For a while there were only dreams.
They say that when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. For his brother, Noah "the spoony one" Antwiler, most of that life was probably comprised of bitching about videogames and spousal abuse. But for Miles, there was only blood:
The filthy beaner blood he spilled in a desperate effort to keep his US of A clean and white. His own blood, that the werewolf spilled when he went on his rampage. He instictively knew he was dead; he wasn't afraid of dying, he knew the day would come when he entered his blood oath with Ben "Zyklon B" Garrison and Sam "One Man Holocaust" Hyde. He gave up his life for his mission when he was given his codename, the "Wetback Setback". He seemed to be trapped in some sort of un-death though, constantly reliving his successes, and his failures. It went on for weeks, until, one day, he woke up in an hospital bed.
"He's waking up!" screamed a nurse, and in a minute a bald doctor was there.
Miles couldn't move his body.
"Can you hear me?" He said. "Can you move your head? Just nod if you can hear me."
Miles nodded slightly.
The doctor checked his eye, then his mouth. Miles could feel there was something wrong with his body, but he was still numb, and he couldn't even ask the doctor what was going on. As if he heard his thoughts, the doctor just said "Please, try to relax. There is plenty of time."
He gestured to the nurse, and she came back with a huge mirror.
"Please listen, and try not to panic. You've been in a coma for the last month. In fact, you have been dead."
Miles started sweating. Unable to move, unable to speak, he tasted fear for the first time in his life.
"Now, I need to explain something to you, but you mustn't be alarmed. You were injured, in a werewolf attack. Your body was nearly destroyed, so, in order to save your life, we had to make some... adjustments."
Miles tried to move his head to look down to his body, but his head was locked in place.
"I reiterate, try not to worry. Obviously, a period of adjustment will be needed, but our facility is the best in our field."
Finally, with the last ounce of his strenght, he managed to speak.
"What the fuck did you do to me doc?"
The doctor nodded, then gestured the nurse to hold up the mirror.
Miles's blood ran cold, or whatever he had now passing for blood. His body was a bizzarre patchwork of flesh and metal; cybernetic implants replacing most of his limbs and part of his torso, a metal jaw that reminded him of a Terminator.
Could he even be called human anymore? Was he even alive, or some sort of fucked up zombie?
He closed his eyes and did what he always did when he felt unsure. He remembered the words of his Mentor, Zyklon B.
"Niggers are apes but race traitors are worse, luckly they are killing each other by the dozen so there's less work for me to do in september when the montana militia and the arizona militia team up to shoot up some niggers and spicks."
It didn't really apply to his situation, but it made him smile nonetheless.
"When can I start killing beaners again doc?" He said.
"Soon," he replied. "get your rest now. The streets of Guadalajara will run red again."
With that, Miles fell asleep again, this time dreaming of his future.

 - Notorious KKK starts playing

 - 2000 Miles to freedom

 - a Nostalgia Wolf sidestory

 - by t3hPeNgU1NoFd00m

 - Starring Miles "Wetback Setback" Antwiler

The weeks became months, but Miles slowly grew accustomed to his new body. As soon as he felt like he could walk again, they gave him guns to practice in the yard. The whole hospital seemed to have no patients besides him, which was weird. He would grow suspicious and ask his doctors for clarifications, but every time he would get shut down.
"Everything will be clear when you're ready," they said.
He squeezed the trigger on his M4 and the head popped up from the blockbuster buster mannequin he was shooting up. He hadn't missed a shot all day now; he was fully aware and in control of his mechanical enhancements. He could kill faster and more efficiently than he ever could as a human being. He was ready, and demanded explanations.
As if hearing his thoughts, a figure slowly appeared from the shadows, slow clapping.
"Amazing recovery Miles! Just amazing!" He said.
"Who are you?" Asked Miles.
The figure emerged from the shadows. "I'm Paul Latza, CEO of Disney and all around the most powerful man on earth. I'm responsible for your, shall we say, situation."
Miles pointed his gun at him. "What's your play here?" He asked. Trust did not come easily to him.
Latza just laughed.
"Please, Miles. You can't hurt me, and I don't mean metaphorically. I'm surrounded by a forcefield that makes me invulnerable to every weapon known to humankind. It costs a billion dollars a day just to keep it up, but I don't want to end up like our late God Emperor Trump, if you catch my drift."
Miles's mind suddenly cleared up. The man he was talking to was the ex-VP of Trump, the man who inherited his legacy. He immediately lowered his gun.
"I apologize Sir. My mind is still reeling from... the incident."
"No apologies needed. You must have a lot of questions right now."
Miles stood silent for a minute while he thought about it.
"Why me?" He finally asked.
"We have a problem with some... southerners, would you say?"
"Wetbacks," said Miles.
"Precisely. Have you ever heard of the Orange Watch?"

---

The Wall. The only thing that stood between civilization and madness, between the US and Mexico. The Orange Watch was a once glorious elite that kept watch upon the wall to keep the filth out of our country.
Nowadays, it was filled with exiles and prisoners sent there by force, and the Watch was in complete disarray.
"You need to make the Wall great again Miles," Latza told him. "I called back your old CO to help you as well. There's a great evil coming from down there, and you're the only one who can deal with it. I can't get you anymore help, since your former friends are unfortunately... otherwise occupied at the moment."
It only took Miles a second to accept. He probably wouldn't be allowed to refuse anyway; his new cybernetic body was the property of Disney. He didn't even care about his former friends, he always worked alone anyway.
In a matter of days he was already up on the wall. A man, wearing a cowboy hat, sunglasses and a nazi uniform, came to greet him and shook his robotic hand.
"Long time no see, Wetback Setback," said the man.
"Mister Garrison!" Said Miles, shaking his hand. "I heard from Latza that you'd be joining us as well."
"Murdering spicks is the name of the game," said Zyklon B, "nuking Israel was just the beginning. We're going to see the White Race rule earth unchallenged in our lifetimes."
His optimistic nature almost made Miles forget that he was now an undead cyborg; He reminded him of the good old days, when they teamed up with the "Niggers with bullet holes" gang of Moonman and Mattyb to clean up compton by "self-defending" every nigger in town. ("Self-defence" is a police term for "kill every motherfucker in sight")
"Moonman is busy colonizing Africa and turning it into a part of the White empire as it should have been so many years ago," explained Garrison. "It's just the two of us here. Have you been briefed on the matter at hand?"
"Vaguely," replied Miles.
"Let me fill you in. Beaner sightings have been spiking up recently, a lot of them trying to pass the wall into the civilized world. The men were unprepared, lazy. Luckly I was there, killing them all one by one with my pocket knife.
But then I noticed something: The fuckers wouldn't stay dead. No matter how much I slashed at their disgusting brownish wetback skin they would always get back up.
I knew beaners were subhuman, but that was straight up weird, some illuminati area 51 tier bullshit. They only dropped after I shot them in the head. I think you know where I'm going with this."
"You mean..." Miles hesitated.
"Yeah, zombie mexicans. We have no idea who's doing this voodoo mumbo jumbo shit, but the attacks are multiplying. I trained the men and held the fort up until now, but we need a Trump card against them, in both meanings of the word."
Miles was flattered by the comparison. It was time to go back to his detective days and find out what was threatening the future of the white race.

---

During the next few weeks they reinforced the wall, accepted more recruits, trained them, armed them. There was a war coming, they could feel it in the air.
Meanwhile, Miles started tracking like the murderous dog he was. The undead, unfortunately, defied interrogation. Spicks were dumb on their own, but when they are turned into the living dead they become even less capable of articulation.
He found out the attacks were concentrated at night: the daylight seemed to scare them, probably because of their hole-digging heritage.
Following that intuition, he went on a raid with a handful of trusted men and his man Garrison, and by using his built in sonar he managed to find a secret hideout just under the wall, underground.
He picked up his M4 and gestured to his team to go in just as he unearthed the secret hatch. He was more used to his unregistered ak47, but that would have had to do.
As soon as they dropped into the hole, the stink of beaners and corpses filled his nose. He turned off his sense of smell, it would only distract him.
Immediately they were attacked by zombies. One of them grabbed the man closest to him and immediately bit him on the neck.
"They got me! The disgusting spick got me! Fuck!" Screamed the poor kid.
Miles shot down the zombie immediately, then popped another one in the head of the Watcher.
"He was already dead," he said. Ben nodded, agreeing with him. The group tightened up and raised their rifles, ready to fight.
Zombies kept popping up, but they were ready for them now: Miles killed most of them with his improved aim precision, while his team took care of the rest. Ben stayed behind with his huge machete, chopping off the heads of the corpses to avoid reanimation.
When the last one standing popped up, Miles screamed "STOP!"
Everyone immediately holstered their weapons.
"What are you thinking?" Asked Ben.
"I know this one," said Miles. He popped two bullets into his kneecaps, letting him fall on the floor.
He activated his night vision to look in his face and stopped for a moment.
The crooked teeth, the dumbass face. At his feet laid none other than the Blockbuster Buster.
The undead immediately started nibbling on his foot.
"Bite all you want you piece of mexican shit," said Miles, kicking his teeth out. "There's no flesh there anymore."
"Why aren't you putting it down?" Asked Ben.
Miles did not reply, and bound the fat disgusting man in duct tape, sitting him up against the wall while he rabidly tried to break free.
He picked up his smartphone.
"President Latza?" He asked.
"Please Miles, call me Paul. What can I do for you?"
"Can you stream Planes 2 on this phone right now?"
"I can create 10 Planes sequels just by waving my hand Miles, I am a living God."
"Just Planes 2 will be fine."
Regular old Miles wouldn't have been able to come up with such a plan, but his cybernetic mind was connected to the youtube archives; He found the blockbuster buster's plane 2 review rus sub in a matter of seconds. If anything was going to get a reaction out of him, that was it.
Miles held up the phone in front of him and the subhuman became agitated, almost irate. All of a sudden, Miles recognized intelligence in his eyes, concience. He ripped off the tape from his mouth.
"WHAT A FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT MOVIE ONE BUSTED ONE THOUSAND MORE TO GO I'M EROD AND I'M THE BLOCKBUSTER BUSTER WHERE'S MY BUSTING HAMMER?!"
The spick started screaming like a madman, until Miles showed him the back of his hand.
"Are you back with us?" He asked.
The stinky wetback slowly calmed down.
"What... what happened?"
"You were turned into a zombie, and we need explanations, right now."
Erod collected himself, then he started speaking.
"I remember getting killed in a basement... wait, didn't you kill me?! You asshole!"
Erod tried to come loose from his bondage and Miles showed him the back of his hand once again. Erod started crying, but as soon as Miles took out a pistol and showed it to him he started talking again.
"When I woke up, there was a mass, a huge flubby thing, like jabba the hutt in the star wars movies. Are they still making those?"
Miles kicked him in the balls.
"All right, all right! This monster resurrected us with his dark voodoo magic."
"Us? You mean you and the other spicks?"
"I resent that remark!"
Miles pulled out the last remaining teeth he had and he started talking again, in between his cries.
"I meant me and... Dark Joe."
"Dark Joe?"
"You were with us, in the basement, you know Dark Joe."
Miles was baffled. For all these years he thought he killed off the real Angry Joe; that meant there was another filthy puerto rican running around, still alive.
No time to think about that now though, Joe would get what was coming to him eventually.
"Where? Where did you wake up?"
"La Ciudad de Mexico, in la catedral. He made Dark Joe into his lieutenant, his second in command. We're cool now, right? We're cool?"
Miles knew all that he needed now.
"Did you miss that "Wetback Setback" nametag I wear on my chest?" He said, while pulling up his pistol.
"Oh no please don't kill me esse, I dindu nuffin!" He screamed, before getting his brains splattered all over the wall.
Ben clapped, while their men cheered them on. "Now we know exactly where to go to purge their faulty bloodline." said Ben.

---

The purging of La Catedral was the biggest mission the Orange Watch ever took part in. Latza went all out with the budget; every single expendable red shirt was armed with a prototypical laser rifle and futuristic high tech grenades that did nothing but project colored lights and fart noises.
"Alright men!" screamed Garrison, Miles at his side "Today we are making a stand! We are securing a future for the white race and for our children! We are making a stand against zombies, but we are also making a stand against spicks, niggers, chinks, gypsies and mudslimes! Let us show them the strenght of White Power right the fuck now!"
A few liberals sent the for confinement shot themselves in the head with their laser rifle, splattering their brains all over the place and resulting in a collective cheer.
As soon as dawn broke, they got onto their armored vehichles and got up to La Catedral in Ciudad De Mexico. Once inside they separated, and once they got into the catacombs they found the Horde.
Zombies fell one after the others, blood, brains and innards flowing everywhere.
"It's just like the old days in compton, ain't it?" said Ben, smoking his cigar while he mowed down spicks with a chainsaw.
"Ain't that the truth," said Miles. All of a sudden a spick jumped into view from a side room.
"Jo soy inocente! Jo soy inocente! Save my family please, we are not zombies!"
Miles chucked a couple of grenades in the room, killing the man, his wife and his children.
"Fucking beaners are even worse than zombies," he said, while giving Ben a high five.
"But race-mixers are worse," added Ben with a laugh.
After a while, their army was covered in human feces, innards and blood, while limbs and organs littered the ground. They were just burning the bodies, along with the survivors, when he appeared.
A massive, enormous figure blocked out the flames. It was just like Erod described it: a jabba the hutt rip-off, but he had some vague human shape. He was wearing an Argentina cap and a mighty beard.
"And you call that a Massacre? I mean, zombie games are a dead fad as it is, but all this gratuitous violence isn't gonna bring you any viewers you know?
And who are you anyway? Spoony hasn't been relevant in YEARS, let alone his brother! Are you making a grab for e-fame?"
The huge figure seemed to be rambling nonsensically.
"Who the fuck is this guy?" Asked Ben. Miles was as dumbfounded as well.
"WHo the fuck am I? I am Asalieri2 you fucking assholes! How ignorant about gaming do you have to be to not know who I am?" He materialized a cheesburger out of nowhere and gulped it down in one bite.
Miles checked his mental database.
"Apparently he is some kind of z-list internet celebrity who tried to get an audience by baiting drama with some random fucks online, but never did."
"HOW DARE YOU!" He screamed, overhearing their conversation. "So you never cared about me huh? Well now you'll be forced to, once my zombie army destroys your pityful american empire! Dark Joe, deal with them!"
Asalieri clapped his hands and produced a voodoo doll out of his ass, and after throwing it in the air Dark Joe materialized next to him.
"You thought you killed me esse," said Dark Joe, "but me and Little Joe have a lot more white pussy to bang!" Dark Joe then laughed, and started shooting lightning out of his hands.
"Scatter!" Screamed Miles. His men managed to run away before the cieling came down, locking Ben and Miles in the room with Asalieri and Dark Joe, but not before Miles managed to send them some thelepatic instructions.
"You will never soil the Aryan bloodline with your filthy wetback beaner spick shitty brownskinned DNA ever again you motherfucker!" Ben threw his cigar on the ground and started shooting Joe with his laser gun.
"The White Race will never be cucked again, not after our God-Emperor sacrificed his life for the rebirth of White Power!" Miles entered Overdrive mode, and lunged at dark joe with his hand blades.
"You will never defeat me cabrons, my anger gives me power!" Dark Joe tried to send lightning to Ben, but Miles got in between them and stopped the lightning with his hands.
"I'll make myself the paladin of White Power! I will secure a future for our children!" Miles kept advancing thowards Joe, stopping his lightning at every turn, while he accused the laser shots from Ben.
"What the fuck is a Paladin?" Asked Joe, visibly hurting.
Miles smiled. "This, myself, is a paladin." He then stunned him with a headbutt, and right after that Ben shot his head off with a well placed shot. Miles's face was painted red with Dark Joe's brains, and the undead spick managed to give them a double middle finger, before slumping down, un-undead.
"And now onto the fat fucking spick," Said Ben, and started shooting at Asalieri. The huge man did not flinch, however. "I am argentinian," he said.
"Same fucking thing." Ben threw a grenade at him, but it did nothing but project colored lights and fart noises.
"Is there anything we can do?" Ben looked to Miles, looking for validation.
Miles just sent him a look, which could have meant "I have a plan", but it might as well have meant "let's murder all the spicks and niggers and wash their blood with a jew soap". Miles once again took out his smartphone, and something started playing.
"What a shitload of shit!"
"What a bunch of bogus buttballs!"
"Somebody call 911, 'cause I was ROBbed!"
Asalieri started becoming red, as if on the verge of exploding.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS, He knows nothing of videogames, Irate Gamer is just a stupid asshole who gives gamers a bad name. He is so mysoginistic! But wait, I also hate feminists. I actually like Irate Gamer, but I hate him so much! And what about that fat fuck hellsing920? Well I'm a fat fuck too I guess, but OH HOW DARE HE insult the good name of gamers! Gamers gamers gamers!"
Asalieri started rambling on and on, and Miles smiled as the first explosion roared.
"WHAT?!" Said Asalieri, Ben and the Genie in the video at the same time.
"I'm sorry Ben, I couldn't tell you: I told our men to blow up the whole facility, and us along with it. We're going to die along with this horror. My blood isn't pure enough anymore anyway."
Ben smiled. "Being a White Paladin is not only about blood purity, although that's essential, it's also about heart, and the steel heart that beats within your chest only beats for the white race!"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" screamed Asalieri, as the rubble collapsed upon him.
"It doesen't matter anymore," said Miles. "This ethnic evil must be contained."
"Sure it must," said Ben, "but heroes never die."
That said, Ben pulled a jetpack out of his ass, put it on, grabbed Miles and started shooting at the cieling, creating an opening.
"I'LL SEE YOU NEXT TIME, DEAR VIEWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!" Asalieri screamed his final words, as his world collapsed around him, and Ben and Miles flew away to safety, their men waiting for them outside.

---

EPILOGUE

"So the mission was a success," said Latza, looking at some papers over his desk.
"Yes sir. Apparently some youtube z-lister was behind it all. We managed to defeat him with minimal losses, and in the preparations for it, the Orange Watch is stronger than ever. It was some sort of puerto rican, or argentinian, I don't know."
"Well, spicks are all the same, right?" Said Latza.
Miles smiled. "Commander Garrison has been elected president by popular acclamation and I know we are never going to let this happen ever again. He is in the process of writing a bill that will allow for immediate encampment of whoever doesen't have 100% pure white breeding."
"That's good, that's good."
"Now if you'll excuse me Sir, I'll go back to my duties on the Wall."
Miles prepared to take his leave, while Latza finally looked up.
"Wait a second Soldier," he said. Miles stopped, and Latza threw a pair of Dr. Insano glasses at Miles.
"These glasses..." he said, "they were my brother's. Thank you for giving me this, Sir."
"I told you already, call me Paul. And no, this isn't a memento, although you definetly deserve one. These have been used recently."
Miles stopped, intrigued. "I'm not sure I follow you Si... Paul."
"There's an initiative going on. The Angry Reviewer initiative. Our friends are fighting forces beyond our dimension, but they may need a little help. Can I count you in?"
Miles felt the rush that only murdering gardeners gave him.
"Interdimensionals are just as disgusting as terrestrial immigrants. They deserve only the end of a gun."
Latza stood up.
"Pack your things soldier, you're going to war."

TO BE CONCLUDED IN NOSTALGIA WOLF PART 4