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Skates on the Ground: Part II [Final: 6/6]


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Skates on the Ground:

The Many Headed General


Not Gianfranco




George “The General” Patton, who still played for the Yukon Rush hockey club, was now a slightly more accomplished hockey player. He was not playing for a very good team. But he was playing hockey, which was sort of the point, he presumed. He was having fun, he presumed. And, as far as he knew, he was getting paid. He would learn later that he was actually paying for literal peanuts, which would explain the elephants working in the locker rooms. They just wanted the leftovers from the postgame spreads!

This story, however, does not involve the peanuts, nor does it involve the elephants. It was the last home game of the season, and The General was heading out toward the ice when he noticed a small, nondescript door that had not been there the previous game, or even when he had gone out to practice earlier in the day. Naturally, being an idiot, he opened it and went through what was not a rabbit hole.

It led to a long hallway. Long hallways often lead to things that are very bad or very good. The General, of course, was hoping for the very good side, so he pressed onward and onward. After what seemed like a long walk (it was relatively short, but he’d been walking slowly), he reached another door, black with red lines. Still an idiot, he opened it and walked in.

It was a room full of big computers. Very big computers, making loud noises. There was a screen, with a little speaker attached. As soon as he walked in, it began to speak in a crackly voice.

“George Smith Patton, Junior.” There was some static. “November eleventh, eighteen eighty five.” More static. “December 21, 1945.” More static. The General knew what those were from his visit to Luxembourg. They were the endpoints of the original general’s life. The voice continued, though. “November eleventh, nineteen ninety two.” That was his birthday.


The General was very confused. “What the heck is this?” These were computers that should not have survived past the millennium, but here they were, speaking to him, reciting facts about him.

“My name is Zola, Herr Patton.”

“The soccer player?”


“No! My name is Arnim Zola.”

“Like the guy from Captain America?”

“That movie ruined my image!” There was angry-sounding static.

“How do you know who I am?”

“You saw the movie, Herr Patton. You know all about it.”

“HYDRA’s real? And it’s really still around?”


“Indeed. And because it is real and ‘really still around,’ you are real and ‘really still around.’”

“I don’t get it.”

“Operation Paperclip, Herr Patton, was not just for the scientists. Your government brought you back, too. At least, your body.”

“If I died way back then, how am I standing here and able to play hockey?”

“Rebuilt! By my HYDRA scientists! That is how you are twenty two and not one hundred and twenty nine years old. That is how you are standing in my brain and not lying in the dirt in Luxembourg.”


The General was very thrown off by this. There were quite a few questions he wanted to ask, but there was one that was very important.

“Does this mean I can get GI benefits?” Because that would have been awesome for The General.

Raus jetzt!”

He took the advice of the strange doctor from the movie in the computer, and ran back down the hallway toward the safety of the ice.  He was a HYDRA experiment, a creation of an organization that only existed in movies (and, apparently, the world of simulation hockey).


Come back next week for…





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