Revenge of the Bugs

The walls of Commander Cockroach’s bunker shook with every thump of the boots of the giant that ruled the world above. Each thump meant countless deaths. It meant another widowed cockroach. It meant a family without a father. It meant he was losing the battle. 

The commander stared aimlessly at the tattered strategy maps on the table before him, and wondered how it all went wrong.

“Commander Cockroach! Commander Cockroach!” shouted one of his remaining lieutenants. The bug breathlessly ran into the room clutching a memo. The commander thought of how the young roach had barely grown into her wings and soon she would be dead too.

“Slow down and take a breath,” the Commander said, sternly. He offered the lieutenant a drink of dirty bath water to calm her nerves. “Now, what is it?”

“Word from the front lines!” the lieutenant blurted. “It’s the enemy! They’re — They’re using…”

“Spit it out!”

“Chemical warfare! It’s the bug bomb!”

Commander Cockroach shuddered.

The last vestiges of hope seeped from his body. He slumped in his chair and glanced over at the last photograph taken of his family. His doting mother’s beautiful smile radiated at the wee commander who sat on his sensitive, loving father’s shoulders. It was taken ages ago when they were living in their ancestral homeland: the Basement.

The fat, lazy giants spent their days in the Basement smoking weed, playing video games and dropping food everywhere. Commander Cockroach’s family’s larder was always stocked with a plentiful supply of cheese puff crumbs that they had harvested from the tattered couch. Sometimes they were lucky enough to find luxuries like a piece of candy or a bit of meat. Between their bounty and the leaky faucet in the corner providing an endless supply of water, the basement was an idyllic, warm paradise.

That was until they were spotted on a food run one day. All fifteen of his brothers and sisters were stomped with impunity. He and his mother barely made it back alive to their safe crack in the wall. His father wept when he heard the news, but kept a brave face for the sake of the colony.

His father’s stoicism stemmed from his fervent belief in the Old Gods. They declared that cockroaches ought to be meek and live in fear to ensure survival. Commander Cockroach hoped for more.

Things were quiet in the days following. His parents hoped the giants had lost interest, but Commander Cockroach remained vigilant for boots. He knew a giant never forgot a roach.

A mysterious, grey goo appeared before the crack in the wall the next day. It smelled sweet and delicious, like rotten fruit or moldy fish. The colony was torn over what to do. The giants had implemented a cleaning regimen since the massacre which caused the roaches’ cheese puff reserves to run low. The wise elders, roaches who were over twenty weeks old, mulled it over and came to the difficult conclusion that they must eat the goo. They performed the ancient roach ceremony of protection and then feasted.

Commander Cockroach, who had no faith in the roach Gods of Old, did not feast with the others. It would prove to be his saving grace. Within hours, the entire colony was either dead or dying. The bastards had laid out bait poison; the oldest trick in the book.

His mother died quickly, but his father clung to life for hours. Commander Cockroach sat by his bedside during his final moments.

“Old Gods, may they be blessed, were merciful to your mother,” his father gasped.

Commander Cockroach held his father and tried to keep a brave face, but inside he was welling with anger and sadness.

“Please, my son, I have only one thing to ask of you.” His father’s thorax rattled as he coughed raggedly. “Please, do not let your life be consumed with revenge. I’ve only ever wanted you to… be… happy.”

As these wisps of words left his mouth, so did his soul leave his body.

Commander Cockroach stared, dumbfounded at the poisoned colony littered around him. His school teachers, pastors, crumb gatherers, barmaids, bartenders, friends, enemies and family all laid dead. He was too blind with rage to heed his father’s warnings. It was then that he swore to nobody but himself that he would get revenge upon the giants.

In the following weeks, he journeyed upstairs under the cover of darkness to the Forbidden Realm of the kitchen and raised an army. He signed treaties with the crafty mosquitoes, fierce horseflies, noble beetles, tenacious termites and fiery ants. The only hold outs were the honeybees. Their queen declared that they would not commit any troops because the giants had always treated them with respect and care. The Commander continued with Operation Pest Removal anyway.

“Damn those honeybees!” Commander Cockroach screamed. He slammed on the table in his bunker.

“Sir, I think we should concede. If we call a retreat now then we might save a few troo–” his lieutenant said.

“We will never concede.”

“Very well, sir.”

The lieutenant took a small box from the cabinet next to them. Inside was a pool of grey goo.

“What do you think you’re doing!” the Commander roared.

“In the Gospel of the Old Gods, it states ‘In absence of concession, an honorable Commander will take their own life in lieu –”

“There is no honor in death! Only dirt! We will ride with our brothers and sisters until the very end! The giants hate us so let them be the ones to kill us! We are insignificant pests in their eyes. They slaughter us with wanton glee. We, who live off the scraps dropped from their limitless bounty and hide in the crevices of their castles. Barely a drop stolen, and yet even that is a bridge too far. Their greed doesn’t allow for our humble lives. The Old Gods say that the giants never die! I say fuck the Old Gods! The giants are the Gods of this world! And spiteful, hateful Gods they are. I choose to rage against them until my last breath!”

“I will ride with you, commander!” the lieutenant shouted.

“No, my dear. I have already failed the dying wishes of my father. It’s too late for me. Please, run,” the Commander said. He thrust a bag of crumbs into the lieutenant’s chest. “Choose life.”

Commander Cockroach charged out of his bunker and into the fray. Smashed and decapitated bugs laid around him. Some were still squirming despite having their goopy innards smeared over the ground and their limbs scattered. The giant’s shadow cast over Commander Cockroach as he approached, grinning. The Commander did not budge.

A storm of toxic spray rained down, choking and blinding him. The poison worked quickly and soon he was laying on his back paralyzed. He watched as the giant’s foot, ever so slowly, lowered down on him. It was centimeters from crushing him into smithereens, when the giant let out a shrill scream. It stumbled backwards and fell. Charging through the green haze were the valiant honeybees.

Thousands of bees charged, sacrificing themselves by plunging their sharp stingers into the giant’s face. As they did, the swelling grew until the giant looked like an overripe strawberry. It took a phone from its pocket, but was unable to dial because of its swollen fingers. The last words the giant gasped before dying were: “Where… is… my… Epi… pen?”

A honeybee medic flew to Commander Cockroach.

“You all have impeccable timing,” the Commander gasped.

“The giants removed our hive, killed our queen and stole our honey. We were foolish to not stand with you from the beginning. We have started a worldwide war against the giants,” the bee said. “Now please let me get you to the hospital.”

“No, it is too late,” Commander Cockroach groaned. “Save that bed for someone who can take orders.”

The lieutenant appeared from around the corner cabinet and rushed over to the commander. She cradled the dying bug in her arms.

“I told you to –”

“I couldn’t go. One bug life is as precious as a million,” the lieutenant said. “We must stick together.”

“You’re a good bug. Raise an army and wage war alongside the honeybees,” the Commander gasped. He took off the golden roach brooch from his lapel and pressed it into her palm. “I’ll be with my family soon.”