In a lot of ways, Santo Marco was pretty much what I had expected when I stepped off the boat, my mind in that magical twilight zone where you're somehow both drunk and hungerover at the same time, with the hopes that the slurry of post-colonialist culture would be more creatively inspiring than Puerto Rico had been. Like most places where the white man had stomped around with their dicks hanging out and either fucked or killed anything with a heartbeat, Santo Marco was mostly just a mix of the descendants of people who stuck around when all the rich assholes left, living alongside whatever natives had managed to avoid catching one of Europe's disease-of-the-month club, living in harmony (by which I of course mean barely restrained resentment and racism that was one drunken brawl away from outright civil war), all living together in whatever faded relics of colonial architecture that hadn't collapsed yet. I'd say it was in the middle of Bat Country, but considering that the goddamn jungle was basically right next door, bats were the least of my concerns. On the plus side, the rainforest is basically an all-you-can-eat buffet of drugs if you knew where to look, and didn't accidentally eat the wrong berries or lick the wrong toad, but atleast you wouldn't be regretting your mistake for long.
Of course, that one minute would be the single most agonizing moment of your life. Frankly, I thought it was worth the risk.
Christmas is mostly the same here as it is back in the states, except instead of getting your balls frozen off in a god-forsaken East Coast winter, you get the privilege of risking malaria from the mosquitos while eating roast pork on a spit. Of course, I quickly found out that the Christmas of 1963 was going to be a little different when the entire goddamn city started shaking like a hooker in church. Now, earlier that morning I had been drinking fruit gin with an old frenchman in a cafe, so at first I had thought that it was just those particular sins catching up with me, until everyone else started screaming too, which is usually a good sign it's not just all happening in my head.
So there I was, Christmas turned into Satans Birthday when an entire fucking army shows up out of nowhere, and some jerk wearing an actual goddamn cape steps up and starts monologuing about the Master Race being here to set up shop, and we should all be grateful for the privilege of not being murdered right away. Of course, once he started making the cars levitate and the lampposts turn themselves into pretzels, I started to see his side of the argument.
Magneto, the Master of Magnetism, because he said so and who's going to argue with the man, and a few friends he brought along, names and faces that escape me at the moment because they couldn't literally lift the city up and throw it in the ocean, and that sort of steals the attention. I had front row seats to the founding of the Mutant Zion, and I wasn't nearly doped up enough to deal with this shit. So, a mans gotta do what a mans gotta do, and this man ran the fuck away and hid like a snivelling weasel, because holy hell, Puerto Rico was starting to look pretty damn good right about then. Hell, I'd have settled for being back in the states over this. Not the South though, because there are limits and even a brutal, gruesome death in the armpit of Brazil still beats certain experiences.
So, I was sitting there, huddled together with a few members of the newly oppressed masses, thinking about how I didn't even have any decent drugs to make my death a bit more memorable, when suddenly, the outside lights up like the 4th of July except without the smell of bad barbecues and misplaced nationalism, and before I could even write down a decent epitaph for myself, the door flies open, and even with everything else that had been going on that day, when a goddamned angel walks through the door, it tends to stick to your memory. Granted, I don't remember the blue and yellow costume from Sunday School, but the wings were spot on, and to be fair, I'd spent most of my church-going looking up dirty words in the Bible.
Much to my surprise, it wasn't the Heavenly Host doublebooking the Second Coming on Magneto's Big Day, but apparently not every mutant were as gung-ho about carving out a mutant homeland for themselves as the Magnet Man was, because lo and behold, they'd gotten their own crew together to put a stop to it. And yes, mutantion can apparently just give you actual angel wings, because the man in question swore up and down he wasn't affiliated with God, Christ or any sort of Holy Ghost, just a bunch of superpowered dudes, and one girl, trying to put the powers they were born with to good use.
Of course, you don't walk into a fight like this without backup, and they had brought the usual suspects; America was here to save the day yet again, and probably from a disaster they caused in the first place, but who's even keeping track at this point?
I liked the flag on his head, though. Very post-modern."
- Excerpt from "The Jungle Gin Diaries: The Six-Hour Mutant War", by Hunter S. Thompson (Random House, 1965)
...
"Wasn't there an army right outside, like 5 minutes ago? Because I'm pretty sure I remember running from them..." Hunter cautiously peered outside, sticking his head through the doorway into the suddenly deserted streets, the angel dude waiting outside for the occupants to brave the outdoors again. However, the dude with the wings was officially no longer the freakiest thing he'd seen today, that title now belolnged to the tiny woman with the insect wings buzzing around the other guy.
Man, superpowers were a real trip. He should look into getting some one of these days.
"The army wasn't real, it was just an illusion one of Magneto's men had conjured" The bug woman said, zooming by Hunters head, and wow, that was not a sight he was getting used to anytime soon "There were only a few real soldiers, maybe a dozen or so, and Cap and the others are rounding them up now."
Hunter blinked under his sunglasses "Cap? As in Captain America? The big guy with the shield, he's here too?" He whistled "You Avengers don't do things by half-measures, if there's anyone you want to stop a coup it'd be him. I mean, unless it's one the U.S is backing, but hey, I ain't complaining about this one."
"You're not safe yet" Angel Dude said with a frown "This was just part of breaking Magneto's grip over the city, we still have to deal with both him and the rest of the Brotherhood, and that's not going to be easy. You're not in any immediate danger right now, but please don't take any foolish chances, and try to stay indoors until you're given an all-clear. Are any of you injured?"
Hunter quickly glanced back at the people he'd been trapped with "What, other than the mental trauma?"
Angel Dude just sighed "Nevermind, me and Wasp need to rejoin our allies, so just try and stay safe, alright? This isn't over by a longshot." With that, he spread his wings out, and took off into the sky, weirdly majestically for a dude who basically just had two extra limbs growing out of his spine. It had been a long time since school, but Hunter was pretty sure he remembered that birds needed a bunch of extra bits to be able to fly well, so did this guy have hollow bones too, or-
His thoughts were interupted when Bug Girl stopped in front of his face, snapping her fingers with an annoyed look "Hey, were you listening at all?"
"Hmm? Oh yes, right, Miss Wasp, we'll stay safe, you guys go fight the good fight!"
He watched as Bug Girl flew away as well, following her feathered companion towards the palace. Behind him, the old man from the store walked up, watching the two disappear over the rooftops as well.
"Did she say... just illusions? Just fake images? But they seemed so real..."
Hunter shrugged "I'm used to seeing shit that ain't real, but they usually don't stick a rifle in my face. So, you know, a lot of new experiences to sort through from this trip. You know, you guys should work this into your tourism ads! Come To Santo Marco - There's a good chance you won't be shot in the head by Mutant Nazis!"
"What- are you trying to be funny?!" The old man sputtered indignantly "By God man, what are you thinking?!"
Hunter reached into his jacket, pulled out his trusty notebook "I think I'm getting myself a Pulitzer, old man!"509