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> Normal Teenage Life, Friendship is Nightmares
Post #241
Al_Cone


Where we're going, we don't need nanomachines
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post Apr 12 2012, 02:14 AM
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Margaret Moonlight rose, her dress shredded and her face caked in blood and dirt. She braced herself against her rifle, leaning against it like a cane. Her every muscle and bone screamed from the agonizing beat-down laid upon her by Albert Wesker, but battered or no, she was on her feet and raring for revenge.

A quick visual search of the immediate area told her that she was in the ruins of what had once been a school auditorium. There was no sign of Wilson, of Wesker, of any human life.

There came a harsh, throaty growl from behind her, and she clenched her jaw. No human life indeed, she thought bitterly, and she spun around, swinging her scythe horizontally. The blade severed the head of a Hydralisk; its body slumped forward, twitching, and its head continued to growl at her. Another slithered into view, opening the crest behind its head and baring its needle-like teeth. Margaret shouldered her rifle and fired. A fifty cal round blew half of the Hydralisk's jaw off; a second penetrated the middle of its forehead, blowing everything between its neck and crest to bloody chunks.

More came; Hydralisks, supplemented by dog-like Zerglings, charged her, swarmed her. Margaret, knowing her end was well on its way, hoisted her scythe at the protest of her aching body, and prepared for her final stand.

And suddenly, vaulting off the ruins of an auditorium wall, came none other than beloved TV pitchman Billy Mays. The bike landed on an incoming Hydralisk, smushing it into Hydragoo, and Billy dismounted. He pulled a sawed-off shotgun from his long leather coat, leveled it at another Hydralisk, and said "Hi, Billy Mays here with two rounds of buckshot right in your ugly fucking face!" He fired, mauling the Hydralisk with a powerful blast at point-blank range, killing it instantly. Rather than reload, he dropped the shotgun and instead drew a pair of submachine guns, one in each hand. Firing wildly and spinning in a circle, he mowed down Zerg after Zerg, until his ammo was spent and the area around he and Margaret was littered with Zerg corpses.

Margaret stared, stunned into silence, as Billy, head bowed and arms outstretched like Christ, ejected the magazines in his weapons. He then turned to Margaret and flashed a bearded grin. "Hey, sugartits. Be less useful, I beg of you."

Incensed, Margaret leveled her rifle at him. "You're number twenty-two in the UAA," she said. "I didn't realize that Clint Eastwood-wannabe hired back-up."

"'Back-up,' nothin'," said Billy as he reloaded his SMGs. "I'm the son of a bitch Wesker hired to push Volxemortserum in the first place."

"You what?!" Margaret cocked her weapon, grimacing. "You son of a bitch!"

"Hey now," said Billy, "that was the old Billy. The one who didn't look into the companies who hired him. This is the new Billy, the one who's armed to the teeth and a little less naive about throwing his considerable advertising swag around."

"And you, what, think that gunning down some crazy aliens is gonna make up for what you've done?!" Margaret spat, disgusted. "My nickname is 'Reaper,' and even I think you're a monster."

"I'll take that title," said Billy, "but between you and me, there are bigger monsters than I that need dealing with." He leveled his SMG at something behind Margaret. She turned, and gaped at the pillar of black, putrifying flesh that was Infested Zophar.

"Well, fuck me in the pooper and don't call me in the morning," Margaret murmured.

"That an invitation?"

Margaret glared at Billy. Her witty retort was interrupted by another wave of Zerg bursting from the ground, slavering and snarling at the pitchman and the assassin. Billy closed the distance between himself and Margaret, leveling his SMGs at the Zerg surrounding them. Margaret came back-to-back with him, holding her weapon to her shoulder.

"So?" asked Billy. "Was that an invitation?"

"Fuck yourself," growled Margaret.

The Zerg charged, and the last survivors of Jefferson Co-Ed opened fire.

*****

Columbia. A rain-soaked beach. The sand was soft and moist beneath his back, cushioning his fall. But he'd been thrown with great force, and cushion or no, he was sore.

The man who'd bested him stood, bare above the waist. He was talking to someone. Wilson climbed to his feet, groaning, but mobile. The conversation ended. Wilson stared at the naked, muscular back and fumbled for words. What do you say to the man who's heard it all? "Thank you, Big Boss!" he blurted at last. Stupid. Thank you for what? For kicking his ass?

"Call me Snake."

Doubly stupid. "Oh, uh, sorry...Vic Boss!" Triply stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

His response was a dismissive, irritated grunt. Big Boss tolerated the moniker, and the soldiers who used it, but never accepted it, claimed it for his own. That tolerance was better than Wilson deserved. "Listen up," said Big Boss. "For us, there is no victory."

Wilson was confused, and almost too intimidated to reply. He found his words again, formulating what he figured was a coherent question. "But in revolution, doesn't one triumph or die?"

The rain broke furiously upon Big Boss's skin as he growled his response, a response that haunted Wilson for the rest of his days.

"We don't do either."

*****

"So that Cecile chick, the one hanging out on base? I've been there."

"Shut up, Kaz; your balls are as blue as the rest of ours."

"Yeah? You want to put your money where your mouth is?"

"I ain't putting my mouth anywhere near you, Kaz. Nobody is."

Peals of masculine laughter filled the mess hall. Wilson couldn't help but smirk into his coffee.

Kaz, grumbling, gestured exasperatedly at Wilson. "Hey Dragonfly, why so quiet? A guy like you's got to have some good stories up his sleeve."

"Or, if he's anything like you, up his ass."

More derisive snickers. Wilson chuckled into his mug and took a sip. "Nah," said another soldier, slapping Wilson on the back. The backpat accidentally sloshed hot coffee against his lips. "Wilson's one of the lucky ones. Got himself a girl back home."

"Oh yeah?" asked Kaz, suddenly curious. He hopped off of the bench he occupied and strode to Wilson, leaning in close and smirking. "She a babe?"

Wilson eyed Kaz sidelong, and winked. "A gentleman does not kiss and tell, Master Miller."

*****

Bullets and rockets criss-crossed overhead. Wilson rose from cover, scowling defiantly. "Advance!" he shouted. "I'll cover you!" He blazed automatic fire with his M60, and the Sandinistas charged, crouching low to avoid the withering fire from the base's opposition.

The tail end of the ammunition belt ran through the chamber, and Wilson ducked again to reload. Beside him, Yak handed him a fresh belt of ammunition. "Where's ZEKE?!" she demanded, lifting her Thompson and checking her ammo. "We can't take this base without ZEKE!"

"Still holding off the choppers at the plateau, I'll bet," said Wilson. A sniper's round chipped at their cover, and he swore.

From their left came two soldiers, their FAL carbines leveled. Yak spun and opened fire, cutting one of them down immediately, but the other moved into cover. "Where did he come from?!" she yelled.

"A feint," snapped Wilson. "They've flanked us, cut us off! Dammit, we need ZEKE!"

The soldier jumped from his cover. Yak pulled the trigger on her Thompson. The gun didn't fire. Jammed? Empty? It didn't really matter. Wilson's M60 was halfway reloaded; no way he'd get it ready in time. The soldier's finger was tightening on the trigger.

Wilson dove, shoving Yak to the ground. He felt something impact his face, felt his vision go dark, felt agony explode in his eye socket. Distantly, he heard the roar of autocannon fire, the groan of giant metal legs stomping past. Yak's voice, shouting "Dragonfly! Hang in there! Please, hang in--medic! Medic! Don't die on me Slade...Slade...!"

*****

The door opened, and a short-haired brunette emerged. She raised her hand to her mouth, gasping into it as her blue eyes widened. "Your eye..."

"Hi, Sarah," said Wilson. "Um...I know you wanted me to come home in one piece...but I promise you, I'm more intact than I--"

A hard slap connected with his face. "Jackass!" snapped the red-eyed woman, tears streaking her face. Her lips trembled, and she threw herself around him, gripping him tightly. Wilson's grip around his bouquet of roses slackened, and the flowers fell upon the doorstep.

"Jackass," she sobbed into his chest. "Jackass, jackass, jackass...I love you so much, you jackass..."

*****

"And if it's a boy?" she asked.

Wilson kissed her swollen belly. "I don't see how that's relevant. We're having a daughter, Sarah."

"Oh, of course," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "But what if we don't?"

"Then we politely ask the doctor if we can exchange models."

She smacked him lightly upside the head. "Jackass. C'mon, give me something. Anything."

"Oh, I don't know..." Wilson danced his fingertips over his wife's navel. "Jericho."

Sarah's soft laughter sang in his ears. "Oh good; I see we're saving the bullies at school the trouble of coming up with reasons to kick his ass."

"Well, like I said. This is a daughter." He patted Sarah's belly and smiled at her. "So we don't need to bother thinking of a boy's name. Anything, no matter how ridiculous, will have to serve as a placeholder."

Sarah sighed, relenting. "Fine. Fine. If we have a son, his name will be Jericho." She glared at him. "You'd better hope, for your sake, that it does turn out to be a girl."

"His sake, too," added Wilson. "But don't worry, Sarah. Our Rose is going to be beautiful."

*****

"You don't care!" he shouted, jabbing a finger at his father. "You don't fucking care about me! Don't act like you do!"

Wilson pressed his hand to his forehead. "Jericho, would you please--"

"No! No! You don't get to do that! You fawn over that fucking girl all fucking day; don't pretend that you give a goddamn what happens to me!"

Wilson's eye burned as he gripped his son's arm. "Your mother's dying wish was that I adopt Camille," he snarled. "Don't you dare--"

"Don't touch me!" snapped Jericho, pulling away. "Old fucking asshole. You care more about her than you care about me. I'm still here, dad; mom isn't. Mom is dead, and mom isn't coming back, so who gives a fuck what she wants!"

He has no memory of what happened next. All he remembers is his son lying on the floor, staring at him with betrayal in his mother's brilliant blue eyes, pressing a hand to his swollen, bruised cheek. "You jackass," he sobbed. "You fucking jackass."

Jericho stormed out the door. Wilson didn't stop him. He had no right to. The door slammed, and he was gone. Wilson never saw him again.

*****

Sitting by the phone, bottle in one hand, sidearm in the other, willing himself to do it, do it, do it, do it, fucking do it you old

The phone rings. Wilson answered it numbly, juggling the gun with the receiver. "Hello?"

"Slade Wilson?"

"This is he."

"My name is Colonel Ames. I have a proposition for you."

*****

He shoved the man in the duster out of the way, raised his Mauser, took the shot, dropped the assassin dead. Wilson lowered his arm and sighed.

"Damn," muttered the man in the duster. "Can't believe I missed that one." He opened the cylinder of his revolver, began emptying the spent cartridges from the chambers. "Thanks, pal."

"It's the least I could do," muttered Wilson.

"Didn't catch your name, though. What was it, again?"

A pause. Hesitation. "Wilson."

"Plain name." The cylinder snapped shut. "I'll remember it. Name's Adamska. Call me Ocelot."

*****

He stared intently at the boy, small and spiky haired and defiant, at the other end of the desk. "Now, I know it can seem a little silly at times," he said patiently. "But you need to follow all the rules. Not just the ones you like.

"She's gross," he mumbled. He refused to meet Wilson's gaze, even behind his sunglasses, which he insisted on wearing without a prescription. "And I hope she dies."

Wilson frowned. "You really hurt Camille's feelings when you tore up her drawing." Kitten, he reminded himself. Kids with their nicknames. "If you're not even going to apologize, then I'm afraid you're going to go to detention, Richard."

Richard Grayson pouted, but remained silent. Wilson sighed. "Detention it is, then." He motioned for Richard to leave.

"Pure evil," the first-grader muttered as he left the room. Wilson sighed, stood, retrieved a moist towelette, wiped down the seat he was on. Can't be too careful. Contaminants could be everywhere. Sarah wasn't careful. He wouldn't make her mistake.

"Catch you at a bad time?"

Wilson looked up. Saw a business suit, black hair, slicked back. Ames. Wilson hated Ames. "Just dealing with a student," he said, resuming his cleaning. "How does this help the men in charge again?"

"I do not pretend to understand the mind of God," said Ames with a chuckle. "But the La-Li-Lu-Le-Lo are pleased with your performance thus far. Stay in their good graces, Wilson."

"Take care of Camille," he said back, balling up the towelette and tossing it in the pristine waistbin. "And I'll stay in their good graces."

*****

A bar. Dingy. Badly lit. Speck of dust in his glass. Flashed the bartender a smile. Didn't get one in return. The door opened. Spurs jingled.

The long night began.

*****


Wilson stood on a platform, carved from what appeared to be limestone, in front of an apparatus that extended far into the heavens. Red, blue, and green hues glowed and thrummed within it. "If this is the afterlife, then I must say, it's pretty falsely advertised."

"Not quite." Wilson turned, half-expecting Richard Ames to wander out of nowhere. It wasn't. The handsome, strapping man in front of him made his breath hitch and his balls descend.

"Warren Beatty?" asked Wilson breathlessly.

Warren Beatty shook his head, smiling. "Not really, no. I am your guardian angel. I simply assumed the form of Warren Beatty because I know how popular he is with people in this world." He nodded at Wilson. "Have you decided?"

"Decided?" asked Wilson, scrunching his face in confusion. "I don't understand."

"To give in. To fight on." Warren Beatty shook his head. "Wesker made the mistake of swallowing you, Wilson, thinking that he could diffuse your being, the way he did with the students. But yours is an unshakeable will. It's why you've come this far. It's your strongest weapon."

"My..." Wilson swallowed. "My will is what's keeping me from becoming one with Wesker?"

Warren Beatty nodded. "You can surrender now, if you like. Become one with perfection." He shrugged. "Nobody would blame you. You've fought hard so far." He smirked. "'So far.' Zophar. Ha ha."

"Funny," said Wilson.

"The point stands." Warren Beatty gazed into Wilson's eye. "Nobody would blame you if you laid down and accepted your fate. You've fought the good fight, and you've been defeated. There is no shame in accepting that. And it isn't as though Wesker's reign will last for long."

An image of a mushroom cloud burned in the distance behind Warren Beatty. "But the city...Del Mar..."

"Life goes on, Wilson," said Warren Beatty. "Not yours, obviously, and not Del Mar's. Not Wesker's either, or Zophar's, or the Zerg. Or Margaret's. Or Billy's. Or your students'. But the world will keep on turning, regardless." He patted Wilson's shoulder. "And in the end, isn't that what counts?"

"Don't listen to him," growled another voice, rough and jagged like broken glass.

Wilson turned, and saw a figure, tall and broad-shouldered and half naked, a snake-shaped scar winding down his chest. Eyepatch, brown beard, green bandana. "Big Boss...?"

Big Boss pointed at Warren Beatty, scowling. "If you want to lay down and die like a dog, go right ahead. But you spit in the face of everything you learned, everything I taught you."

Wilson thought of jungle warfare, bullets flying, laughter in a mess hall, the towering form of a metal behemoth. "But..."

"Maybe lying there like a beaten dog has made you forget, so let me be the one to remind you," said Big Boss. He took Wilson by the shoulder. Warren Beatty released him. "'We need no reason to fight. We fight because we are needed. We will be the deterrent for those with no other recourse.'"

Behind Big Boss came a vision of his students--his children--smarmy and sullen and disagreeable, but alive, healthy. Safe.

"You are a soldier without borders, Principal Wilson, and you're the only one who can save your students now." Big Boss squeezed his shoulder. "Act your part."

Wilson stared at his old commander, breaking into a smile. "And are you an angel too, Boss?"

Big Boss shook his head. "No. I just know a thing or two about duty." He extended his hand to Wilson, offering him a gun. A Mauser. Wilson accepted it. Nodding his gratitude at Big Boss, he turned to Warren Beatty and smiled.

"Sorry." He spun the Mauser in his hand, leveled it at the apparatus, and grinned. "The war's not over just yet."

Warren Beatty smiled back. He raised his hands and clapped once. Twice. Three times.

Wilson fired. The apparatus glowed a brilliant red, and exploded.

*****

Margaret buried her scythe in the face of a Zergling, and extracted it with a grunt. "Seventy-nine and counting!" she shouted.

Billy Mays caught a Zergling mid-leap, raised it over his head, and with a roar, ripped the beastie in two. He tossed the halves of the Zerg's body to the ground. "Fifty!"

"Pussy!" Margaret called, shouting over the din of her gunfire. She blew bloody chunks in a Defiler's body, until the spellcaster lay unmoving in a pile of its own gore.

Great, echoing stomps drew their attention. The Torrasque, its eye bloodshot and furious, towered over them.

"Fuck," sighed Margaret. "I guess Wesker reasserted control over it."

"How'd you get control away from him, anyway?" asked Billy.

"Shot out its eyes."

"How--"

"Fuck you, that's how."

The Torrasque roared, opened its maw, and lunged at them. It recoiled as an amethyst beam struck it in the mouth, and staggered backward. A second beam burned away its remaining eye; a third blew its forehead apart. The Torrasque collapsed, dead and half-cooked.

Billy and Margaret turned, slowly, to see Wilson, clean and dapper in a business suit, holding the blaster of Josh Richaron in his hands. "Back in action," said the principal.

Billy broke into a wide smile. "Hey, Principal Badass! Long time no see!" He clapped Wilson on the shoulder. Wilson nodded and smiled at the pitchman.

"Hey, old guy," said Margaret. "Lookin' good for a dead guy."

"And you look terrible for a live girl," said Wilson coolly. "But I won't hold it against you." He stepped away from the two and stared up at Infested Zophar. "How the hell are we going to kill that thing?"

Billy reached into his coat pocket and drew out a long syringe. Wilson eyed it, frowning. "I don't think Wesker has a fear of needles, Mr. Mays."

"Oh, fuck your sarcasm," said Billy. "This syringe contains the answer to all of our problems."

"What is it?" asked Wilson, raising an eyebrow. "Nanomachines?"

"Not even." Billy twirled the syringe idly in his hand. "It's a potent serum that Wesker takes in small doses to keep the viruses in his body from killing him. Now, I've run some tests in my faboratory, and I've determined that a powerful enough dose can--"

"Nanomachines," said Wilson, accepting the syringe. "Gotcha."

Billy sighed.

The laughter of Infested Zophar echoed around the destroyed school. "Ignorant little weaklings," he cackled. "To be so deluded as to think that anything can fell me now. I am not Wesker, nor Zophar, nor Zerg. I am transcendent. I am a god!"

"You're a hammy gas bag," said Wilson, raising the Decepticon blaster. "And you've dragged this out far longer than necessary." Billy and Margaret took positions behind him. The former held his SMGs. The latter raised her scythe gun. "Lady, gentleman. Let's put an end to this."

An army of Zerg burst from the ground, between Wilson, Margaret and Billy. The three heroes held their ground.

"A million to one odds," Margaret remarked.

"Doesn't look good," added Billy.

"I agree," said Wilson, smiling resolutely. "They don't stand a chance.

The army charged, and the three charged likewise, taking them head-on.

Billy Mays was a one-man force of nature, gunning down Zerg in droves as they rushed him. His SMGs shredded reinforced hides and blew bony armor to smitheroons with their laser-tipped exploding Mays Rounds. When his ammo was spent, he dropped his guns, opting to use his brute strength to beat the Zerg into submission. Zerg after Zerg challenged him to mortal combat, and Zerg after Zerg was bludgeoned to death by Billy Mays' impressive fisticuffs skill.

Margaret Moonlight danced, her shredded dress fluttering about her, severing limbs and blowing heads off in a deadly display of finesse and agility. Her outfit was stained a thousand different colors from the vital fluids of the Zerg. Her dress was sodden, heavy with gore. But her blade still swung and her gun still fired, and she still fought like a master of her craft, an artist whose art was murder, refined through the long history of the human race and expressed in her every motion.

And Wilson charged headlong, stopping for nothing, blasting at the Zerg in his path. Decepticon technology blew everything in his way to bits. He stopped for nothing. He refused to break his stride. His remaining eye locked on Infested Zophar's, on the face that now bore a curious resemblance to Albert Wesker. And Infested Zophar stared back at him, laughing triumphantly.

But he had not triumphed yet.

A draconic arm swung at him, screeched like a banshee, opened its skeletal jaw wide and fired a brilliant white energy orb. Wilson dove out of the way, rolled, climbed back to his feet, and fired at the arm. The purple blast blew through the dragon arm's eye, and it fell limply to the ground. Another dragon arm swung toward him, but Wilson leaped into the air, landed on its head, and continued his mad dash toward Infested Zophar. The arm tried desperately to shake him loose, but Wilson, determined not to fail, did not fall.

He came face-to-face with Infested Zophar, and ditched his blaster, raising the syringe instead. Infested Zophar's eyes widened as Wilson plunged the needle into the monster's flesh. His thumb found the plunger, and he pushed down with all of his might.

There are no words to describe the otherworldy screaming that followed. Nothing to describe the brilliance of the light that filled the ruins of Jefferson Co-Ed. Wilson was engulfed. The battlefield was engulfed. The Zerg, Margaret, Billy, were engulfed. And Wilson felt them all around him; he knew their thoughts, and they knew his. He felt the minds of his students, their apathy, their ignorance. He felt the mind of Wesker, seething, boiling with fury.

And he saw the colors again. Red. Blue. Green. That's what it comes down to, huh? he thought grimly. Well.

He reached toward blue.

*****

"Launch angle set," called Liquid Snake. "Rail gun at optimal charge. Ready to fire on your mark, control."

"Standby, boss," hissed Ocelot's voice.

Liquid gripped the controls of Metal Gear, frowning. He hadn't wanted to launch this early, nor had he wanted to launch at Del Mar, of all places, but Ocelot had been so insistent...

"Uh, boss, getting an order here. Cancel. Yeah, that's it, cancel the strike."

"What? Cancel?!" Liquid felt irritation for the enigmatic gunslinger fester in his chest. "After you bitched at me for half a day to--no! We are nuking that goddamn city, and you can kiss my English ass!" To hell with his preference; he was going to nuke that city, not because he wanted to, but to spite Ocelot.

"Liquid Snake, you fucking putz, don't you dare nuke that city. The whole thing was a joke. I was joking."

"...What."

"Yeah, uh, I was kidding this whole time. Just wanted to see how far you'd go. And now I know. Ha ha. Funny, huh."

"...What."

"Oh, get over it. It was funny and you know it. Now get out of that cockpit. You sound ridiculous."

"...Fine."

He heard Ocelot sigh. "Dammit Wilson...cutting it a little close, don't you think?"

"What was that?"

"I said 'your mom's a whore, and you inherited her whore genes.'"

"Fuck you too, buddy," sighed Liquid.

This post has been edited by Al_Cone: May 23 2012, 07:57 PM


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Post #242
Waffleman


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post Apr 12 2012, 05:00 AM
God, fucking Wilson! He's always killing monsters and saving our school! It's only making things boring! He's the worst ever!


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Post #243
Al_Cone


Where we're going, we don't need nanomachines
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post Apr 12 2012, 05:05 AM
QUOTE (Waffleman @ Apr 12 2012, 06:00 AM) *
God, fucking Wilson! He's always killing monsters and saving our school! It's only making things boring! He's the worst ever!


We need a guy like Mendoza, who will get infested and indoctrinate the student body. He's stern, but fair.


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Post #244
Al_Cone


Where we're going, we don't need nanomachines
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post Apr 13 2012, 02:05 PM
Welp, this is it, folks. We've reached the end of our long, lonesome road with Queen-of-Azarath. This is the final chapter of Normal Teenage Life.

This mock has been ongoing since July of 2010--almost two years now--making it my second longest running mock, after SMLoZ. This is the mock where I feel I really came into my own, both as a reviewer and as a writer. Reading NTL has helped me identify so, so many things about writing that are to be avoided, at all costs. Mocking NTL has helped me learn how to break down and analyze a text and its various inconsistencies, plotholes, and problems, and for a student in a writing-intensive major, that skill is fucking invaluable. It got me writing NTL: Gaiden, which might seem like a trite and self-indulgent mess (which it is), but is still significant to me for being the first actual thing I've written in years, even if I really didn't try very hard at all.

If you'll forgive me, I'd like to get a little personal right now. I know that the standard line for opponents of MSTing, riffing and mocking is "Why don't you do something creative instead of tearing something else down?" The truth is, mocking this story has stimulated me, creatively, in so many ways. I feel like a better writer, and a funnier person, because I've done this story. Mocking NTL was, in some strange, twisted way, a means of self-advancement. Moreover, there's something significant in mocking NTL, in particular, because of how important it was to me when I was younger. Going through it again, reading it, really getting into the nitty-gritty of why it sucks, was cathartic, somehow.

You know what's funny? This is, so far, the only multi-chapter mock I have ever finished. Every single one goes unfinished, for whatever reason, dating back as far as Tidus: A Single Parent. I never even finished Mating Season; did you know that? There's an epilogue that I've never done. So sticking with a mock and seeing it through to the end, even though it took forever, that's a first for me. I like it. I like that feeling of fulfillment that comes with finishing something that's taken up so much time in your life.

This story was originally written in late 2004--October, according to the reviews in my archived version--and ended in June of 2005. Coincidentally, the last chapter was posted on my last day of eighth grade; I still remember coming home and reading it first thing after school. And now, nearly seven years later, it's over for the second time, except I'm the architect of its ending, rather than an eager fan and reviewer. It's funny, the way things change. There's probably some very philosophical point to make about how people evolve over time...

...but speaking of time, I've taken up enough of yours (twenty-one months of it, to be exact). So, Project AFTER, let's finish this, the way we started it.

Together.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Chapter 27: Until We Meet Again

Original Japanese Title: "Hold Me Close Until The World Ends!!!" One Last School Dance, And A Typhoon Of Farewells!!!

"ATTENTION EVERYONE!" The voice of Mr. Mendoza boomed on the loudspeaker.

"Eh, do you think that that was loud enough?" Garfield sniggered.

"Maybe it just needs to be a little bit louder and people will actually listen." Victor laughed.

I see you've fallen into the same pattern of disrespect that you displayed toward Wilson. Well, I guess it's gratifying that no authority figure is too lenient for you assholes to like.

"YOUR YEARBOOKS WILL BE HANDED OUT DURING HOMEROOM, AND YOU ARE FREE TO ROAM ABOUT TODAY TO SIGN THEM, FOLLOWED BY THE DANCE TONIGHT AT EIGHT!" Mr. Mendoza continued to announce.

Having spent the entire year trying to deal with the kids' stubborn refusal to conform to societal expectations, the staff of Jefferson has just fucking given up and given the kids free reign.

"Yearbooks! This is great!" Garfield said with a smile.

"Yearbooks! Exactly!"

"Their not that great, just fourty-five dollar books that we get a bunch of boarding school preps to sign." Dick shrugged.

Oh, get the cobwebs out of your vagina, Dick. Being an unlikeable stick-in-the-mud is Raven't shtick; it's too late to adopt it as your own.

Fourty!


"Oh! Ya'll know ya want Kori to sign it, hoping she'll write something---"

"Shut up."

"Dude, you're going out with her, why are you so secretive?" Garfield prattled.

"I like to keep my life private, thank you very much."

Did Dick and Raven switch bodies at some point?!

"Whatever dude." Victor rolled his eyes, getting up and walking over to the teachers desk to get his yearbook.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzapp. Brannigan.

The group spent the rest of the day running around campus, getting various signatures for their yearbooks. Teachers, friends, brothers, sisters, cousins, random sixth graders they happened to run into.
Ah yes, yearbook signing is so much fun.

I can't tell if the narration is being sarcastic or not. It sounds like it is, but then, the story likes things that are stupid (The Princess Diaries, Anne Rice, Raven), and hates things that are not (learning about the fucking Holocaust, not being terrible, terrible people, Wilson), so difficult to tell.

Now let's catch up on Raven and Kori.

Half of this story is catching up on Raven and Kori.

"I am so happy that we are doing this! Yearbook signings always make me so happy!" Kori beamed as yet another one of the male population ran up to her, asking her to sign their year book.

"Every year the same thing..." Raven muttered as the boy ran off, without even asking her.

Raven: It's like my extreme body odor is somehow a deterrent to boys...

"What do you mean?" Kori asked, head tilted innocently.

'She does that way too much.' Raven thought, then spoke outloud.

Raven: Kori want go walkies? Who's my good girl? Who's my good little girl?

Kori: Arf! Arf!

Raven: Dash wite, YOO my good widdle girl! Give mama lickies!

Kori: *slurpslurpslurppityslurp*

Raven: Good baby! Good Kori puppy!


"Nothing it's just the same thing every year, we get yearbooks, and I only get eight or ten signatures, you get like what, the entire male population? C'mon Kori, you're not that stupid."

Kori however, didn't take that as an insult like most people would.

Most people hate the idea of being liked by large numbers of people.

Instead, she gave Raven a hug and started talking again. "Listen, Raven, it's just the way you are.

Kori: It isn't your fault that you're repulsive and egotistical and have the same friendly demeanor as Mike Tyson with a mouthful of ear.

If you want, go ask someone to sign your book. Better yet, do you want me to do it?"

"Um...okay?" Raven shrugged, handing over her yearbook to Kori.

"This will be so much fun!" Kori smiled, happily skipping away.

By gathering all of the hatred that the school body has for Raven into her yearbook, Kori is hoping to drive her gothic buddy into an inescapable depth of despair. That whole Terra thing was a red herring; Kori's the real evil in this story.

"That girl is way too happy..."

People who aren't miserable and bitchy all the time are just plain weird.

"Yo, Raven, sign my yearbook?" Garfield smiled as he held out the red and blue yearbook. Yes, red and blue, everyone. Those are the school colors after all. Duhness majorly.

Did Queenie outsource this chapter to the writing staff of Totally Spies?

"Sure, whatever, no problem." Raven shrugged, taking the book and the purple pen that Garfield handed her. "Purple pen? Since when have you had a purple pen? Isn't that---"

"It's Kori's...I ran outta pens."

"But you haven't had a class with Kori today yet."

"Uh...Dick gave it to me. Go figure why he has one of Kori's pen.

And now we see why Dick was so reluctant to get into the particulars of his and Kori's relationship.

Just sign it already!" Garfield smiled, pushing the book into her hands.

"Okay..." Raven smiled half-heartedly as she took the book, sat down onto a nearby bench, Garfield sitting down as well, leaning over the book as Raven wrote.

I wonder if Raven writes in the same obnoxious run-on sentences as Queenie.

'Dear Garfield (or Gar, You Prick)

Glad to see this year is finally over...it's been a long one.

Yeah, it almost feels like it's been a year and a half.

Not much as changed...or has it?

*checks status quo*



Have a great summer, I'll miss you when you go back to NC, be sure to IM me, or I'll send demonic crows after you. I'm kidding Garfield, stop being paranoid.

That's good, because Garfield's "friend to all living things" persona prevents him from defending himself while his tongue is being torn out by ravenous birds.

You're a great person, and don't let anyone change that. Congratz on getting out of this crazy year and managing to pass.

Raven: I'd placed twenty large on your final GPA being below 1.0, so thanks a lot for putting me in debt for the rest of my life, you vegan cunt.

Raven'

"There ya go." Raven replied as she finished the last letter, snapping the book shut. "Now remember, you're not supposed to read it until you're on the plane."

Oh, don't kid yourself, Raven.

You know Garfield can't read.


She gave him a small smile again, and then walked away.

"Yeah right, like I won't read it..." Garfield snickered as he began to open it.

"GARFIELD!" Raven boomed as he began to open the book.

"Yes ma'am!"

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzulu war

Bee sighed as she held her dress up to her as she looked in the mirror that night. "Hey, Kori, you don't think that this is...too much, right?"

As opposed to "too little." Bee is trying to achieve new and heretofore unplumbed depths of semi-nudity with her outfit tonight.

"Too much? What do you mean?" Kori asked in reply as she attempted to curl her hair as she had done that year on Valentine's Day. Withouth all the pink this time---THANK GOD.

I know, right?! Pink, man, don't even get me started on pink! That fucking color, every time I see it I feel my sanity start to slip and the urge to crush and kill and destroy swag building and building until it hits a boiling point and I just LOSE CONTROL DAMMIT KORI DAMN YOU YOU BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELF YOU DID THIS YOU DID THIS YOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU SAUYFDSAHDASHDASHLDJKDFBKADFHBSAKLDJSALJKDADHKFJHJADJSADAS

A THOUSAND YEARS OF TORMENT WILL AWAIT YOU WHEN I SEND YOUR BROKEN SOUL TO HELL QUAKE WITH FEAR YOU PUTRESCENT FILTH FOR YOUR FINAL MOMENTS WILL BE FULL OF SUCH AGONY THAT EVERY PASSING INSTANT WILL BE AS AN ETERNITY

ASDFJIASDHASODHJDLFHKAJOAWIRUGHOHASJDHSADJS:AD


...

But anyway.


"Like...too extravagent, too fancy, that sort of thing."

"Oh." Kori looked at the dress she was talking about. Bee had told her earlier that her mother had sent it to her, 'the first minute she heard about the junior prom, as she called it in her letter',

Why do I recall reading that Bee's mother was dead? Because if so, the fact that she can secure fancy, expensive clothing from beyond the grave is kind of cool.

but Bee had kept saying over and over how it wasn't such a dressy sort of thing, but still, it was quite a nice dress, and it was rather expensive, Bee would wear it, despite the thought that it was too fancy. It was very pretty, don't get me wrong, but rather fancy if you ask me.

I don't necessarily mind that we aren't getting a six paragraph dissertation on what the characters are wearing, the way we did the first time they went to a school dance. At the same time, though, a little more detail than no detail at all would be super helpful in conveying how overly fancy the dress is.

"Well," Kori continued, after that extremely long train of thought. "Look at the dress I am wearing, it is not exactly what you would call casual!"

I like to imagine that this scene takes place in complete darkness, because that's the only reason I can think of to explain why we aren't getting any fucking detail about the elegant, expensive dresses.

"I guess you have a point."

"Whether or not you wear it, I'm sure you'll look great!" Kori said brightly.

"You look great yourself Kori!" Bee nodded as she went into the bathroom to change.

"Really?" Kori responded...really to herself, as she looked into the elegant full-length mirror. She herself was wearing a purple dress that was very retro, knee-length, sleeveless, with the neckline actually at her neck.

Oh wait, there we go.

Miracle, yes, I know. An outfit with a proper neckline. What will these people come up with?

Only preps wear clothing that doesn't conform to Puritanical standards.

Her hair, curled it as she had during the first dance, sealed with the very same clip. On her feet were purple ballet flats. "I guess I do!"

"I wonder what happened to Terra?" Bee asked as she came out of the bathroom with her dress on.

She got expelled! Expelled! You were there when it was announced! Was I the only person who read the previous chapter?!

"Yo, can I borrow your straightening iron?"

"Of course!"

"Thanks." Bee replied taking the iron from Kori and replacing the head with the proper one. "Seriously though, I wonder what happened to Terra?"

I'M GOING TO KILL YOU ALL!

"I don't know...speaking of missing friends, do you know what happened to Raven?" Kori asked.

"Go figure. If she's late for meeting us again though, well..."

"Bee, you will not do anything."

"Yeah, but I still, that girl's track record with punctiality is horrible."

That mostly has to do with Raven's ridiculous menstrual cycle, which pretty much comes and goes as it pleases.

"Bee...do you know what time it is?" Kori inquired.

"Uh...7:50. Kori, relax, it'll be fine, I have to finish my hair."

"Your hair is fine...looks perfectly straight!"

Is Kori implying that black women only look good when they straighten their hair?

"Really? Oh that's great." Bee sighed happily. Her dress was rather nice now that she tought about it. It had one strap going diagonally to her right shoulder, and was golden yellow.

Bee wants to look classy, so she's wearing the flayed pelt of a labrador retriever to the prom.

At waistline, there was a black ribbon, and from that, diagonally down was not the normal dress fabric, but a gauzy black material for the rest of her dress, on the other side of the diagonally divided bottom half was the normal yellow material. Her hair, as previously stated, was ironed straight.

I take back what I said before; I really don't want to read copious details about the characters' outfits.

"You look good! C'mon, let's go!" Kori smiled as the two girls left the room to meet their friends.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzardoz

Raven rushed out of her dorm---well, as fast as a girl could go in sandals. She was late...again. Fortunately, it wasn't for a class, or something of that scale, but merely meeting her friends for the dance outside her dorm.

It's okay to keep them waiting.

Ah yes, Raven was simply fabulous at keep track of time. That's a touch of sarcasm there people, feel free to laugh.

Like her menstrual cycle, Raven's character traits just sort of come and go as they please.

As Raven ran out of the dorm, she quickly found her group of friends. After all...Victor was pretty damn tall, and not many people were wearing golden yellow. (That last one was BEE smart peoples. Not Victor.)

I'll bet that if the writing wasn't so vague, there wouldn't be any need for author's notes clarifying minute details like that.

"Yo, Rae, we were looking for you!" Bee announced.

"Oh Raven! You look very nice!" Kori complimented.

"Yeah." Speedy agreed, eyes wide and um...well we don't need to be reminded where he was probably looking. (:coughcough: PERVERT :coughcough:)

Nothing wrong with scoping out a girl's shoulderblades, man. Quit being such a prude.

"Like a...a...a..."

"Goddess?" Garfield supplied with a small smile.

"Um...thanks?" Raven said in slight embarrasment at all the attention. Her dress was nice, one had to admit.

Queen-of-Azarath commands you to admit that Raven's dress is nice. Comply, or suffer the consequences!

The dress was black satin, and low-cut, with thin spagetti straps, and a sliver ribbon tight around the waist. The strappy sandals that were mentioned earlier were---you guessed it---black, with a small heel. The black nail polish on her toes made them look even paler than usual. Same goes for her hands. And with Raven, any paler is pretty hard to do.

At this point, she's so transparent that you can actually see her circulatory and digestive systems. She's like Inside-Out Boy, except less feminine.

Her hair had grown this year, and not having time for a cut, reached her shoulders, and was merely blown out. Ah, but that's enough descriptions for now.

Hey, don't stop now. I want to read long-winded monologues about the boys' outfits too!

"Yeah, you look great, right Dick?" Victor agreed, elbowing the boy hard.

Dick, too busy recovering from Victor's below-the-belt elbow strike, could only wheeze something affirmative and clutch his groin.

Dick, who was too busy staring at Kori, shook his head. "Uh, what? Oh yeah, great."

Raven shook her head in amusement. "You boys are hopeless. I'm so glad that this isn't a date required dance. I would have never been let in."

"Yeah, that is funny is it not, how a very casual dance is date-required, but the end-of-the-year semi-formal isn't." Kori laughed.

Yeah, it's almost like this story was written by an idiot or something.

"We go to a very messed up school district." Garfield sniggered.

"Well duh, they don't even have air conditioning in half of the buildings. It's so old, the ceiling will fall on us any minute." Bee agreed.

Oh my God, Queenie actually forgot that Jefferson Co-Ed was a private boarding school. That is so, so hilarious. God, I'm glad we got one last instance of retarded inconsistency before the story ended.

Fucking priceless.

Hey, what do you want to bet that Jefferson only started falling apart after Mendoza took over as principal?


"Good thing the gym's new...we can hear the music pounding from all the way out here." Victor noticed, indicating the fact that they could hear some dance music from the place they were standing on the other side of the campus.

Is that what he meant by "we can hear the music pounding from all the way out here"? Thanks, narration, for clearing that bit up, for I, like the rest of NTL's readership, am too stupid to associate sentences with objects.

"C'mon guys, we're going to be late!" Speedy interrupted. The group nodded and began to chat again as they walked toward the gym, where the dance was being held again. Everyone was going to be there. Even the seniors. Well, yes, the seniors do have thier own prom in May, but they were free to come if they wanted. The dances were---

"If these dances are mandatory, then how come I have to come?" Raven groaned as she struggled to walk in sandals as opposed to her normal choice of footwear.

...because they're mandatory? You just answered your own question, Raven.

"'Cuz you bought that dress." Victor pointed out.

"I had this since the beginning of the year."

"Exactly!"

"That, and Kori makes us all go!" Garfield laughed.

Is Kori the principal? Did she decide that the dance was mandatory? Because the dance is mandatory, people! How do you not know what that means?!

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzecora

At the dance, when they got there, the music had stopped and there was one of the teachers making an annoucement.

"AND SO, BECAUSE OF---"

"These teachers sure like to yell a lot, don't they?" Bee groaned, covering her ears.

"Pretty much." Victor nodded.

I'm going to assume that Mendoza fired all the teachers and hired Dr. Klein to replace them. "STUDENTS AND LOBOTOMITES, YOU WILL ARRIVE ON TIME AND ASSEMBLE IN AN ORDERLY FASHION, OR BE BANISHED TO THE FORBIDDEN ZONE."

"SO YOU ALL WILL----"

However, a strange girl who "apparently" goes to the school, interrupted the announcer.

Oh God, this is going exactly where I think it is, isn't it?

"Hey everybody!" The girl exclaimed. She had medium length brown hair with grown out layers that was pulled back into a half-up-half-down hairstyle with a rose clip. Her dress was red with ruffles sort of, like you see those salsa dancers wear. That sort of dress.

Ah, the Dakari-King Mykan style of narrative description. "Just picture this thing that you may or may now be aware of, and I won't have to waste time writing a description for you. Changes."

Her her ears she had garnet studs, but on the second hole in her left ear she wore single silver hoop. (BECAUSE I HAVE A SECOND PIERCING IN MY EAR! YES I DO::cheers:) On her neck was a choker necklace with a garnet stone hanging off of it. On her feet were matching sandals.

One would hope that one would remember to wear matching shoes to one's own prom. I mean, I showed up to mine wearing an Ugg on one foot and a curly-toed elf shoe on the other, but hey, do as I say, not as I do.

"Who are you?" Someone called out.

"I'm Queenie...duh." Queenie replied.

Queenie: I created you, and the world around you! And now, I will destroy you! Burn, anonymous student! Burn in the fires of my authorial omnipotence!

Someone: AAHSAHHADSAKDHSAAHAHAHDHAHDSHJHAHSHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!HH!H!!H!HJASKL!!!!


"Now anyway---do you all want to hear a live band?"

With that, the crowd cheered.

Queenie: Well, too bad! I just now decided that this is a public school, so the best that we could afford is a homeless man with an empty jug of moonshine! Blow, homeless man! Blow, and let these happenin' youngsters dance the night away!

Homeless man: Hey man, you said you'd score me some rock, man. Where's my rock?

Queenie: I'll build you a house of rock, homeless man! Now BLOW!


"OKAY! So let's give a big welcome for the first memeber of,

Bloody Gothic Rose 666?

"THE IMMORTALS"!

Oh hey, it IS Bloody Gothic Rose 666!

So here we go! Our first member of the band, also the lead singer is Catie! Don't know about Catie? Well here's some information.

Queenie then disseminated Catie's home phone number, address, PIN number and social security card to the crowd.

She loves to sing and act, but she hates sports, math, and Earth Science. Actually, I do to, so that's cool!

Suddenly, the crowd regrets cheering for the live band. Fortunately, someone spiked the punch, and they're queuing up now to get a big wet kiss from sweet lady alcohol.

She's very optimistic, but from what I hear of her boyfriend she's also pretty romantic! Also, her favorite color is black!

Queenie: And that's the only reason I'm letting her onstage!

So let's welcome----CATIE!" Queenie introduced, gesturing towards the curtain that had been placed their, and Catie ran out and bowed. (Catie...aka candyclouds)

Because I care so, so much.

"HELLO EVERYONE! THANK YOU FOR HAVING ME!" Catie yelled.

Whoa now, Catie, these are minors here.

Catie had red, slightly frizzy hair with hazelish green eyes. She was rather small, only about 4' 11'', but she obviously made up for size with her attitude. Catie was wearing dark jeans and a red tank top, and original black high top Converse sneakers. Her hair was half-up-half-down, similar to our new host, but with two stray pieces in her face. Catie's face had little make-up, with only some dark brown eye shadow, clear lipgloss, and black eyeliner on the bottom. The last detailed bit of her outfit was a black choker necklace and silver heart earrings.

Riveting.

"Faye Ocasio, similar to Catie likes reading, but she also enjoys basketball, playing her instruments, writing poetry, and riding her bike. She's really funny, and LOVES the greatest band ever, Simple Plan. Let me just say I love Simple Plan. Anyway, she also loves Bowling For Soup, Black Eyed Peas, Maroon 5, Avril Lavigne, and Usher.

The musical tastes of teenagers never fail to make me laugh.

Faye is one very confident girl. SO NEXT, LET'S ALL GIVE A BIG WELCOME TO OUT LEAD BASS PLAYER, FAYE! " Queenie yelled, obviously enjoying herself. (Faye...aka SilverHawk27)

Are Speed Hybrid and Kata Xerexes going to round out the band?

Like Catie, Faye ran out onto the stage, but not the whole way, the rest of the way she cartwheeled.

Because what's the fun of being a self-insertion if you can't outshine all the canon characters?

"Hey everybody!" Faye said happily. Faye was around the same height as Queenie, 5' 5''. She had shoulder length dark, practically black hair, which was currently in a ponytail, with jade green eyes. She was wearing a short jean skirt with a slim-fitting, camoflouge T-shirt with the slogan, "HAH! Now you can't see me!" and of course, sneakers. (Get it? Camoflouge...can't see you because camoflauge is supposed to hide you...Get it?

Subtle humor is for preps.

Thank Jacob for that bit...he was wearing that T-shit sometime in May...)

"EVERYBODY NOW YELL FOR LINKA IRIS HAWTHORN, THE DRUMMER! YOU KNOW SHE ROCKS!" Queenie exclaimed happily, as Linka came out...pushing her drum set. Damn, it was heavy.

So Queenie very quickly decided that Linka had the strength of ten thousand men, and Linka juggled her entire drumset one-handed.

"WHAT'S UP?" Linka yelled, then went back to pushing her drums on to the stage. Her hair was long, sleek, and chestnut-colored, and her eyes were were dark. She was also wearing jeans, with a belt that had a rather large silver buckle, and a Hurley shirt., and once again, the sacred shoe brand, Converse. Linka had a thick braided chain bracelet on her right wrist, and a thin chain necklace on her...well her neck obviously. What do you expect it to be? On her ear?

These little aside gags never cease to be funny.

(Linka...aka SushiChica)

"AND LAST, BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST, THE GUITARIST, AMY!"

Meanwhile, on Ganondorf's asteroid...

Link: Alright Scouts, we've come a long way, now let's finish this son of a bitch once and for all and go home so that I can finally get laid! Amy, scan Ganon and determine his weak point! ...Amy?


Amy ran out, guitar in hand. She had dark red, shoulder-length hair, with forest green eyes. She too ran out wearing jeans and Converse shoes. It seemed to be the basic wardrobe for the band, with a black shirt. On the shirt, there was a picture of Foamy the Squirrel, saying, 'Child-Proof medicine caps spoiled my happiness'.



"ALRIGHT EVERYONE, LET'S GET STARTED!"

What, no other authors you want to manifest in the wish-fulfillment world of Normal Teenage Life? Maybe the entire readership can make an appearance as a symphony orchestra. Christ, this story...

The guitarist began to strum along to the song that they were playing, and the drummer began as well...

The rest of the band just sort of kicked back and got high.

"Hey, I know this song." Raven mentioned.

"Good Charlotte, right?" Speedy responded.

Ebony and Draco are in the crowd, moshing smexily 2 da musik.

"Yeah, it's that song...Secrets or something." Victor added.

"In the dark, in the darkness you will find

No, no, no, no, and fuck no. Skipping.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaabbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbcccccccccccccccccccccccccccc
dddddddddddddddddddddddd


"Er...I thought that kid Alex was going out with Suzuke?" Bee asked Raven later in the dance.

The implications of that are precisely what you think they are.

Shut up.


At the moment they were playing a fast salsa beat. Well, no, not the band, they were on break. The DJ started playing again, as I said, a salsa song, so only a few, very skilled in the art of "salsaing" (MY WORD) were dancing.

"They are? No one told me..." Raven responded raising an eyebrow. "Why? Is it cuz that Queenie girl is dancing with him?"

I thought the Japanese character's name was Suzume. Poor girl. First Josh Richaron cheats on her, then I cheat on her, and then her name changes right out of the blue. Just can't catch a break, that Suzume.

"Yeah."

"Nah, Rose told me herself, Queenie just needed a dance partner. Damn...she's good at that..."

please be talking about salsa dancing please be talking about salsa dancing

"Can you salsa dance?"

"Not on my life line."

"Good, because I can't either."

And the auditorium door opened. No one really noticed.

Having someone watching the door in case a disgruntled shooter moseys on in would be such a prep thing to do.

No, it's not like some ridiculous teen drama where the door opens and everyone stops, turns, and creates a path. Sheesh, you people.

Hard to blame the reader for expecting cliches when this story is up to its neck in 'em.

Raven, however, deciding not to dance, was paying attention to every little detail, and did indeed notice.

And in through the door, walked Terra.

With a loaded gun.

Oh God, wouldn't that just be the perfect way to end the story?


Raven choked on the soda she was drinking and got up immediately, pulling her friends off the dance floor, residing in an area that was made up primarily of couches and armchairs. "Look who's back." Raven told them all, pointing to the blonde girl who had stepped through.

Buffy? When did Buffy--oh, wait. Sorry. I was thinking of that other, infinitely better, prom episode of that other, infinitely better, bit of teen fiction.

"I'm going to talk to her." Garfield said immediately, getting up.

"If you are going, than we are going with you." Kori said, getting up as well.

"Yeah, we're gonna punish that little traitoring bitch---" Victor began to plot.

Mmhm, that little "traitoring" bitch. Who, in one of this story's few acts of genuine compassion, turned herself in and blew the lid on the entire stupid conspiracy. Go right ahead and exact sweet justice upon her, Victor. Because you're not a horrible, horrible person at all.

"Dude...you really have to learn when to quit." Bee laughed as the group walked over to Terra.

"I'M NOT ON DRUGS!" Victor cried out.

Wow, Victor, way to keep your morphine addiction on the down-low.

"Who said you were?"

"I did!" Garfield added, hand up in the air.

"DUDE I'M NOT---"

Ah, here we go: one last really, really unfunny back-and-forth conversation to round out the story and bring us full circle.



Terra was dressed for the dance, so it was clear she had somehow managed to attend it.

Considering the only person keeping an eye on the door was Raven, there was no way Terra couldn't have attended the dance.

Her dress was light and airy, reaching down to her mid-thighs, with thin spagetti straps.

I like how Terra has the least modest dress out of all the characters who got descriptions. Because traytors don't understand feminine modesty.

The upper part of the dress was diagonally-stripped with different shades of green, the rest of the dress pale green. On her feet were small green sandals to match her dress. YES, I realize I said small, but what do you expect from a girl with size 4 and a half feet? Terra's hair was done up in a sort of bun, decorated with about five flowers,

"About five flowers." Give or take, y'know? I mean, it could be four, it could be six; there are just so many that there's no real way to tell. "Five" seems like a safe estimate, though.

to which Raven eyed carefully.

"Interesting choice of floral accessories Markov." Raven said indifferently, but clearly she was interested.

"What do you mean?" Terra said carefully.

"You have a bittersweet, a cyclamen, periwinkle, rosemary, and a purple hyacinth in your hair. They stand for things like 'I am sorry', sorrow, 'please forgive me', friendship, remembrance, purity, rebirth, truth, resignation, and good-bye. Is that supposed to be?" Kori explained.

What are the odds that three different characters in a story about ignorant teenagers would have such an intimate knowledge on so obscure a subject as the symbolic meanings of floral arrangements?

"Purity, though? Hardly."

"Well...no not really. I was just---" Terra began to explain.

"How are you here? I thought that you and your so-called-friends were kicked out?" Garfield interrupted.

"Mr. Mendoza decided that with only finals left, I could stay."

That is totally how expulsion works.

"Then how come we never saw you?" Speedy asked, eyeing the girl.

"Complicated story.

Explaining that plothole would take too much effort and be potentially interesting, and we're so close to the end that it really doesn't matter.

There are so many things wrong with Terra's presence at this dance right now that I really don't know where to begin. Is Jefferson a public school, as was implied earlier? Then Mendoza doesn't have the power to allow Terra to stay after what she did. Is Jefferson a private school, as was established at the start of the story? Then Mendoza is an idiot whose leniency with Terra implicitly condones her amorality.

Could be that Terra fucked Mendoza to stay on campus.


But after tomorrow when I take my last final I'm gone for good." Terra answered.

"How does she know about that flower bit?" Victor whispered.

"She's odd that way." Speedy replied.

The characters are whatever the story needs them to be.

"Don't expect us to hang out with you." Garfield replied, arms crossed, a three-year-old look of 'nah-nah-nah-nah, we're better than you' on his face.

"Yeah, I know...That's why I'm here with my friends." Terra replied, and indicated Josh, Madison, and Brittney standing around somewhere else.

...Why are they still on campus?! I can almost comprehend Mendoza's leniency with Terra, since she was the one who exposed the master plan to get the Not-Titans expelled, but why would he let the rest of them stay?! The entire point of a plea bargain is that you testify against your buddies to ensure a less harsh sentence for yourself!

And why would Richaron and Co. even want to hang out with Terra after she betrayed them?! God, the layers upon layers of idiocy...it fucking figures that NTL would pull this shit one last time before the end.


With that, she walked away.

"Oh no she didn't! I do not believe that girl. She needs a serious attitude adjustment." Bee chirped.

QUOTE
"Dude...you really have to learn when to quit." Bee laughed as the group walked over to Terra.


Characterization? What's that?

"Whatever guys, it's not like she's worth it, c'mon, let's get back to the dance." Dick shrugged.

"Okay..." Kori nodded, and the two went off to dance.

"They are so perfect for each other." Raven speculated.

The way they say various bland things in concert with one another.

Wait, "speculated"?!


"I'm off to pick up some chicks!" Speedy grinned as he too ran off.

"If he doesn't get himself slapped by the end of ta'night, it'll be a miracle." Victor shook his head.

"C'mon, Victor, I've got something to tell you." Bee mentioned with an air of uneasiness.

Bee: We're going to have six thousand little bundles of buzzing, venomous PAAAAIIIIINNNN!!!

"Whatever." Victor shrugged and allowed himself to be dragged towards a more private spot.

That left Garfield and Raven alone.

Okay, not all alone, as they were in a gym full of a now-playing-again rock band, and tons of students dancing, but you get the point.

"Uh...uh...I'm...uh...gonna...go...uh...do stuff!" Garfield laughed nervously, running off.

With Victor no longer keeping an eye on his morphine stash, the door's open for Garfield to score.

"He is one strange boy..." Bee muttered appearing behind Raven. Victor had gone off to join Garfield in nothingness.

Wha-bu-the--what the fuck?! But you just went off--and Victor went with--GAH! It's like the story knows it's almost over, so it's pulling all of the stupid shit from all across the story, all at once, in a last-ditch effort to piss me off!



"You said it." Raven nodded.

Raven: So what was it that you had to tell Victor, Bee?

Bee: Did your romantic subplot get resolved?

Raven: What? No, but that--

Bee: Then we're in the same boat.


dream it, don't give it up zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzolo

The next morning, Raven unplugged that same alarm clock that had woken her up months and months ago on that faithful day when Bee had come, and what seemed like the real beginning to the their school year.

"Faithful" day? Was that the day Gar became born-again?

"It begins with the stupid clock, and it ends with the stupid clock." She muttered, humming some stupid song that the chorus was singing at the spring concert a couple of weeks ago.



Until we meet again...

May you suffer grievous injury and injustice.

May the road rise up to meet you,

And swallow you whole.

May the wind be always at your back,

Comically pushing you to the ground and refusing to let you get up.

May the sun shine up upon your face...

Until you suffer embarrassing and painful sunburns.

Until we meet again...

So that I can see your hardships and laugh.

"Until we meet again..." She huffed. "Until we meet again indeed." She mumbled. Raven was too tired from last night's dance to be sad, so she decided to be angry instead.

I think that's the truest thing you could ever say about Raven's character.

"In two months, three weeks, and four days!" Kori supplied, while helping Bee with her things. "Besides Rae, you're staying with me this summer right?"

"Yeah..."

Raven: Oh yeah, because my mom got, like, killed, and stuff.

"Eh, guys...I've got some bad news." Bee said, not wanting to be a pessimist, but they had to know.

"What?" Raven asked, eyes flashing with concern for a brief moment.

Bee figited.

Figited! It's no "scheduales," but it's got its own charm!

"Well...erm...it's just, you know that exchange program with Jefferson East?"

"Yes, what about it?" Kori asked brightly, unaware of what Bee was just going to say,

But certain that whatever it was had been properly hinted at and foreshadowed throughout the chapter,

before she could speak however, Kori remembered something. "Oh! Raven, here is your yearbook, I got lots of signatures!" She handed the yearbook over.

Ah, Raven upstages another character one last time. Thanks, NTL.

Raven began to flip through it, and got to the end, where the signatures were. There were about six or seven pages meant for this...and...they were all filled.

With the most venomous hate conveyable through penmanship.

She was looking for one person in particular though...and on the last page she saw the one whose she had been looking for.

Raven gasped. "Kori! You got Warren Beatty to sign my yearbook?!"

One last Warren Beatty gag before the end...


Garfield's.

'Dear Raven (or Rae)

I'm glad this year is over too...you're right, definitely a long one. About things changing...well...I'll have to actually think on that one.

I love it when NTL's Garfield accidentally synergizes with Mykan's interpretation of Beast Boy.

I'll miss ya' this summer too, and I won't forget to IM you, don't worry. You're pretty great too. Congratz on almost getting out of the future-demolition-site,

Uh, depending on whether or not you consider NTL: Gaiden canon, it pretty much has been demolished by now.

and have a great summer.

Gar

P.S. Sure I can't take a look at those demonic crows anyway? :-D

Raven smiled a bit, closing the book.

I suppose simply asking Gar to sign the yearbook would have been out of the question.

"Thanks Kori, I owe ya. Now Bee, what were you saying?"

Bee sighed. "Well uh---I kinda wanted to get back home to the East and my mom was all for it. I mean, it's not like I don't love being here...it's just I miss the East coast...so I uh----me and Speedy got chosen to be part of it."

I forget whether or not Bee and Speedy appeared in the sequel. Since it got taken down for good last August, I suppose we'll never know.

"Speedy is going?" Kori brightened.

"Yeah."

I find myself questioning the logic of including Speedy as a member of the group. Now that we're at the end and looking back, I notice that he never did anything noteworthy. Nobody seemed to like him, he was lower on the gang's totem pole than Garfield, Queenie certainly didn't like him...for whatever reason...in fact, the only thing he contributed was a romance with Terra, and that ended halfway through the story. Shit, it got retconned into a romance between Garfield and Terra, even. So why even include Speedy if he's so worthless to the narrative?

But then, comprehension dawned on Kori. "But...you are going too?"

"Unfortunately, I am."

One time, I ran a fanfic through the Google translator a million times to see what would come out. The title of the story turned out as "Unfortunately, I Am," which I took as an expression of utter self-hatred.

"Oh..." Raven sighed.

"Yes...oh..." Kori echoed, and the mood was immediately more somber.

Meaning somebody, somewhere, just got crucified, sodomized, murdered, or suicide-ed. Forty foals. Chlorine. 99. Scoodle. Mattress, mattress, mattress.

You won't get that for a while.


"Guys, I'm gonna miss you all so much, but this was an oppertunity I couldn't resist!" Bee tried to explain.

Bee heard there was a sequel, so she knows that this is her only way out of it.

"See I was right! It began with the stupid clock and it's going to end with it too!" Raven grumbled.

"But Rae, it did not begin with the clock." Kori replied, trying to brighten the mood.

What came first: The chicken, the egg, or the clock?

The answer: TERRA IS AN TRAYTOR!1121!


"Yeah, silly chica, it began with your friends," Bee continued.

"And it's gonna end with them too." Raven finished for her.

Is the story implying that none of the boys are really Raven's friends?

"Until we meet again..." The two girls, Kori and Bee chorused, and Raven for a rare moment, was smiling, and was actually, (and not because of someone's misfortune...) genuinly...

...not a bitch?

Happy.

Oh.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

And that's all she wrote, folks. The end. Normal Teenage Life, the very worst thing ever made by a human being, is over. Thank you all for reading, and for sticking with me for as long as you have.

But stay tuned, because there's more NTL-related content coming up. Did you know that the original story had...bonus chapters? Which, like NXE's bonus content, is completely self-serving and retarded? We won't be getting into the whole thing, but there are some character dossiers...

Also, the war may be over, but Principal Wilson still has one final chapter of his story to tell. So stay tuned for the ending of Normal Teenage Life: Gaiden.


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post Apr 13 2012, 02:54 PM
Is it really hits Speedy over?


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post Apr 13 2012, 03:05 PM
Wilson's stick a gun in his mouth while monologuing "This is my last mission" isn't he.

I know you Al, I know you so well. I can just predict this stuff now. XD

No but seriously, looking forward to it, I know it's kinda your baby.

Well, congrats on finishing this Al. The last chapter really proved just how crap this story was from beginning to end. Hopefully, one of these days, you'll find a fanfic that doesn't take you more than a year to finish.


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post Apr 13 2012, 04:21 PM
Dammet, I was hoping this thing could last forever.

Anyway, I'd like to give thanks to Queenie for writing this story. Sure it was terrible, but it laid the foundation for a great mock. And in the end (LOL GEDDIT LIK LINKIN PARK), doesn't that make it all worth it?


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post Apr 13 2012, 04:46 PM
Oh dear lord this is bittersweet. I almost don't want to see it go.

Somebody needs to go back in time and make past-Queenie write more stories.


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post Apr 14 2012, 10:19 AM
QUOTE (Qmark @ Apr 13 2012, 05:46 PM) *
Oh dear lord this is bittersweet. I almost don't want to see it go.

Somebody needs to go back in time and make past-Queenie write more stories.


Oh, she had more. They're just all gone now. Including the unfortunately unfinished sequel. Highlights from the sequel include:

-Dick and Kori break up (this went unresolved because the story was never finished)
-Everybody now hates Demon
-...
-That's all I can remember.

There is a lot of terrible Teen Titans fanfiction from the 2004-2006 period. NTL might be a perfect example, but it's only the surface layer of what's there. Sleeping within the fanfic archive on FF.net is an ancient, forgotten cache of bad fiction just waiting to be unearthed.

It might take me a while--I've got SMLoZ to occupy me, and a couple of other stories after that--but we'll get around to them.


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post Apr 14 2012, 02:17 PM
On one hand, I'm glad to see this crappy fic end. On another hand, I'm sad to see Al's mock of this end.



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post Apr 14 2012, 07:20 PM
Haha, well this is one bookmark I can get rid of/stop checking obsessively. Well done, Mr. Cone, and thank you for all of the laughs and suffering that this particular mock has brought me and I'm sure the others.


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post Apr 15 2012, 05:41 AM
This is one of the first mocks that I read on this site.
I'm sure I've said that before.
I've followed this mock, and enjoyed it SO much.
I...think I've said that before also. But you know wht I haven't said before, Al?
It's finished. Wow. blink.gif


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post Apr 15 2012, 10:29 PM
Attached Image

"...and while we doubt that the students are intelligent enough to differentiate you from Mr. Mendoza, we are confident that, under your tutelage, their teenage lives will return to normalcy, after a fashion," Agent Ames concluded, folding his arms behind his back. He smiled tightly at the figure in the chair behind the scuffed principal's desk. "I hope you don't mind being pressed into service, but after Alejandro Mendoza seized control of the school, we don't know who to trust anymore."

The figure reclined back in his chair, put his feet up on the formerly pristine desk, and grinned behind his thick black beard. "You shittin' me?" Billy Mays asked facetiously. "After what I went through with Wesker and Umbrella, this principal gig's gonna be a fucking cakewalk!"

Ames stretched his smile a little wider, put off by the crassness of the new principal's speech. "You're certain that it won't be a step down from your usual line of work?" he asked.

Billy Mays shook his head, still grinning. "Between working at this school and working as a pitchman, I'm gonna make enough money to live like a king for the rest of my days!" He pulled his legs off of the desk and leaned forward onto it, his eyes alight. "I can even work the two of them together. Get the school to start carrying OxyClean in the laundry rooms, and the custodial staff to use Zorbeez!" He laughed. "Vince can suck his mother's blood-soaked tits; Billy Mays is back, and he ain't going anywhere!"

Ames fought down a shudder and faked a cough so that he could break his forced smile and relax his face. Mr. Mays was a far more profane man in person than he was in the commercials. "We will see, Mr. Mays, we will see. In the meantime, I suggest you take advantage of the summer vacation to acquaint yourself with the school and begin searching for new faculty. Under Mendoza's administration, the turnover rate was disturbingly high."

Billy Mays nodded distractedly. "Yeah, yeah...hey, you think I can get Anthony Sullivan as my vice principal?"

*****

Naval tradition holds that the captain of a ship must tour the decks before a battle. As an ex seaman himself, Slade Wilson found a backwards irony in his touring Jefferson Co-Ed Boarding School after, not before, the fight of his life. Part of him wished that he'd done it before Wesker and his hounds chased him away, but another part told him that doing so would only have made the homecoming more painful. Seeing the well-wound and disciplined school he'd created devolve into the anarchistic mess that Mendoza fostered would have only made him grieve.

Students moved through the halls, oblivious to the one-eyed man in the dapper business suit who toured the wings one final time. Children passed yearbooks between one another, made small-talk, kvetched about the inane goings-on in each of their daily lives. For the first time in months, normal teenage life prevailed in the halls of Jefferson Co-Ed Boarding School.

"Hi, Principal Billy Mays here!" boomed a voice from the PA system. "Just wanted to remind you all to have a safe and secure summer vacation. And remember to tell your parents 'It's not clean unless it's OxyClean!'"

Wilson smiled, and sighed wistfully. He'd held that place for a long, long time. Parting with it after so many long years was bittersweet. Teaching had become a life-line after losing his wife. Connecting with his students gave him a fatherly sort of fulfillment, which sustained him even as his relationship with his own son had soured. And when he'd lost Jericho, been left only with a niece he'd never wanted, who he loved only out of obligation to a dearly departed wife, teaching had become the only thing keeping him alive.

He had a passion for it. For education. Shaping malleable, youthful minds, constructively giving them the tools and knowledge they'd need to become America's next generation. He remembered reading about what was discovered in Big Boss's fortress at Zanzibar Land, vividly recalled his horror at the discovery of what his idol was preparing children for. Wilson had sworn to never become that. He traced a finger over his eyepatch, and light-heartedly added "no matter how much I may look like him."

Indeed, he would miss Jefferson. But this time, he told himself, he'd be leaving it in capable hands.

He reached the edge of the school's campus. Behind him, at his back, was Jefferson Co-Ed, where the great drama of the last year had unfolded. The place where all his hopes, labors, passions and efforts had coalesced into purpose. Wilson took a long, staggering breath, and sighed. He felt his eye moisten as the memories of his time as principal flooded through him again.

The jingling of spurs behind him brought another sad smile to his face "Come to see me off, old friend?" he asked.

Ocelot stepped up beside him, arms folded. "It was touch and go there, Wilson," he admitted. "Literally down to the wire. I'm not sure how the hell you did it, but you salvaged the situation."

"More than that," said Wilson. At Ocelot's curious look, he explained. "I didn't just save the city from nuclear annihilation, or the world from enslavement at Wesker's hands. I saved this school. These children. Their souls."

Ocelot raised an eyebrow, smirking beneath his mustache. "A normal man would weigh the fate of the world over the fates of a bunch of snot-nosed imbeciles."

"I'm not a normal man," Wilson countered playfully. The two shared a knowing laugh. "I wonder, though," murmured Wilson. "Why would the Patriots go through the kind of effort they did? This whole staged drama--jailing me, sending me to San Quentin, springing me and sending me back here--why not simply kill Mendoza and retain me as principal? I could have done far more to combat Wesker had I stayed here full-time. Instead, they allowed Mendoza to come to power, along with Richaron and Roscoe, and put me out to pasture."

"You need to understand how much damage control the Patriots needed to go through after Wesker blew the lid on your black ops days," said Ocelot. "They don't have the kind of control over information that they'd like, and that big of a media shitstorm does not scrub out easily."

"It might with some OxyClean," noted Wilson.

"None on hand." Ocelot reached into his duster's pocket and drew out a cigar, which he spun idly in his fingertips. "They had you jailed because they needed you alive, and the only alternative was killing you. That's how badly they needed to satiate the media."

"Could have fooled me," said Wilson bitterly. "Felt an awful lot like being stabbed in the back."

"We never stopped looking out for you," said Ocelot. "Remember the night you were captured? When you held Mendoza hostage and the police had you at gunpoint? A flashbang went off. Where did you think that came from?"

Wilson shrugged. "Figured it was nanomachines."

"It was me, you sneering cycloptic motherfucker," Ocelot sighed. "The Patriots had me moved to another project shortly after Wesker blew your cover. That was one of the last things I could do to support you. I knew that you were going to go down in a hail of gunfire, and I also knew that that was unacceptable. You had to live. You had to beat this, because there was nobody else who would do it."

Wilson let that sink in a moment. He nodded thoughtfully. "I can accept that," he said. "But what guarantee do I have that they won't come after me now? For all intents and purposes, I'm still a wanted man."

Ocelot lit his cigar, placed it in his mouth, and puffed a cloud of gray smoke. "The game's changed," he said. "I think I have enough influence in the organization to keep them off of you, so long as you don't make any waves." He winked. "At least, none on these shores."

"Flee the country?"

"And go wherever you like." Ocelot offered Wilson his cigar, but the ex-principal declined it. "Find someplace comfortable, and live out your retirement. You've earned it, friend."

Wilson smiled, shook his head. "A tempting offer, Ocelot. But I'm an educator. I've dedicated my life to helping kids like the ones at Jefferson, and I can't just forget my calling."

Ocelot's eyes widened in surprised. He turned around to coolly regard the gleaming, intact boarding school behind them. "They don't know a thing that you did for them. Even when you were there, they hated you."

Wilson turned around as well, smiling at his old stomping grounds. "I'm a principal, Ocelot. Regardless of whether they liked me or not, taking care of them is my job."

Ocelot raised an eyebrow. "A pretty thankless job, if you ask me."

"And it's never finished." Wilson extended his hand to Ocelot. The older man accepted it, and shook it warmly. "Thank you for your help, old friend," said Wilson. "I'm glad it all worked out for the better."

"And I'm glad I didn't have to nuke Southern California," chuckled Ocelot. "Wherever you're going, whatever it is you're planning on doing..." He shook his head. "Just take care of yourself, Wilson."

Wilson nodded, and released his friend's hand. "Until we meet again." With one last smile, he turned his back on Jefferson Co-Ed Boarding School, one last time, and strode away down the road.

Ocelot stood there, alone, for a time, watching his friend's back steadily disappear into the distance. He became aware of another's presence at his side. "You're letting him go?" asked a young, silky, feminine voice.

Ocelot betrayed no emotion. "Just this once. He'll be under surveillance, but as long as he doesn't make himself a nuisance to the Patriots, he won't be touched."

Margaret Moonlight raised her rifle, setting him in her sights. "I can still take him out from here."

"That won't be necessary," said Ocelot curtly. "You'll get your full fee, I promise, but I won't be needing you to kill him after all."

Margaret lowered the crescent-bladed rifle, huffing. "Feels like a job half done," she groaned. "I got contracted to kill the guy after I helped him, and now I can't even do that. Getting serious homicidal blue balls here, Ocelot."

"Suffer them quietly, with dignity," said Ocelot. He turned away from Wilson and headed back into the school. "He's earned this."

*****

The road rose up to meet Wilson, the wind blew softly at his back, and the sun shone warmly on his face, as he strode away from his old life, and toward his new. Behind him rumbled a school bus, packed with cheerful, smiling children, eager to begin their summer vacation.

As the bus passed, Wilson looked into its windows, recognizing his former students in them. His eyes met those of one in particular. He hid his gaze behind sunglasses, but it was clear that the student recognized the old principal. His face went stark white, and his mouth twisted into a scowl. He heard a faint scream of "Wilson!" through the metal chassis of the bus.

Wilson, smiling warmly, offered a carefree wave before the bus turned the corner and vanished from sight. "A principal's job is a thankless one," he murmured to himself. "And his work is never finished."

With that, Slade Wilson continued his long march toward the future.

Attached Image


SCHOOLBUS ACCIDENT CLAIMS THIRTY-SEVEN LIVES
By Jazzymene Mimosa

Lesser auto wrecks felt inadequate at the sight of the massive pile-up that slaughtered thirty-seven students of Jefferson Co-Ed Boarding School. The gore-smeared windows obscured the views of investigators into the scene of carnage within. The blood, like Victoria Falls, flowed gushingly from every pore of the bus, knee-deep and thick as tasty syrup.

What are the facts, you might ask? Well, investigators have so far determined, from the accounts of survivors (only the driver and student Suzume Hokkaido emerged alive from the wreck), that one student, Richard Grayson, suddenly became enraged while talking with his close friends, Victor Stone and Garfield Logan. Screaming the name of former principal and multi-count offender Slade Wilson in a primal fury, Grayson quickly slaughtered his two best friends and went about creating chaotic carnage within the bus. Ultimately, he wounded the bus driver, and the bus careened off a cliff, causing the other thirty-five fatalities. In this journalist's professional opinion, it is a miracle that anybody could possibly have survived that accident. If you'll pardon a brief instance of unprofessionalism, I have it on goof authority from a Jefferson informant known only as "Malchior" that Ms. Hokkaido has suffered a particularly poor year, dealing with heartbreak, racism, and having her name misspelled as "Suzuke" in yearbooks and other official school documents. Principal Billy Mays offered his condolences, saying "It's a good thing that the two survivors were covered under ICan Health Insurance."

Police are baffled as to what may have prompted Grayson's outburst. It seems that this will forever remain, an unsolved case.


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post Apr 15 2012, 10:53 PM
Well that conclusion was certainly more satisfying then the actual story. God speed Wilson, god speed.

So did like Patriots have something to do with the bus crash or was that just Dick being an idiot?


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post Apr 15 2012, 11:02 PM
QUOTE (Lizard-Man @ Apr 15 2012, 11:53 PM) *
So did like Patriots have something to do with the bus crash or was that just Dick being an idiot?


That was just Dick causing a car accident.


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post Apr 15 2012, 11:27 PM
So just Dick being a fucking idiot. Figured as much, oocam's razor and all that.


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post Apr 16 2012, 12:12 AM
So now the entire moron-crew is dead? Now THAT's a happy ending.


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post Apr 16 2012, 05:54 AM
The minute I saw Billy Mays, I knew this was going to be an amazing end.


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Post #259
Qmark


Quite.
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post Apr 16 2012, 08:40 AM
Best. Ending. Ever.

Now only one question remains...whatever happened to the koala?


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#oh it's JUST tk
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post Apr 16 2012, 09:14 AM
QUOTE (Qmark @ Apr 16 2012, 09:40 AM) *
Best. Ending. Ever.

Now only one question remains...whatever happened to the koala?

Developed temporomandibular joint disorder.

Also, I like to imagine that Dick survived the wreck and is now a heavily scarred maniac out for Wilson's blood.

This post has been edited by T_K_17: Apr 16 2012, 09:16 AM


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