Ghosts of Czarnia

Story and Cover by evolution-500

Disclaimer: Lobo is a character belonging to DC Comics.

WARNING: This story contains violence, course language, dark, mature and disturbing themes and imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

"Backstage Blues"

He could feel his drink losing its flavor.

Paying no mind to it, he continued chugging down glass after glass. He didn't care if he was knocked senseless by his binge-drinking - just so long as it knocked him the fuck out and kept the nightmares at bay.

Just so long as he would stop remembering the events of Czarnia.

He shivered.

Fuck, Czarnia!

He remembered every awful detail of that day when it all went to hell. He remembered his friends and family dying by the droves, and that-that maniac!

A shudder rippled through his being.

He thanked the gods that he was alone on this moon and around these parts, that there was nobody around to witness "Lobo" in this state, otherwise it would mean killing somebody to preserve his rep.

Not that killing bothered him.

Not anymore.

Taking another bottle from a small refrigerator on a nearby counter, he poured himself another glass.

On Czarnia he had been a miner, a working stiff who barely had a credit to his serial number. One good thing came out of its destruction, though - at least he got himself a new identity along with a new reputation.

Scoffing, the Main Man raised a glass to the abandoned mining station that he called home, to the messy and empty bar counter that was lined with tools, weapons and vehicle parts.

"To Czarnia," he said to nobody.

Gulping it all down, he refilled his glass again, his red eyes tired and heavy.

It was easy to put on a show - after all, Lobo was the most dangerous killer in the universe! Everybody wanted to see the larger-than-life figure of the man responsible for the death of his entire planet. Everybody knew that Lobo's a real party animal, an entertainer, an unpredictable and depraved clown, that he was a 'fun guy' to be around. He was willing to go along with the charade - just so long as nobody found out the truth.

He refused to be identified as a victim.

He refused to be labeled and pitied - fuck that!

He would rather be called every conceivable name out there than that. He was a bastich, the scourge of the cosmos. The Main Man.

After all, "Lobo" was no victim, fuck no - he created victims in his wake.

Lighting his cigar, he lifted up his head, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he recollected how he had gotten to this point in his life.

The first time he was called "Lobo", it was an honest case of a mistaken identity. Some guys at a bar recognized his being a Czarnian, and since the universe had practically run out of those, it wasn't hard for some bozo to put two and two together and make the connection.

At first, he wanted to correct the error, but then the idea came to him; if everybody were to believe that he were Lobo, then nobody in the universe would want to mess with him. A reputation like that...it would do him wonders as a mercenary. Even better, nobody would suspect a thing!

So, he went along for the ride.

And boy, had it paid off!

He had parties, he had friends, he had all the beer, drugs and sex money could offer. Women were practically throwing themselves at him, batting their eyelashes to get the Main Man's attention.

It wasn't all fun and games, though.

He was simply a 'good time', a 'good laugh', a 'riot'. They would all hang around with him at the bar whenever it suited them, but anything more meaningful than that? Nada.

He had always kept up the bravado, and whenever some bastich wanted to get rough, he rumbled.

Sometimes he won. Sometimes he lost. Whatever the result, whatever the carnage and mayhem wrought, people would all agree that the Main Man was not to be messed with, but get on his good side, and he'll show them how to have the time of their lives.

No matter how hard he was hit, no matter what went wrong, he never let his smirk drop, nor did he ever allow himself to show weakness.

After a while, however, it all started to weigh on him.

He felt tired of putting on the whole horse and pony show.

He felt tired of putting on the fake smiles.

He was tired of the violence, the blood on his hands.

He leaned back into his chair, looking up at the ceiling as he let out a sigh.

Gods, the amount of blood that stained his fingers...

The first time he actually killed someone was horrible enough.

When he finished the job, once he got back, he was huddled in a bathtub crying.

After a while, though, he taught himself to stop caring altogether, medicating himself with the help of the most powerful of liquors and drugs he could find to make it more tolerable. He always maintained the persona of relishing it just for the sake of keeping up appearances, but in actuality...he didn't like it.

At all.

Sometimes he would just get himself drunk just so that when the killing started that he would end up numb and ignore the screams and get the job done.

He lost count of the number of graves he filled ages ago, but he can still remember their faces.

Every.

Single.

One.

Men who owed some crime boss money. Women who wanted to divorce their criminal husbands. Children just because they just so happened to be some crime boss' bastard kid, was foretold to bring about death and destruction, who had the misfortune of being connected to a target. Whatever the reason, it didn't really matter either way. In the end, he would be the one taking them out and would have to live with what he had done.

Had he been the same miner from Czarnia, he would have wept. Because of it, he had stopped caring about how he looked. Because of it, he stopped looking into the mirror, for every time he did, he felt disgusted by what he saw.

Red eyes stared into the pool in his hand, staring down in contemplation.

Would it be possible for him to start over again?

Letting out a full-chested growl, he rubbed his hand against his stubbled chin.

He was tired of hiding.

There were moments in which part of him considered reaching out to somebody, to open up to a lover after a bout of steamy hot sex. There were even moments when he found himself wanting more than just having a good time.

He wanted to retire and settle down.

He wanted to start a meaningful relationship with a woman for once rather than have the usual tryst or meaningless sex. Even more, he wanted a family of his own. A wife. Children.

He thoughtfully trailed his black talon along the glass' rim.

Perhaps now was the time to let the bag out of the bag. Maybe there was still time to-

He clicked his tongue, his nictitating membranes flaring.

He couldn't.

The real Lobo, a smug Czarnian/Velorpian bastard, was out there somewhere, and to reveal that he had missed a Czarnian would threaten his reputation as a killer. And nobody escaped Lobo - his pride wouldn't allow for it.

The Main Man recalled the swollen, bloated parasite-riddled forms of his buddies, his girlfriend...

A shudder rippled through him.

Fuck! He had been lucky to have gotten the fuck out of there.

The screams, the people writhing along the ground...

Closing his eyes, he quickly poured himself another glass, downing it with a loud gulp.

It was then that a thought occurred to him.

Why not just face the music?

It's not like he had a lot to live for anyway. It's not like he had any "friends".

Even worse, it was too late to start over.

Maybe he could have stopped while he was ahead, but there was no turning back from what he has become now. Even if he changed his name, there was no escaping from what he had done. Somewhere, some day, all the things he had done will come back to haunt him on his very doorstep. Anyone and everyone that he would care about would end being dragged down with him.

Which brings him back to the original question - what to do now?

Fidgeting with the glass in his hand, the Main Man pondered, his mind searching for a solution to his predicament.

Perhaps he could-

The sound of a door opening cut off his thoughts as he turned to the entrance.

A group of guys similarly dressed to him, with cut-off jackets and jeans greeted.

"Hey, hey, hey! There he is! The Main Man himself!" A blue-skinned muscle-bound thug with one eye grinned as he approached.

Turning around, "Lobo" met him with the smuggest, cocksure grin he could muster.

"Well look what the fraggin' Khunds dragged in!" he smirked. "Laax, you son of a bitch!"

Grasping each others' hands with a loud clap, their biceps flexed as they pulled each other in for a hug.

Laax laughed. "Lobo, my man! It's good to see you."

"What's the occasion?"

Laax shrugged. "Me an' the boys just finished doin' a job and we wanted to go drinkin'. Interested in joining?"

"Lobo" raised a brow. "Does a Khund shit in a vacuum?"

The group laughed.

"I told ya Lobo is a funny guy!" Laax said as he elbowed one of his buddies. "I tell ya, boys, this man here? A fucking legend! He offed his own planet and knows how to party afterward!"

The men guffawed and cheered as he then looked over to "Lobo". "Want to show us how it's done?"

For a moment, "Lobo" considered it. Perhaps now was the time to-

Closing his eyes, he put on his best smirk once again.

"Yeah." He answered. "Why not?"

Author's Note: So, this story in particular is obviously based on what would have happened had it been that the Lobo most people were familiar with was in fact an imposter. Interestingly, a case could be made that he isn't. Technically speaking, the original Lobo in "Omega Men" wasn't even a Czarnian at all, but rather a Velorpian whose people were killed off by the lizard-like Psions. I have no idea why the creator Keith Giffen decided to change that aspect, but it is a curious detail that in itself would have made Lobo a considerably more sympathetic figure and probably could have opened up for more stories. Then again, considering how he was supposed to represent the most abhorrent qualities of characters like Punisher and Wolverine along with the fact that Giffen despised him, I suppose it makes sense to go with the more monstrous origin that people are familiar with.

Hope you liked this, everyone.