Jaxx's Will

"That goes there, plug that one in, switch that on and... There."

Artemis places the disc in the players tray and slides it shut. The bar television flickers and switches over to player. On screen is a beautiful summer day in Central Park, specifically Strawberry Fields. Jaxx is sitting cross legged on a stone bench wearing his greatcoat, a white shirt, jeans and a pair of wooden sandals.

"I was wondering where those went," Artemis grumbles.

The Sentinel opens his eyes and stares into the camera before pulling out a cigarette and lighting, letting the smoke swirl around his head.

"Mornin', you gits. Recording this little bastard in case I die, which I will. I can feel it in my spleen, the most magical of organs. Now, let's do this stupid shit, eh? Put all the stuff not relating to this shit hole on a different disc and sent it off to every single form of media in the Hub, so don't worry about fast forwarding."

Jaxx cracks his neck and coughs.

"Where to begin... Ah, I know. Oi, Zephyrus you blue steel bastard. I don't give a fuck what anyone else says—You're the closest thing to good I've ever seen in the fuckshit despair circle that is existence. Keep on trucking. Go form a new version of the Sentinels that isn't terrible or something, just find a way to get your view out that doesn't hurt people. Also Jesus Christ learn how to take a vacation, mate. I'm glad you take less shit these days, but you'll end up like me with all that stress. And even I hate being me. I'm leaving you one billion US dollars for relief efforts and charity tat. There'll be an earthquake in İzmit near the end of the decade. Go save some people for once instead of shooting punks in the brainpan. I also had the tapgores make a bronze statue of you. It's near the lake here in Central Park. I'm against making statues of living people, but hey, my face is bronze and stone across a billion planets.

Oceanus. Don't see you much anymore, and I honestly don't give much of a shit about you. You're like David except I can't steal drugs from you. Had Hephaestus modify my gun's salt pillar shot into a attachment for your cannon. Just snap into your expansion slot. As far as I know you're actually a Sega Genesis so clip it into the 32x. Also I bought you the newest pair of Jordans because it's hilarious as shit you don't have feet.

Widow Maker, ya smarmy git. Your jokes are great so I got you signed up for a Comedy Central special. Also I'm giving you five grand because I seriously don't know what hell else to give you.

Sarah, you chubby ball of vomit. You like food, so here's an unlimited lifetime orders card for Palazzo's Pan-Universal Pizza Parlor. Just call the number on the back and order as much disgusting, vile shit you want to scarf down your gullet and they'll get it there, thirty minutes or less. Oh, and you've been wearing that filthy mage rag for like two years now, so I'm giving you a visa giftcard to go buy something less stupid looking, like a club dress or something."

"Whoa, you're Jaxx Tantra! Sign my book!"

"Goddammit, I told you fucks to stop asking me that!"

And now think of Jaxx mercilessly beating a feeble civilian as I take a short break.

---

Jaxx trudges back into frame and resumes his previous position.

"Now, as I was saying.

Jonesy. David already gave you a fuckton of money and made you rich, so it was a bit tough to think of what to give you. Then I remembered something."

Jaxx shoves a hand into his coat and pulls out a slim black box with a glowing yellow ring on top.

"This is the Cyclus Scataren. I never had a chance to give it to you, so I decided to dig it up and tweak it a bit." The barely perceptible crack of a grin flashes over his face, though it's quickly gone as a little spark of blue lighting zips up Jaxx's fingers. "You ever find yourself or someone else in a hopeless situation, open it. Trust when I say it'll fix it right up. Oh, and be careful with it. It's one use for a reason. Oh, and I'm just gonna footnote you, Del. Have a Kitinulo shotgun. It's big as fuck and can mist a man in one pull.

Erebus, I honestly never thought a bloody fuckin' Space Marine would be the git to be the equivalent of a living saint. Like I said with Jonesy, you're rich, so it made it a bit hard to figure out what to give you. Funny thing is, I remembered that back when I was actually a Sentinel and not a depressing ex-con douchebag, we put a weapon in our collection that might just suit you."

Jaxx bends down and pulls a box out from under the bench. Inside is an absolutely MASSIVE kukri with a karzantium blade and a handle made of some kind of light black wood. Both are absolutely covered in engravings and runes. The handle looks to be about half a foot, with the blade close to three and a half feet long.

"Got this bad boy off a warlord right before the first Hub war. The blade's karzantium, so you can cut through about everything up to diamond. The force of this bastard'll just crack anything past diamond, anyway. Just don't drop it—It'll go through the bar floor if it slips off a table.

Pech, I still like your style. I'm sure you've still got your pissy emo problems though, so fuck it. Gave your name to Rædwulf Manufacture to set you up with seven chapter's worth of psychically engineered ammo. Ever been up against an enemy that hides behind tough as shit cover? Shoot them with this stuff. You just focus on how you want the bullets to fly, and they'll actually follow your thoughts like a goddamn guided-missile. Let's you do some pretty sweet trickshots—Buddy of mine in the Sentinels used to buckshot gits around corners with it.

Ann, I don't think you know how much promise I see in you. You remind me a bit of myself when I became a Sentinel, except you're not immortal and getting shot the fuck up every weekday. I don't have a use for it, so have the Godslayer. Oh, and I found my combat coat from when I was younger in my closet back home, so have that too. Hephaestus can tailor it if it doesn't fit. Damn thing'll protect you from fifty cal as long as you don't mind shattered ribs.

Hmm, who's next? Ah, that's right.

Celestia. You're one hot piece of ass, I gotta say. If I didn't shoot my wife through the skull I'd actually of took you out on a date. I'm leaving you the coordinates to a giant robot scrapyard since I know you like that tat."

Oh, the irony.

"Also a modeling calendar I did for a gay mag back in my mid-twenties. Wink."

Oh, the horror.

"Skieron, that was fuckin' choice when you beat Artemis' ass into the floor. Have a boxset of Rocky, a punching bag that looks like Artemis, a silk boxer's robe and also a pair of arms with boxing gloves on the end so this shit isn't worthless. Japanese bastard can't box, so have fun and break something for me.

Wheatley, you're dumb as shit and sound almost exactly like David who I hate with a burning passion. So I'm giving you a hat that looks like David's. I want to see if you'll just collapse into a black hole of stupid when you wear it. Otherwise you're lower on the scale of "things I care about" than Scuba Steve up there.

Eshe, you're pretty hot. Not much else to say. I didn't know you long, so have a couple thousand dollars. Somehow, I also happen to own a monastery in upstate New York that was also the home of a vampire before they staked the fuck outta him and burned him on a pyre. It's scenic as hell and right next to a waterfall if that's your thing. Take it if you want."

And now second break because this is getting long as hell.

---

"The hell is next? Guess I'll just go through them as they come up.

Doomrider, you're fucking awesome and almost as amazing as me. Almost. Turns out there's still a canister of Surtr-doped Omhist left in the Sentinel R&D, so you can go hog-fucking-wild on that. Have fun making crystal meth planets with rivers of LSD and fields of shrooms, mate.

Joe, you've been selling burgers out of that shitty van for years now. Bought you a shiny new lunch truck complete with a grill that won't fucking kill you. Oh, and have one of Artemis' katanas from his collection so you can actually kill something for once.

Already said all that needed to be said on you, Art. I switched your systems in the Hub back on, so it'll only hurt a lot if you die. Oh, and I gave the codes to Jack and Forsythe, so if you ever fuck up they'll switch it off and flatline you.

David, you already own all my shit, so keep it and do whatever with it.

Sine, I'm not even gonna give you the pleasure of an insult. I'm too tired for that. Leaving you a box. It's a bomb. Press the button on top and it'll give you one hour to solve a puzzle. You lose, you die because it's anti-matter. You win, something good happens. Throw it away if you don't want it, whatever. I honestly can't even give enough of a shit to fuck with you anymore.

Anyone else I missed, your name is probably on the attached index. Just talk to David if I didn't mention your name and he'll set you up."

( — — — DUMB BULLSHIT AHOY BENEATH THIS LINE — — — )

Jaxx stands up and grabs the camera, looking at it curiously before setting it back down and straightening it.

[color=#004000]"You know, that reminds me." Jaxx smirks. "Shit job on that decapitation, Wids. Two fuckin' hits to kill me? That's bad form."

In a sudden blur, Jaxx grasps the camera and flits into the air, eventually stopping on a rooftop with his back to the street. His smirk has gone into the single biggest grin that possibly anyone has ever seen.

"Sine, your accent's shit and you look like a bloody pizza face with those freckles. Pit, you're a fuckin' douche and you don't get shit from me. Oh, and you should probably smell brownies before you eat them. Stupid git. "Big Stupid Pastry cake Smore pizza?" You're a cow, mage. Finally, yo Erebus! I broke into your house and stole all your food, mate!"

Jaxx pulls out his gun and flicks it to some random setting before aiming down at the King of Beasts parking lot across the street.

*click—BWOOSH*

On screen, four cars violently explode in a blast of white fire, blowing the bar windows inward.

Outside, the exact same thing happens. My god.

The camera turns back up to Jaxx, who pulls the gun up and points it straight at his temple, still grinning on high.

"I told you gits I'd go out with a bang. Fuck the Sentinels, fuck the government, fuck the world, the galaxy, the Universe, the Multiverse, the exoverse fuck the everythingverse! Live for today and live for yourself. Don't let anyone control you, and if they do, you tear them apart. Make your world a better place, and do it through violence if you have to. The new millennium's coming up, and it's horrible. The world'll fall apart, and the only thing that can make a difference is you dumbshit blokes. But one little tidbit."

Jaxx cocks the hammer on his gun.

"I am Jaxx Motherfucking Ezekiel Tantra, Mr. Avalon, Councilman Theta, Darkness Incarnate, Tainted One, Wielder of Evil, Jaxx the Ripper, Broken Ace, JT, Irish Confucius, the Avatar of Moodiness, the Specter of Cigarettes and Whiskey, the Hanged King, the Hero of Ganythete, the Butcher of Salisbury, the Lord of Hate, the King of Lies, the Emperor of Ashes and Sorrow, the Scarred Once-Man, Jack Attack, Applejacks, Jaxxy boy, Sutekh's Lapboy, the Spawn of Surtr, Ulysses, Bob Ross, the Magical Welsh Bullet Sponge, Primarch Fulgrim, Mona Lisa, Georgia O'Keeffe's latest piece, Thomas Kincaide, Van Helsing and a octillion other bull-fucking-shit titles that just blur who I really am.

I am an image, my friends. I am a metaphor. Don't do things how I did. Don't be like me. I am a fucking worthless monster who happened to make some differences in the cycle. I'm nothing, mates. And nothing's what I like to be be. I love being nothing, because at least it means I'm not me. I'm gonna get the fuck outta dodge and go stare into the pilot light for a couple forevers. See you gits at the end of time, but until then..."

Jaxx pulls the trigger.

"Stay gold."

BANG

Jaxx is instantly burned to nothing by the searing white flames.

—RECORDING ENDS—