When we last saw The Buronan, he had somehow avoided what should have been a certain gruesome and tragic death as he tumbled approximately four-hundred feet down a hill and crashed through a fence.

Ouch.

When Buronan stood to his feet, he realized he was standing just on the outskirts of a large opium field that backed up to a small village. A few-hundred feet or so ahead, in the thick of the field, he noticed what appeared to be a member of the drug cartel from whose prison he’d recently escaped, screaming at one of their slaves while pointing a machete in the slender native man’s face. Buronan knew very well that this is exactly what he’d come for; to be the liberator of these oppressed people, but he also knew that if he tried attacking this man directly in broad daylight that he would be shot dead by that machine gun hanging from a strap on the man’s arm. So he needed to get creative.

He thought for a moment and for another moment, then came to conclusion, despised the conclusion, wanted to vomit at the thought of the conclusion but realized that there would be no other way. Turning around, Buronan reproached the large pool of raw sewage he fell into earlier and removes dirty white, almost brown now shirt and tares it down the front and shoves it down his black pants. Buronan dives into the disgusting cesspool which is likely an archaic runoff from the village. Gagging and swallowing back a mouthful of vomit, he begins covering his body with the dark green mixture of feces, urine and filth until his entire upper body is camouflaged enough from him to move through the opium fields undetected.

And move through the fields he did. Hunched over with his ass just barely above the ground, Buronan’s feet scurried across the large farm as he got closer and closer to the confrontation between the villager and the member of the drug cartel. He could begin over hearing their words in this distance:

“I told you once before not to let me catch you slipping out here!”

The drug cartel member hollered out while villager bantered on with his native language in a pleading tone.

“Do you think I have fucking time to listen to your goddamn excuses you piece of shit? I caught you out her resting for the last time!”

Suddenly a blood curling shriek reigns out from the area where the two men are. The Buronan looks up to see the drug cartel goon struggling to rip away his machete from the fleshly depths of the villager’s shoulder as the man screams out in agony. Buronan had to act quickly now. With great haste, he makes a beeline directly towards the conflict, pulling from his pants the ripped t-shirt and wrapping either end tightly around each fist.

The cartel member finally rips out his machete from the scrawny man’s shoulder and slowly raises it above his head with both arms:

“This time, I’m coming for your head bitch!”

Just as the man goes to swing down with the blade, Buronan raises up from behind him, wrapping the tightly pulled shirt around his throat and strangling him with it like a garrote. The man drops the machete and instantly sends his hands to his throat, trying to break free as he’s unable to breathe or make any alarming sounds. The man isn’t very big, so Buronan is able to easily pull him down to the ground, slinging him down face first into the dirt where Buronan then proceeds to stand on his back pulling up with the shirt on his throat with all of his might.

Looking over, Buronan notices the native man who was attacked staring on blankly, his eyes wide as if he’d seen a ghost. Our hero turns his attention back to the man he’s strangling as a few sputtering gags can be heard from under his feet. The man’s limbs begin violently shaking just before they cease moving all together.

“Babi ngepet”

The native man proclaims while clutching his shoulder in pain. Buronan grabs the dead drug cartel member’s machine gun from the ground and hangs it from its strap around his back. The native man kneels to the ground, forgetting completely about his badly injured shoulder he raises his arms up in a praying motion, blabbering out a bunch of words that Buronan can’t understand. Buronan grabs the man’s chin and raises his head and looking him in the eyes he pulls one of Dimas’ matches from his pocket and shows it to him…

“Fire… I need fire.”

The man’s eyes widen as he eagerly nods and rushes off toward a small little shack, likely the one once occupied by the man who Buronan just killed. Buronan kneels down as he can hear some thrashing coming from inside, knowing well that the town just ahead of the poppy fields is swarming with members of the cartel. A few moments later the man reappears with an old Vietnam era flamethrower. He runs over to Buronan, tripping and falling once in the dirt while on his way, and hands him the old artifact. Buronan embraces the man with a hug then sends him on his way toward salvation by softly whispering:

“Run…”

It’s only a few minutes later and we see most of the entire opium field bursting into a brilliant array of orange and red raging flames while an endless smoke cloud ascends through the skies and into the heavens. On a dirt pathway between two sides of the fields, The Buronan focuses in on the village about one-hundred feet ahead.

“OH FUCK! OH FUCK! THE POPPY IS ON FIRE!”

“GET THE FUCK OUT THERE! SOMEONE SET THE FUCKING FIELDS ON FIRE!”

From the town at least a twenty man militia, all armed to the teeth, makes their way toward the burning fields. The Buronan kneels down slowly, and then lies on his belly. He rises up the sights of the machine gun he’d stolen and unlocks the safety. A grin forming on his face underneath his mask…

“And here we go…”


Over the next couple of weeks, The Buronan makes his way across the [country’s name redacted] country side burning up millions of dollars’ worth of opium and killing nearly a hundred members of the drug cartel and freeing thousands of oppressed slaves in the process. Word had gotten back to Mr. McManus that his strangle hold on the country’s drug operation was in serious jeopardy, but somehow the cartel’s investigator had received a tip on where the person only known as “Buronan” might be hiding out… it’s the very prison cell where he first awoke just over a month ago.

---

---

Continued from the beginning of the end of The Buronan:

“You’ve killed eighty-seven of my best men…”

McManus' voice begins to tremble as he is emotionally inundated now thinking of all of the events that have unfolded over the last few weeks.

“They were honorable, God fearing men, they were good men…”

The Buronan's voice suddenly interrupts after a sarcastic chuckle,

“Ah, yes! ‘Good’ men you say? Good men how, good men why?”

“Fuck you!”

“Good men because they helped you enslave an entire population while guarding your opium fields?” How many HONESTLY good and respectable men did they kill on your behalf, Mr. McManus?”

“You know nothing of respect!”

“How many children did they beat? How many women did they rape?”

“SHUT UP!!!!!”

McManus begins screaming and growling, a string of drool dangling from his lip. His men again raise their weapons, now locking them into position as red beams from their scopes can all be seen aiming at Buronan’s masked face.

“KILL HIM!!!”

Just then the men accompanying McManus all fire their guns at Buronan as his head explodes into hundreds pieces, splattering all over the floor and wall. His headless corpse wobbles down to the floor like a limp noodle.

"LIGHTS!"

McManus commands as one of his men cuts on the lights, revealing this to be The Buronan's former prison cell where he and Dimas escaped from.

"Check him! See if he's got any ID... I want to know everything there was to know about this piece of shit, then if he's got any family, we're going to track them down and kill them too!"

One of McManus' men walks over to examine the headless body slouched down in the corner of the cell, but once he rolls him over onto his back, he notices that the mans hands are bound together and he sees what he thinks are some recognizable tattoos on his arms. He pulls the wallet from the dead mans back pocket and instantly drops it, stands and starts aiming his gun around the room.

"SIR! THAT WAS ONE OF OURS! THAT WAS BUZNIK!"

You'll remember Buznik being the man who walked into McManus' office to first notify him of The Buronan and Dimas escaping the prison and freeing all of it's captives.

McManus' face turns with fury and disgust as he begins circling around the room, his men all aiming their weapons as they search for The Buronan.

"WHERE ARE YOU!?!? WHERE ARE YOU!?!?"

"Right here..."

Suddenly the cell door slams shut and locks. The men hurry over to the door to try and open it but it's too late, and just as one of them reaches for a grenade on thier waste to blow the door from it's hinges, the small peep slot towards the top center of the door slides open, and the barrel of a machine gun sticks through.

Shots ring out and after a few moments every man in the prison cell is dead... every man except for Morton McManus who's hunched over in corner of the cell, removing his buried head from his arms and looking up as the door to the prison cell opens back up, standing in the doorway, dressed in all black is The Buronan. The Buronan takes a slow walk toward McManus.

Right now the Perfect Cell Theme from DBZ would probably start playing.

"Ninety-six."

McManus scoots back into the corner of the cell as Buronan drops his machine gun and grabs from his waist a frighteningly large combat knife.

"W-w-what?"

"Now I've killed ninety-six of your men. Not counting your skin headed boyfriend you had your goons gun down, that one was on you. I just had him drugged up on some of your heroin with his mouth taped and a mask over his head. Pretty clever right?"

"Fuck you!"

The Buronan stands now directly over top of McManus, looking down on him as he shakes his head. Slowly he kneels down, now face to face with the global heroin kingpin. The Buronan laughs as the fat man begins to piss himself...

"Awe... you know? I wonder how afraid Dimas' wife was when you ordered to have her burnt alive in her home? And look at this, me over top of you with a mere..."

The Buronan rams the knife into McManus' gut as he gasps in pain, his body quivering as he begins going into shock and losing color from his fat face.

"...knife, and you think this is so terrifying?"

Buronan laughs out hysterically,

"Oh no, no... our fun is only just beginning."

"Stop!"

"Who said that?"

The Buronan stands up from McManus and rotates his head around, surveying the prison cell.

"I did."

The voice seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

"Are you God or something?"

"No... I'm you. Or better yet, you're me."

"But, you sound like a female."

"Yeah, I initially thought that was a bit strange in the beginning as well."

"The beginning? The beginning of what?"

"The beginning of you, The Buronan. I've been with you this entire time, watching you, hearing you, feeling you, trying to understand the mysteries just as you have been trying to understand all of the nothing of this since your inception."

"B-but I don't understand."

"Well, sadly there isn't much to really understand, friend. You're not real, but rather a manifestation of my subconscious emotions and anxieties, which is also why I found it strange that you were portraying the persona of a male character."

"Did I inhale too much of that smoke in the poppy fields or something?"

"I know it's hard to believe, but all of this around you, everything you've experienced since you first woke up in this prison cell was all just a series of involuntary images created from my mind while I was sleeping. The amnesia you thought you were suffering from? It's not that you couldn't remember who you were, it's just that you never really were anything other than a slight adaptation of myself that my brain created during my R.E.M. Notice how a lot of what you've been living has been really vague and kind of jumps from scene to scene without much of an explanation?"

"Hogwash!"

"Yup. That's a word I use quite often."

"But what about all of the feelings I've experienced!?! This yearning to gain revenge against the people who've betrayed me?"

"Those are my emotions. They're not yours. And please don't let me seem too harsh and call you absolutely 'nothing', because you truly are more of than that. You're just not real and I had to come to terms with that years ago. You were the shadow on my wall, which is probably why my mind portrayed you as being dressed in all black. You're the one when I was lonely who would take me on a number of outrageous adventures. We traveled jungles together, lassoed evil Indians, when I pretended to be Sonic the Hedgehog on the playground all alone you were always my sidekick Tails helping me collect rings."

Buronan plugs his ears with his fingers,

"LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA!"

He walks over to where McManus is sitting and goes to rip the knife from his gut, but just as he does, the images and the colors of the prison cell all around him, including McManus and all of the dead bodies begin to cascade away into the nether, leaving only an endless void of white brilliance that The Buronan is standing in the middle of...

"Fuck, you're not kidding are you?"


"Oh... well that means a lot of nothing. You know what I mean?"

"Totally."

"You have a really violent mind. Did you know that?"

"Yeah. Over here in reality I'm actually a professional wrestler in the XWF... Well I was a professional wrestler."

"Wow. This is all really fucking strange, it feels like I'm being sucked away into nowhere."


"Wait! What day is it?"

---

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...Monday January, 31st 2017...

"Bangun anak! Anda membuat jaminan!"

-end-