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The day the world ended was surprisingly mundane. There were no fiery explosions, nor did the earth split wide to swallow the unfortunate souls above. The Sun did not vanish from the sky, dooming humanity to perish in darkness. In fact, there were no apocalyptic events of any kind. Consequently, society was still functioning, or what passed for functioning these days. But that was probably because the world wasn't actually ending, though to one man it would certainly feel like it was.
Zartan sat on the porch of his house hidden deep within the swamp and gazed absentmindedly up at the sunset with a burning cigarette in his hand. If he had been paying attention, he might have noticed that the colors of the sky were more vibrant, and that the Sun was brighter, almost as if the universe was presenting the scene as an apology for what was to follow. But he had never been one to consider such sentimental things (and so the first warning went unheeded).
"Hey Boss!", came a call from inside the shack. "Incoming call from Cobra headquarters!"
Zartan snapped out of his trance with more than a little irritation. While he was more than willing to extort yet another hefty sum from that band of fools, it was considered bad form to call in missions at the end of the day. Most of his customers had the decency to call in the morning or around noon, giving him the flexibility to do his job without working through the night. Clearly Cobra did not feel the same way, though it was odd considering they had never called this late before. But Zartan decided that it was probably due to Serpentor's lack of common courtesy and general decency. Putting out his cigarette, Zartan pushed himself to his feet and strode inside the shack (and so the second warning was ignored as well).
Instead of the usual generic lackey that Zartan dealt with on the telescreen, he was greeted with the haughty face of the pompous tyrant himself. Zartan started to feel uneasy, but he kept his face devoid of any emotions. It wasn't exactly a secret that the Dreadnoks were not pleased with the sudden change in Cobra's command. Clearly Serpentor was attempting to assert his power over him by transmitting his orders directly (and so the third and final warning before the end appeared to no avail).
"Serpentor. To what do I owe the pleasure?", spoke Zartan, the lie slipping easily off his silver tongue.
"Ah Zartan. The leader of my most successful and well paid mercenary team.", boomed Serpentor, with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "I do hope that this is not an inconvenient time for you."
"Of course not", replied Zartan smoothly with a barely perceptible twitch of his eye. Arrogant brute, he thought angrily to himself.
"I have another job for you that requires the utmost urgency," continued Serpentor as if Zartan hadn't spoken at all. "I hope that you and your team will be more successful than with the New Orleans fiasco. I would hate to have to dock your pay again."
Zartan fought to keep himself from snapping that it wasn't their fault the Joe's had gotten wind of Cobra's movements, or that the Dreadnoks had a perfectly fine track record thank you very much. Instead he managed to force a nod and not insult the man in front of him who so clearly deserved it.
"Luckily for you, this assignment should be relatively easy. As you know, Cobra's plan for world domination requires the utmost efficiency. Each member must be nothing short of perfect..."
Zartan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This wasn't the first time that Serpentor had prattled on about "the glory of Cobra" or maintaining "absolute perfection". He knew better though to interrupt the speech, as it would only lead to Serpentor becoming angry and turning a 5 minute speech into an hour of offended ranting.
"...and unfortunately, Cobra Commander has become somewhat of a liability of late." Zartan froze, every muscle becoming rigid with sudden fear.
"I'm afraid I don't understand?", he ventured cautiously. Please don't let this be what I think it is, he internally begged. Serpentor's smile became larger and more genuine, as if he was going to enjoy what came next.
"Its quite simple. I want you to kill Cobra Commander."
(And that was when the world ended)
The next thing Zartan knew, he was sitting on the porch again, staring into the dark. After that fateful order, his body had gone into autopilot, passively collecting the details of his assignment from Serpentor. The deed had to be done within the next 48 hours, payment would come with proof of death, and all the other usual terms. A typical assassination, except...
Except this was Cobra Commander. The one man that Zartan had let under his skin. Who he had spent some of the best times of his life with. Who had told Zartan that he was the person he trusted most. Who was probably the only person Zartan could ever truly say he loved.
It was his fault for not seeing it coming. Sooner or later someone would want the Commander dead for one reason or another. And who better to do it than the great Zartan, leader of the Dreadnoks.
Zartan felt pulled in two different directions, like the very fabric of his soul was being torn apart. He wanted to scream until his throat bled or to pull his treacherous heart from his chest so that he could do his job without distraction. He knew though that he couldn't afford to waste time on premature grief, with less than two days to come to a decision. What seemed like a lifetime ago, he knew that he would have pulled the trigger without hesitation. But now, he had no idea what was right.
It was his job (who said he had to follow all of Cobra's orders). They would kill them both if he failed (they could run and never look back). The Commander would throw a fit if he had to upend his life (soon he wouldn't have a life at all). Back and forth he went, round and round until the arguments became jumbled in his brain. It was the first time in his life Zartan didn't know what to do. And so he sat alone, with the sinking feeling that his doom was almost upon him.
A day later, Zartan found himself perched across from one of Cobra's bases with a sniper rifle in his hands. Eyes trained on a window outward from one of the main conference rooms, he waited nervously for his target to appear. Every breath he took seemed to cut into his lungs like barbed wire. Zartan still wasn't sure if he had made the right decision, but it was too late to back out.
Suddenly, he saw movement in the window. Training the scope on the glass, he saw that his target had entered the room and was within firing range. He had a clear shot and yet his finger hesitated on the trigger. Did he really want to do this? Zartan shook his head and tried to focus. It didn't matter what he felt, this is what he needed to do. Looking at his target for the last time, he aimed, then fired.
Then watched as Serpentor's lifeless body collapsed. Smiling grimly, Zartan quickly shouldered his rifle and vanished into the night before anyone noticed. The Commander would be most pleased indeed.