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Burning Rings of Fire

Chapter Text

Kanye West's pants dropped to the ground as the famous rap star loosed his willie and sprayed forth a stream of golden liquid onto a grave.

"Yo, Johnny, I'mma gonna let you rest in peace, but I have some of the best songs of all time! Of all time!" he exclaimed, pissing away onto the burial site of another famous musician.

A skeleton hand punched out of the grave, and with a forceful grab, the hand ripped West's wiener clean off! Blood and piss sprayed out of the former manhood like a fountain as a stunned Kanye fell to the ground in shock. The hand then pulled back into the ground, soon replaced by a skull...and then a neck, and then the whole skeleton rose out of the Earth! Its tattered all-black suit clung desperately to the bones as it leapt into the air, and Kanye brought his pants back up to run away from the emasculatory zombie attacking him! As blood continued to spurt from his traumatized tender area, he leapt into his Tesla Model S and pulled it back into gear.

But the skeleton had other ideas! It stuck its finger into the charging port, sucking out all the electrons from its 100 kilowatt-hour traction battery pack. The sucking was so sudden, so forceful even, that the whole car crumpled into a ball, trapping West inside like a birdcage. The energy made the skeleton glow an orange aura as it rolled the ball of Elon Musk's seed all across Hendersonville, Tennessee, and the ball snowballed in size as it absorbed cars and buildings and lights and garbage, and soon the whole town was a giant sphere of debris rolling across Tennessee, with a crushed Kanye at the very core, being pushed along by a most demented creature.

All the human flesh, save for Kanye, because he's a less than human piece of shit, trapped inside the ball melted into glowing blue particles which phased out of the ball and flew into the glowing-orange skeleton. Soon, the flesh began reforming around the skeleton, rebuilding its former body and mind, and soon a rescuscitated Johnny Cash stood before the great orb of detritus his bones had left! Cash stuck out his right hand, and in it materialized his prized guitar, hewn from Satan's horns. He stuck out his left, and the Crown of Thorns appeared in hand. Cash leapt atop the ball, and began unravelling the Crown to use as guitar strings - then, from his tattered pocket, he withdrew the hardened, crusty fossilized remains of Jesus Christ's foreskin, and with it he strummed his Great Holy Guitar.

"La, la la la, la la la la...Katamari Damacy~" Cash crooned as he stood atop the ball, rolling it further into the sunset across the Tennessee landscape.

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"BITCH!"

Sixteen pounds of marble crashed through the window at alarming speed, striking Kim Kardashian square in the face. The tabloid celebrity crumpled to the floor, bowling ball firmly planted in her skull. Security guards flocked to the scene of the body, and were greeted by the sight of a shirtless 50 Cent wielding a bowling ball in his hand. They raised their Glock 18C selective-fire pistols with 10,000-round drum magazines to fire on the infamous attacker.

"FIRE!" yelled the lead security guard, and all ten of them dumped the whole mags into Fiddy's belly. At 1,200 rounds per minute, it took eight minutes and twenty seconds for everyone to burn through their mags. 50 Cent yawned in boredom as the 100,000 9x19mm Parabellum hollow-point rounds bounced off his abs, forming a pile of lead at his feet.

"BITCH!" yelled 50 again, throwing the bowling ball with equal fervor. It stuck the target's torso this time, knocking him back into his other nine colleagues, and all ten guards fell to the floor with hollow thud sounds. A giant red X appeared above his head with accompanying buzzer to indicate that he had gotten a strike.

50 entered the house, and after some searching, found a diamond-encrusted skull. "Look at that ice, man," he said to himself; then, he took the skull off its plinth in the center of the mansion. But before he could put it in Hammerspace, a bowling ball whizzed by and knocked the skull out of his hand!

50 turned, and saw a caved-in Kim Kardashian standing there. The bowling ball was no longer in her face. Instead, a flattened version of her face lined the sizable dent at the front of her cranium, but it could somehow still see well enough to throw the bowling ball back at 50.

With another exclamation of the female dog, 50 threw another bowling ball, but in a blur Kardashian ducked. 50 followed up with five more exclamations, each followed up by a bowling ball throw, but time slowed down like in The Matrix so Kim could lean back to dodge the multicolored orbs of marble. But the last one went up her dress, slid up her vagina into her womb, and then exploded, dousing the whole room in a wash of bloody, chunky Kardashian viscera.

Having surprised himself with a ball that well-aimed, 50 turned back to where the skull had landed, only to gaze upon the sight of a bespectacled fat man in a tan T-shirt. "Hello, and welcome to another 'Reaction and Review'. Today I'm watching 'Get Rich or Die Tryin'', starring 50 Cent. I can't see this being any good, but here on Reaction and Review, we always strive to give each movie a chance. Unless it's 'The Hunger Games', because fuck you if you like it." The fat man picked up the skull from the ground.

"BITCH!" shouted 50 Cent again, throwing another bowling ball. But the fat man cartwheeled through a wall and got on his giant pot leaf to fly it away like a magic carpet. 50 immediately gave chase, readying yet another bowling ball as he ran through the cartwheel hole to pursue the fat man. "BITCH!" yelled 50 as he tried a throw at the floating carpet. The pot plant lifted one of its leaves, sawing the bowling ball in two and causing the halves to curve around their target. Continued yelling and throwing met the same result as the pot plant successfully lifted its passenger past the clouds.

"Fuck, man. I can't fuckin' believe I missed that fuckin' skull!" yelled 50 as he retreated to his bright yellow Hummer. Its 30" chrome spinners made a dazzling display as he sped away from the scene. "What the fuck is Cash gonna think of me?"

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If there's one thing a Prius was good at, it was stealth. Anita Sarkeesian silently pulled her Prius into a parking space at the David Inn, and after some searching, found the door she was looking for. It wasn't too difficult to find this quarry. She could hear moaning and thumping on the other side, and by Dworkin, did that turn her on. But Anita put aside the arousal of the situation, and skillfully picked the lock, pushing the door open just a crack.

The first thing she saw was the chair. Draped across it was a bulky sweatshirt, and despite the only light source being several feet to the right, she could make out the distinctive green and purple stripes across it. On the floor in front of the chair, a pair of platform heels lay haphazardly, the metallic sparkling brilliantly catching what little light was hitting it so as to make its base fire-red color nearly invisible. Anita recognized one such garment, but not the shoes. With the door now slightly open, the moans were louder now, and Anita realized that it was *another* woman's voice making the moans.

Curious, Anita opened the door just a little bit farther. As more of the floor became visible, so did a pair of blue jeans that appeared to have been thrown from the bed. On one of the bed posts draped a sequined cloth, likely a dress, in the same fire-red hue. At the foot of that post lay a beat-up pair of sneakers, with the same carelessness paid to the rest of the garments strewn about the room.

And then, Anita's eye went to the bed itself. Atop it, on her knees, a girl with flowing red hair was thrusting furiously against her partner. A look of mischief alit her dark-green eyes as a grin spread from cheek to freckled cheek, and it grew ever more naughty with each moan of said partner. Anita's eyes drifted down the girl's body, noting her breasts and upper body, then down her lower torso to the nether region which was moving back and forth in repeated penetration - for the straps across her hips attached a gloriously long strap-on! The purple silicone glistened with a coat of vaginal juices, the synthetic member allowing the redhead to pleasure her lover again and again.

So that *is* her, Anita thought. She reached into her right boot, and from a sheath hidden within, she withdrew three throwing knives. Never knew I'd be killing the one Vivian James mid-sex...

But does she is fucking? Anita looked back inside. The pair of lovers, not noticing their audience, were still at it. The girl on bottom looked quite thin, with slightly tanned skin and locks of wavy black hair obscuring her face. She'd have to find out after they were dead, Anita supposed.

The door burst open, and Vivian James turned to see what was going on just in time to get a knife straight into her neck. The knife bounced out, leaving a cut right in the jugular vein that began oozing blood in massive quantities. She crumpled to the ground, applying pressure to the wound in a reflexive attempt to stem the bleeding. As she rolled off the other side of the bed to the ground, another of Anita's knives entered her back, embedding directly between two ribs and piercing her heart.

Anita readied her last knife as she surveyed the room. Both lovers had rolled to the other side of the bed, and Vivian was gasping for air in a pool of her own blood. A hand reached above the top of the bed, and a SIG-Sauer P226R was in it! Said hand began blind-firing over the cover of the bed in Anita's general direction, forcing her to duck down behind the other side. A fair bit more noise than Anita was hoping for, but at least she could finish the job and get out of here, right?

The gun ran dry after 20 rounds, and Anita heard it clatter to the floor, followed by the sound of someone putting their weight on the bed. She leapt up, knife to throw - and an arrow pierced through her eye! The dark-haired lady had brandished a bow against her attacker, firing another arrow into the brain of Anita. The tired old Internet feminist crumpled to the floor, oozing yet more blood all over the hotel room as the useless lump of flesh passed on, never to bitch about meaningless shit and complain about people offering counter-arguments on the Internet ever again.

Vivian gasped for air, reaching her free hand up. "I..." Vivian had to make another gasp. Low blood and a perforated lung made it difficult to even keep conscious. "Katniss, I..." Vivian tried to finish her sentence, "love you", but drifted into eternal slumber, succumbing to her wounds before.

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Jon Arbuckle couldn't help but shed a tear. His beloved tabby cat, Garfield, was leaving. Garfield had reassured him over the past few weeks that he'd be coming back alive - or, had tried. Garfield's speech being entirely in thought bubbles made the whole "speaking to Jon" bit more than a mere impossibility. Garfield had stuffed his bag with pan after pan of Jon's delicious homemade lasagna, and lasagna his lasagna into some lasagna because he lasagna'd his lasagna. I'm sorry, but every noun after "lasagna" in that sentence became lasagna because lasagna is delicious.

Anyway, with suitable provisions for his trip packed away, Garfield strapped a pole bearing an American flag to his back as he strode onwards to his shiny new, specially-downscaled Harley-Davidson Fat Boy. He twisted the ignition key, pressed the start button, and straddled the supple leather seat as the theme to Kerbal Space Program heralded his departure. He waved to Jon, Odie, Pookie and the rest as he put the bike in gear, feathering out the clutch and getting the bike rolling towards his ultimate destination.

As 96 cubic inches of Harley power thrust along the ripped, muscular, bipedal exotic shorthair, causing the bright orange fur for which his breed of cat was named to flow in the wind, his GPS was projecting the route inside his sunglasses. He continued to fly across the highway, breezing past all those cagers in their puny little cars living their puny little lives. But he had to save them from the evil he was pursuing. He'd heard the whereabouts of Tails Doll from the grapevine, and with everything in his arsenal, he'd exterminate his arch-rival once and for all.

Eventually, after six hours by motorcycle, with the occasional stop for lasagna, Garfield pulled up to the spot. Here is where Tails Doll supposedly was. Garfield marveled at the extent of the damage, how the whole town of Hendersonville had vanished leaving not even the slightest scrap of rubble or sign of civilization behind. What had been left behind, though, was a giant trail leading north out of the city, where the surrounding forest had been ripped clean away. Garfield followed this trail, extra watchful for the signs of Tails Doll activity. But no matter how hard he looked, nowhere along the trail from Hendersonville to the point where it inexplicably ended showed any sign.

Huh, Garfield thought. Maybe my sources were not as accurate as they seemed.

Then a cold tingling sensation from behind made the fur on his back stand on end. He began to turn to see what was going on, but a familiar voice boomed to him.

"No, no. Don't move one bit." The high-pitched, robotic-demonic voice of the Tails Doll came from behind him. The Tails Doll hovered in the air, both tails twitching helplessly as if having forgotten how to spin properly. "Just stay where you are..."

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The pot-leaf magic carpet landed on the helipad, and Emer Prevost stepped off of it. The pot leaf sighed in relief that it no longer had to carry such a massive burden. Bagpipe players surrounding the helipad heralded the arrival of the rotund reviewer as a tall, lanky, moustachioed man in a grey suit approached him.

On sight of the approaching suited one, Emer lowered himself to his knees and bowed his head, placing the crystal skull on the tarmac in front of him as an offering. "What is thy bidding, my master?" asked Emer, in his usual deadpan voice.

"Holy retrievings of skull for make great the glorious nation of Kazakhstan is bidding!" smiled the eternally cheerful superior. "Doll of mutant fox is the great housecat neutralize, for we make plan without nuisance!"

Emer flashed back to the memories of reading Zero Dark Garfield and Garfield: Royal Rescue on livestream with Darkness and Duck, and relished the thought that maybe, just maybe, that damned cat would finally die a most painful death. If only he could be the one actually doing the killing, but alas, he couldn't stand a chance against the exceptionally virile feline.

"Now to Sparklestown you go!" The Kazahk man picked up the skull, inspecting it carefully. "Your lover, a horrible death she did suffer there. Arrow in the eye and head, oh so gory." He trembled and shook in an exaggerated fashion as he recounted the details. "Such a sterling archer that did that must be threat to make great us!"

Behind Emer, the pot leaf magic carpet landed smoothly and gracefully, bearing Emer's shiny red 2016 Porsche 911 Carrera S with ease. The eccentric skull-seeker departed, leaving Emer to haul himself back up before his knees collapsed under all the load-bearing. He pulled open the door, seating himself in the generously-sized, heavily bolstered driver's seat. His feet rest upon the two pedals, for he was too much of a pansy to opt for the seven-speed manual instead of the PDK transmission. He closed the door, and the pot-leaf magic carpet took off into the air to carry the car and driver to the road where he could eat up the miles with its 3.8 liter, 400 horsepower flat-six engine and avenge his lover Anita Sarkeesian.

Emer breezed along in his Carrera S, linking up with a seemingly innocuous Budweiser truck en route. "This is Gun-Truck One to Emer," said the truck driver over the radio.

Emer picked up the radio mic and replied, "This is Emer. Target is in Sparklestown. Get network updates for destination. Broadside the target on my command. All firepower is authorized."

"Gun-Truck copies all. We'll fuck that shit right up. Out."

The Budweiser Gun-Truck tailed Emer's Carrera S, forming a convoy with a Pepsi truck carrying spare ammo. The convoy made its way to Sparklestown, and Emer led the semis to the parking places in front of the David Inn. The Bud trailer unfolded its sides, deploying outriggers as its 105mm M102 howitzer swiveled to face the target. On either side of the howitzer, an L/60 Bofors 40mm cannon and five M61 Vulcan 20mm autocannons took aim. From the Pepsi truck, cart after cart of ammo accompanied the artillery crews as they took positions on the guns and loaded them, anticipating the moment when they could finally get to fuck shit up.

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Author's Note: I saw a Dramatic Reading of this fanfiction (what existed of it at the time) by NerdRageNarrations, starring Klebkatt and friends of Bad Fanfiction Theater! It inspired me to make more. I also give special thanks to TrueBluefuse for the encouraging comment. Zero Dark Garfield and 50 Shades Saucier were coincidences, guys, but you have given me plenty of ideas to continue!




The Katamari ball collapsed as Johnny Cash dismounted. Aside from the massive debris pile, trail of uprooted forestry, completely disappeared town, and now-dissolved citizenry, no evidence of his presence or activities remained. Detritus and junk clattered to the ground behind Cash, revealing the crumpled-up Tesla Model S that had once formed the core of the rubbish sphere. Kanye West, surprisingly enough, was still conscious, struggling against the heavily deformed metal that had once been his car. Cash ripped the door right off with deistic strength, grabbing Kanye by the collar and dragging the dickless excuse for a man along the ground.

"No, no, please!" begged the rapper, "I didn't mean to piss you off so badly!" He left a runny, smelly brown trail of liquid shit as the undead continued to walk the line.

Johnny Cash ignored the pleading words, rummaging around in Kanye's now blood-sodden trouser pockets for clues. He withdrew a piece of paper as well as a gold-lined, diamond-encrusted wallet loaded to the gills with $100 bills. Stuffing both items into his suit pockets, Johnny Cash then set Kanye West face-up on the ground in a spread eagle pose. Kanye tried to get up and run, but the supernatural singer lay his unholy guitar upon Kanye's neck, pinning him to the ground.

With a small, sharp metal fragment from the debris pile, Cash began ritually slicing open Kanye. Kept fully conscious and aware by damnable forces, Kanye could neither scream nor squeal as the zombie performed a feat of vivisection to his body. The painful yet irresistible excision of his skeleton (with the sole exception of the cranium and mandible), rendering him a mushy pile of organs and tissue, made this the longest thirty minutes of his life. He did, however, suppose losing his bones was less damaging than losing his boner.

Johnny inscribed a pentagram into the earth, arranging the rapper's bones in an axe shape atop the improvised inscription. Kanye looked on from his vantage point in panic as Johnny then reached into his opened chest cavity and removed his heart. The scene darkened as the pentagram markings glowed blue, accompanied with guttural Viking chanting. As Johnny held Kanye's heart over the ritual symbol, the darkness and glow intensified as the chanting grew louder. The blue glow began to emanate from the bones and heart, and the chanting grew still louder.

Finally, Cash let go of the heart. It fell atop the rearranged skeleton, and it and the bones fused together in a bright flash of light. The flash subsided, revealing a hefty battleaxe of a weapon lain atop a scorched, blackened pentagram burned into the earth below. An orchestra accompanied a final chant from the otherworldly barbarian choir as it celebrated the creation of Johnny Cash's new weapon. Kanye's vertebrae formed the battleaxe's handle, with which Johnny hefted the weapon into his arms. A scapula on each side formed the blades of the axe, and were fused to the pelvis to form the axe head. Where the pelvis and column of vertebrae met was the heart - its beating sent magical energy coursing through a network of blood vessels throughout the weapon.

Johnny approached Kanye, raising the powerful axe to strike. With a swift downward blow, he decapitated Kanye. Picking up the disembodied head, Johnny then fashioned a rope from Kanye's entrails and tied the still-conscious head to his belt, Lollipop Chainsaw style. Kanye couldn't say a word, now that his lungs were separated from his mouth - not that Johnny minded this, of course. At least he wouldn't have to put up with the incessant narcissistic whining anymore.

A yellow Hummer approached as Johnny recovered his guitar and hung both axes upon his back. 50 Cent clambered down from the lifted truck as Johnny approached. "I fucked up, Johnny," said 50. "That fuckin' Emer shit took my fuckin' skull!"

"No matter," replied Johnny, "Is Kim dead?"

"Fuck yeah she is. I fuckin' put my ball up her cunt and creamed her all over the fuckin' walls."

"If you absolutely have to put it *that* way," deadpanned Cash, withdrawing the note from his pocket. "What do you make of this?"

"It's a fuckin' list," commented 50 Cent as he studied the note. Indeed he was correct; down the paper, a to-do list of what Kanye had planned that day was there for the two to see. The first few entries were scratched out, but still readable: "Secure Elder Scroll in Space Needle", "Buy Beef Jerky", "Feed Wild Side", "Scope Out Vivian and Katniss Booty", and quite a few in between rendered illegible by pen scratches and the stains from various bodily fluids.

"So we need to go to the Space Needle," replied Cash, thinking about their next move. "Whatever this 'Elder Scroll' is, we probably need to read it for ourselves."

Chapter Text

Katniss Everdeen's ears folded themselves back against her head, and her tail held itself low and limp as she cradled the recently-deceased body of her lover. The sheer force of will required to hold back tears caused her hands to tremble uncontrollably, turning what were meant to be gentle final caresses of Vivian's neck and chest into contact that resembled nervous fondling. Of course, nervousness was part of her current emotional state; after all, some sort of authority figure would surely respond to the sound of gunshots. And what would they think when they saw the bodies of two dead women and the nude, bloodstained wreck of a third?

That reminded her. Katniss gently closed Vivian's eyes, taking a calming deep breath as she got up and headed to the bathroom to wash away the blood. The warm sink water helped soothe her cold, shivering body as she scrubbed the blood off every inch of her skin. Piercing grey eyes stared back into her heavy, dirty soul as she looked into the mirror, and the reflection burned itself into her brain. Thusly horrified and further stressed out, she fled from the mirror after getting clean, instead choosing to rebraid her hair in the room proper before raiding whatever clothing was in her travel bag to attire herself.

I have to get out of here. Before authorities show up, thought Katniss to herself, trying to guide herself logically through the situation she found herself in. The most important stuff was in her travel bag - stuff like documents, her wallet, and of course, most of her supply of ammunition. She put the cap back on her quiver of arrows and placed the bow back in its case. Her previously emptied pistol magazine went back in for later reloading, taking the pouch previously taken by a filled mag which Katniss promptly loaded into her SIG.

But before she could put the sidearm away, Darkness The Curse and his friend Duck entered the room through the still-open door. It may have been the low light; after all, the table lamps were the only lights on in the room, but the sight of Anita Sarkeesian with two arrows in her head, copious amounts of blood, and various clothing items strewn around the room caught both of them off guard. And then Duck turned the lights on, revealing the true picture. On the other side of the bed, a dark-haired catgirl leveled a pistol at the two of them, causing the both of them to raise their arms and clearly show their current unarmed state.

"Hey," replied Darkness in the calmest tone his surprised and fearful state could manage, "Put the weapon down. We just want to know what happened."

Katniss took her right hand off the pistol to point at Anita's body. "She ambushed us!"

"Wait, you mean Anita there? Emer's girl?" questioned Darkness in confusion. Sure, he'd been suspicious of their relationship from the very beginning, but nothing about this suspicion could explain why in the hell she now existed as a pincushion in a random hotel room.

"Emer? Who is this?" asked Katniss with equal amounts curiosity and bloodlust. "Did he put her up to this?"

"What?!?!" questioned Duck, surprised that anyone would make such an insinuation about his friend. Katniss pivoted to aim at Duck for this outburst.

"Hey! Hey, take it easy!" Darkness panicked. "We're just as shocked as you, alright? Emer just runs a nightclub, I don't know why he'd send someone after you!"

Katniss slowly lowered her weapon at this revelation. She remained in shooting stance, ready to pop back up in case either man made any sudden movements, but no longer directly brandished the firearm at them. "So, my assailant's boyfriend runs a nightclub. Where is it?"

"Emer's my friend! I can't possibly let you put him in danger like that," replied Duck, prompting Katniss to raise her weapon again.

"Emer just sent his own lover to kill us. Either you're his friend, or you're mine."

"Emer would kill me if I told you," complained Darkness. At this, Katniss spun to Duck, firing one perfectly aimed shot right through his head. Duck collapsed to the floor in his death spasm as the spray of what was formerly his brain spattered the window behind him.

Katniss pivoted to line up a headshot on Darkness. "Uh huh," she replied, deadpan.

"It's the Scarlet Ring, okay?" A pang of regret and fear shot through Darkness, his best educated guess as to what this crazy neko was going to do with the information quickly filling any and all capacity in his brain to think. "The party is held in the Space Needle Loop. He'll be at the base of the tower itself."

Finally, Katniss thought to herself as she finally had the information she needed. "Thank you," she sarcastically said with the world's most insincere curtsy, "for your consideration." She grabbed the bow case, carrying it in her right hand as she headed towards the door.

And then it hit her. From across the parking lot, Katniss could see a suspicious-looking semi truck. From its location, searchlights waved to and fro, scanning the front of the David Inn. Just as she began retreating towards the bathroom, the searchlights reached the open door and bloodied window.

And they stopped.

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Garfield took the Tails Doll by surprise with a leaping backflip from his motorcycle. As a cat, he landed on all fours, bellowing forth a loud wildcat roar as he brandished the pole from which the American flag billowed in the wind. Tails Doll turned towards where Garfield landed, catching a load of cast bronze eagle upside the head as Garfield swung the flagpole and swatted down the demonic toy.

Tails Doll bounced across the ground, tumbling helplessly as its stuffing flew out in every imaginable direction. To think that Tails Doll and Garfield had been mortal enemies for 500 years, Garfield thought to himself as his foe sailed right into the hands of the waiting Harambe.

"Please don't eat me..." meekly begged Tails Doll with desperation - but this didn't matter to the silverback gorilla masticating on his haunted cotton innards.

Harambe shrugged with a disinterested grunt, continuing to make a meal out of the centuries-old demigod. As he did so, Garfield planted the flag into the ground with its stake, freeing his hands to fish his penis from his fur and out of his pants. Its spiky eight inches dangled publicly, all hanging out for anyone curious to know what a comic cat's dong looked like.

After Harambe finished his meal, his image faded into a blue ghost. The ghost resembled a translucent gorilla, deprived of all color except a sky blue tint, streaked crimson where a gunshot had taken the original Harambe's life. From this bloody blemish sprouted a like-colored spectral tentacle, alongside blue tentacles from the eyes and ears. The blue tentacles planted themselves into the ground, soaking the Earth's very life energy into the Harambe ghost, while the red tentacle grabbed Garfield's cock, fusing with it and sending Garfield into an instant high.

 

Garfield awoke in a stark white void. Clambering to his feet, his head began darting around, looking for the exit that he could not find. He could hear a low, quiet hum in the background, but absolutely nothing else existed in this featureless expanse...

"Whassup, my nigga?" came a deep voice from behind him. Garfield whipped around, facing Harambe who was waving at him from about ten feet away.

"Meow!" replied Garfield, walking towards his old friend. Harambe looked exactly like he'd done back in the old days - afro bulging from the fur atop his head, a large gold dollar-sign necklace hanging from his neck, and Air Force Ones on his feet, Garfield felt instantly at home. Harambe smiled at his feline friend, displaying the diamond-encrusted grille on his teeth.

Harambe was quick to say, "You can speak English now, dawg! For reals!" He and Garfield shook hands, flexing muscles as they did so in the world's manliest handshake.

"I can?..." asked Garfield, surprising himself with his newfound ability to speak human tongues. "Shit, G, I gotta keep that in mind."

"Ay, just keep ya boi Harambe in mind, nigga. My hood-senses is tingling, foo. Might need to talk to them human muthafuckas now, getting this Tails Doll bullshit done with."

"Yo man, I just saw you eat him after I clocked his ass with the flag pole!

"Yeah, nigga, but this Tails Doll, he workin' deep, he workin' hard. This 'Borat' nigga got deep pockets and he aimin' for somethin', dawg. This shiznit can't be good if that Tails Doll be up in his hood."

Great, Garfield thought to himself with an aside glance. This is beginning to sound like a conspiracy theory from the deepest depths of hell.

Harambe broke Garfield out of his thoughts. "Ay man, go show that nigga he got the baby dick. I know you got skill with the gat, yo."

"Thanks." replied Garfield, as the white void faded back to the surroundings from before. The devastated area of what was formerly Hendersonville still lay flat and bare, save for the motorcycle that somehow remained perfectly upright despite being used as a springboard for Garfield's surprise attack on Tails Doll. Garfield straddled the motorcycle again, leaving the American flag flying proudly as the symbol of his and Harambe's victory over the nemesis.

"Now to kick Borat's ass and chew bubblegum. And I'm all out of gum."

Chapter Text

"Hello! Welcome to my forest!" shouted a thin, older man. 50 and Cash both turned around from where Kanye's body still lay, and were greeted with the sight of a man in jeans and a blue plaid shirt, with black hair in a ponytail.

"Your forest? I was expecting motherfuckin' hobbits and shit, not some bumass homeless dude on shrooms!" 50 couldn't believe his eyes.

"Forgive my friend here, I was looking for directions to the nearest shrine," interrupted Cash, still unsure of his next move. He, too, had been caught off guard by the forest-dweller.

"Oh, the shrine? This house is the shrine. It's the shrine to my CO2-free, environmentally sustainable lifestyle." He pointed up, gesturing at the house he'd built long ago in the heights of the forest.

"That makes you a 'tree hugger', yes?" asked 50 as he tried to make sense of exactly what the hell was going on around him.

"Yes it does!" replied the tree hugger with elation. "The trees are my family! They're everything to me. Their beautiful, natural growth is the gift from God, and I want to save them from fossil fuels and pollution."

Before Cash and Cent could reply to this nonsense, the tree-hugger switched subjects. "But do you know what's on my mind right now? It ain't the trees in the forest. It's the dead nigger you just sacrificed."

50 quickly reacted, "Hey, hey, hey, whoa. Wait a minute, you can't just go around sayin'-"

"I don't wanna wait a minute, I wanna ask you a question, alright? When you came walking in here, did you notice a sign at the entrance to the forest that said 'Dead Nigger Sacrifices'?"

Cash replied, "We know you don't put up signs-"

"Did you notice the sign at the entrance to the forest that said 'Dead Nigger Sacrifices'?!"

"No," said 50 Cent, now defeated by a pussy-ass vegan of all people.

"And you wanna know why you didn't see that sign?"

"Why?"

"Because it ain't there, because sacrificing dead niggers ain't my fuckin' business, that's why! Jesus Christ, when the Ents see this shit..."

50 began to retaliate, the derogatory term for his skin color rubbing him the wrong way despite his use of it in his own music, "You called the wrong nigga a nigga, bi-" ...and was interrupted before the magical cue to throw a bowling ball when a ferocious feline roar reverberated through the foliage. All three participants in this awkward conversation turned their heads in different directions, trying to locate the source of the very much threatening sound.

"I - I hear a mountain lion. Gotta go!" said the tree hugger, hurriedly climbing his tree to exit the story just as abruptly as he had entered.

Chapter Text

Emer parked his red Porsche in his reserved space at the bottom of the Space Needle, heading for the door as the Gun-Trucks behind him scurried off to the ammo depot. He walked into the lobby, making his way to his office within the building. He opened the door and was greeted with the familiar sight of the opulent working space. A mahogany desk dominated the velvet-floored space as screens behind the chair displayed views from all across the amazingly beautiful city of Seattle. He slipped his leather jacket off, tossing it onto one of the guest chairs opposite his own as he motioned to close the steel-cored bulletproof door.

But the door stopped just short of closing, surprising the fuck out of Emer. The door swung back open, revealing the tall and broad-shouldered Gale Hawthorne. He too worked in the confines of the Space Needle, heading security between his rounds as a paranormal investigator. "Ever heard of knocking?" asked Emer to Gale as the latter stepped inside, successfully closing the door behind him.

In his monotone, poorly-disguised Australian accent completely unlike his supposed Appalachian origins, Gale replied, "We have a big problem."

"Not again," deadpanned Emer, slumping into his chair to smoke a blunt even fatter than he.

"When you went to the David Inn to make a kill..." began Gale, "...did you happen to notice any vehicles missing?"

"We didn't check," Emer said, again in a completely flat voice. "We reduced that building to splinters before she ever had a chance to escape. The gun cameras even got a full frontal look at her five seconds before we fired."

Gale, seemingly nonplussed, replied, "What have I told you about confirming kills, Emer? The people we're after have a way of surviving the unsurvivable. You know that."

"Like whom?" asked Emer, "That fuckin' Battle Royale ripoff?"

"That 'fuckin' Battle Royale ripoff'..." Gale's tranquil strength could visibly be seen falling apart at the seams with pants-shitting fear, "...is Katniss Everdeen."

Meanwhile, in a secluded location in the Applachian Mountains, amidst the pouring rain, a rusty pink Bodhi pulled up to a lone tree. Its engine shut off, and its occupant stepped out to survey the scene before her.

"She was once a friend of mine, in District Twelve. We called her 'Mockingjay'."

From inside the bed of the beaten pickup, Katniss withdrew the Entrenching Tool, originally issued to her back in the Resistance special forces. Turning towards the tree, she eyed up the site, noting the location of a sizable rock laying at the foot of the tree. The tree itself provided some respite from the downpour, but the clay and soil still had turned to mud in these conditions. With a push, she rolled the rock off to one side, exposing a bare patch of dirt and clay underneath that immediately began soaking in the rain.

Emer interrupted his colleague, "You mean, the songbird?"

"She had the singing voice for it," continued Gale, "but her actions proved to be all the song we ever needed."

Katniss stood before the spot, laying the blade of her spade on the spot as the torrent of water soaked what little clothing she had on. The fur on her ears and tail matted down, her hair fraying even as it descended in a single braid down her back. For such a petite, diminutive woman, Katniss could muster a surprisingly frightening war cry - one of her drill instructors had made sure she could. Her scream to the heavens accompanied a mighty swing of the shovel into the clay mud.

"Katniss," continued Gale, "is a woman who's motivated."

Another swing of the shovel took away another chunk of the topsoil.

"...cunning..."

A few more swings, each removing more and more dirt.

"...resourceful." Gale paused. Though realizing no amount of alcohol would cause this particular problem to go away, he figured a drink would at least make the warning easier to give. "She willingly joined The Hunger Games, of course," Gale recalled, "Just to save her little sister's life. I saw her kill three Tributes with an apple."

Katniss continued attacking this spot on the ground with her shovel, expanding the two foot deep pit she'd been digging.

"With a fuckin'..."

Another shovel strike sprayed mud all over her, but Katniss was relentless in her digging efforts.

"...apple."

Having had enough of shoveling, Katniss tossed her Entrenching Tool aside, clawing at the lumps of clay with her bare hands. Only an inch of mud to go before reaching her goal.

"And then, after we won that Rebellion, she wanted to leave. She just wanted to be a normal girl living a normal life."

Katniss continued to scrape the mud away from the wooden object below with her fingers. More and more of its top surface revealed itself as she removed what once had kept this item safe.

"So President Coin made a deal with her - she gave her an impossible task. One that Coin knew Katniss could never pull off."

Finally, Katniss revealed the object she'd been trying to dig up. Measuring three by six foot, the lid of the chest was held shut by three great clasps along its front face.

"The orders Coin gave that day came to be her last." Gale smiled to himself, recalling the moment when that asshole dictator finally met her end.

Unlatching the first two clasps, Katniss paused, sighing to herself. Here she was, in the pouring rain, digging up not only her supplies but parts of her past that Vivian had helped her leave behind. All the pain and grief of her childhood, the grueling war she'd been pressed into serving in, the loss of her family and her friends - relieved temporarily by the love of another. But this was over now...

"And now look what you've done. You and Anita killed her fiancee, and ruined her retirement."

Katniss undid the last of the three clasps, lifting the stout lid to reveal the contents she'd buried two years previous.

"Katniss will come for us. There is little we can do, because there is much she can do. And I will tell you, you...are...fucked."

The chest lay in its dugout, propped open as Katniss stood before it. The various guns and ammo glistened with rainwater as the downpour began to flood the chest. It was at this point that Katniss thanked herself for having the foresight to put the wads of cash in plastic. She hoped that her leather holsters had survived, though...


Katniss was in the process of loading the chest contents into the Bodhi's toolbox when her phone began ringing. Curious, she wiped the mud off her hands and answered.

"Hey, Catnip," began the voice of Gale. "I heard about Vivian. I know you two loved each other dearly - my condolences."

Welp, thought Katniss, listening in, How in the hell did Gale get this number?!

The moment of awkward silence ended with Gale's next line, "Let us recognize that Anita was acting on her own recognizance and not under orders from Emer or any other third party."

Prove it, Katniss considered as a retort, but she held her tongue. You've obviously picked your side. Another moment of awkward silence ensued.

"I implore you, Catnip, put the weapons down and settle this like human-" Katniss hung up wordlessly. Gale stopped his sentence short as the dial tone interrupted him. A defeated look overtook his face as he lowered the handset and returned it to his holster.

Emer, who'd watched the whole exchange, asked, "What did she say?"

Gale replied, "Enough."