The Origins Of: Zaptric

Markie Mark

If you know your history
Then you would know where you coming from
Then you wouldn't have to ask me
Who the heck do I think I am  

The first thing I did when I got into the beat-up apartment room was to click the off button on the radio. That caused Mr. Jamician Man to whip his head at where his music was once playing. Now it's just me standing there with my mask in my hands as my arms crossed over my chest, leaning against the very unstable island that is literally in the middle of the danky place of living. The man who was deep into welding something together just sighed at my presents and turned back to what he was originally working on.

"You know it's not nice to turn off a man's music," the other exclaimed with a few minimal hand motions here and there. I roll my eyes at his remark, "well, Mark, if you didn't listen to stoner music 24/7 then I may consider keeping your music on". That sparked a glare from the hardworking man at the kitchen table, yet it didn't bother me one bit. Instead, I switch the CD player from disc mode to FM mode just to have my favorite rock station playing. The song that is playing sounded quite familiar. Pretty sure it is one of Papa Roach's new songs, yet I could be wrong.

"So Markie-Mark! Whatcha ya working on today?" I question as I make my way to the table that was supposed to be made for food. Not where Mark can do his weapon or alien experiments, yet the man can't do this shit in his room because it is literally a pig pen at this point.

Sparks flew in the air as he was working on some gadget that looked like a kind of sword. Like that word from that video game called Halo. Isn't it called energy sword or something along those lines? Well, it only looked like that when Mark pressed a button on the side of the handle that was in the form of a normal sword handle. It all of a sudden expanded out into this full-length electrical sword that surged with energy. It had me mesmerized by its complexity and beauty. Mark must've noticed the look on my face when he let out one of his famous smirks.

"You likie-like it?" He said trying to mock me, but I was just too in awe to respond with my normal sassy comeback. All I could do was mutter out a "ya" as I nodded my head back and forth feverishly.

"Well, young padawan, this is for you. So Em, ya better start getting used to using swords." 

That just made me snap back to reality when he said it was for me causing a frown to form on my face. Yeah, the sword is definitely in its own category of badass-ness, yet that can really hurt somebody. Call me a hypocrite for all I care! I may be a badass savior from the nasty little shits in this world, but I'm not here to kill anyone face to face. Electrocuting people don't kill them if you were wondering from before. It only knocks people out though sometimes it may put them in a coma, yet never a death.

"Mark, I can't wield a sword!" I cry out as I head back towards the kitchen to look in the already empty fridge.

"Of course you wield A sword! You'll be having two kickass swords to use!" The other exclaimed as he held up another handle that looked like a replica of the one on the stand. My only response to that was to facepalm. He is really clueless, isn't he? For being a scientist and all.

"Dude, I'm not using swords! Not gonna go start slicing people in half with those death machines," I tried to tell him as half of my body was literally in the freezing box just to grab a Miller 64. Shit! Its the only one left. Well, there is a Hamms in there, but that's just bear piss. Absolutely a disgrace to call that thing a beer.

In the distance, I could hear Mark put down his tools on the table as he got up from the chair to make his way over to me. "Beer me," He stated as he put his hand out for the beer to be placed. I groaned as I reached back into the fridge and grab the last 'beer' we had. 

"Really?" Mark looked at me as he saw what was in his hand. 

"What! It was the only beer left," as I sipped on my glorious 64. I could just sense his struggle from where I stood. We stood in silence for a bit with our drinks in hand, and the most silence you're going to get in New York at 2 am. 

"Just use them," Mark sighed out to break the peace. Before I could integrate with my no-killing policy, he rushed out calmly with, "you are growing up more and more each day, but so are the people are facing. One day you are going to come across a scenario where you wish you had those puppies. So just, for fuck sakes, use the damn swords. Plus they are kickass, and for the feminine side, they'll match your aesthetic."

His last part brought a chuckle out of me though the rest of what he said caused me to truly think over it. Mainly the part where he said that I'll wish that I had them like dude, my closest match up is trying to plug my computer in when the electrical socket just wants to spew out sparks anytime I'm an inch away. Just thinking that Mark is worried about my future with this hobby job thing kind of has me split. 

Though just make this metaphorical stoner happy, "fine. I'll use the swords."

Mark's face lit up when he heard my response. "Perfect! I'll start working on your belt so you have a place to put them. Are still fine with the thigh holsters for your pistols?" While he was spitting all that information out, he ran over to his makeshift work table like a little kid going back to playing COD or whatever kids play now of days. Just seeing the man like this warmed my heart. The man that willing took me in after my parents couldn't get out of shitty Tremont. The man that was by side through the shit I went through physically and mentally over my teenage years. The man that is truly my best friend, and almost like a brother that I've never had. I'm very grateful to have this man in my life and to have him by my side through thick and thin.

"Em!" Mark yelled to get me out of thoughts.

"Yeah, the thigh holsters are fine."