Excerpt: Cowboy Messiah Death Squad

My name is Jesus Kim Gonzalez. I was born on Friday, the 13th of August, 1993. Actually, all of the people in this story (okay, just the important ones) were born on a Friday the 13th of some month in some year - ranging from 1983 for the old folks, and 1995 for the youngun’s. This is because God has an awesome sense of humor and a somewhat careless approach to detail. You see, once the rise of evil kicked into full gear, he realized that he should probably, you know, launch some kind of Good Army, but was really lazy about picking out a task force to do this. Instead, he did what he does best, and Ordained Things. Important things. Like that he would raise some kids to do things for the world, like killing off all the baddies, and that these kids would be given special powers to do these things. And because he was Lazy, he generated a piece of code to randomize the selection for such a team of goodies, whereby all of us (for our Region, anyway) were selected because our birthdays fell on Friday the 13th. Which goes back to the God is Lazy and Has a Good Sense of Humor theme. Anyway.

I was born in one of the most run down, shitty ass areas of Philadelphia, and have been raised there ever sense. Awesome. I’ve never known a roof that doesn’t leak, or a bathtub that works properly, much less a nice, proper, English speaking family. My mom is Korean and my Dad is Puerto Rican, so I grew up constantly being yelled at by my teachers for mixing up Korean and Spanish words with my English, which is shitty when you’re 8 years old and can’t figure out why your wannabe girlfriend doesn’t say saranghae back to you as you’re humping her during recess. (Maybe it was just the humping part that scared her away?). Anyway, I digress.

I was pretty well developed by the time I was 11, and I thank my dad’s side for that part, ahem. It was around that time that I started thinking about being a superhero and doing The Right Thing. At the time, I assumed that meant getting a job the minute I found out my girlfriend was pregnant (all the cool kids were doing it!), but I eventually started to notice that things were a little different for me. There was one particular incident I remember, where at 12 I was pushed up against the wall by Preston Newberry, aka the school Jerkface (now known as Douchewad, since we’ve grown up since then) and punched in the face several times before everything went red, and just a second later Preston was on the ground in the mud screaming and clawing at his face. Eventually he peeled off, freaking out, and I stumbled back home to find out that I wasn’t in the least injured. He never fucked with me again, and I tried to stay out of harm’s way. A bike accident a year or so later, though, proved to me that I was pretty much invincible. I fell off to the side of the road after a car almost clipped me, and was almost positive I’d popped my ankle and scraped my elbows, but I was miraculously unharmed. But it was when I was 14 and shit-ass drunk at a party that I really figured it out. I was weaving my way in the general direction of the bathroom (or so I thought), when I took a side-trip down a flight of stairs onto the concrete floor in the basement, landing just in time for a lamp to come crashing down on my head, slicing my face up pretty good. I lay still because I thought it was what I should do, and let the girls flock by me to see if I was okay (and to let their bosoms dangle in front of my half-closed eyes). I remember wondering why I felt fine, and then making it to the bathroom in time to realize that the blood on my face couldn’t possibly have come from any wound, because there wasn’t any. Good times. I totally stole the sympathy kisses.

Fast-forward a couple years and we’re at 2009, I’m 16 and a lot of strange things have happened since then. More incidents of me escaping unscathed, and then the voices in my head. This shit is still going on...

And that’s where the Cowboy Messiah Death Squad comes in. You see, there’s this dude, Hanzel. Older guy (well, 26, but that’s older to me. It’s that age where you really should have it all made - career, wife or girlfriend, maybe babies. Give me a break, I’m 16!). Anyway, Hanzel was the first shady dude to find me in a coffee-shop and give me the Messiah rundown. You’d know him from the self-righteous smirk on his face, and the ridiculous cow-print cowboy hat casting shadows on his ugly mug. Turns out he actually works at that Starbucks, and is a bad guy slaughterer by night. Dude’s got it all figured out.