From Sergeant C. Montgomery to his regiment, dated 20. September 2000.
Farewell to paradise. I'm every day this corpse that disappears under a torrent of drool, agonizing noises, and distillations of a disease that suffocates the monster in my soul lost to this world and God. My life today is a ransacked fortress, the viscous, stinking substance emanating from the corpse of my great dream of power. I survive like a slug in this disgusting moisture, and everything rushes to cover me with derision so that I no longer aspire to those igneous fulgurations, where the chosen ones have forged their exterminating greatness, the epic of the sun, the splendor of imperial acts, the shuddering of the heavens. To avenge this crumb of ignominy to which I have been condemned, I will exercise terror, spread the plague, I'll radiate my disease to all winds from the false throne of my kingdom. Even more, I will dictate a decree: I, Chuck Montgomery, Tyrant of the World, sentence myself and all of you to the capital punishment of spending my life in front of the walking dead, writing the word of terror with letters of blood on the walls of this earthly scaffold, forever and ever and ever.
The origins of the collapse, for some people, were in the laboratories of the Asian peninsula, for others, it was in the black market of Lebanon. The truth is that now the world is ruled by the living dead.
MACBETH, ACT 1. SCENE 3.
There are only two kinds of people, those who are brothers and those who are not.
HANDOUT FOR PROSPECTIVE TORNADO MEMBERS.
The oldest member of the surviving regiment, Hugh Albert (The Old Nazi) Fullager, did not attend the reunion at Angel Pine's farm that night. He remained at home, too ill with cancer to make the hour-and-a-half trip, oblivious to the impending betrayal of the men and principles the veteran held dear. That same night the thunderous sounds of gunfire rang through the air of the makeshift camp at Angel Pine.
Once upon a time (not too many years ago) existed a camp as reliable as it was sinister and dark in the small town of Angel Pine, but in one of its sleepless nights, it was attacked by the unbridled ferocity of treachery: Acts in profusion of good faith ceased in a blood message at the hands of degenerate and mentally deranged military men who ended the lives of every living - or dead - being in the camp.