Chapter Text

It had been precisely, down to the second, 100 days since the inauguration. 2400 hours on the dot. In the city that never sleeps, papers blew ominously in the wind like tumbleweeds. The big yellow headlines all concerned one man: the president. His first 100 days in office had been like no others. Every day some part of the government disappeared. These were not announced executive orders, but rather mysterious vanishings. It was as if the structures of the American government were being stolen one by one by some invisible force. Streets were becoming emptier as all disease seemed to be on the rise. And New York had it the worst. The rats were everywhere, all breathing billowing death from their wretched maws. Needless to say the vibes were bad. All the while, the President hid from the public eye in the White House. 

Even the White House itself seemed to be suffering. Its walls became greyer and greyer by the day. The only traffic in and out of the building was that of the president’s Cabinet. The Cabinet all wore cloaks, and were not identified to the public. Somehow not one of their identities had yet been revealed, though all were anxious to know who could be hiding under their masks. The entire Federal branch had seemingly overnight become some sort of dark chessmaster, with endless layers of mystery to be uncovered. Every journalist that tried to get even a smidgen of info was completely shut out. The White House was practically impenetrable to any man. It would take the will of god to rattle the shadowy bureaucracy from whatever its course may be.

In the dusty wine cellar under the President’s dining room, a figure emerged from a tall wooden box. Heavy white robes were draped over his gaunt figure and his red head. His face was quite literally skeletal, with a thin layer bloody something or other being the only meat on his bones. He did, however, have an impressive black beard. He took a single, shaky step forward, before looking down and slowly grabbing at the breast of his shirt. On it was the only modern item in the room, an empty “Hi, my name is:” tag. He knew nothing except for the fact that he knew nothing and was mad, so he figured that the knowledge of his name must be deduced on a wild rampage of revenge. He took another rattled step forward before slipping and absolutely eating shit. He looked back to what he slipped on, a weird-ass fish that had somehow fallen out of the fridge by one of the large wine barrels. He sighed and realized immediately that he couldn’t be a bad-ass action hero, and instead of discovering what his name might’ve been, he settled on a name that matched his exceedingly low expectations for himself: Red Herring.

He wrote the name onto the tag using his own blood on the tip of his finger. He got up and walked to the wooden stairs leading up and into the dining room. He recognized the White House, however nearly every window was shrouded. Clearly something was very wrong. God had likely put him on this Earth as an individual with the unique capabilities to solve whatever the fuck was going on here, but he simply did not believe he could do it. He followed the flickering exit signs while thinking about what might be good for lunch, not seeing a single soul until reaching the main proscenium. Across the hall was a hooded member of the cabinet.

The two slender figures stood, Red Herring’s flowing white garb juxtaposing the Cabinetman’s dark and sharp attire. The Cabinetman studied Red Herring closely. After a beat, he spoke in a sinister and gravelly voice. “You-”

“Jersey Mike’s” said Red Herring. 

“What?”

“I want Jersey Mike’s for lunch.”

The Cabinetman paused for a moment as he tried to decipher a hidden meaning behind what the heroic figure had just said. He opted to ignore it completely before continuing. “You’ve finally arrived. I figured He would send you. Nobody else has been able to infiltrate this House for 100 days, 5 minutes, and 26 seconds. You are a worthy opponent, and I will take great joy in ending your journey.”

“Ok, man.” said Red Herring as he approached the door.

“Wait, you fool! Don’t you want to fight….or something?”

“No man, I'm getting lunch.”

The Cabinetman sprinted at Red Herring and pinned him to the door. He pressed a knife to Red Herring’s throat. “Listen, I don’t think you understand what’s happening here. You have infiltrated the most secure place on the entire planet, and you’re leaving without collecting any information. Do you even know who I am? It’s very interesting.”

“I just don’t think I was the right pick to fight an evil political syndicate. Tell coach to put John Wick in or something, I’m going to Jersey Mike’s.” Red Herring pushed on the door behind him until it opened. He took a step away from the knife, and the Cabinetman froze. He was unable to feel any bloodlust for such a lowkey chill dude. Without another word, Red Herring turned and strolled out of the White House courtyard. Dozens of drone cameras reported to dozens of reporters that someone unaffiliated with the president has just walked out of the White House. All of them were thinking the same thing: “Do we have a hero?”

However, Red Herring didn’t seem to think a hero was even needed. As he walked down the streets of DC he looked around. Everything seemed pretty much alright to him. It would take something pretty drastic to get him interested in being the force of god that he seemed poised to be. 

It took 26 hours of walking aimlessly through DC before Red Herring finally came across a Jersey Mike’s. He breathed a sigh of relief as he walked through the door and felt the AC hit his face; a relief from the hot September’s air. He heard the chatter of the handful of Jersey Mike’s patrons as he approached the counter, however they suddenly died off. A loud silence filled the room. The sandwich artist turned from the toaster to see what was the matter. His eyes met Red Herring’s sunken sockets. He slowly walked to the counter and slammed his palms down, shaking the change in the cash register. He studied Red Herring’s face closely. He grinned, and loudly proclaimed: “The Red Savior is here! Hero to America, hero to all!”

“HUZZAH!” The merry men of Jersey Mikes shouted, giving way to rapturous merriment and cheer.

“So what does the legend himself want on this fine day?” said the burly, bearded sandwich man, in a half-shout.

“Uh, just like a 9, I guess.” Red Herring said, looking over his shoulders and hiding from the fans as a man came up to shake his hand. The sandwich artist worked quickly as a small crowd formed around Red Herring, all talking to him at once. He didn’t turn from the counter, and ignored the crowd as he focused on his sandwich being made. Roast beef. Turkey. Swiss. He caught part of something someone was trying to tell him on his right. “You’re all over the internet dude, people are saying you’re gonna be voted hottest man of the year!”

After what felt like an eternity, the jolly sultan of sandwich finished and wrapped Red Herring’s #9 Club Supreme. Red Herring took his sandwich and attempted to give the man his money (exact change for the order, which happened to be in one of his robe pockets), but the man pushed the money aside and proclaimed “America’s savior and unequivocally sexiest guy will not be paying at this, or any other Jersey Mike’s location!”

“Are you all fucking stupid or something?” Red Herring said. He clambered up onto the counter and addressed the crowd as they finally quieted down. He unwrapped his sandwich. “Listen!” He took a bite of his sandwich. “I don’t know what the hell is going on. Clearly you all want…” he took a bite of his sandwich. “...some sort of hero. Like a symbol to believe in or something? Well, I don’t know. If you don’t like the government, organize or something! Riot, I don’t fucking care. I’m…” he took a bite of his sandwich. “... not exactly the hero you want, guys. I literally slipped on a red herring when I woke up! I’m called Red Herring!”

“A fitting name for a hero!” Shouted the idiotic sandwich bastard.

“No it’s fucking not! And newsflash, assholes! I don’t even remember anything!” He took a bite of his sandwich. “I don’t know what’s happening, I'd need a hell of a good reason to actually get involved in whatever this is.”

“But you infiltrated the White House! Did you find out who any of the Cabinetmen are?”

“No! I woke up there! I didn’t do shit! I have no reason to do shit! What don’t you all get!? I’M NO HERO!”
Suddenly, a man with a left nostril that was bigger than the right won who was wearing a shirt that just said the word “basketball” on it burst through the door. “TURN ON THE TV! IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT CHANNEL!”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The president emerged from his wooden box in the oval office just as the morning dew was starting to evaporate. His closest aide, [REDACTED] was already sitting across from the presidential throne at the large, ornate wooden desk. The president threw off the American flag he was shrouded in. He took one slow, creeping step out of the box. His bald head glistened in the candlelight that filled the office. He opened his mouth, heavily breathing. The breathing turned into a hiss as he stretched his limbs. His fingers extended as he turned his face towards the ceiling and basked in the dimness. He pulled out his throne, sat down, then unceremoniously scooted forward. Nobody can scoot forward gracefully.

“Report.” He grunted in a deep and commanding voice.

“President Orlock, sir.” the Cabinetman addressed him. “The agent we expected He would send was found yesterday morning. I personally dealt with the situation with even more ease than anticipated.”

Nosferatu didn’t flinch, hesitate, or otherwise react before demanding “And?”

“Well, sir.” The Cabinetman cleared his throat. “The first plane has hit the towers.”

“Good.” smiled Nosferatu. “Good.”

Chapter Text

“OH MY GOD THEY HIT THE FIRST TOWER!!!!!” The Jersey Mike’s erupted in panic. “It seems really pessimistic saying that it hit the first tower,” quipped Red Herring. The man in the basketball shirt asked: “Don’t you remember what happened on 9/11? We’ve seen this before. It’s happening all over again”.
“What.”
“Oh my god were you just born.”
“Maybe.”

“Whatever, you’ve got to do something!”
“WHAT. DO. YOU. MEAN. WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT ME TO DO. THAT’S A PLANE. I’M NO HERO,” shouted Red Herring. Suddenly, a chant began in the Jersey Mike’s: “Be a hero! Be a hero! BE A HERO! BE A HERO!”. “Listen, whether you like it or not, you’re America’s only hope,” said the man in the stupid fucking basketball shirt. “The Triplet Towers have been hit, the ‘government’ is collapsing, and-”.

All of a sudden, a United States armored vehicle—now bearing a Mr. Beast logo as part of a sponsorship to try and get rid of national debt—rolled up to the front of the Jersey Mike’s. “Oh shit, it’s the feds!” said the sandwich artist. A small panic was re-induced in the building. The artist ushered Red Herring and Basketshirts into the public restroom.
“Take two lefts and a right! It’s in the third stall. We’re counting on you”. He then shut the door and locked it.
“…This is too much.”

“I mean what do you expect? You’re a very high value target right now. I’m surprised they even let you leave the Grey House.”
“Whatever. I’m gonna piss.”
“Alright.”
…
Outside of the bathroom, the cloaked feds emerged from their vehicle and entered the Jersey Mike’s—they looked unarmed, but who knows. As they entered, the sandwich artist quickly positioned themselves in front of the door to the bathroom very conspicuously-inconspicuous. The feds went up, and the one with the slightly eviler-looking robes stepped forward and said in a heavy voice:

“Show us the ‘Red Savior’.”

The artist said that he was nowhere to be found, still obviously body-blocking the door.

“We know he’s in the bathroom. We saw you hiding him through the window. Let us in.”
The artist, with his quick thinking said “Sorry, the restrooms are for paying customers only.”

The rest of the citizens at the Jersey Mike’s, realizing his plan, lined up at the registers before the feds could and began ordering. This resulted in a defeated sigh from the cloaked figures, followed by them lining up for their order. In the midst of the chaos of the 5/01 attacks, the people of Jersey Mike’s united for one purpose. It’s all up to the Red Savior now.
…

“Okay, I’m done.”

“Hey, now that I think about it, how do you piss?”

“…Wait, yeah. What was I doing in there?”

“Also, have you noticed that this bathroom is fucking huge? It’s also just stalls. No sinks or urinals or anything.”

“Weird.”

Red Herring and the fatass basketball fan went down the seemingly endless corridors of stalls until they found the stall that they were looking for. They opened it to reveal a stall with no toilet, but rather a hole with a ladder leading down into darkness. Seeing no other options, they descended just as the feds burst into the restrooms with Portabella Chicken Cheese Steaks and a large drink in hand.

Reaching the bottom of the pit, they reach what seems to be a large tunnel with tracks in it. Entering the tunnel, they feel an impending sense of doom. A train whizzes by, narrowly missing the pocket of the tunnel they were in. With nothing else to do, they began going the way they felt was right.

As they walked down the long tunnel, Basketboy sparks up conversation. “Well hey, looks like we’ve got some time to kill! Seems like a great moment for some character development. How about you tell me a little bit about yourself?”

“I already told you, I know nothing. Stop asking me.”

“Why does it say Red Herring on your name tag?”
“I slipped on what I think was a Red Herring as soon as I had gotten out of my coffin, so that’s what I named myself. I don’t know why I woke up with this on.”
“That’s dumb. That’d be like if my mom named me Umbilical Cord.”
“Very funny.”
…
Red Herring continued. “What’s your name anyway?”
“Everyone calls me Coach. They’ve called me Coach for so long that I don’t remember my actual name.”

“Really?”

“No, it’s Matthew Johnsons.”

“Do you like basketball?”

“It’s all I live for.”
“You play it?”
“Hell no, look at me. I’m fat as fuck. I could probably only get 4 inches off the ground if I tried. I used to though, back when I was in my prime. But that was like in 2nd grade. I used to rule the court, dunking, juking, shooting 6-pointers. I was the goa-”
“Wait wait wait wait. 6-pointers? What?”
“I was lying. How did you know I was lying? I thought you said you didn’t know anything.”
“…Yeah, I thought I did. Huh.”

“Oh dude do you think we need to restore your memories or something?”
“Maybe. Or maybe that was just a shit lie.”
After walking for a little longer, they made it to a set of stairs leading to a train station platform. Almost as if planned for their arrival, a train rolls up. For being in a subway, it’s quite strange, considering the train looks more reminiscent of a steam train. Red Herring looks at the destination on a sign: “TRAIN JM - New Flagstaff, KI: ON TIME”.
“‘KI’? Where’s that?”
“Frankly, I’m not sure. I know us Americans are bad at geography and all but I can’t think of any states that abbreviate to ‘KI’,” Coach added.

“Well, we don’t have much of a choice, do we?”

The two of them boarded the train. It was completely empty, except for one man in a vest bearing a conductor's hat. I think it’s reasonable to assume he was the conductor. He seated the 2 of them in a private cart, and offered them coffee and biscuits. The two of them politely declined, having just eaten. The conductor then pulls up an antique Luger pistol, points it at them, and in a German-but-not-really sounding accent asks the two:

“So, what brings you here?”

Red Herring and Coach are taken aback, but you can’t really tell Red Herring is because he’s a skeleton. Coach responds, “Uh… the guy at Jersey Mike’s sent us down here.”

“Ah. Good.” He puts away his pistol. “So you’re part of the Resistance.”

Red Herring interrupts: “I don’t want to be part of any ‘Resistance’.”

“You gotta” the others say in unison. Red Herring sighs.
“So, where are we going?” Coach asks. “I’ve never heard of a ‘KI’ state”.

The conductor walks around the train and solemnly drags his hand along a plaque on the train’s wall reading ‘1956’. “This railroad was built in secret when Jersey Mike’s was first founded. Nobody knows about its existence but Jersey Mike’s employees. They’re all under a very strict NDA , you could say. You’re on the way to the Jersey Mike’s in New Flagstaff, Key Island.”

“How come I’ve never heard of this state?”

“That’s ‘cause it’s not on any map. Top secret 51st state, annexed 1978. For some reason, nobody questions why Puerto Rico was declared the 52nd state. The government wanted to use Key Island for secret operations, but forgot about it. Somehow, the Jersey Mike’s was also already there when they found it. There’s some infrastructure, mainly abandoned government buildings. I’m not entirely sure, this is the first time I’ve had to bring people there.”

Coach tries to check the news on his phone, but he can’t get a signal. He notices an old radio set sitting in the booth beside them. “Hey, you mind turning on that radio?”. “Of course,” replied the conductor.
*bzzzzzzzt* “-and it’s a cool 63 degrees ou-” *bzzt* “-ide on this lovely night of May 1st and… I’m sorry, what was that? Okay. Hey folks so it seems we have a development on the “terrorist” attacks—yeah right—that have been happening across the U.S. as of late. It seems there’s a fourth plane that is still in the U.S. airspace after the grounding order, and—yeah can we just pull it up on the bi-” *bzzt* “-screen here—it seems it’s headed for…”

“Oh. It’s heading for the Hexagon. You know I never really understood why they called it a hexagon. Sure they ‘tech-” *bzzt* “-cally’ added a 6th side, but they didn’t move any of the other side’s for it. It’s just sticking out of a corner. It kind of looks like a lollipop. Oh, yeah right. Yeah they hit the Hexagon. Like a couple seconds ago. Anyways, this is your radio host Murphy Guillermo signing off for the evening. Goodnight, Ameri-”

*bzzzzzzzt*
The conductor turned off the radio.

Chapter Text

On board the steam train, the group starts panicking. One plane may be a freak accident, two might be particularly unlucky, but three is WAY too many planes.

The conductor lowers his head in silence. Pondering whether or not he should explain to the red stranger what he was about to say, he slowly mutters, “That wasn’t the third one.”

“Third what, attack? I just wanted a fucking sandwich and I’m being roped into this crusade of bandits and deceivers. You better have a goddamned good explanation for this whole thing, Coach.” retorted Red Herring.

“W- Well you picked the wrong sandwich shop at the wrong time, red savior. Out of all the shitty foods to pick out, you went for Jersey Mike’s in D.C. I thought this was covered in the weekly Conspiracies magazine- sandwich shops are the best fronts for resistances and cults!”

“Aye, Johnsons has a point. The Yellow Deli’s been making a killing for a while.” added the conductor. He quietly ignores being accused as a bandit and a deceiver, for now. Continuing, he elaborates, “This wasn’t the third plane to crash into a famous building in the past month.”

“So what, do you mean to say there’s an organization of plane maniacs out there, making the world shitty for everyone above the first floor of a building?” Red Herring snarks.

“Yeah, actually.”

“The name’s not ‘the conductor’, by the way. My name is Conduct Orc. Surprised you didn’t notice my appearance or anything. You can call me Kenny though.” Sure enough, he wore a belt buckle the side of Utah, which is only a little big. His star shaped eyebrows also seemed a bit peculiar to Red Herring when they first met, but he was mulling over how to best insult his captors instead of paying it any mind.

Sidenote, he was an orc.

“We aren’t glossing over the organization of plane maniacs, what? ”

“I figure you’d know, it was all over the president’s previous State of the Union address.” Kenny shoves a tablet in Red Herring’s face, and there was infamous President Orlock.

Nosferatu gives the House of Representatives and the Senate a cold glare. A group of cloaked figures were behind the president, with elaborate masks. Each one had an ornate design, unique to the person wearing them, but only went by █████████. Any time one utters a name, they get a massive headache and forget what they said, with a loud, shrill noise, taking its place.

President Orlock starts to speak. “Under my jurisdiction, this country has seen no wars. It has seen no sorrow. I’ve been elected by the American people to do the job of many, occupied by only-” He pauses, to hold up one, skeletal finger. “...one.”

“Who the fuck is this guy,” asked Red Herring, “Fucking dehydrated sandpaper.”

“Good, you noticed he’s in black and white.” Kenny responds.

Before the conductor can get another word in, Nosferatu on the tablet continues, “You may have questions about my origin, about where I may reside. After all, I need to be born in America to have been elected in the first place. Certain... political opponents, have asked for my birth certificate. For proof of where I reside. Well, it is an unconstitutional, and unacceptable act, to intrude on the privacy of an American citizen. These political rivals, no, extremists, are only concerned because I am right. I am doing the world a good with my madness. I didn’t spend this long fixing the problems of the people, toiling away on my seventeenth term in these United States of America, for it to go... unappreciated.”

Kenny continues, “Odd how the video itself isn’t, nor is anyone in the crowd.” Sure enough, it was only enveloped around the president, a fragment of the past revolving around the man. A tall, slender figure, with an elaborate cloak wrapped around him. He could be wearing purple for all we knew.

he was wearing purple i know it

FUCKING DAMN IT I thought you would’ve gotten bored after that anime shit. Did you learn anything about the work I do?

i thought there was a whole arc about resolving that conflict

No I had amnesia recently actually, let’s get back to the plot.

“We believe he has some sort of functioning time travel technology, because...”, Kenny pauses, waiting for the video to catch up with his point.

“...and another thing, these sandwich shops didn’t give me my fucking lettuce the first time, so I had to use this time travelling stopwatch to tell them ‘Hey, you forgot my fucking lettuce, you shitty minimum wage FOOL.’ They insisted they put it on there, but I stuffed their face into my sandwich, waterboarded them in the rock-hard dough they call bread, the ice cold tomato bath, the gigantic turkey that soaked too long in the sun, and told him, adamantly, that there was no fucking lettuce in this sandwich to be found. What am I paying Subway for, these damn-”

“And you’re telling me NOBODY’S noticed he casually brought up time travel?” Red Herring asks.

Coach, intimately aware of the topic, explains “Oh, he’s had beef with sandwiches ever since his mom passed away from a sandwich overdose, it always distracts people. He has several autobiographies about it.” He pulls out several comically large books he had stuffed in his pocket. “I was gonna play ping-pong with these later, horrible reading.”

“Books are shitty ping-pong balls, I’ve checked. You’re using these for something else.” Red Herring observes. Coach clams up, not wanting to talk about the lipstick marks on the cover of Nosferatu’s War Against Subway, Volume II .

Kenny clears the air, “Aaanyway, he confesses to using time travel right then and there! It explains all the other oddities of this past month as well. Plane wreckages on the side of the Second Eiffel Tower, the Second Stonehenge, the Fr-”

shh spoilers

Why are you interrupting Kenny like that?

spoilers?

Oh yeah, for once that one’s my bad. We’ll get back to you on that.

“The planes were inspected by our operatives, and they all had broken clocks found onboard by random passengers’ luggage, reading completely different years than the one we’re in. These planes are always aimed at buildings that come in pairs, we don’t fully know why.”

Absorbed in the conversation, Red Herring forgets the other resistance members in the train with him. All of them, smelling of deli meats, are focused on the words Kenny is saying, lingering on every word, watching him carefully and thoughtfully for each breath. The train is now on a bridge overlooking Francis Scott Key bridge, the sky still definitely blue like it was earlier. On a nice day like this, it’s easy to forget the tragedy of earlier.

“The strangest thing is, the news never seemed to cover the other planes, and this new pattern of crashes doesn’t fit the profile we have so far. Both Twin Towers fell, and now a third on the Hexagon. There’s not a second Hexagon, and usually one of the twins is left behind. Fortunately, once we regroup at-”

“Sir!” a random member shouts. “Duck!”

On the left of the train, a plane materializes into view, aimed directly at them.

Chapter Text

There’s an old saying that goes something along the lines of “One out of every dozen is bad.” It was coined by chicken farmers who were bad at their jobs, and wanted to temper the public’s expectations. Or it was an excuse by bakers who were especially generous, but wanted to seem humble. Or it was something that a priest would tell their congregation to warn them of hidden foes among their closest allies, reminiscent of Jesus’ Twelve Apostles. Or it was something Santa Claus said once. The origin of the phrase is a bit fuzzy, and if you go to The Second Library of Congress, you could find at least a dozen books that will all tell you a different story on who said it first and why, so maybe one out of every dozen is just unique.

Regardless, the meaning and wording changed over time, and while at one time the most common interpretation was to be cautious of danger lurking within an abundance, it eventually was simplified to “Every twelfth thing is bad,” shifting the unlucky number down by one and causing many to get very superstitious whenever anything was the “twelfth” of a set, fearing that the worst would happen to them.

However, it’s always been a little unclear who the misfortune would fall upon. If a farmer gave you 12 eggs, would the farmer be punished for selling that many eggs, or would you be punished for buying them? If you bought 11 eggs and then bought 1 egg individually, would the curse apply then? What if you bought 2 packs of 12 eggs? Would it no longer apply, or would you now just have 2 bad eggs? This was a big debate among philosophers that eventually led to the topic getting banned altogether by The International Foundation For Philosophy. Is it a coincidence that it was the twelfth topic they had ever banned?

Probably, but even today many people strictly abide by this rule, or at least their own interpretation of it. You might be wondering to yourself, “What does this have to do with the story I was just reading? Didn’t a fucking airplane fly into the train? Is Red Herring okay? Why are you wasting my time talking about eggs? Twelve is my favorite number, do you hate me specifically?” Those are all very good questions, and they’ll all be answered soon. Probably. Anyways, let’s check on Nosferatu. Pretty sure he’s why you started reading, right?

—-

A dim chandelier lit enough of the cabinet room for the oval table and its occupants to be just barely visible. The walls adorned with historical portraits were too dark to see, and the windows once overlooking the rose garden were boarded up, though it’s not as if there was anything left to gawk at. President Orlock had called his Cabinetmen to the room for an important meeting. When they arrived, however, he was simply sitting on his throne. It was difficult to tell if he was deep in thought or just asleep. They all quietly took their seats and waited for their leader to elaborate.Eventually, one Cabinetman spoke up.

“President Orlock, if this is about The Red Savior, is he really a cause for concern? It seems he has no interest in being a hero.” President Orlock took a deep breath and finally opened his eyes. “While it’s true that he doesn’t appear to care for the revolution…” President Orlock sighed, tossing a newspaper to the Cabinetman. The cover story said, in big bold text:

RED SAVIOR? FIGURE SPOTTED EXITING THE GREY HOUSE

“The American people tire of my rule, and they see him as a messiah. I see him as an example.”

The Cabinetmen whispered amongst themselves. “What do you intend to do, sir?” one asked. “Shall we send more feds after them?” President Orlock shook his head, “Their Jersey Mikes have tricks, traps, and tunnels that will allow them to avoid the agents with ease.” He dusted off the table to reveal a map of US infrastructure, notably missing Key Island. “We’ve narrowed down their exit location to a bridge off the coast of Delaware.”

A Cabinetman tilted his head, puzzled. “Where are they going?” “Guam or something, probably.” Another Cabinetman responded. “Ah” “Yes, of course” “My thoughts exactly” “An astute observation” All the Cabinetmen nodded and murmured in agreement, none of them able to recall which direction Guam was and just assuming that the first guess was correct.

“A likely guess, but their destination is unimportant, as they will never reach it in the first place.” President Orlock fiddled with his stopwatch, “We will send an airplane towards their bridge, sabotaging their route.” “And killing them, yes?” a Cabinetman said eagerly. Orlock grinned. “Not quite. This will be the 9th plane I will have sent. I intend to send two more planes after that before I will kill The Red Savior. Do you know why that is?” After less than a second of consideration, the room went dead silent, all of the Cabinetmen suddenly freezing in place.

They all understood what The President was planning, but just the thought struck fear into their cold hearts. President Orlock’s grin grew wider and wider, until a hoarse laughter emerged from him. The Cabinetmen stared at Count Orlock as he wheezed and cackled, and just for a moment, they questioned their allegiance to the tyrant. Just as quickly, though, they dismissed the dangerous thought, and along with it any reservations that they had already rejected when they first agreed to don their masks and serve Nosferatu decades ago. Gradually, each one joined in on the laughter.

They all accepted the plan. The Red Savior would soon die, and the misfortune to fall upon him would kill the Resistance and The American Dream along with it, forever.

Chapter Text

Red Herring, Coach, and Kenny were staring out the train, dumbfounded that an entire passenger plane was coming right at them. 

“This is bullshit. All of it! I’m just a normal dude! I ain’t surviving this.” Coach was in a flailing panic as the situation seemed more and more dire. Red Herring sat down on one of the seats, accepting his fate. Kenny the Orc Conductor meanwhile?

“Attention all passengers. We got a code Swiss Cheese. Again. For the fifth time this week. This time we have a, uhhh… Boeing 747-8. Overkill. Anyways, prepare to get motion sick.”

After that, everything was blue and nothing was clear about what was happening. Literally, nobody could see anything for 5 minutes until the Boeing 747-8 left. During its passing everyone had a feeling of their insides getting mixed, mashed, tangled, rearranged then torn apart. Everything inside the plane was a complete blur, but Red Herring could make out that there was absolutely nobody on this plane. Not a single person was found. Not even a driver from the split second they saw of the pilot seat. After the plane was gone, everything turned back to normal, and all the pain had stopped. 

Red Herring, understandably, threw up his entire sandwich, which also seems to have been undigested in pristine condition.

“What the fuck. All of this. What the fuck?”

“Oh-ho man…” Coach looked sickly green, just barely managing to keep everything in. “Dude, that just sucked…”

Kenny sighs and sits on a seat too, just to take a breather. “Sometimes I wonder if there are better ways. But whatever. Anyways, welcome to the official headquarters of Jersey Mikes, and the secret base of the resistance.”

New Flagstaff, Key Island, wasn't as prestigious as the mind's eye would have had it. It had a sort of dystopian vibe to it. Many of the buildings seemed rundown, and grunge ran up the exterior of some buildings. Many of the power lines seemed to have crashed into the buildings years ago. A run-down secret State the government had all but forgotten about. The train came to a screeching halt on the now rusting rails that had built up for several years.

“What a fucking dump. You call this headquarters?” Red Herring sighed and jumped off the train, and into the cracked concrete of the rundown station.

“You haven't seen the last of it yet.” Kenny smiled as he jumped off too, the weight of his landing made a little crunch sound as the pebble underneath his boots dug into the concrete ground. He walked towards the ticket booth and put his hand behind it, fiddling with something. 

Coach had just hopped off the train, just in time to see the spectacle. The wall of the train station in front of them slowly opened. A bright blue glow filled the entire station, and Coach's jaw had dropped through pure amazement. “This is more than a regular old dude like me can handle bro. My mind is being blown.”

It took a solid minute for the doors to open up before the orcish conductor beckoned them inside. “Welcome to platform 42.42. The hidden bunker beyond the first glance.” The hidden mechanical door revealed a huge elevator, lit up with the blue lights that hung overhead. There were a few to head out of the elevator, all with their Jersey Mike’s uniforms, and hopped onto the train.

“Well, this is where I leave you gentlemen. Just hop onto the elevator, and tell them the Jersey Mike’s from DC sent you here.” Kenny walked away and back onto the train. “I’m sure we’ll see each other soon! This is my only after all.” Kenny disappeared into the train, which silently rolled away, back where they came from.

Coach watched silently on and gave a wave goodbye as it left the station and into the distance, while Red Herring just sighed. “I’m really going to have to go through this, aren’t I?”

Coach shrugged and walked into the elevator. “Hey, government conspiracy, the second coming of 9/11, time travel, going the most miserable way to go through a plane… I’d say this has gotta be the most fun adventure anyone will ever go on!”

Red Herring reluctantly got onto the elevator too. When he got on, the mechanical door behind him closed up, and the elevator went down. Everything was industrial, with how the floor was fully iron-plated, steel beams crossed each other with each supposed floor into the depths they went. Then everything stopped, with a dampened thud as they had reached the bottom. The elevator door in front of them opened up to a huge room, filled with, presumably, resistance members. With large screens in the back with the news about all the plane attacks. Many of the resistance members were sitting on computers, bustling about hacking into the systems of the planes just to stop the plane crashes, while many others were gearing up with weapons. The entire area also reeked of fresh sandwiches.

Coach’s jaw dropped from the sheer magnificence of the hall. “We’re in so deep now! This is crazy!”

Red Herring shrugged and took a few steps in before a man with a peculiar revolver walked up to them from the crowd. “And what do we have here?” He had a sort of western twang to his voice, and his demeanor overall lax. He dressed like he was straight out of a western movie, though an actor he was not. He wore black boots, a leather jacket with a white undershirt, and a black 10 gallon hat. “Our red hero, an-”

Red Herring sighed once more to the sound of being called a hero again, it was getting relatively tiring. “Okay seriously now, I get that the Grey house is hard to get into, but why is it so damn special? They literally let me walk out. That’s where I literally woke up too…”

“Look, it’s long and complicated and I won’t get into it now, I’ll explain it later during the meeting that y’all need to have because it’s so damn important the Counsel needs to hear it. Anyways, who are you son?” He motions over to Coach, who gave his introduction. “Ah, Coach, got it. So, welcome to the Jersey Mike’s HeadQuarters. If you could just follow me to the Round Room…”

The definitely western man motioned to follow him, and Coach immediately did, but Red Herring took a minute to consider before following, interested that he may get an explanation finally.

“So what’s your name?” Coach asked the man who had welcomed them.

“My name is Jeff Jeffson XXX, Man With the Magazine Fed Revolver.” Red Herring gave a strange look at that last bit which prompted, “Yes, yes, it’s a whole thing… A Landstad 1900.” He takes out the revolver and takes out the magazine to show that, yes, it is real. “Helluva a find, and I don’t intend to give it away.”

“Alright,” Red Herring responded. “I wasn’t going to take it anyw-”

Loud cheering started up as someone has managed to hack into the aeronautical network to stop all the plane crashes happening, many of the tech whizzes throwing up confetti that they have been saving up in their desks for 2 years.

“Well that’s awesome. They prevented more crashes then?” Red herring question.

“Ayup, we started working on it since the first plane 12 hours ago. Glad to see our tech team can still hack government facilities that aren't directly linked to the Grey House.”

“Wait, so you mean to tell me that you just can’t hack into the Grey House?”

“We would if we could. Anyways, let's get into that meeting room.” Jeff started to rush them into the meeting room before there were any more distractions.

____________________________________________________________________________

“What the fuck do you mean ‘We lost controll of every single’ fucking ‘plane connected to the system’??? We literally control that don’t we?” Nosferatu was definitely pissed at this guy who stood before him, telling the bad news that they are no longer in control of the planes.

“I m-mean it exactly as I-I-I said it, we can’t-”

“Don’t tell me we can’t! Find a way that we can now, or I’ll throw you across this damn room!”

“Y-Yes sir.” The man left, trembling. He didn’t want to say that they tried every method, in fear that he would die. So he left the room, opting to have someone else come in and tell the big boss man.

Chapter Text

Nosferatu sighed and sank into his chair. His perfect plan, all ruined. He could go back, stop the attack from even happening, but that would cause even more problems. He had no plan, no ideas, and certainly no Subway to eat. The Red Savior, as the people called him. To Nosferatu, he was the thorn in his side. He slowly stood up and walked through the halls of the Grey House alone.

“All of these former leaders… adversaries came to them. And yet, they all fell, one by one. Some with grace, some with dishonor. And yet, this… ragtag rebellion thinks they can stop this?” As he kept walking, he slowly scratched the walls. “Red Herring, he calls himself. A pathetic name for a pathetic person. But no matter, he will be dealt with.” Blood now coats the walls; his blood.

“P-president, sir!”

“What now?” He turns around, finding an unfamiliar woman standing before him. “Can’t you see I’m thinking?” He sighed before muttering, “Speak before I get rid of you…”

“W-w-we’ve found the location of the resistance! I-It’s Key Island!” Nosferatu pauses at this. Key Island?

“Key Island is gone. It was destroyed many years ago. I need proof.”

“W-we’ve had a spy infiltrate the group, a-and they’ve confirmed t-they’re in Key Island! N-New Flagstaff, Key Island s-specifically!” Nosferatu lets out a small scoff. Then a small laugh. Then a bellowing laugh, causing him to cough.

“I’m not even sure I asked for a spy to be sent, but very good. New Flagstaff, hmm? Alright then. Now, what shall we do? Perhaps… no, another plane would be redundant. What do you think?” he says while pointing a bloody finger at the woman.

“Why n-not send s-some soldiers to attack t-the Red Savior a-and-”

“Do not call him that!” Nosferatu yelled at her. “He is not some savior, just some has-been thinking that he’s hot shit!”

“S-sorry, sir!” the woman cowers, putting a hand between her and Nosferatu shakily. “M-maybe b-blow up or b-b-burn t-their hideout, f-flush them out, t-then kill them from t-there!”

Nosferatu pauses, thinking before saying, “A better idea than any cabinetman could think of. Good job.” He ponders the idea for a moment before saying, “A little tweaking of that idea, and I think that it’ll work. You may go.”

“T-t-thank you, s-sir!” The woman runs off, unsure of the results of what is to happen.

Nosferatu, however, knew perfectly how to draw that false savior out. Yes, that was a good name. The False Savior. Someone who thought their role would be to guide the world to salvation, only for them to be the reason why they all die. The resistance would burn, simply for a show of power. More than likely, that pest would somehow live, but cutting off resources would be perfect. It would be a bloody slaughter, and he could see it all. The bullets flying, the fire raging higher and higher. Bodies piling higher and higher, with everyone alive either running or cowering in fear. It would be perfect. It was perfect. It had to be perfect.

“To cease the ticking tower, spend an eternity at the top,” he muttered under his breath. What it meant, he didn’t fully know, but he knew that eternity would end soon, and the ticking tower would crumble.

He slowly walked to his office, seeing the blood stains he left on the walls, and he simply smiled. The clocks ticked, and he knew what would happen. Once he reaches his office, he grabs a key and unlocks a side compartment, the only item held inside being a blue pendrive. “Time for a little speech. Let’s begin Project Azul.” 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He didn’t know if what he was doing was right, but there was no way around. He was the only one who was presented with this opportunity and wasn’t going to miss out on the chance to be set for life. He had already given the information acquired to the right people, so there was only one thing left that could be done. He had to get out before everything became ash. He needed a good reason to get out sooner rather than later. He-

“Space to He? You there, man?” He snapped out of his thoughts, finding Luigi standing before him.

“Sorry, Luigi. I was just thinking about everything. I mean, the Red Savior is back, we’ve found a way to stop a lot of the attacks the Grey House does, so much has happened so fast.”

“Can agree with you there. But hey, the Red Savior marks the beginning of the end. He also brought some friends with him after all, so more additions to the force is nice. Anyways, some of the guys and I are going to get some food, want to come?” A reason to get out? He had to take it.

“Yeah, sure, Just give me 5, and I’ll be good,” He says while grabbing his backpack, half things for survival, half classified documents of the resistance. 

“Alright. I’ll be waiting at the entrance. Don’t take your time.” Luigi walks out of the room and He grabs a bottle of water, drinking slowly from it.

“Luigi’s a good guy… sad to see his trust betrayed. Whatever.” He walks out, saying hello to a few people before grabbing his pendrive with a lot more info. He just has to get this to the courier, and he’ll be fine. It means He can get enough money to live a normal and peaceful life without any threats. He’ll be ok.

“Just a little more work and it’ll all be over. It’ll all be over…” He slowly walks forward, trying and failing to calm his frazzled mind. He was so happy that he’d live a life of luxury all paid for by the government. After all of his work, He-

“He, you’re walking into a wall. You are spaced out, huh?” He snaps out of it, seeing a bunch of his friends just watching him.

“O-oh, sorry. Yeah, just been thinking about everything still. Let’s go, yeah.” It was only a matter of time. But then, the TV turned on.

“Hello, people of America. This is your president speaking.”

“Oh god fucking damn it.”

‘It’s been a while since I’ve talked with you. So let’s talk.”

Chapter Text

“It has come to my attention that a concerning amount of people in this great nation have been harboring a certain level of resentment towards me. For what reason, it is beyond me.”

“However, if you would allow me to speak my peace, I have come here to tell you that I am not your enemy. For there are many conspirators who are planning on, for lack of a better word, destroying America and everything we stand for. They plan on destroying your livelihoods, your futures, everything you hold dear.”

A graphic shows up on screen displaying “ THE RESISTANCE ” in bold letters, oddly enough in the Pacifico font, losing all impactfulness it would have had.

“These… these RATS have been wrecking the country right under your noses all this time, obliterating the economy, ruining our neighbourhoods, bankrupting Ben & Jerry’s! It’s- it’s SICKENING!”

The president screamed that last part. Everyone, and I mean everyone watching was taken quite a bit aback.

…

“So I come to you with an ultimatum. Bring me their bodies. I care not for their lives, I only wish to see their wretched souls begone from this pure land. Do that… and I’ll undo this.”

…

“The hell’s he gonna do? Ram another plan- * RUMBLE*

The floor shakes, an earthquake? No, this is an earthquake like no other. The earth roars like hell has been opened, an unfathomably loud metallic screech fills the air, not only in the Resistance headquarters, but everywhere. Because it was everywhere. Except Washington, because of fucking course the rat bastards over there would be exempt. 

If one would have taken a view of the globe at this moment, they would witness something man was not meant to see. In a slow, somehow painful motion, Mexico and South America were RIPPED OFF OF AMERICA, like GOD HIMSELF SAID “Hey you know Pangea? Let’s run that back”. And if that wasn’t enough, the Latin American countries then CRASHED into Antarctica ( thanks Argentina ) and BROKE APART. ALL OF THEM.

2 Hours later, after the dust had settled, the tremors had stopped, and the volcanoes that were inevitably going to erupt due to the tectonic shifts were plugged with big wine corks, the broadcast resumed.

“You all have 48 hours to fulfill my demands as your God-King-President. If you don’t, it’s Canada’s ass next.”

And with that, the broadcast ended.

Nosferatu walked back to his chambers. It was done, no time to look back on it, he had a mission to complete, and if the revolution was to get in his way, then what the hell, one less continent is fine by him. Floods, earthquakes, tsunamis, whatever, it all wouldn’t affect him. Nothing ever did. Ever .

The ancient bureaucrats spoke of how heavy the crown weighs on the king’s head, but none could understand his weight, for he bore more than a crown, he wore the fate of eternity’s destruction on his soul, perched atop the crumbling ticking tower. Maybe he didn’t understand just what it truly meant yet, but he would, and maybe, just maybe, it would all be gone. All of it. Forever .

Why had he started this? This had to have had a purpose, he knew it. No man would be driven to do what he has done in the name of nothing. No, he had a purpose, a glorious, righteous purpose that completely justifies and absolves him of everything he has done to get here.

He entered his chambers. A dark, solemn room, filled with books either neatly organized in their bookcases or recklessly strewn about on the floor. A decomposing coffin in the corner as his resting place, with all the padding inside it having rotted away long ago. And in the center of the room, above the fireplace, the painting.

Right. The reason. His purpose .

His sandwich…

It all came back to him. Lately, his memory had been failing him, dates for his speeches, names of his council, like sand in the wind. And yet, this memory stood still in the sandy maelstrom of his tormented mind.

His Sandwich.

It was the best thing he ever had, it had meaning, in a time when he thought the world had lost it all, it brought back a childish grin on his face as he ate. It was simple, insignificant in the grand passage of time. But oddly enough, he didn’t care, he was content.

His Sandwich.  

His wife, his daughter, all gone. He had to leave, he couldn’t bear to live with this, to exist in a world where a century might as well be a grain of sand, because why? Once you learn of the world’s true nature, it’s like you stop living in the same reality as everyone else. So he sought immortality. He wanted to embrace eternity, to escape the cruel hands of fate.

Oh, but how he just played right into its hands. Left to wander the Earth, to see kingdoms rise and fall, thousands of lives coming into being,  just as a thousand more are extinguished, and to eventually find himself in front of a building. A building that said “Subway”.

His  Sandwich.

Ten Dollars. Oregano and Parmesan. Six Inches. Bacon. Ham. Pepperoni. American Cheese. Pepperjack. Lettuce. Olives. Pepper & Tomato Sauce. Chili Flakes. Cookie.

HIS. SANDWICH.

He walked in the rain to the Subway. It was closed. There was a man talking into his phone.

He walked in the morning to the Subway. There were men in high-vis jackets. They had hammers.

He walked in the snow to the Subway. It didn’t say Subway anymore.

He walked in the snow away from the Jersey Mike’s. It was mid as fuck.

Nosferatu came back to his senses. His quarters were destroyed. His wrath spared nothing, all but the painting in pieces.

That was his conviction, his purpose. He will destroy everything, he will cease eternity, he will crumble the tower on which reality is perched on.

He will find fate, and he will kill her. For she took the last thing that was sacred to him in existence.

His sandwich.

Chapter Text

A man sits amidst the wreckage, listening to Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 6. The aftermath of the earthquake is visible through his shattered windows and the press, offering an external view of the devastation. Books and fragments of Vinyl records lie scattered across the floor. The man at the desk remains unscathed.

The man’s assistant walks into the room, pushing aside a few fallen books as he opens the door. “Should we go help the resis-” 

The former president interrupts him “Let the resistance die, my concerns are they will take my glory, all I need at the moment is information, that bastard stole my 2nd term from me, I will find his weakness and kill him myself.”

Crook continues on his rant “After I kill Nosferatu the people will forget all about my first presidency, we’ll be hailed as heroes” 

The man interjects “The resistance needs your information surrounding the” 

Crook once again interrupts him saying “The biological weapon testing? BeHalde, you know I would rather die than let those ruffians steal all of my glory, I have a reputation that needs repair, Nosferatu hasn’t discovered us yet and I would like to keep it that way for as long as possible. Now please leave, I am quite busy”.

BeHalde takes the documents and his belongings BeHalde, with a heavy weight on his shoulders, leaves the building dejected and starts to drive across the broken roads, embarking on his self-made mission.

Near his destination with only 2 more hours to drive BeHalde stops at a gas station refueling his car. He decided he would like a snack to eat so he entered the station looking for chips. As he’s purchasing the chips, he asks the cashier “What do you think the Red Herring is doing right now?” 

She responds “I think he’s just eating food at Jersey Mikes, he appears to do that often. Why do you ask”

“Well I just have a bit of important information I need to deliver anyways, how’s business been” “It’s been rough, the dollar has been inconsistent in value, I’m thinking of changing the accepted currency to bitcoin” 

He says “Good luck with that.” as he leaves the gas station

4 hours after BeHalde’s departure, Crook finally discovered the documents were missing. Dread washed over Crook as he made the realization his first employee betrayed him, attempting to deny his goals. Crook, in a fit of rage, decides there is only one way to stop BeHalde from delivering the stolen documents to the resistance. 

He reached for his phone and dialed a number known only to 11 other people.

The phone rung for less than a second as he said,“I have a job for you”

The Hitman named Barracuda responds with a voice void of life “Details”

“BeHalde is the target, the documents he has is to be burned, It needs to be done in under 2 hours”

“36 BTC, Half must be paid in advance” 

“Agreed” winced Crook knowing there was no faster alternative costing him a large chunk of his fortune.

In under an hour after the hit was placed, Barracuda had not only discovered the exact location of BeHalde, he set up a location 5 minutes ahead on his route. Barracuda did a test shot to adjust his aim and waited for his prey.

BeHalde was unaware of Barracuda's existence. Without warning, a shot rang out, and a sharp pain sliced across BeHalde's face. Realizing the danger, he slammed the gas pedal to the floor, desperate to escape the hitman’s grasp. His car was fast enough that Barracuda struggled to line up another shot. By the time the 2nd shot fired, BeHalde was barely out of range of the rifle.

After driving as fast as possible, BeHalde finally notices the famed hero at the 3rd Jersey Mike’s he’s been to and declares with an urgent tone “Red Herring, I have some important information you need to know” 

Everybody present looks at him suspiciously. After handing the documents to Red Herring, BeHalde warns him “These documents are highly classified, be careful”

Before Red Herring could respond, a gunshot rang through the city as BeHalde fell to the ground.

Chapter Text

“What the fuck?” Said Red Herring as the customers of the Jersey Mikes began running around and panicking. “Oh god, what are these documents?” He thinks out loud, flipping through the pages quickly to get a grasp of what just happened.  His eyes lit up, realizing that these papers held the key to ending Nosferatu’s reign of terror once and for all. He quickly ran back to the tunnels, and started the long journey back to Resistance HQ on Key Island.

…

Meanwhile, as the Red Savoir brought the information back to The Resistance, Nosferatu sat in his destroyed office, ruminating.

One of his minions walked into the room, slowly stepping over the rubble, “S-sir, we have reports that someone was shot delivering classified documents to the Red Menace. It seems he is taking them to Key Island, but we have no clue who delivered the documents, or what they even are”. Nosferatu looked up slowly, before beckoning the minion closer.

“You, you’ve become one of my greatest minions, I trust you much more than all of the others, and I have a secret to tell you”. Nosferatu looked… sad, not angry, but sad, surprising the minion.

“O-of course sir, what do you want to tell me?”

“Well minion, I want to tell you about my origin story. A tale of sadness and woe, that all began because of a single selfish sponge”

… (this is where it merges into a flashback)

Ahh, Bikini Bottom at night, the fish are sleeping, the clams are snoring, and the Krusty Krab is open for its midnight shift. By the way, it’s me, the French Narrator, it has always been me.

“I was the Night Shift Manager at a local fast food joint”, said Nosferatu, “business was slow, but I made a comfortable wage, enough to live in my castle with my servant Slappy. He was the source of most pleasure in my life, entertaining me with his witty humor and delicious meals”

“Things were great, until one day, the daytime fry cook, that insidious sponge, was assigned to my graveyard shift”. Ahh.. SpongeBob, as lighthearted as can be, little does he know his actions will cause endless suffering.

“His chaotic nature almost destroyed the place! But luckily things were fine, for then. But one day, he visited my castle, and everything started to go wrong. My castle was haunted, you see, and that sponge was terrified by everything he saw-“

“I fail to see why this is relevant to The Resistance or the Red Menace sir”, the minion interjected. Nosferatu raised his hand, motioning that there was more to come.

“He, and his idiotic starfish friend, ended up destroying everything, every booby trap I had set up for them ended up reversing onto me, and everything started to collapse. My entire castle was left in rubble, and my beloved servant, my Slappy, was dead. I got so unbelievably angry after this that I ended up going on a revenge rampage through Bikini Bottom, destroying the entire city, and killing everyone that sponge held dear”.

“O-oh god” said the minion, at least that’s no longer the most deadly thing you’ve done now! Nosferatu glared at him, and he quickly apologized.

“Their cries were like music to my ears, I cooked that damn crab, made escargot of that snail, and made game out of that squirrel. The only ones that escaped my wrath were that damned starfish, the sponge, and a cephalopod that I felt too sorry for to kill, as I saw myself in him. I then decided to leave Bikini Bottom for the surface world, coming onto land in a place called ‘Los Angeles”

“That’s all well and good sir, but I still need to ask, what made you seek the office of the Gray House?”

“Well minion, once I got onto land, I met a beautiful woman, one whom I made my wife. We lived happily for 20 years, and I fathered a daughter, whose smile made up for the loss of my Slappy. We moved to Bakersfield, and I found myself a job in global trade! My life was perfect, until once again, it all went wrong”. He began to softly cry at this point, to the shock of his minion, who had never seen him show this much emotion.

“Are you sure you want to tell me sir? I’m fine with what I know right now”.

Nosferatu calmed down, before standing up and facing the window looking outside the Oval Office, “It was bring your wife and daughter to work day, September 11th 2001.  Of course, I didn’t work at the World Trade Center in New York, I worked at the one in Los Angeles… but I could not escape tragedy.  On the way home, we got in a devastating car crash, and my wife and child did not make it. It was then when I left America, unable to deal with being in the same country where my family was taken from me”

“I wandered for ten years, until finding a new reason for being, a hidden recipe for eternal life”.

“E-ETERNAL LIFE??? But with that much power, anyone could become unstoppable!”.

“Yes minion, I became unstoppable, but before I was able to take the next step, the recipe was taken from me.  Taken by Jersey Mikes. It was at that very moment that I swore that I would return to America and become president, using that power to end Jersey Mikes for good. The campaigning was difficult, and I needed to… take care of a few of my enemies, but I made it, I made it to the presidency. Little did I know that Jersey Mikes was more powerful than I thought, that they would become my worst enemies, that their resistance would awaken the ‘Red Savior’ who is foretold to stop me. I must stop him and Jersey Mikes quickly, before they’re able to develop something that can stop me”

The minion watched on in horror, as Nosferatu walked towards him, putting his hand on his shoulder, before whispering into his ear. “You are to lead a force on a secret attack on Key Island, they’ll be distracted by the destruction of South America, it’s the perfect time”.

“Yes sir, I will do what you deem as necessary, what are your plans?”

“Sit down, and I will explain. However, your new role as general requires a new name, something that describes your position to me. Your importance makes you worthy of this name, Slappy II…”

…

Barracuda enters the office of the former president, about to tell him about his success. “Mr. Crook, the target has been successfully eliminated, I’m here for my bitcoin”.

“It should be in your account now”, said Crook, “and what of the documents? Did you manage to retrieve them? They mustn’t have fallen into the palms of the resistance”.

“Uh… about that… I killed BeHalde in a Jersey Mikes… where the Red Savior was, he got away with the documents”.

“What.” Crook lay dumbfounded, how could the assassin he spent so much money on fail such a simple mission? He began to think, and thought of a plan so dastardly that he began to cackle. After regaining his composure, he gestured towards Barracuda, “You, I have another job for you. You must travel to Key Island, kill the Red Savior, and get me back my documents before The Resistance is able to do anything with them. 100 bitcoin for it”.

“Yes sir Mr. Crook, it’ll be my pleasure to take care of that nuisance”.

Mr Crook chuckled, “Then the deal is done, and you don’t need to call me Mr. Crook anymore. Please, call me Milhous”

…

He and Luigi were sitting at resistance HQ, unaware that things were about to happen that they would never be able to expect. “Hey He”, said Luigi, “more refugees from South America just arrived, looks like we’re doing all we can to save as many people as possible”.

“Yes, that’s good, but I’m just worried that with most of our forces tied up in that we’re ignoring what Nosferatu might be planning! If he was just able to destroy South America instantly, who knows what more he’s capable of?” The two of them walked the streets of New Flagstaff, taking a right turn on Pleasant Road and a left on Tracy Place before ending up at an Italian restaurant.  “This is your family’s place, right Luigi?”

“Yeah, come inside, I can get us something for free”.  As the two walked inside, they realized that no one else was there. 

“Luigi, where is everyone?” He said, panicked.  Actually, come to think of it, no one was on the roads at all! What’s going on??

“Oh god, there must be a Resistance meeting happening right now, that’s never a good sign, come on, we need to go”.

“Can I at least get some garlic bread?” Asked He.

“Fine, but only one serving, my parents won’t be happy if they found out you took anything without their permission. And if they found out I’d let you, I’d lose my spot here at the Resistance. You know how important the Mangiones are here”.

“Yes”, said He, remembering how the Mangiones were one of the founding families of the Resistance due to their early actions against the government. “We need to go to the meeting now”.

…

As the two entered the meeting, they could see that everyone was in a frenzy. People were running all around and panicking over something that seemed to be approaching Key Island, well, two somethings.

“Our radars have picked up on two unidentified objects coming towards Key Island, one from the ruins of South America, and the other from Washington D.C.” said Kenny, the train conductor and higher up in The Resistance. “The one from D.C’s origins seem obvious, Nosferatu and the Gray House are taking the fight to us, while most of us are distracted by South America! We’ve fallen right into his trap again! As for the South American one, we have no clue, but rumors are spreading that it could be someone who blamed the Red Savior for the destruc- anyways, all hands have to be on deck for the defense of Key Island and our Resistance”.

Suddenly, Red Herring burst into the room, carrying a pile of papers. “Kenny, Coach, you need to see this. Some guy just got shot in front of me when I was eating at the Jersey Mikes in old Flagstaff and gave me these papers, I think they’re what we need to turn the tide!”

“Read the room bro”, said Coach. Red Herring looked around, seeing the chaos and the radar screenings showing the two objects coming closer and closer. 

“Oh god, these papers must have something to do with that, we’re in huge trouble aren’t we-“

“It’s not your fault, Red Savior”, said Kenny, “we will use these documents any way we know how, but for now, the defense of New Flagstaff is the most important objective. We need a team to defend us, Coach already volunteered, and I’m sure you, as our savior, will lead the charge and protect The Resistance!”

“Yeah bro, with you, me, and my revolver, nothing will be able to stop us!”

“I’m.. not sure, I would need three more people to be with us, need to watch all of our backs you know?” Said Red Herring, scanning the crowd for anyone who seemed ready to perform this daring mission, “is anyone here willing to join me and Coach in leading the defense of New Flagstaff against the invaders?”

Luigi raised He’s and his own hands up in the air. “We will help you Red Savior, for you the good of the Mangione family and our cause!”

“What are you doing Luigi…” muttered He, but he quickly shut up, realizing the opportunity he had been given.  This was his chance to prove to everyone that he was more than a joke, that He was Him.

“Good, good, anyone else?” Said Kenny, “is anyone else going to join our savior and live forever in glory?” The crowd remained silent for a moment, before, suddenly,  a yellow hand raised above the crowd, as a peppy voice chirped out four distinct words. 

 “I’m ready! I’m ready!”

Nosferatu’s enemy had returned. SpongeBob was back.

Chapter Text

As Barracuda’s jet careened towards New Flagstaff, Crook smiled. Finally he could stomp the resistance, and continue his own plans to take back his second term. All he needs is those documents back. In the wrong hands, all of his edge would be gone. He went through so much to get those documents, he wasn’t going to lose it to some skeleton. Suddenly, an ear shattering explosion came from Crook’s front door. Before he could react, a shot had rung out.

-----------------------------------------------------

As the planes grew ever closer, the five prepared themselves in the resistance’s armory. The group, completely unaware of what was coming, sporadically grabbed whatever seemed lethal. They took anything that seemed even remotely effective in whatever battle was about to be fought.

Finally, an alarm sounded, the planes were there. As Kenny looked out the window, he saw countless paratroopers, however this wasn’t a normal military. Hundreds of Beavers started to descend onto Key Island.

“Hey gang, hope you’re ready for a stuffing filled massacre.” remarked Kenny. He was feeling pretty quirky before he spoke.

-----------------------------------------------------

Barracuda was shocked by what he saw unfolding on Key Island. So many grey parachutes floated over the island, how could he possibly get a good shot on his target? With all of this chaos, he’d be spotted by someone, either the paratroopers or the resistance. Being foreign to both, he’d be killed if any of them spotted him. This job wouldn’t be easy, but with the 100 coin reward, he had to do this.

-----------------------------------------------------

She stood there realizing what she had just done. She never wanted to do it, but Nixon was getting too close to the truth. All she had to do was find those documents. This house Nixon had stayed in was left a disaster after the tearing, are the documents even intact, are they even here? This place doesn’t look like it was ever secured, why would he keep such important documents in here? Suddenly, she felt her phone vibrating, it was probably the manager calling to see if the job was done.

-----------------------------------------------------

Slappy II smirked as the army of beavers descended onto New Flagstaff. He wasn’t even sure how many beavers there were. His best estimate, hundreds of them, but there could be potentially thousands. Perhaps they should do a thorough count after this. Before Slappy II could even think about how they even paid the beavers if they didn’t know how many there were, he noticed something strange on the radar. Another plane was here, but Nosferatu only sent him to Key Island. Who is controlling this plane?

“You Beaver 612, do you want to do something other than attack the resistance’s headquarters?” he asked the only beaver still on the plane. It was clear this beaver was scared of something that was happening.

Beaver 612 slowly looked up at Slappy II, after a few seconds, the beaver nodded its head.

“Perfect, go put on that jetpack over there and stop that other plane”

At this order, Beaver 612 seemed excited. Beaver 612 always wanted to use the jetpack, but was never given the chance. With almost 0 hesitation, the beaver quickly equipped the jetpack, then set off towards the other plane.

-----------------------------------------------------

The group of five, now fully geared up, stepped outside of the armory. The sun was completely blocked out by the amount of beavers descending before them. All five of them knew what was next, they all took a deep breath together, and then started firing into the air. Stuffing from the beavers they hit started raining from the sky, but then the first few beavers touched down on the island. As the beavers landed, they started sprinting towards the sole defenders of the resistance. Clearly they’d have to do more than shoot to survive. What came next was some of the most violent experiences any of them had, as Luigi and He started using their greatswords to cut the charging beavers clean in half. Both of them constantly slashed as Kenny and Red Savior shot the beavers that were still descending out of the air. It was clear Noferatu built this army with quantity over quality, as the beavers were awful fighters.Very few of them were able to attack any of the five, except, there were only 4 of them now. Red Savior looked around, He and Kenny were still next to each other, still providing ranged support to He and Luigi. Spongebob wasn’t anywhere Red Savior could see. Spongebob had been given an important role, he was to make sure neither of the planes could return back to their bases.

“Coach, do you know where Spongebob went?” Red Savior yelled over the noise of the conflict before them.

Coach proceeded to glance all around himself before saying “No bro, I don’t.”

-----------------------------------------------------

It was clear to Barracuda that killing Red Savior would be near impossible, and if killing Red Savior was close to impossible, finding the documents truly would be. With the chaos unfolding below his plane, he’d be more likely to be killed than to actually fulfill his contract.

Suddenly the door to his plane opened, and a huge stuffed beaver climbed in. Barracuda had never seen anything like this beaver, but then he released what it was doing. As the beaver pulled the trigger on its revolver, Barracuda dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the beaver’s shot. Before the beaver even readied its next shot, Barracuda impaled it with his giant machete. The beaver’s eyes strangely instantly changed to Xs. It was a strange sight, but it was clear he killed the beaver.

Barracuda then looked out the window and realized that the beaver he fought was not alone. Those paratroopers weren’t normal soldiers, they were the same as the stuffed beaver he just fought. Suddenly, Barracuda got an idea of how he could complete his job.

-----------------------------------------------------

He wasn’t ready. Why he actually volunteered was beyond him. As soon as Kenny fired off the first shot, Spongebob ran back into the headquarters. He wasn’t if anyone had seen him, he hoped no one saw him, but all he wanted was to get away. Away from New Flagstaff, away from Key Island. He was a coward at heart, that would never change.

-----------------------------------------------------

“Did you get him Kita-san?” Seika Iijchi was desperate, those documents needed to be taken away from Nixon.

“I got him, yes.” replied Kita, shakingly.

“Have you gotten the documents? We have to make sure that Nixon didn’t give the recipe of eternal life to anyone else.”

As Kita went to respond, the call suddenly ended. As she frankly tried to call Iijichi back, she suddenly felt the barrel of a gun to the back of her head.

“I shredded those documents weeks ago. They already fully served their purpose to me.” Nixon’s presence was ominous. Kita was too scared to move.

“Every day of Nosferatu’s term, I’ve plotted how I’d take back the presidency.” it was clear Nixon was about to dive into a deep backstory about his plans, and everything leading up to right now.

“Within 25 days of his presidency, I had already infiltrated the resistance and stolen Nosferatu’s recipe for eternal life. While most would stop there, I realized that I needed more if I were to regain control of the nation. That’s where my work from during my presidency would come in. During my term, I obtained a special tool, and I’ve spent the past 75 days trying to reclaim it. After I received it, I hid it within a folder of unrelated declassified documents about the government. The documents were there to throw off anyone looking for my sinister weapon, they no longer served any purpose. However, my former assistant BeHalde thought the documents themselves were what was important, and ran off with the entire folder. Now my trump card is in the hands of the resistance.”

Nervously, Kita whispered a question “W-what is your-r sinister weapon?”

“Why, my sinister weapon is-”

-----------------------------------------------------

Barracuda gutted all of the stuffing out of the beaver and created a makeshift beaver suit out of its skin. It was one of the most comfortable disguises he has ever worn. After suiting up, Barracuda descended onto the headquarters as Beaver 612 with a simple plan. Get the documents, kill anyone who gets in the way, then leave. How would Crook even know if he actually killed Red Savior? Hell, Red Savior would probably die from the beavers anyways.

Barracuda uses his newly stolen jetpack to gently glide down into the headquarters. Instead of landing on the ground and going through a door, he thought it would be really cool if he crashed through a pair of skylights very dramatically, even though no one would see it, it’d be awesome. He prepared to perform his super sick trick, and when the time was right, he struck.

Shattering the entire window on impact, Barracuda landed feet first, however his fall was surprisingly cushioned. He looked down to see a very weird yellow substance under his feet. It was oddly… spongey? It also has arms and legs? It’s also screaming, is it alive? After standing for a minute straight, the screaming suddenly stopped. Then, Barracuda realized that the documents were just sitting on the meeting table in front of him. He scooped them up quickly, but when he did, a black notebook went flying out of the folder.

Barracuda quickly picked it up and stuffed it into his folder. As he turned around to leave through the second window, he realized someone was in the room now. They were in the shadows, up they looked like a freaky creature. The creature’s eyes ominously glowed red in the darkness.

-----------------------------------------------------

Finally, they had killed the last beaver. The four of them by themselves managed to kill the hundreds of beavers sent their way. All the corpses littered the ground, stuffing covered everything. As they all celebrated, Red Savior realized, both the planes were still circling above head. They had to shoot them down. So long as those planes stayed, countless other attacks could be made upon the island. However, Spongebob had their only method of defense against these, and he was nowhere to be seen.

-----------------------------------------------------

“- a death note”. Nixon’s voice boomed in Kita’s head.

“With eternal life, I’d be able to easily go into the grey house and write down everyone’s names. I’d be able to take back the presidency and get my second term.”

How had he gotten a death note? Kita had only ever heard of these from a 2006 anime, were they actually real? Surely not, but he seems so confident?

“I’d be unstoppable, I’d just write down the names of whoever opposed me. My presidency would be eternal. No more watergates to hold the presidency, only pure, cold hard power!”

-----------------------------------------------------

“I see you’ve found the death note. Honestly a really sloppy hiding spot, I’ve seen better.”

The creature approached him, he was completely petrified. What was this thing, how did it get here? What is it capable of? Barracuda decided he should flee, fast. Who knows what the resistance is planning, and who is even driving his plane? He quickly flew off with his jetpack, threw the second skylight, completely shattering it. He looked behind him towards the creature, it was flying towards him.

-----------------------------------------------------

As they ran back towards the headquarters, they saw someone fly upwards with a jetpack. Coach swiftly raised up his revolver, and shot the figure down. The jetpack instantly exploded. They all looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and continued their search for Spongebob. As they moved from room to room, He screamed out. Spongebob was dead on the floor. The group quickly rushed into the room. He was dead, completely.

Suddenly, Luigi called out “Guys, the documents are gone.”

Chapter Text

LOG DATE: 7 2 35
BASE STATUS: Stable

Today marks the first step in our plans to seize control of our situation and reign in the chaos that came so suddenly. This used to be a relatively calm and peaceful place to live, but recently things have began to shift; the world order changed overnight and no-one batted an eye, memories of tragedies that never happened flooded into our heads and are now treated as gospel, an entire island simultaneously came into and out of the public consciousness, and I don't know why.

Recently, we’ve been observing the going-ons of both the Grey House Government and the Jersey Mikes Resistance, of which I’m certain neither existed a few weeks ago, and yet they both do now, and we found that one of the key tools either party could possess, the death note, has been obliterated in a freak jetpack explosion. Whether this means it's gone forever or if it’ll find some way to recover I do not know but until then we are stuck using codenames. Rumour also has it other such pages exist in the world, though not nearly as potent in severity, I do wonder if one of these is the cause of all the recent happenings.

I interrogated the souls of those who perished in the fight, though you can only extrapolate so much from an incessantly chuckling sponge, hundreds of stuffed beavers and a tight-lipped mercenary. If luck holds out, maybe a more important figure dies in the near future and I could gain something of real value.

Why I can remember the world before and others cant is unbeknownst to me, but luckily I was able to prove it to my team by heading to Key Island before any danger was present, and we established a base just off to the nearest landmass. We will try and figure this out and find a way to bring this chaos to an end, and I’ve ran out of things to report on, so I’ll end the log here.

Aleph, signing off

Chapter Text

“Well, most of them,” said Luigi. “When I went to examine the jetpack crash, I found the remnants of what used to be the book, but nearly the entire damned thing was incinerated.  Only one bitch ass page is left. The thing is, nothing is fucking written on it.”

Well, fuck, thought Red Herring. This was their possible key to victory, and they lost it because of the stupid jetpack explosion. “Well I’m sure we will be able to get something from that paper…” he stammered. “We can study it right, figure out its origin? There is a lab of some sort here right?”

“Yeah, but who knows what damage could have been done to it in that attack” yelled He, before pointing at Coach. “We wouldn’t have even lost the documents had you not shot that guy out of the sky! What are you, a moron?”

“I- I just didn’t want him to get away…” muttered Coach. He didn’t think the explosion would be that violent, but now, the entire future of the resistance was in jeopardy because of him. “I’m sorry bro…”

“It’ll be ok everyone! Cheer up!” said Red Herring, “at least all those beavers are gone! We won the fight!” The group of them nodded, but Kenny stared silently. He walked towards the center of the group, clearly thinking something wasn’t right.

“Yes, they’re gone for now, but now that they know the location of Key Island, they will be back.  Who knows what they could bring next time, maybe even thousands of beavers! It doesn’t matter, though, we will make sure that they don’t find us again.” He then beckoned the group to follow him.

“You see, the reason Key Island is extremely hard to find, is that it can teleport.” The halls were eerily quiet, as most of the resistance was either still in South America or treating the wounded. The group walked for what seemed like forever, before stopping in front of a small metal door. “This is the lab, it’s also where the teleporter is. Our new location is somewhere off the coast of Guam. Luigi, give the paper to Natasha, our chief scientist”. Suddenly, Natasha appeared behind them, wearing a long lab coat and with curly purple hair.

“Mr Luigi, the paper?” She asked, holding out her gloved hand.

“Here you go”, said Luigi, “I’m glad to get rid of the thing, it gives off bad vibes”.  Marissa took it and walked away, with the rest of them confused about who she even was, or why they hadn’t heard of her before. 

That woman… there was something about her… thought He. But no, he must keep himself from thinking about that, his devotion to the resistance was what mattered most. That being said, he couldn’t shake how she seemed to look at him, longingly.

THREE WEEKS LATER

She knew this paper was from something important, but she didn’t expect it to do this. It seems even her years in The Resistance didn’t make her able to expect everything, but now, things could finally change.

“Marissa, go fetch the others, we’ve made a breakthrough”.

“Yes ma’am Natasha!” Marissa replied, quickly walking down the halls to collect the elite of The Resistance, those who could complete this mission.

…

“SpongeBob was a great man. For the little time I knew him I knew him to be a brave soldier, and now that he has fallen gloriously in battle, he must now return to the sea”. SpongeBob’s casket was then lowered, as the crowd of people cried.  Red Herring then stepped off the podium, wiping a tear from his eye. 

“You ok bro?” Said Coach, walking up to him. “I didn’t expect you to get all emotional about that. I mean… it is kind of my fault we’re still in this mess”.

“You did all you could Coach. It’s not your fault we lost the documents in that explosion”.

“But it IS my fault bro! I let us all down, and now we’re on the run and everything is falling apart and I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!” He throws his revolver down on the ground, as the crowd begins to stare at them.

“Oh that’s the guy who destroyed our entire futures!” Yelled a member of the crowd.

“Nice shooting Mr. Basketball! Is that the only shirt you have?” Said another.  Quickly, the entire crowd of the funeral began to erupt in yelling at Coach, as he slowly began to slink away and cry.  Luigi and He, who were also at the funeral, began to rush towards him.

“He may have made us lose the documents, but if it weren’t for his brave fighting, we’d all be dead or worse!” shouted He.  “He single handedly killed 30 beavers with that revolver, and this is all you focus on? I may have been angry at him at that moment, but it's been weeks, get over yourselves”.

“Yeah, fuck all of you for yelling at him. This man is a hero! He deserves way more recognition than you can possibly imagine!” Luigi added.

Red Herring raised his hand up, and everyone fell silent.  “I know you are all mad at him, but please, he already blames himself enough, there's no need to make him feel worse about himself”.  The crowd began to nod, before erupting into applause.  Red Herring was used to this, as they did see him as their savior, but he still wasn’t really comfortable with it.  “Please stop, I did nothing worthy of your applause…” he interjected, and they all fell silent again.  Suddenly, a scientist with dark wavy hair and big circular glasses rushed out of the crowd.  She barely gave everyone a second to register her before saying.

“Red Herring, Coach, Luigi, He, my name is Marissa , and you need to come with me”.

…

In the lab, Kenny and Natasha stood around a table, staring at the one paper that was left of the Death Note.  Except now, something about it was different.  “You mean that after three weeks of us trying everything to decipher what this thing was and failing, it just does THAT??” Yelled Kenny, clearly terrified of the situation.

“It is very worrying Kenny, but I am sure that we will be able to decipher it. At least, if the Red Savior is truly who we think he is.  Ahh, here he comes now with the others…”.  Red Herring and the group, led by Marissa entered the lab, looking shocked at what lay before them.

“Why the FUCK does it have words on it now???”said Luigi, “It didn’t say anything before, did it??”.

“No I don’t think it did…” said He.  Could this mean that they still had a chance? Could this mean The Resistance could rise again?  He then found himself staring at the chief scientist again, before darting his eyes away. He seriously needed to stop feeling these things.

“Anyways, now that everyone is here, it’s time to discuss what this paper says,” said Kenny.  “It says, and I repeat, ‘Oh Red Savior, if that is your title.  I hold the key to something vital.  If you wish to reclaim this book, I know exactly where to look.  Visit the home of the Mighty Goat, and maybe then, you’ll find the Note.’ Now, the ancient Mighty Goat is rumored to be located somewhere within the Himalayan mountains.  We need to send some of you to see what this is about. Starting with you, Red Herring”.

“Oh god, I really am not sure I am up to this, I am afraid of heights,” he said.  Everyone stared at him in shock.  “Anyways, if the paper wants me to go, I think I probably have to”.

“I’ll go with you bro!” Interjected Coach.  This would be his time to redeem himself, to retrieve the thing that he destroyed in the first place.  “I-I can be useful, PUT ME IN COACH!!” He ran up to Red Herring and began shaking him.

“Ok Coach, you may go,” said Kenny.  Now, Natasha here wants to send you, Marissa, with the group in order to do some studies on the Mighty Goat and whatever ‘Book’ this paper is referring to.”  Natasha silently nodded, wishing for her assistant to get more experience in the field.

“I mean, I’m hardly ready-” said Marissa, fumbling with her glasses.  “I don’t think I can really do what you want, but uh… if you wish I will go!”

“Excellent.  We want only four people on this mission, so Luigi, He, one of you will have to choose to stay”.  They both looked at each other, before silently coming to an agreement.

“I will go,” said Luigi.  “If there’s anyone you need to try to take out an ancient beast, it would be me”.  He looked at He, before hugging him, as He wished Luigi luck on the trip.

“I’m sorry everyone, I just think I have the least to offer here.  You’re probably all better off without me...” muttered He.  This wasn’t his only reason for staying, however, as his mind was still drawing him to the mysterious scientist of Natasha”.

“Very well.  You four are to be sent to one of our Jersey Mike's locations in Nepal.  There you will meet a Sherpa, who will bring you to the temple of the Mighty Goat.  We are all counting on you, and if you are to fail, it is likely that Nosferatu will rule forever. You all are now, The Fellowship of the Toppings!”

…

Nixon had sent those girls home to Japan.  They knew he no longer had the documents, nor the Death Note, but he knew that they would try to find them once they got back.  They could be useful, so instead of killing them he put a tracker on them.  It was the best he could think of at that moment, as that stupid assassin Barracuda had died when trying to retrieve the Note.  He thought to himself, Tricky Dick, you’ve outdone yourself this time! It’ll be like Watergate never happened!   Now all the Crook could do is sit back, and wait for everything to fall into his hands, like it always does.

…

Nosferatu sat solemnly at his desk.  His attack on Key Island had failed, and now he couldn’t even find them where they once were.  His rage, he put onto Slappy 2, putting his best general into the hospital.  Now, he was at his breaking point.  He knew he shouldn’t have relied on a bunch of beavers, but now there were more pressing matters.  Rumor has it that The Resistance nearly got control of a powerful weapon, but that it was destroyed in the fighting.  He knew better however, and knew that it was not entirely gone.  They would be searching, and he would catch them, and go to their HQ himself. All he would need is a glimpse at Key Island, and suddenly, it would be like he never lost the battle at all.  He was in control of the time, all he needed was the place.

Chapter Text

Nosferatu sits at his Oval Office in deep thought. He’s been pondering.

“Can I truly trust anybody to represent my interests?”

He asks himself this over and over. It’s a lingering thought that just won’t go away. Somehow dictated by the doubt in his mind, as if he were possessed, he gets up from his chair. He starts marching out of his office.

A random advisor rushes to his side as he opens the doors to his office. The advisor talks about the lingering doom of Subway. Of Jersey Mike’s. Of sandwiches. “Witchcraft, I tell you!” Nosferatu pays it no mind. The buzz of all this recent political drivel has been demotivating for him. At the end of the day, all he wants is his family back.

He marches onwards. Onwards. Not thinking of the sandwiches.

He enters the council room with all of his various congressmen, as shadowy and unknowably unknowable as ever. They murmur thoughts about the legendary vampire, but he pushes past them. It’s not worth it. Has it ever been?

He steps out onto the balcony of the Grey House. He views the horizon out in front of him. Interestingly, he sees the sunset for the first time in years. Nosferatu always kept to himself, in fear of the sun, but those fears were majorly unfounded. A sunset like this, so tempting, so beautiful, was nothing he could stop himself from seeing.

He peers at the vast garden out in front of him. An array of roses, daisies, and blue duikers are laid out in the field being overlooked by this balcony. It was a real pain for the administration to go out and freeze all the blue duikers in the shape of the American Flag, but it was what was told of them, and so they did it.

Nosferatu thinks about what was told of him, what was promised of him.

.

..

...

A glass vase near him shatters. He jumps back, shocked at something so sudden happening to him right now.

Something clicks in his brain.

“This, this is all wrong. What I’m doing, what I’m contributing, is wrong. As much as Subway fucking sucks, they’re trying to get by on what society provides for them. All the lowly managers of these sandwich shops on every corner of every town, they have lives too. They have families too. I am doing the world too much harm for anyone’s good. I quit.”

All of a sudden, out of nowhere, two figures in suits jumped Nosferatu from behind.

“Mf- HELP!”

Nosferatu cries out for any of his advisors to hear him. Nobody can hear him. His screams were being washed out by the ice cream being stuffed in his face to silence him. Icecreamboarded.

He blacks out.

...

“Welcome to the Ben and Jerry’s Authority. Your time is up.”
Nosferatu comes to, and peers out to an endless ensemble of various desks and office workers. It looked kinda like the Labyrinth. Standing tall in the center of the vast void, was Ben, Jerry, and Owen Wilson.

Some mascot looking like a clock then asks “Do you know why you’re here?”

“I’m not sure why I’m here, or why your mid-ass ice cream was waterboarding me in that way. I don’t respect waterboarders, never have. I think their occupation is foolish and tiresome. I get a lot more results out of people when I hiss at them, waterboarding is just gonna hydrate them. A lot. That isn’t my idea of fun.”

“Well, we ICECREAMBOARDED you for that exact reason. People love ice cream, and people after eating sweets tend to talk a lot more.”

“Oh. Well that does explain the illustrious display of complex vocabulary seemingly out of nowhere. It explains my willingness to talk at least.”

The clock introduces herself. “I am Miss Minutes, but you can call me Owen Wilson.”

Nosferatu appears confused. “I know Owen Wilson from being a bird, a dog, a fucking car, but I don’t think he was a talking clock.

“Well, Owen Wilson is known in your universe to transcend time and space, a forever blond, always sounding in his 20s. They have played various roles of various godhood, it only makes sense for them to be a Christlike figure, in the very nature of their being.”

Nosferatu, still confused, “I haven’t seen any Owen Wilson churches around.”

“Look harder.” Owen Wilson hands him an iPad tablet from the 2000s, and puts up a YouTube Video. The URL reads out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_TBbTKqF6zo

3 HOURS LATER

“That doesn’t look like the actor Owen Wilson.”

“Oh, my bad! I transitioned.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

Owen Wilson continues on with her explanation. “Over the years, Superior Ben and Superior Jerry have been innovators in the Ice Cream Space. They have made delightful Ice Cream flavor names such as Chunky Monkey, Americone Dream, and the Hindenburg.”

what the fuck

“And so, you must be wondering, ‘what the fuck’? How does any of this relate to why you are here now, and why I’m a talking clock? Well, Ice Cream changes people. It dictates people. Superior Ben and Superior Jerry were sitting in their ice cream workshop one day, with their hammers and drills working away at the next big thing. They decided to call their next best creation, The Vampire.”

Nosferatu seems drawn to this particular conversation, because he’s a big DECO*27 fan. His favorite vocaloid artist!

“Sure enough, the next day, a version of you rises to power with seemingly no history, no preamble, no We The People, no democracy. You rise up and start a coup. And, in fact, beyond the Superior’s knowledge, this happened everywhere. Every time.”

Nosferatu is dumbfounded. DECO*27 is a genius!

“We at the BJA control time. I, in fact, was a lowly employee at this institution, gobbling away at my Choca-lotta Cheesecake, when suddenly, an alarm went off. One of the timelines was having a tough problem with an overdose in cheesecake production. Something about the Cheese Caves flooding Wisconsin. I went there with my dear friend Loki, and he was consumed by the Goop. In the wake of this tragedy, I demanded answers from this Ice Cream company. I don’t know what power they possess, but it’s important.”

Nosferatu was getting bored of this exposition, he just wanted some fucking ice cream. Tune out?

no [yes]

andsowhenimetupwithbenandjerrythesuperiorsastheyaretheysaidthattheyhadthespecialgiftofknowledgeandreasoningtopredicteventswithverygoodaccuracyandwhentheytoldmethatiknewthattheyweresomeonetobetrustedinfactsomepeopletobetrustedandwestagedacoupofthecurrentlynamedtvatoestablishmorebroadicecreamproductionsandcontrolthegoingsonthatthetvausedtorunandoperateasandweendedupcontrollingalltimeandspace...

“...so long as we keep our dairy production high, we can continue to have time travel. Let’s hope nobody prevents the first cow from being milked.”

“But anyways, you’re here because Nosferatu is supposed to be evil, and you decided to play the good guy, for just a moment. We can’t have that.”

Nosferatu zoned out and missed all the context as to why he is now being hunted down. “NO DON’T DO THAT! I don’t even know how I could possibly impact events...”

...anddd as if on cue, Nosferatu’s Time Travel falls out of his pocket, and in front of Owen Wilson.

“Nuh uh uh, you can’t have that anymore.”

“I need this to get back to the life I once led, I can fix everything!”

Wilson continues, “This place isn’t about fixing things, it’s letting things go their natural course. When Superiors Ben and Jerry conceived of the Chunky Monkey, they knew that Baba the Ape was going to put on a few pounds. When Superiors Ben and Jerry conceived of the Americone Dream, they knew that John Locke was gonna be a bitch.”

Owen Wilson slams the table with much force.

“WHEN THE SUPERIORS CONCEIVED OF THE HINDENBURG, THEY KNEW JOHN HINDENBURG WAS GOING TO HAVE A ROUGH DAY.”

“These things happen, and The Vampire is meant to predict your evil uprising. The Superiors don’t create these events; they simply respond to the cosmos.”

Nosferatu starts crying, “You don’t understand the true value of the cosmos, not today, not ever. Love, in the end, wins. And as for you, I don’t see any love in your soul. I just see the time.”

“Time destroys love, it consumes it. Through our shared mortality, any semblance of love is lost on you. It is reduced to ashes. Time is the ultimate destruction of all and anything that could be enjoyed.”

Owen Wilson pauses, but responds with “I guess we have nothing to worry about, there’s the evil drivel we’re used to hearing at the BJA from a Nosferatu deviant like you.”

Nosferatu cries and begs for mercy, but to no avail. Owen Wilson and Nosferatu start bickering and arguing, and lose attention to the Time Travel lying on the floor.

A couple of guards are hauling away their most dangerous criminal yet. He has various chains wrapped around him, as he’s lugged away in a body bag. Wilson and Nosferatu take notice of the guards passing by, and as if by magic, stop their bickering for just one moment to acknowledge their presence.

“Oh, sorry!” as the guards pass by, stopping their conversation briefly. Arguing away at the fate of the Good Vampire, they don’t seem to notice the Time Travel is missing.

Using the best of his ability, the Devil sees all of this going on, and uses his sinister tricks to weigh the scale just a little bit towards this dangerous criminal’s favor.

“YOU SEE, FOR I AM THE DEVIL, AND I CONTROL LOVE. I CONTROL HATE. I CONTROL THE DESTRUCTION OF ALL AND EVERYTHING. TIME HAS NOTHING ON ME. WATCH AS I SOW THE SEEDS FOR THE DESTRUCTION OF EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE USING THIS ONE SIMPLE TRICK.”

He stashes the Time Travel into the body bag, and lets the criminal get hauled away to his prison cell.

The criminal is unchained, unbody-baged, and peers down at the Time Travel in his hands.

*FLASH* *BANG* These are thunder sound effects to portray this criminal as an e-

He shakes, his arms contort into his spine, his eyes roll into the back of his skull. His legs crumble into millions of pieces. The room around him turns a violent grey, as a light in the center of the room grows. It grows. Grows. Gr-

...

.....

........................................................

Suddenly, Nosferatu wakes up in a plane. Looking around him, he sees friends, foes, and various important figures in his cabinet and in the resistance. He sees an evil version of himself, Red Herring, Coach, Kenny, Jeff Jeffson XXX, Luigi Magione, Nixon, Barracuda, Spongebob, Kita, Seika Iijchi, Aleph, Marrisa, Natasha, and Slappy II. He somehow retains that their names are such, despite never meeting most of them, or why they’re relevant to this plane. They’re all unconscious, dreaming away the dream of salvation, or destruction.

A voice booms on the speakers.

“There are only two parachutes on board. You, alongside another, will be the only ones allowed to exit this plane alive. I have used Time Travel to travel back in time and steal the Death Note for myself.”

“I then went to 2006, and handed the Death Note off to Light Yagami, with all the info he needed to avoid getting caught. The one condition I gave him was to not write my name in the Death Note. I then went to the distant future, where Yagami ruled over this world, and stole back the Death Note, with all the names he has ever written inside of it.”

“I went back to the olden days where some weirdos decided to milk cows, and prevented them from such an action. Ice Cream no longer exists, and won’t for a very long time.”

“I have used Time Travel to gather every person of interest and put them on this very plane you are in right now. I have a version of the Death Note which promises to kill all of them in a matter of seconds. I will use the Death Note eraser on whomever you decide to free. As for the others, and the millions more that Light Yagami decided to massacre, they will not be as lucky as you.”

“Finally, I handed off Time Travel to the one person I know is good at getting rid of it. Ronald Weasley, known best for the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, destroyed the entire stock of Time-Turners on display. Knowing this, I consulted him and agreed to destroy All Time Travel ever.”

“Knowing all of this, you are in a futile position to do anything but tell me the location of Key Island, and I’ll let two of you live.”

“With all this being said...”

Nosferatu looks down at his feet, and sees one carton of stray, dairy milk.

“...would you like to play a game?”

Chapter Text

“Well this is some bullshit right here. First thing to consider, why should I care for most of these people? The only person here that I really know is Slappy II, Mr. Red Savior over there and….” He scowled for a moment upon seeing Spongebob, “Some filth. I care not for these other… 12 people. Secondly, to that knowledge, uhmm… I don’t quite have that information anymore. That island could be anywhere now that you fucked with time. I remember reading a bit of documentation about Key Island, it was all boring but the teleportation. Have you not played Life is Strange at all?”

“Oh.”

“Thirdly… Is this plane currently crashing?”

“Uhmm…” the mysterious voice went silent and only the sounds of the plane engine could be heard until, “Not at this moment. We have plenty of fuel.”

“This feels like you haven’t thought this one all the way through. So fourthly, I’m sure you know who I am and how strong I am, right?”

“That one I did think through. Currently it is 12:00 PM, Mountain Time.”

“Oh. Well damn. Hmm…” Noseferatu looked out the plane to see that they were in the middle of a desert, supposedly in the middle of nowhere of Nevada - New Mexico, so it would be a rough trek to find anywhere to safety.

“So, I didn’t think of the time travel shenanigans too much, I think that’s a little obvious… So I-”

“That’s another thing actually. Because time is so fucked now, would Flag Staff actually have what you need still?”

“Actually, yes. Most of the events that you may remember did happen. I made sure of that.”

“So… who are these other people then?”

“Members of the resistance.”

“... Why not just have one of them awake instead of me?”

“. . .”

There was a long pause. The mysterious voice didn’t say anything. Presumably, regretting all of these poor circumstances.

“I’ll just land the plane. I can’t get what I want like this.”

“Okay then.”
____________________________________________________________________________

I took a grand total of 1 hour to land at the Albuquerque airport. Nosefratu carried out the rest of the passengers. The entire airport was a ghost town, everything was left in it’s renovation, nothing being finished. Whoever that mysterious voice was hadn’t left the plane, at least, not by leaving the port. Soon, the plane itself left Nosferatu stuck in this airport with a certain somebody who had thwarted his plans… and Spongebob. Also Nixon I guess but Nosferatu isn’t aware that this was former president Richard “Crook” Nixon.

Chapter Text

Orlok sat on a bench at Terminal 42, looking at the unconscious bodies of all of the most significant figures in the ongoing war that were strewn across the sticky carpets of the Las Vegas airport. Shouldn't there be some sort of designated survivor or something? Doesn’t matter. Has any of this mattered? Debatable. The country, the timeline, and his mind were all totally ass-fucked. The airport was entirely empty except for this party of fools, as all commercial flights had been cancelled in the wake of several 9/11 adjacent-events in the recent weeks. He eyed a King Kong themed slot machine, a monolith of one of the only certain things left in the world: capitalism. Also monkeys.

Orlok rolled a Benjamin Franklin around in his pocket as he approached the machine. He wondered if he would ever end up on a bill in the future, or if there would be bills in the future, or if there would be a future. Would his quest for immortal life even matter if the universe was torn apart by a single notebook or an ice cream company or a clock that starred in several Wes Anderson classics? What definitely wouldn’t matter is the money he was about to put into the King Kong slot machine.

One hundred in. Orlok hit the button on the terminal in front of him. Before he knew it, three King Kongs aligned in front of him. A wheel spun and landed on “PRIMAL.” The CGI ape roared in front of him as hundreds of thousands of dollars racked up on the screen. King Kong was once a movie monster, just like Orlok. A black and white creature designed to bring terror to audiences as they munched on popcorn. Now look at King Kong, a foolish mascot to lure the elderly into wasting thousands. And Orlok was real, he was standing at this machine. Why? Oh, yeah, the ice cream gods of course. They created the Vampire flavor and the timeline willed him into existence. They of course also created Hundreds of Beavers and Key Island Lime and Jersey Mike’s surprise and all of these other bullshit promotional flavors that fucked up the timeline almost as much as the strange old man who gathered Orlok and his enemies onto the plane. What other flavors had they created? Of course, Chunky Monkey. And here he was, clear as day, the chunky monkey depositing hundreds of thousands into Orlok’s already over-inflated bank account. Only, Orlok existed beyond the realm of the screen. A real monster.

“If I get to be real…” Orlok muttered to himself, “if I get to be the only real monster, I will be the greatest monster that ever lived!” He cackled maniacally, and lightning flashed outside. A great downpour began, greater than Los Vegas had ever seen. The streets would soon begin to flood, but Orlok was focused on his return to evil and annihilating the rebels that the old man had so kindly brought him to.
“Finally, I will have my revenge on the Red Savior! Finally I will have eternal life! FINALLY I- wait where the FUCK did you go?”

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Red Herring, Coach, Kenny, and Luigi were racing down the Las Vegas strip as sirens blared. 

“JESUS CHRIST” Luigi yelled over the sirens, somewhat out of breath. “ Do you guys remember anything after we left for Nepal?”

Red Herring tripped over his own cape and responded “No, we must’ve been kidnapped! Fucking Nosferatu, this is why I didn’t want to get into this hero stuff!”

“It’ll all be worth it when we find the Mighty Goat!” Coach said. He pulled a locket out from under his shirt and opened it. He gently stroked the picture of LeBron James housed within. “I know it’ll be you” he whispered, too quietly for the others to hear.

The group heard buildings begin to collapse behind them as they approached the Strat, the tallest and most structurally sound building in Vegas. Red Herring’s skeletal legs were beginning to crack under the pressure, and Coach’s fat ass was beginning to cook from the friction. The colossal wave was swallowing the street, and it was clear that the Strat was just out of reach. Coach stopped. “Team, we only have about a minute to live, so I say we should get our confessions in now so that God may be merciful. I’ll start: I don’t understand how basketball works. I don’t know what a three pointer is really. Also I’m gay as fuck.”

Luigi held his head high and said “I’m gay too. I’ve been down bad for He since the rebellion started like two weeks ago or whatever. Also I never actually killed Brian Thompson, I just liked the attention, but the gay thing is more important.”

“Yeah the gay thing was more important for me, too, forget the other part.” Coach said.

Kenny bravely joined in: “My mom was a conductor and my dad was an orc, so technically I’m only a half orc and only a half conductor. I never deserved the title conduct-orc. Also I’m like a low-key non-binary.”

Red Herring only had one confession to make. He hadn’t been alive for long, but there was one bombshell he was hiding, and he wasn’t gay so he couldn’t say that instead. “Guys, I don’t remember who I might’ve been in my past life, but you guys have helped me realize who I am now. I’m not really a revolutionary, or a hero, or a messiah. What I really am… what I have been since I stumbled out of the grey house… is…”

SUDDENLY, TRIKE “DEUS EX MIKE-INA” MIKE SHOWED UP ON A GOLDEN MOTORCYCLE WITH 2 SIDE-CARS ATTACHED ON EITHER SIDE AND SAID WITH A BOOMING VOICE “GET THE FUCK ON!!!!!!”

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Orlok was stomping around pouting over the area where the Fellowship of the Toppings was laying before he went to the monkey machine. A staff phone on the terminal desk rang. Orlok obviously had no choice but to pick it up.

“Terminal… uh… shit hold on…terminal 42, whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” Orlok said through gritted fangs.

“Would you like to play a game?” John Kramer said on the other end.

“Well your last game sucked the blood out of a horse’s ass so I don’t know, is this one a little better conceptualized, you old coot?”

“Well it’s less of a game per say and more of a plan, that’s just kind of what I say. It’s branding.”

“Is making unnecessary phone calls also branding? I see you in the rafters.”

“Shit.” John Kramer piloted a 10-foot tall mech suit made of scrap. One arm wielded a permanently spinning saw, and the face of Billy the puppet covered his own. It was draped in black cloth and splattered with blood. “I thought I would make a cooler entrance.”

“How did you do all of this? You’re a mere human.”

“I didn’t just find time travel on my own, you old bat. Ever heard of Fortnite? I was pulled from my home dimension onto a massive battle field full of gods and magic. That’s where I discovered dimensional rifts and, more importantly, time travel. I’ve always been resourceful, so I was able to craft this suit, crank some 90s, and get the hell out of dodge. I thought there couldn’t possibly be a timeline more fucked than that one, but clearly I was wrong. That’s why I thought I could take power here, I just shouldn’t have underestimated you.”

“So what do you want from me now? Or - more accurately - what do I want from you? Why shouldn’t I dispose of you now?” Orlok flashed his crooked white teeth.

“I may have gotten that Weasley kid to destroy all time travel, but I still have one Rift-To-Go left. With some reverse engineering, we could get one two-way ticket to any dimension, and find a weapon capable of accomplishing… whatever it is you’re trying to do right now.”

Barracuda, pretending to be asleep, started to sweat. This was out of his pay grade, he was feeling like a fish out of water.

“Alright, Jiggy…”

“Never call me that ever again.”

“Alright, John, I see your value. You can join my cabinet, I suppose. You are skilled in torture, yes?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it torture, its more of a test of willpower and mora-”

“Ok, you lunatic, just listen. You see that weird porous aquatic creature there?”

“Nixon?”

“Yes, yes. Take him and Spongebob to terminal 69, then return so we can chat blueprints for your best game yet.”

“But, uh, sir, wouldn’t our time be best spent on finding the ultimate weapon?”

“Revenge is a dish best served sizzlin’ hot and wet, John. Spongebob has already died once, and I’m not gonna miss my chance to torture my enemies before they die again. I am a monster, John. I value cruelty above all. Then we can talk dimensional travel.”

Despite all of his strong moral convictions, Jigsaw had no choice but setting to work on torturing Nixon and the Bob. As Orlok woke Slappy II, Jigsaw became determined to become Orlok’s closest cabinetman so that he may take his place at the right hand of the devil after they conquer what’s left of this timeline.

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Barracuda snuck away into an empty Auntie Anne’s. Peeking above the counter, he could see through the windows of the terminal into a newly forming ocean taking over the Mojave. The only escape would be to rescue that damned sponge to suck up the water, but that would mean walking into the belly of the beast at terminal 69. Better lay low and suck on some pretzel dough, he thought, as he thought about the still bodies of Jeff, Seika, Kita, Iijchi, Marissa, Natasha, and that other guy who was surely important.

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ORLOKTECH

LOG 5/12

“I was the first one to see him. That Red Bastard. If only I knew how utterly and totally our timeline would fall apart because of him. I had his neck under my knife and I let him walk straight to the rebel base. Of course I regret letting him live. However, I don’t regret failing to serve Nosferatu. That scoundrel is an indecisive failure of a leader. We need someone strong in office. I’m bringing him back here, the one that reminds me so much of my own father. Tricky Dick, he is called. I’m taking Air Force 1, though it isn’t the type of aircraft I’m used to. I will save Dick from those old fools that have him captured at Terminal 69 and I’ll teach them a new meaning of “terminal.” Today is the twelfth of May, and it’s gonna be the bad one of the dozen for anybody who gets in the way of F-”

STORAGE SPACE DEPLETED

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French Narrator here, only one more zinger before the chapter is done for real. Remember when I mentioned how Nosferatu saw an evil version of himself on the plane. This is him I’m about to talk about.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Laying on the floor, still as a corpse, hidden behind a pillar, he listened to every word. He could even hear the faker’s thoughts. That thing thought he was Count Orlok, master of evil, but his universe is merely a children’s cartoon. His memories are fabricated, he’s no monster. But this creature, laying on the ground, is from a universe without sound and without morals, and he’ll kill every last one of them. The best course of action for anybody in this airport would be to pray to whatever gods are left. 

Chapter Text

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU???” Red Herring shouted to the stranger riding the Golden Motorcycle. While Trike Mike was aware they were saying something, it was quite difficult to hear over the rain, and he began to realize that being an entire parking lot away from them was probably not helping. He drove his bike over to them, and as he approached, Red Herring noticed the emblem on his motorcycle and helmet. It looked like the Jersey Mike’s logo, but without the Jersey part, instead just reading “Mike”. “This might be a dumb question, but is that Jersey Mike?”

“Close, but not quite.” Luigi responded. “That’s Trike Mike, son of Jersey Mike. He shows up at Key Island sometimes to deliver handcrafted^[1] sandwiches from his father. He’s a high ranking official who is very respecte-”

“Technically speaking, yes, he's the resistance’s Secretary of Transportation, but I wouldn't go so far as to say he's highly respected.” Kenny interrupted. “He's an idiot and exists as an example of how even in a resistance fighting against corruption, individuals with higher qualifications can get ignored in favor of individuals with connections.”

“Total nepo baby.” Coach added on.

“Yeah, I guess so, but are you guys going to get on?” Trike Mike said, his confidence having been thoroughly shattered ever since he arrived at the ^[1].

Everyone hopped onto the motorcycle, neither Coach nor Kenny apologizing for what was said. While in most circumstances this would be an utterly sick experience on Trike’s Awesome Golden Bike, it was underscored by what felt like an awkward situation.

Attempting to get rid of the discomfort he and Red Herring felt so that they could finally enjoy what was without a doubt the coolest way to escape the quickly-flooding city, Luigi spoke up.

“We’ve been out in the rain running for our lives, and I’d imagine it’s been a stressful few days for all of us. Kenny was probably just upset about that. We didn’t even notice you showed up, so I’m sure he wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.”

“I knew you were there.” Kenny grumbled, before sitting up in preparation of yet another rant which although true could be delivered in a less harsh way. “You always show up on your dumb golden motorcycle your dad bought you, saving people at the very last minute. You even call yourself “Deus Ex Mike-Ina” like you’re some sort of gift from God. I’ve been running the train system which the entire resistance relies on so much that if I died everything would collapse in under a week. I think of myself as a humble train conductor, but it makes my blood absolutely BOIL any time I think about your stupid face. If your shiny tricycle got a million little dents it would probably be the first real problem that someone as privileged as you has ever experienced.”

As if Kenny had manifested into reality the first real problem that someone as privileged as Trike Mike has ever experienced, several bullets loudly ricocheted against the left side-car.

“COACH YOU GOD-DAMN BASTARD I’LL FUCKIN’ KILL YOU” shouted a familiarly western voice from behind them.

—-

As Richard Nixon began to wake, he felt a sensation in his right wrist caused by a handcuff so tight that his hand was turning purple. He began to survey his surroundings. He was in a very nice bathroom. It smelled clean, likely because nobody had used it in a while. This was confirmed when he glanced up towards the entrance door, which was covered in caution tape. Turning to his right, he saw the reason for the caution tape. There was a large gap in the ceiling, with rain falling through it. On the floor beneath it was a toolbag, a ladder, and a pane of glass. Turning to his left, he saw a very dry-looking SpongeBob, chained to an impeccably-cleaned urinal. Concerningly, there was a camera above the sinks, which had a blinking red light. An airport announcement chime rang, and with dramatic music in the background, a low voice spoke directly to him:

(Dub available here, please read alongside listening for highest clarity)

“Hello Richard. I want to play a game. Forgive the restraints, I’m sure you’re not used to being handcuffed, thanks to your Vice President Crook. If circumstances were different you would be tested alongside him, but I think you and Robert will make an interesting pair. While not as intimidating as some of the other bathrooms my subjects have been placed in, you may find this one to be deadlier. They intended to install a skylight in this airport, but unfortunately for you, they never finished, and I’ve sealed the doorway. If the ever-absorbent Sponge gets his way, the room will flood, but I think it would be in your best interests to prevent that. Before you is an assortment of construction tools, and the window they were going to use for the skylight. I don’t think that hand of yours will be doing you any favors, but it is up to you whether you free it or remove it. Seal the watergate, or else Tricky Dick will have to become Moby Dick.”

—-

Trike Mike glanced in one of his side mirrors, decorated with gems that he now felt looked tacky, and saw a cowboy riding a horse, with a tommy gun in one hand and a lasso in the other.

“JEFF JEFFSON XXX????? IS THAT YOU???????” Trike Mike shouted.

“SURE AS HELL IS, TRIKE, AND YOU’RE HARBORING AN OUTLAW WHO SWIPED MY GUN AND LEFT ME FOR DEAD.” Jeff angrily shouted, spraying a dozen more bullets into Trike Mike’s Bike and puncturing a hole into the gas tank.

“CAN YOU STOP SHOOTING MY BIKE SO THAT WE CAN TALK ABOUT THIS????”

“ALRIGHT, BUT IF YOU DON’T HAND OVER THAT BANDIT I’LL MAKE SURE ALL 5 OF YOU HANG.”

While Trike and Jeff were talking, everyone had turned to look at Coach, expecting an explanation.

“Look, I didn’t mean to steal that guy’s gun. Right before the Key Island invasion, I was in the armory, and I saw a gun that looked cool, so I took it!”

“ONE OF THE FIRST FUCKING THINGS HE SAID TO US WAS THAT HE DIDN’T INTEND TO GIVE THAT GUN AWAY!” Red Herring yelled.

“I was barely paying attention when he introduced himself. The only things I got from the conversation were ‘Jeff Jeff XXX’, ‘cool revolver’, and ‘I give it away’. Plus, the revolver was just sitting there on the wall with all of the other guns!” Coach insisted.

“That interpretation just seems willfully ignorant.”

“Bro, try finding some Adderall under an authoritarian regime and then we can talk about that.”

While Coach and Red Herring were both interested in discussing the difficulties that people with unmedicated ADHD face, the ringing of bullets indicated that Jeff and Trike’s chat had not ended well.

Chapter Text

Everyone was tired. Red Herring, Coach, the Devil, Fortnite Jonsey, Spongebob, the hundreds of beavers, everyone. Especially the Devil. Balancing everything like this wasn’t in his job description. He’s the Devil from the Bible, he should be doing anything but this. Balancing things is God’s job, not his! However, with God missing, probably wanting to get out of the current state of the world, the Devil had to do his job and God’s job. He had to somehow manage the torment of souls while also deciding the fate of those who died, which happened a lot, meaning a massive backlog. He needed a break, but if he took one, both Heaven and Hell would crumble, the former he was fine with, but the latter? Oh, absolutely not. This was his only source of fun, besides playing in the human casinos very rarely, but now, it’s become a hassle. He was hungry, tired, and cold, even though he didn’t know what those feelings felt like.

He lets out a small stretch, not knowing how long it’s been since his last, but quickly goes back to signing the hundreds, if not thousands of papers. An immortal life, yet immortally stuck in paperwork. He couldn’t interfere, though. It broke the rules that were made many millennia ago between him and God. He had to keep going, though. Just a repeated cycle of paper and the scent of ink hitting it. He wondered if this is what a 9 to 5 felt like, except that there’s no breaks, and it goes well past only 8 hours of work. 

He sighed in resignation, before a wish paper caught his eye. A wish for… adderall? Really? Of all things? Was the economy so bad from this war that Adderall was in low quality? Although, it could help with his work… Hmm… Fuck it, he decided to do it. Being away from the paperwork for 5 minutes couldn’t hurt… right? No, no, he couldn’t. It would be too risky, and could cause instability in both Heaven and Hell. He couldn’t, he…

*****************************************************************************************

Barracuda was out of dough. Pretzel dough, cookie dough, actual dough, money dough, every dough. He was a feared assassin, so why oh why is he sitting in an Auntie Anne’s, just waiting? The Sponge was still at Terminal 69, but he didn’t know if he could do it. Walking into the belly of the beast is usually something fools do, and Barracuda knew he had an IQ of at least above room temperature. This wasn’t his style, just hiding away. He needed to do something. He paced back and forth, back and forth, with no ideas coming to him. “Stuck, are we?” Barracuda turned around and saw it, a creature with piercing green eyes, cutting through the darkness. However, that was the only visible part, but it was enough to terrify Barracuda to the core.

“Who… You…”

“Me, yes. Now, while I’d love to sit around and chat, there are more pressing issues.” Barracuda tries to pull one of his many guns, but the creature simply wags its long, crooked, finger. “Bullets are ineffective against kings like I. Now, let’s talk without a hail of bullets or the smell of smoke. I will be generous though, and let you ask one question first.” The creature smiles, its yellow teeth cutting through the darkness.

“What are you? Who are you?” Barracuda tries to back away, but finds himself frozen with fear.

The creature keeps its large grin and holds out a second finger, saying “two questions, but I’ll allow it, since I’m so nice. What I am is a king and a spectator, and as for who, I am simply known as LSE, or you may call me the Lost Souls Eternal. Either choice is perfectly acceptable. I am not the one you saw before, flying away with that book.”

“Then why are you here? What do you want from me?”

“Quite simple. I just wish to see the number of deaths rise. After all, this war has been very fun to watch. So, let’s make a simple deal. I will make you a path to get out of here, and in return, you keep killing people. Without care, without mercy, I do not care. More death, more power for me and you.”

“You… just want me to kill?”

The creature steps out of the shadows, and reveals its form. A tall figure, perhaps around 8 feet tall, but instead of skin, it has blue spiky fur. A crown of green thorns sit atop its mop of black hair, the green eyes still piercing through. It was very lanky, with only a robe of white and green covering itself. “Exactly. Kill without remorse, and I will make you the most feared assassin in the world.” It reaches out its hand, and smiles at Barracuda.

“You’ll… make me stronger?” Barracuda simply stares at it, not sure if it could be trusted. It simply smiles at him. Barracuda thinks about it, but eventually shakes the creature’s hand, unsure of the future ahead of him.

“Wonderful.” The creature smiles widely, but never stops staring at Barracuda. “Just wonderful. Very wonderful. Let us begin our little deal, my new vessel, shall we?”

*****************************************************************************************

“Like, if the devil came to us and offered me adderall for my soul, I might just take that deal,” Red Herring says, right before the explosion of a hospital cut through the air while Coach and Red Herring were talking about the difficulties that people with unmedicated ADHD face

“I don’t think that was planned,” Coach says, before being hit in the head with something flying at high speed, not enough to kill, but definitely enough to sting. Red Herring picks up the projectile, and finds it to be a pill bottle. It doesn’t seem to be labeled, but when looking closely, it looks like adderall. 

“Oh hey, don’t even have to sell my soul for that. Very nice.” He stashes the pill bottle in a pocket.

“Yeah, only at my forehead’s expense,” Coach mutters in disapproval.

“It’s massive anyways, you’ll be fine.”

“Rude.”

“You don’t even have a 5-head, you’ve got a 6-head.”

“Look, Trike and Jeff are coming back, let’s just figure out what’s happening with them, and go from there.”

Chapter Text

Sitting in Albuquerque International Sunport’s only terminal was a lone deer, Bambi. Bambi was tasked by Jigsaw to keep a cooler of ice cream safe and wait for him to return, however it had been 4 days. The ice cream was fully melted now, and Bambi was still waiting for Jigsaw, where could he be? The ice cream had fully melted, and actually why did he even want this ice cream? What significance could a cooler of ice cream have, and what significance does it maintain after being melted? Jigsaw never told Bambi how long he’d be out flying his Boeing 777X, so he could only assume this is expected. Suddenly, Bambi spotted a plane in the sky, but it wasn’t Jigsaw’s, in fact it wasn’t even close to Jigsaw’s. Suddenly, he realized that the people flying the bi-plane were going to crash through the windows of the airport.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Kita had no idea how to fly the plane she was currently piloting, and neither did Seika, despite that she was still desperately trying to help. After their super cool escape from Harry Reid International Airport and following multi-day grand adventure filled with joy and whimsy, Seika decided it would be a good idea to fly the bi-plane they got from the X-Men after helping them revitalize the economy of Black Hat to the nearest airport. While they got quite far, KIta realized she didn’t know how she was going to even land the plane.

The airport came into sight and Kita started the descent, but too late did she realize that not slowing down would be a detriment, along with that Seika also realized there was a deer in the airport, and right after she realized the plane they were both in were about to go into the airport.

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

 Kita and Seika jumped out as soon as possible. What was that deer doing in an empty airport and is it still alive? As they were searching around, the deer had dragged itself out from under the plane. Clearly this deer was special, but suddenly it spoke

“Who are you guys? What did you do to Jigsaw?”

Neither of them knew who Jigsaw even was, but they did know who they were.

“I’m Kita Ikuy-” Kita was suddenly cut off by Seika.

“Don’t tell this thing our names, we don’t know what it is!”

“I’m Bambi the deer!” responded the deer supposedly named Bambi. Seika clearly didn’t fully trust the creature

“What are you doing in this completely empty airport?”

“Keeping a cooler of ice cream safe and waiting for Jigsaw to come back.”

This really didn’t answer any questions, but it definitely wasn’t the most out there thing they had encountered on their journey, after all that run in with Gumby was crazy.

“We’re just going to go and leave you to that then”

_/~\_/~\_/~\_/~\_/~\_/~\_/~\_/~\_/~\_/~\_/~\_/~\_/~\_/~\_

Four Days Earlier

Gumby woke up like we always did, in his wacky bed, inside his wacky bedroom, inside his wacky house, ready to start another wacky day. He started his day as he always did, by making a rambutan, kiwano, and durian fruit salad, a dish he calls “Gumby’s Wacky Fruit Salad”. While Gumby was used to his days’ routines always following the same wacky schedule, something unusual happened today, the mail must’ve been delivered early, there’s no other reason someone would knock on his door, how would they even find it? Not only was the gateway portal in the middle of the desert, but he purposefully built his house on the edge of his dimensional rift. It was miles away from the entrance, only the mailman was committed enough to go all the way out here, and that’s probably because Gumby pays him so much. However, when Gumby opened the door he was met with an unexpected site, 2 humans. He already knew who they were, after all the whole reason he moved all the way out here was so he could do his job of controlling the fabric of reality in peace, and just in time for the destruction of the Ben and Jerry’s Authority, he no longer needed to worry about them messing with timelines and ruining his scheme, it was quite annoying considering the scale Gumby worked at, minor annoyances like them really made his life harder.

Gumby suddenly realized he was just staring at the 2 humans, saying nothing. They both looked quite horrified in fact.

“Hi, I’m , Controller Of The Multiverse And The Many Threads Of Time! How The FUCK Did You Find Me?”

They both continued to stare back, except with even more horror in their eyes. Perhaps he should’ve introduced himself in a softer way.

“We were actually wondering how we found you too, what is this place and how’d you say your name like that?”

Oh good, Gumby thought the yellow haired one would’ve spoken up, but, how do they not know how they got here, do people not keep track of what’s going on around them? Maybe Gumby should experiment and find out later.

“Well I Don’t Think It Matters How You Got Here, I Just Need You To LEAVE, Now, Please?”

“We’ve been walking in the desert for hours now, then suddenly we got transported here, how do we even leave?”

Gumby didn’t believe the red haired one, if you know how to jump into dimensional rifts you know how to get out. How on earth could they have possibly gotten in on accident, it’s just not possible.

“Stop Playing Dumb With Me, If You Got Here You Definitely Know How To Get Out. Now If You Don’t Leave Immediately I’m Going To Have To Write You Out Of The Fanfiction.”

“Listen, -”

She definitely did not expect that to happen. Have these 2 girls actually not heard of Gumby before? Were they being honest about not knowing what was going on?

“How did I do that, what happened? What is this place? Who even are you ?”

“Ok Maybe You Actually Have No Idea What Is Going On, If So I’m Just Going To Teleport You Back To Where You Were And Give You A Ford F-150 To Get As Far Away As Possible And Never Return!”

Gumby quickly opened a portal, pushed the girls through, and threw a Ford F-150 before closing the portal. Gumby closed his door and returned to making his Wacky Fruit Salad, when he realized, did he even send them back to the right dimension? Does it even matter though? Their roles were entirely inconsequential and they probably would’ve died if he- wait Gumby never wrote them coming to his house. How did they get there? In fact, Gumby wrote in their deaths, how are they still alive? And wait, what dimension DID Gumby send them to? If those 2 girls are able to transcend his writings, and he doesn’t even know what dimension they’re in anymore…

Gumby is in danger, if they find out too much… He had to stop them…

But what dimension did Gumby even send them to?

=^..^=   =^..^=   =^..^=    =^..^=    =^..^=    =^..^=    =^..^=

Kita and Seika had no idea where to go from the airport. They still were unable to get any calls through to any other member of the “band”. They had service, so maybe the others were in danger? The only way to know for sure would be to get back to Japan, but how would they manage that? They left their F-150 and crashed the plane, not only that but the airport was completely abandoned. As they exited the airport, they looked back, another plane had landed, and not some tiny bi-plane either. They watched the plane as only 2 people got off, and one of them was Nosferatu? Both of them were carrying stuff too, were those bodies?

Seika and Kita got to a hiding spot and watched as Nosferatu and the other guy unloaded bodies, until…

“Those bodies, why do they look like us, like, exactly like us?” Kita was clearly worried, but at her words Seika realized, those WERE their bodies, that WAS them.

----------------8<-------------[ cut here ]------------------

With the power of the Cookie Monster with him, Barracuda immediately ran back to the bodies of the others. He could easily score some points with the Cookie Monster by getting some quick kills as fast as possible. When he got there though, 3 of the bodies were gone, but what does that even matter! However, right before Barracuda fired his first shot, a green clay hand landed on his shoulder.

“HI! I’m , And I’m Wondering If You Know Where The HELL Seika And Kita Went!”