Time: 1846. Location: South America, somewhere along the Amazon River.
Floating down the Amazon River comes a motley crew of snakes. For the last several weeks, the Vipers of Vipers Nest, Sgt. Crouch, and Cpl. Akin have provided security detail for the remaining upper echelons of the once mighty Cobra organization; the twins Tomax and Xamot, and the man himself, Cobra Commander.
The trip has not been without peril; where there was once food aplenty in the form of native flora and fauna, all that remains is a growing wasteland. Whatever animals still live remain hidden and cautious, not of the human hunters, but of the relentless fits of hunger of the walking dead. Survival of the fittest now means the fastest, most cunning, and most elusive. Those creatures that have survived over the years have come to rely upon their senses more than ever; at the slightest sound, smell, or sight, they take flight. Many now rely on a sense that had lain dormant for generations, one which has no need for eyes, ears, or nose. A sense that drives them from hunting, from eating, from drinking. A sense that causes them to abandon nests whereby once they would stand and fight. Nature has fine-tuned her creations to allow only the best to inherit her Earth.
One would think the plant life of the Amazon would be spared by the plague of flesh-eating creatures. One would be wrong. It is true that during the times of man, the Amazon was losing over 200,000 acres of land a day to clear-cutting and controlled burning. However, over the last two years, without man's intervention, there has been no one to control the fires. No one to extinguish the flames that eat up large swathes of lands faster than biblical locusts. The smoke from the fires fights with the sun, coupled with the ever-thickening pollution from now defunct, and in many cases, destroyed power plants, both conventional and nuclear, it will be only a matter of time before the sun's life-giving rays are choked out. Let's not free man of all responsibility; they still play a role in the destruction of the rain forest, the millions of campfires that now dot the world, even these well-meaning, life-sustaining pinpoints of light that chase off the dark providing temporary relief to war-ridden nerves, even these send ash spiraling into the atmosphere. Now the daily devastation is two to three times that caused by man. And the men of Vipers Nest and their leaders find themselves victims of a world sent down into chaos.
Rations have been cut to substandard levels. At the onset of the voyage, the men of Vipers Nest would rotate duties with the high Generals. The Vipers would bring the boat to shore in search of small game and edible plants, and the Generals would provide security for the Commander, and vice versa. Now the men take to the banks less and less as their energy dwindles. Knowing that, whatever energy they may have must be used to get the Commander to the Nest safely. On the verge of starvation, they continue on. Each man suffering to the cruelties of an empty stomach. Each thinking the next pull of the paddle will be their last.
All but Cobra Commander. He has eaten no more than the rest of the men under his command, yet somehow, he persists. He finds the strength to bring the boat ashore and gather what meager offerings he can find to supply his men. He often cuts his rations and provides them to his men that need them most. A master of the art of manipulation, the Commander is always sure to add, "See how I provide for you. Even now, I give you life. Stay with me, and I shall free you from your suffering." And his men do. Sgt Crouch and Cpl Akin look upon him with sheer devotion and reverence. Even Tomax and Xamot are not free from his hypnotic presence. Once, they were great men in their own right; leading the mighty Cobra Crimson Guard and running the highly lucrative Extensive Enterprises. They had followers loyal only to them, men who would attempt to assassinate the Commander at a look from either of the mighty brothers. Now, they look upon the Commander in awe each time he provides some delicate morsel of insect or dirt-covered root for their refined palettes.
Several nights it was the Commander that eradicated a creature as it tried to board the small boat. Having long ago replaced the anchor line he quickly realized that while it kept the boat from drifting aimlessly down the river and possibly onto shore or some tributary, it was also a direct line to the dead upon the river bottom. He would rest with the anchor line wrapped once around his left wrist with his sidearm, his trusty Luger P 08 given to him many years ago by a very thankful former officer of the Luftwaffe. Should he feel even the slightest tug on the anchor line he would instantly come to his senses and prepare to neutralize the threat. Many times the pulling was little more than the river's current, but he reacted with the same clarity of action to each instance. He dispatched a dozen waterlogged corpses while his men huddled together; exhausted, hungry, and afraid. Afraid of the night but more afraid of what it would be like should the Commander not be with them, protecting them.
The Commander knows that these men, these four men will be forever his. They will never question his authority. His power. His strength. They shall die for him should the need arise.
Now that the world has been purged of Capitalism, the Commander has come into his own. He no longer fears disloyalty due to quiet backroom exchanges of briefcases full of unmarked bills. He no longer fears traitors trying to usurp his power to establish themselves as grand Emperor of Cobra, or leader of the B.A.T. Legions. He is power. He is life. He is death. He bides his time planning his next moves as Cobra rises from the ashes of the old world to create a new one. A world in his image. The thought brings a grim smile to his face.
After many long black nights and grim days, the trip is coming to an end. The Commander brings the bow around and brings it ashore. Standing in the stern of the craft the Commander looks down at his weary band, "Men, we prepare for the final leg of our journey. Forget not the trials you faced upon the land and waters of this godforsaken river of death. Never forget who brought you out of the stygian gloom. Who looked the reaper in the face and spat upon him. In only a matter of hours, we shall arrive at the famed Vipers Nest. From there, we will establish a new reign, the reign of Cobra. Long live Cobra" The men, upon hearing these words gather their strength to respond in unison, "LONG LIVE COBRA COMMANDER!!!"