He staggered to his feet and made a run for it with Hector in pursuit. The men below roared and applauded. Skarr had nearly reached the stairs down from the platform when Hector leapt into the way and loomed like a wild beast. Shrieking, Skarr turned and looked desperately for any other path of escape, but there was none. He peered over the edge, where he saw men glaring at him and hissing from the dirt arena. What good is being second-in-command if I am left so utterly powerless? The platform had to be 50 feet off the ground. Jumping would be suicide. Perhaps not from the fall itself, but from having enough bones broken to be entirely defenceless against Hector, who wouldn't see a severed spinal cord or traumatic brain injury as an reason to call off a duel.
With no way down and Hector charging at him, Skarr turned his eyes to the weapons strewn across the platform. Nearest to him lay a pair of shiny scissors. He took them up and opened them, aiming at Hector. “Don't come any closer! These are multi-purpose scissors!”
Darkly laughing, Hector sped up, went airborne, and placed his foot directly into Skarr's midsection, knocking the General backwards. Skarr was uncertain how many more times he would be able to get back on his feet. Fingers still tightly clutching the scissors, he extended them in front of his body with a trembling hand. Seeing that Hector was still undeterred and raising his arm for another strike, Skarr turned and began to run with the last of his strength. Hector made a swipe for Skarr and missed, falling face-first onto the platform with a grunt. Skarr turned to look, and noticed that his aggressor seemed to be down for the count. Unable to proclaim victory or even muster a laugh, Skarr grinned and raised his scissors skyward as he ran. It was as much a shock to him as to the hundreds of men who saw it that Hector was able to extend an arm and catch Skarr by the ankle.
Remembering what happened next was surreal every time. Skarr knew it must have taken only a fraction of a second; there wasn't even time to see the tips of the scissors coming as he fell. But when it haunted his nightmares, he seemed to spend the whole night feeling the tight grip around his ankle, his body falling, and then...
One blade pierced his left eye, the other blade gouged into his cheek, tearing the flesh this way and that. The searing pain was unlike anything Skarr knew existed. His vision was flooded with red, distorted, and then disappeared. His screams filled the compound, drowned out only by the crashing waves at the edge of the island. Unable to see their General lying prone on the platform, several of the men stood on their toes or jumped to see what had happened. All was revealed when Skarr wobbled to his knees, blood gushing from his left eye and cheek, where the scissors were still deeply embedded.
Hector, who had just gotten back on his feet for another round, did not see what had happened; he had only heard the terrible screams followed by deafening silence. “Once again, Cuban martial arts wins the day!” Hector announced, raising fists into the air and laughing maniacally. There was no response from below. The entire army was motionless, some with faces frozen in terror, others looking deviously amused, and several on hands and knees vomiting. Looking down at his own feet, Hector noticed that one of his feet was standing in a pool of blood. “Skarr?” And that was when Hector saw him. In seconds, Skarr lost consciousness and collapsed on his side.
When Skarr awoke again, he was strapped to an operating table in the lab, or rather, what was left of the lab after Hector fired their mad scientist for keeping the antifreeze in fruit juice containers. The left side of his face burned and ached, and he realized he could only see with his right eye. Exhausted but frightened, Skarr fought against the straps, looking around for anyone who could come to his aid. Then he saw a face. It was clumsily half-covered in bandages, held in place with blood and tape. The visible eye widened and mouth opened as he screamed.
As he wailed in terror, footsteps from the hallway came closer. In came Hector, flanked by a handful of troopers. “Ah, good. You're awake.”
“What's happened? What have you done to me?”
“Relax. You had a pair of scissors in your eye, but everything is under control now. You know, I had no idea someone as small as you had so much blood! I mean, there was blood all over the place, and it kept coming when I turned you over, and then more came out when I kicked you and shook you and said, 'Skarr, are you okay?' Then you went all twitchy so I tied you to the table.”
Skarr's good eye went a little twitchy. “I demand you let me go this instant!”
“No can do,” said Hector, shaking his head. “After I took Enrique to the vet for his special operation, he looked so sad wearing that big white cone. So I took it off, but he went right back to licking his...”
“I don't want to hear it!” shouted Skarr. He paused and continued in a voice that sounded more fearful than he intended, “I want to know what has become of my eye.” There was silence for a moment. None of the men would look at him. When no answer came, he resumed straining for freedom. “Let... me...”
“Okay, okay!” said Hector. “I was trying to get some bandages for your face, but I couldn't cut the box open because you were hogging the scissors.”
“I was...”
Hector placed a hand on Skarr's forehead to keep him still. “So I pulled them out, which seemed like a good idea at the time...” Skarr stared up at him, but seemed to be looking through him in a daze. His hearing faded in and out, sometimes picking up Hector's voice, other times just white noise. “...then there was more blood, and I thought maybe I should put some gloves on...” Noise. “...didn't know eyes came out like that...” Noise. “...back in and now it's better than ever.”
Skarr raised his eyebrow. “B-better than ever?”
“Sure. I can show you, but if you do like Enrique, I will have to put you in the cone.” He unbuckled Skarr and handed him a mirror.
Skarr held his breath as Hector unwound the gauze from his face. Peeling away tape and dried blood was excruciating. At last, the swollen left side of Skarr's face was uncovered. With horror, Skarr found that his left eye was spectrally white and unseeing, and underneath his eye was a jagged red scar. “Heavens!” he cried, examining it. “How is this better? I'm half blind!” The edge in his voice returned, and it felt like both of his eyes were on fire.
“Well, I gave it some thought. You will look much more like an evil general with your eye like that. Which will make Evil Con Carne look much more legit.” Hector wasn't done thinking. “And it's kind of funny if you think about it. I mean, your name is Skarr, and now you have a scar. A scar for Skarr. You see, funny. Well, maybe you don't see, but you know what I mean.”
Skarr screamed again, another of the hollow, anguished screams that come from unimaginable pain. This was more than the pain in his eye and his face. This was the pain of Hector having done this to him, and instead of taking him to a doctor, performing amateur surgery on him in the basement. He shoved the mirror aside and buried his face in his hands.
Looking on awkwardly, Hector said, “I can see that you have a lot on your mind. I'd better be going. I think I have a doorbell. I mean, I think I heard the doorbell. Hasta luego!” Hector and his minions disappeared as fast as they could.
This time, it was Skarr who was not listening. After several moments in silence except for the sound of his own laboured breathing, Skarr again picked up the mirror. None of the shock had worn off. He loathed his reflection, which glared hideously back at him. Upstairs, Skarr could hear lively music and Hector's voice followed by female laughter. Skarr clenched his fists. “Hector has no idea how it feels to be disfigured. He will never know.” Depleted, he lay back on the table and wiped his eyes, which both brimmed with tears. His voice quivering and weak, he resolved: “He will pay.”