Look here, I've been in Afghanistan as a journalist since the siege of Sangin. I've seen the deepest depraved depths of humanity, regardless of sides and allegiances. Heroin addled 7 yr old orphans, more eager to detonate themselves and achieve martyrdom than my son was to get the training wheels off his bicycle. A freshly widowed mother, violated within an inch of her life while her shrieking toddler ineffectually pummeled her assailant's legs. There are countless more, unthinkable atrocities and horrors I've witnessed. Once, they were permanently etched into my mind. Nowadays. I can't even remember most of them. After surviving my ordeal with Ben "The Horror of Helmand" Garrison, they all seem like scenes from Paw Patrol to me.
I was finally able to flee the country during the perfect chaos that was the fall of Kabul. I am not afraid that Ben will come after me for this. Ben is far too proud of his accomplishments to try and silence anybody. In fact, this is likely the only reason he's authorized my continued existence. Besides, the sweet release of death would be a welcome relief after all he forced me to bare witness to. You see, whether you're comfortable with this fact or not, there is a human soul buried somewhere in every war criminal. Every rapist, every serial killer, every genocidal tyrant. Even Hitler. We pretend they lack some basic ingredient of humanity, perhaps so we can sleep better at night. However, the brutal reality is that all of these actions and impulses are as deeply coded into our nature as fucking, eating, and breathing. Look at the jailers of Abu Ghraib. I'm betting they resemble your coworkers, friends, and family members a lot more than the typical caricature of a psychopath with no regard for humanity.
Even the worst of war criminals will normally have a loving family they go home to, who could never picture them doing the things they did. War criminals do what they do for a state or some movement as well, and when that entity's goal is achieved they return to a normal life if possible. Not "Fat skewers for khat chewers" Ben. Mossad (unwittingly or not) unleashed some kind of ancient Aryan hellfire on the earth when they recruited Ben and sent him to the front lines. Immediately upon arrival, he crucified his Israeli handlers and revealed his only true goal: Inflicting as much anguish, agony and suffering on non Aryans as his extraordinarily powerful Nordic physique and abilities would allow him. It didn't matter whether you were NATO or Wahhabi to Ben. He would disembowel you if you weren't white, or if you planned to help brown people. One time he forced me to witness the slow, sadistic slaughter of 100 Australians he'd (single handedly) captured, simply because they were ordered to prevent a Taliban raid on a rural village. Then, when the terrorists had their fill, he returned and had them decimated; leaving every tenth man alive in hopes they would regroup and torment more civilians. This was unusually merciful of Ben, mind you.
I only tell you all of this in the hopes that you will not take me lightly when I tell you that I do not believe Ben Garrison is a human being. In my profession, you get an intimate understanding of everything humans are capable of. Your ideas of good and evil you build up during your formative years are shattered. You see humanity for what it is at a biological level, and if you'd seen what I have, you would know in the pit of your stomach that Ben Garrison is of different stock. I can't tell you how or why, I don't know if he's an alien, the next stage in caucasoid evolution, or something else entirely. I can however tell you with absolute certainty that Ben's abilities are extra human, and his only allegiance is the Aryan race. The wholesale slaughter and devastation he is mentally and physically capable of are the things of apocalyptic legends and cosmic horror. Well outside the range of mere homo sapiens capabilities.
I will never forget the day I first chanced upon him. I was traveling with a convoy of Americans, chronicling their efforts to rid the countryside roads of IEDs. It was shaping up to be a pretty boring story, when out of absolute nowhere there was a deafening dissonant blast of brass horns that lasted about 5 minutes. The convoy had stopped and was assessing the situation when the horns abruptly ceased, and an even louder thundering voice echoed throughout the valley; "WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO EXPERIENCE, IS RIGHTEOUSLY THE FATE OF ALL THE NIGGERS OF THE EARTH, AND ALL WHITES WHO BETRAY THE WILL OF WODAN!!!!" The last thing I remember is a blinding light, and the feeling of a tremendous collision. Thankfully his initial attack rendered me unconscious, for if I had witnessed what he did next I would be a muttering lunatic in some third world mental asylum.
I awoke to an entirely different landscape. Where there once had been a winding dirt road along the edge of a verdant plateau, there was now a vast, charred crater with zero evidence there'd ever been a living thing there. Then, I saw what had happened to everyone but me. A chariot approached. I could see that the draft animals drawing it forward were human, or at least were at one point. Whether it was surgically or otherwise, I could see that their bodies had been grotesquely augmented into some approximation of a bull or goat; complete with snouts, hooves, and sickening bone "horns" protruding from their heads. As it drew closer, I could see the features of the chariot itself. It had been entirely constructed of human organic material. Notably, the bone spoked wheels were upholstered by a patchwork of dark skinned faces. Their expressions forever portraying the abject celestial terror they felt as they died. The chariot slowed to a halt before me. The driver was a middle aged man wearing sunglasses, and a modern insurgent or operator's panoply. His cold authoritative expression all at once twisted into a big grin.
Then, with a slight Alberta or Montana farm boy's drawl, he spoke to me. "You the hack journalist these boys were cartin' around?" he emphasized his disdain when he pronounced "journalist". I managed to nod my head. He broke into a hearty guffaw, taking some time to regain his composure. "It's a good thing you're white, cause BOY HAVE I GOT A SCOOP FOR YOU!" he laughed again for another 30 seconds as I lost control of my bodily functions. "Ya see, I'm a reporter of sorts myself." He continued, "I'm out here doin' what you're doin', gettin' material for my cartoons!" I responded with flabbergasted silence. His grin faded and his brow furrowed. "I need someone to steer the chariot so I can throw my javelins into sand niggers and jew's heads. Can you handle that?" I nodded my head again, and before he could continue I found the courage to stammer out "Who are you?"
He lit a fine cigar and took a deep drag. "I am the one man bronze age collapse. I was the fall of Minoan Crete. I was the destruction and replacement of the Indus valley niggers. I am the "peoples of the sea" spoken of by the river niggers of Egypt, and I was their downfall as well. I was the Babylonian captivity. I murdered Darius III for being a nigger, then I murdered Alexander for being a nigger lover. When they tried to bring the ark of the covenant to the niggers in Ethiopia, I took it for myself so I could wipe my ass with the ten commandments. Then I scratched out Moses's ugly Hebrew scrawl and wrote "The queen of Sheba is a sheboon." That's when I decided I wanted to be a political cartoonist, and that's what I am. Now are you gonna steer this thing or what?"