Awards: Distinguished Service Star, Social Media Medal for Mandated Gender/Race-Reassignment [having performed the involuntary operation on a white CEO on a live-stream audio-video], Martin Luther King Justice Award—with Afrikan Torch Device, Purple Heart [3 awards]
Acetylene Jackson is, by far, the most frightening member of the crew. He began his Privilege Reassignment career as a fixer for the Black Guerilla Family in Baltimore, Maryland, purportedly did work as a jackal for the CIA, was the personal bodyguard of the Mayor of Baltimore during the corporate transition, and, most famously performed involuntary gender reassignment surgery with a welding torch on social media livestream, which elevated him in the public consciousness of the Justice Service, but has vexed the Judicial Board of the Service with questions of propriety ever since.
Acetylene Jackson remains a gangster through and through, insults the entire crew constantly, except for me, who he refuses to address directly, which could cause problems in that he is the operator of the four-wheeler and has great potential latitude. He has, however, shown one saving grace. His friendship with Mainline Watson, who, due to his ultra-high regard outside the Justice Service and his dualistic gender identity, is constantly derided by Oldschool and Crankshaft.
Acetylene has assigned himself to be Mainline’s “personal man-the-fuck-up trainer,” which may seem distasteful from the vantage of Service Delegation Priorities. It is this officer’s personal contention that Acetylene’s crude, sexist and brutally gendered encouragement of our star crew member will help the operation gel in a way that my attempts at compassioned mediation have yet failed to achieve.
Acetylene, like every crew member save Mainline Watson, has discarded the blue helmet and suffused rainbow camouflage attire for a raspberry beret decorated with 16 gull feathers, one for each “ghosting” he has committed, a leather vest under a short-sleeved chainmail shirt and black jeans under black leather chaps. He prefers to wear black kung fu slippers, is armed with a pair of razor sharp butterfly knives, a collection of hooked, curved and straight razors, knives and daggers strapped in every conceivable location, an Acetylene torch, and an aluminum baseball bat. He has also stowed onboard a handmade bow and arrow, I suppose for the illegal harvesting of innocent game. The men have discarded the vegan meals ready to eat to make way for Oldschool’s rum…
As the four-wheel driver, he is charged with positioning less-than-lethal ordinance operated by Mainline Watson and also retrieving disabled, netted, stunned and audio-shocked targets of privilege reassignment. In my opinion, he is too eager by half to declare disabled targets to be resisting arrest. That said, the man moves like a great hunting cat and is indispensable in urban and suburban ruins and in the bush as well.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Acetylene!”
“Oh, my Earth!”
“No! Desist!! Hold your fire!!!”
Video Array
Acetylene Jackson, resplendent in his raspberry gull-feather beret, rises from his driving port, knocks an arrow to a wood and horn bow, draws the shaft to his ear, and draws a bead on a pod of pink-attired Earth Cyclists and looses a quivering black shaft of whipping fiberglass, which takes out the front tire of one of the mountain bikes, pitching the rider forward, over Her handlebars. As the Ghost Snatcher speeds by the head of the bicyclist can be seen to be wracked with deep-felt sobs of pain and disapproved invalidation…
The voice of Oldschool Johnson grinds out, “Fucks yeah, son—dunk dat clit in da dirt o’ hurt!”
