Live Hard

Thirty years ago, he had been killed. Twice. The first time, his death had not lasted long, a few hours at most, but he wasn’t in a position to judge time that well. The second time he was killed lasted longer, probably closer to a week. When he woke up from the first death, it was fine. He remembered where he was and what he had been doing. That wasn’t the case the next time.
It was shocking, and disturbing, when he woke up in a casket. The fact that he didn’t remember who he was, or how he got there, didn’t help any. He panicked. Not a single thought registered in his mind before he got out of the casket and ran until he couldn’t run anymore. When he stopped to survey his situation, his thoughts were a jumbled mass of German and English. That made some sense since he found himself in Germany.
He found the nearest public restroom and looked himself over in the mirror. There were multiple scars on his chest. Somehow, he knew these were made by bullets. He also had bruises and marks on his neck, but his mind didn’t try to tell him where those had come from.
Without any memories of who he was, he had nowhere to go, so he wandered around for a time. Whenever he saw something he wanted, or needed, he just stole it. Something about stealing stuff just felt right to him. Then, one day, someone tried to stop him from stealing their car. Using a gun that he had taken from a local street thug, he shot the car’s owner. That felt right too.
So, he started working as a hired gun. It combined the two things that felt right to him. Granted, it took him some time before he made anything at it. Not many people trusted a homeless man with no name to do hired gun jobs, but he eventually made a reputation as someone who could get things done. That opened up new horizons for him and he found himself traveling all across the globe.
During that time, two strange things happened. First, he noticed that he wasn’t aging. Not as fast as everyone else was. Looking in the mirror five years ago, he noted that he still looked the same as he did when he had first run away from the casket. The second thing was that he started having flashbacks. They were always the same. He was using a chainsaw to cut some wires while a man with short blonde hair and glasses protested. The blonde man was important to him, he knew. He just didn’t know how. Since he was attracted to women, he knew the blonde man wasn’t his lover, but he felt like he did love him in a different way.
None of it made any sense to him until he took a job in L.A. and he saw it. It loomed large above him, but as soon as he saw the Nakatomi building, everything came back to him.
A white cop had hanged him by his neck with a chain. That’s where the marks on his throat came from. He came back to life only to have a black cop shoot him in the chest, killing him again. The blonde man was his brother. His name was Karl. He still didn’t know how he had come back from the dead, but that didn’t matter to him. He had work to do.
Using favors he had earned over his time as a hired gun, he found out that the black cop who had killed him still lived in Los Angeles, though he was retired now. Without thinking, Karl went straight to the policeman’s house. At the moment, he was standing inside it.
“Thirty years,” Karl said as he spat on the body of Sgt. Al Powell.
That was one cop down. There was one more who needed to be put down. This man was someone who Karl hated even more than Powell. This was the man who had killed his brother and hung him from a chain. His vengeance wasn’t complete. Karl’s vengeance wouldn’t be complete until he flew to New York and killed John Mcclane.

4 comments on “Live Hard

    • Thank you, my dear Jaded. I absolutely love the original Die Hard, but the scene where Karl comes back at the end always bothered me. I mean, he was hanging by his neck from a chain for way longer than it would be possible to survive, yet he somehow comes back and tries to kill Mcclane again at the end. I didn’t like it.

      So, I tried to come up with an explanation for it…

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