It's Not Easy Being Green

by YetAnotherTweenEdgelord

Rating: mature
Tags: Second Person, Vignette Valencia, Dark, Fetish, Fluttershy (EqG), Thriller, Equestria Girls, Sex, Suicide / Self Harm, Sunset Shimmer, Profanity, Non-consensual, Violence, Wallflower Blush, Death, Narcotics, Drama, Gore, Anon
Length: 21899

You help your crush Wallflower Blush with a chemistry problem.

Wallflower Blush, your crush, was always kind of invisible. However, with a little help from you, the entire town will soon know her name.

Things that don't happen in this story: Wallflower doesn't get raped. I'm not an animal.
My prereader was thoroughly disgusted by the Vignette scene so she's hereinafter credited as Alan Smithee.
Officially #BannedFromOffprint
Cover art by OshitsuKiryuu

Published 2021-08-08 21:20:00 UTC
Last updated 2021-08-08 21:20:00 UTC

Y

That’s just too much for you.

“Are we seriously gonna discuss theology in the middle of this mess?” you ask, kicking Snips’ body and shoving him aside.

“Theodicy,” Wallflower replies. “The question of why a good God permits the manifestation of evil, thus resolving the issue of the problem of evil. We could as well do that. Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz is my soulmate.”

“I always thought Schopenhauer was your soulmate,” you reply.

“That too.” Wallflower smirks. You can somehow tell she does despite the mask. “I also liked Jacques the Fatalist. I mean, the idea of cultivating my own garden–”

“That was Candide, you evergreen moron.” You sigh and roll your eyes. “Also, you cultivated your own garden until you dropped three bodies in the compost heap and then went on and sarinininininined the whole school.”

You have to pause for a moment. The situation is not quite something you see every day. You just start to wonder why are you even discussing theodicy with Wallflower Blush right after you just left Twilight Sparkle’s body in an empty classroom.

It all started some six weeks ago...

When you got a call from Wallflower Blush, asking you to come to her house, you expected another anime marathon. You weren’t into anime that much before you met her, but well, whatever makes her happy, right? You’re still not sure what brings you there every week – anime, or those moments when she inevitably falls asleep curled on the couch next to you.

Today, however, is slightly different. There’s some old, beaten-up van parked near Wallflower’s house and when you knock on the door, she quickly lets you in, checking out the street, as if making sure no one has seen you.

“My parents aren’t home,” she says.

Well, nice. Maybe it won’t be just anime today.

However, instead of going to her room, she leads you to the basement. Well, that’s a new one.

“What are we doing?” you ask. “Do you have some kind of a sex dungeon in there?”

She chuckles. “Something much better, Anon, something much better!”

Huh. Now you wonder what can be better than a sex dungeon. Two sex dungeons? A sex dungeon and an underground weed plantation? A sex dungeon with a kegerator, an 80-inch TV with the Hallmark Channel, a life-size vinyl replica of Frank N Furter with cranked out oompah loompahs dancing around it?

Unfortunately for you, it looks just like an ordinary basement, although it does have a couch, a TV and some gaming console. Huh, it seems like a gaming night. You look at large tanks standing by one of the walls. Maybe they’re full of beer? You could use a drink.

In the dim light of the basement you see that someone is sitting on the couch. It’s hard to tell who it is, but they definitely have long hair. Gaming and a threesome? Sounds like a plan.

“Wallflower, of all people you could bring here, you brought this moron?”

“He has the best chemistry grades in the whole class,” Wallflower replies. “Also, he’s kinda cute. It’d be a shame if something happened to him.”

You usually hear such words in movies about the mafia and it’s usually not good news. “Hey, what’s going on?” you ask. “Who is here?”

The girl on the couch stands up and turns to you. You recognise her instantly. After all, the whole school talked about her as of late.

Sunset Shimmer. Anon-a-Miss.

Strange that with this name, no one suspected you. But well, you’re kind of like Wallflower, no one really notices you that much. Sunset Shimmer, on the other hand… Well, even though it eventually turned out that the real Anon-a-Miss were some three retards, there were still people who didn’t believe that and claimed that Sunset actually was her.

You shrug mentally. People believe the weirdest things, like the Moon landing being faked, horses from another dimension, or that Principal Celestia was actually a lizard from space.

“Hello, Sunset,” you say. “What’s up?”

“I live in Wallflower’s basement, as you can see,” Sunset replies. “It’s not up, it’s down, pun not intended. And I feel even more down when I see your face.”

“Yeah, I love you too.” You roll your eyes. “Sorry about your current situation, but Wallflower and I have things to do. If you’d be so nice and give up an hour…”

“In your case twenty seconds at best,” Sunset replies. “Also, you’re not going anywhere. We need you.”

“And what if I don’t need you?” you ask.

The last thing you expected was Sunset pulling out a gun on you, but this is exactly what happens. It’s a really big gun. If she shot it, it’d probably break her wrist, but it wouldn’t be much of a consolation, given that your skull would turn into a piece of modern art on the basement wall.

“Then you may end up in Wallflower’s garden, I’m afraid,” Sunset replies. “The thing is, we need your help.”

“In what exactly?” you ask. If you’re going to be shot, you’d rather know why.

“The whole school swallowed the lies of three imbeciles instead of believing me,” Sunset replies. “I want revenge.”

“By starting a school shooting?” you ask. Of course, there are some people in school who deserve to be shot, but still, this seems like an overkill.

“Nah, guns are too good for them,” Sunset replies. “There’s a chance someone may survive. No, I’m thinking bigger. Like, Wallflower said you’re good at chemistry, right?”

“What does it have to do with anything?”

“We already gathered some supplies and equipment,” Sunset says, pointing at the tanks. “Do you think you could make some kind of a poison?”

“Like, to put it in the cafeteria food?” you ask. “It’s already poisonous without that.”

“No, I was thinking more about some kind of gas.” Sunset shrugs.

“We haven’t agreed on details yet,” Wallflower says.

You furrow your eyebrows. “So the only reason you didn’t start a schoolocaust yet is because you can’t agree on details?”

“That and we still don’t have chemical weapons,” Wallflower replies. “By the way, do you happen to know Russian?”

“No, I don’t,” you say.

Wallflower pouts. “Aww, there goes my idea of using Novichok. We actually found the recipe on the dark web, but it’s in Russian and it’s not something you can just put in the translator without getting a surprise visit from the FBI.”

“Yeah, this doesn’t sound like a great idea,” you reply. Somehow, you find Wallflower kinda cute, even when she casually plans mass murder. You’re pretty sure that she smiled at the president, she’d immediately get the nuclear football handed to her. Then you could probably blow up a city or two and watch the last sunset of the nuclear war. “So, what were you thinking about?”

“I was thinking of soman,” Sunset says. “It’s better for murder.”

“Like we’d have access to pinacolyl alcohol.” Wallflower rolls her eyes. “I told you that with sarin, we’d only need isopropyl. And I’d like to remind you that it was already hard to get C-4.”

Now this is getting out of hand. “You have C-4 here?”

“Long story,” Wallflower replies. “Anyway, do you think you could make sarin?”

“Maybe,” you reply. Back when you were hanging out with Moondancer, you thought of making meth and sarin shouldn’t be more complicated. But then your standards became higher and you went on to look for a girlfriend who showers more often than twice a month. Since then Moondancer tried to poison you twice, but she’s being way too obvious about that to be a true criminal.

Maybe she still loves you?

“You only want sarin because you’re a weeb,” Sunset says.

Wallflower sighs. “I wasn’t even born yet during the Tokyo Subway Attacks. It’s just easier to obtain.”

“Well, if I can get a recipe…” You grab your phone and google it. If someone asks, you’ll say that you were researching for a novel. “Hmm… It is usually manufactured and weaponized as a racemic mixture as this involves a simpler synthetic process whilst providing an adequate weapon…”

“Racist mixture?” Sunset asks.

“Racemic.”

“Even worse.”

“Racemic or not, Anon is the expert here,” Wallflower says. “For me, sarin is good enough, even if it’s a homophone.”

“A homophone of what?” Sunset asks.

“Nevermind,” Wallflower replies.

“Wait.” You turn to Wallflower. “Sunset wants to gas the school because they treated her like shit, but why are you doing that?”

“No one noticed me for years,” she replies. “They didn’t even treat me like shit, they treated me like I was nothing.”

“Wasn’t it because of some magical shenanigans?” you ask.

“Yes, but still, I want to be remembered.” Wallflower shrugs. “Also, I think hanging myself is not awesome enough. And look, a murder is just an extroverted suicide, and Mom told me to be less introverted.”

Oh yes, she sometimes has those thoughts. Would be a shame if she actually died and you don’t think that only because then you’d be single again. Murdering the whole school? You can live with that, you never really liked those morons anyway. But if Wallflower died…

That’s why you don’t just punch Sunset and run from the basement. Wally won’t get hurt as long as you’re there to protect her. Even if it means making sarin and preparing pipe bombs.

Well, time to get to work.

***

It’s been two weeks and it turns out that making sarin is harder than you think.

Well, at least you have a Tyvek suit Sunset got from somewhere. Probably the same place she got C-4 from. She didn’t tell you – after all, the more you know the less you sleep, or something like that.

Wallflower’s basement turned into a small laboratory. You actually consider making meth there – if you’re getting arrested, jail time for this is probably better than getting waterboarded by men in black for terrorism. However, you have no time for that, really. After countless attempts, you finally created something that looks like sarin. You don’t know if it works because, somehow, no one volunteered to test it.

You tell Sunset about this. Even with the gas mask on you can tell she’s not amused.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asks. “Order pizza, tie the pizza guy, and drop him into the tank?”

“Too risky,” you reply. “Someone’s gonna look for the pizza guy and they’ll know the address.”

“Right,” Wallflower says. “We need someone no one will be looking for.”

Sunset nods. “Okay, Anon will hire an escort.”

You raise your eyebrows. “What?”

“A prostitute, Anon.” Sunset rolls her eyes. “Or a whore, if you will. The cheaper the better, crack addiction and STDs are not a problem. You’re not supposed to fuck her, just dip her in sarin and drop her in the gutter.”

“Bad idea,” you reply. “A dead whore in the gutter? People may start asking questions.”

“Why would they?” Wallflower asks. “No one would care about her.”

“Unless she’s marinated in sarin like something that fell out of Chemical Ali’s fridge.” You sigh. Seriously, do those girls read spy novels? “Also, what if some kid finds her, gets contact buzz and dies?”

“You’re about to gas the school and you care about some random kid?” Sunset asks.

“The kid didn’t think you’re Anon-a-Miss.”

“Right, let’s not kill too many innocents,” Wallflower says. “I know a whore who refused to screw me after I paid her. I know where she lives.”

“We’re not killing any whores!” you exclaim. “We can test it on a rat or a rabbit or something and no one will ask questions. Clean, pretty, reliable.”

“Angel Bunny?” Sunset smirks.

Wallflower nods. “Angel Bunny.”

“Right,” you say. “Wally, about that whore…”

“Yes?”

“How many things about you I don’t know?” you ask.

“A lot,” she replies. “I can tell you later.”

“Well, if you still feel, uhh... unscrewed, we can get a room and–”

“No fucking!” Sunset shouts. “We have a demon to slay!”

“Chill out, it’s just a bunny,” you say. “Evil one, but still a bunny. Also, you can join us. Seems like you need to get laid…”

“I can’t!” Sunset replies. “I can only think about revenge!”

“Yeah, whatever.” Definitely, this girl can’t be saved, but it’s not your problem. “Give us fifteen minutes and we can go and get Angel.”

***

Five minutes later, you’re ready to go. Wallflower is not exactly happy when you sit in the van. This is most definitely your problem, but you promised that next time you’ll improve. Sunset, on the other hand, still seems lost in her thoughts.

“On our way, we have to stop by the kebab place,” she says.

“Are you hungry?” you ask.

“No, the guy who works there knows a guy who knows how to get uranium. Also, I think the next shipment of C-4 has already arrived.”

You guess that it’s high time to express your concerns. Forever holding your peace could end in a mushroom cloud over the town and it’s not quite your relationship goal. “Wait, are we getting uranium now?”

Sunset shakes her head. “Well, the current plan involves a dirty bomb, unless you know how to make a proper nuke. Wally is a weeb, she won’t mind if we go full Hiroshima on this place.”

“I don’t know how to make a nuke,” you lie, driving the van down the street. “Also, why a dirty bomb? A regular one wouldn’t be enough?”

“We want them to remember us forever,” Wallflower replies. “And nothing will make the survivors remember us more than cancer.”

Given that you plan to survive, this only raises further concerns. Time to invest in some lead groin cup. “I’d say that gassing the school is big enough to remember, but whatever you say.” You stop by the kebab place. “Don’t sit there for too long.”

Sunset comes back a few minutes later, carrying a plastic tube and a couple of takeaway food boxes. “I got uranium and kebabs for everyone.”

You take a box and look at it, furrowing your eyebrows. You know the guys from this bar well and they never mentioned they also sell explosives.

“Are you sure about this food?” you ask. “When you said you’re getting uranium, I expected some heavy lead case or something.”

“Don’t worry,” Sunset says. “What? It's not a strong gamma emitter. We used a Geiger counter to check the kebabs for alphas. Also, they think we’re their friends from Asian Dawn Movement.”

“Who?” you ask.

“I read about them in Time magazine,” Sunset replies. “Or maybe I watched it on TV, not sure.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” You shrug, grabbing a plastic fork and taking a bit of your totally-not-radioactive kebab. That’s actually a pretty tasty kebab, all things considered. But alas, you have a job to do.

After about ten minutes of navigating through the traffic, you finally reach the pet store where Fluttershy works. You don’t think she’ll sell you Angel, but considering Sunset’s mental state, you think any white bunny will do.

In fact, you and Wallflower need a serious talk about Sunset. Even without the part about murdering everyone at school, the girl looks like she needs therapy. Of course, Wallflower also wants to murder everyone at school and you don’t really give a fuck, so it seems like you all need therapy. Or at least Horse Jesus.

You park by the pet store. Sunset doesn’t want to go there and meet Fluttershy, so it seems that the dangerous mission is in your and Wallflower’s hands.

The store smells like a typical pet store which means mostly pet food and shit. You look at the cage with parakeets, pretending to be very interested in them.

“Don’t you think we should get Sunset a psychotherapist?” you ask.

Wallflower blushes. “I actually put roofies in her drink once or twice, when my parents weren’t home…”

You roll your eyes, hoping that none of the parakeets knows how to talk. “Psychotherapist, not psycho-the-rapist, you evergreen moron. Also, seriously? I’ll watch out for any drinks you give me.” Suddenly, another thought occurs to you. It’s possibly even worse. “Where are your parents anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever seen them and somehow they didn’t notice that Sunset basically lives in your basement.”

“They’re having their twentieth anniversary in the Bahamas,” Wallflower replies. “Seriously, I didn’t kill them or anything. Someone would notice if such important people disappeared.”

“Important?” you ask. “Who are they?”

“Undertakers.”

“They better come back soon,” you mutter. “They’ll have a lot of work. Anyway, maybe it’d save us a lot of trouble if we got her a psychotherapist. And another one for you, seriously. Roofies? Really?”

“Sodium pentathol, roofies, and LSD. It’s like a memory stone but sexier.” She shrugs. You’re not sure whether to agree with her or grab a whip from the shelf with horse accessories and smack her. Though she may actually like it.

Note to self: buy a whip. If it doesn’t work out with Wallflower, Lyra may be into it.

Assuming she doesn’t get sarin to the face. Which brings you back to what you came here for.

You look around and see Fluttershy on the other side of the store, behind the counter. As you approach her, she furrows her eyebrows. What did you do this time? You don’t even remember.

“Anon,” she says coldly. “What brings you here?”

“We need, uhh…”

“A rabbit,” Wallflower says. “Actually, can we just borrow Angel? We won’t need it for long.”

“I’m not lending you Angel or any other pet, for that matter,” Fluttershy replies.

Could it be after you stole her place in the parking lot? That’s quite possible. Or maybe when you asked her if she ever banged a dog? Maybe.

“Not after what he did to Angel.”

Ah, so it’s about that one time when you used Angel to wipe your dick after you had a casual one-night stand with Fluttershy. To be honest, this little fucker deserved it, but Fluttershy hates you ever since.

“What did you do?” Wallflower asks. “You should’ve told us earlier. I’d come here alone.”

“What do you even need a rabbit for?” Fluttershy asks. “You can just get some tissues or something.”

“We need to uhh, test something,” Wallflower replies. Just great, she dug a grave for both of you.

“Don’t you know I’m against animal testing!?” Fluttershy yells.

To be honest, you know that. You slept with her, after all.

“Right. Let’s test it on a human.” Wallflower sighs and punches Fluttershy in the face. Fluttershy recoils, holding her face while Wallflower rubs her hand and yells something about breaking her wrist.

“Are you crazy?” you ask, even though you know the answer quite well.

“I’m calling the police,” Fluttershy says, holding her nose. Blood is streaming down her face. Unfortunately, Wallflower didn't knock her out.

Just great. You’re gonna get arrested, then someone will break down during the interrogation and mention sarin to the officials. Not to mention that Sunset has uranium in the van. Soon, you’ll end up in prison where a guy the size of Bulk Biceps will drop a soap under the shower and ask you to kindly pick it up.

Yeah, your ass is not ready for that.

You grab a 2500-gram jug of aquarium salt from the counter and unceremoniously hit Fluttershy over the head with it. She staggers; you hit her again for a good measure and she drops on the floor, unconscious. Excited parakeets are making a lot of noise; maybe that’s for the best.

“Wow,” Wallflower mutters. “Is she dead?”

“Nah, she’s breathing,” you reply, carefully wiping your fingerprints from the jug. There’s some blood on it and on the counter, but hopefully it’s not yours. “Do you think they have cameras in there? We also need duct tape in case she wakes up.”

“I’ll check in the backroom,” Wallflower replies.

A few minutes later, Fluttershy is neatly tied with duct tape while you look at the hard drive from the computer Wallflower found in the back. You’ve heard that if you just deleted the recordings, someone could restore them, so you just ripped the hard drive off.

For once, watching CSI paid off.

“You didn’t touch anything, right?” you ask, stuffing the hard drive into a bag. You also stole the money from the cash register, the whip, and dog breeding pregnancy tests just to give the cops something to think about.

“I tried not to,” Wallflower says. “If anything, I’ll say that I was here a month ago.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” you reply, grabbing Fluttershy. “Go first, check if no one’s around, and tell Sunset to drive closer to the store.”

Wallflower nods and walks out of the store. After a few minutes, Sunset parks the van almost by the door. It’s probably not allowed, but you hope people will think it’s a delivery.

You carry Fluttershy out and put her in the back of the van. Wallflower looks at her with a smirk.

“At least it’s not me this time,” she mutters.

“What?” you ask.

“Long story,” she replies. “I’ll tell you if you’re not afraid of clowns.”

Clowns? What the actual fuck? You’d like to know, but you guess there’ll be a better time for that. For now you added theft and kidnapping to your growing rap sheet and you really don’t want to face the consequences.

Especially since Sunset looks back and realises that instead of Angel, you brought Fluttershy in. She rolls her eyes and gives you a look suspiciously similar to the one you got from Fluttershy herself when you used Angel to wipe your dick. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Anon…” she says. “What shade of autism spectrum are you? I told you to bring Angel here. This is not Angel, you imbecile.”

“Well, I wasn’t the one who punched her,” you reply. “It kinda escalated from there.”

“Is that why you have dog pregnancy tests?” Sunset asks.

You look her in the eyes and smirk. “Wallflower keeps a rabid bitch in her basement. She wanted to get her tested.”

“Really? I’ve never no–” A sudden clarity appears on Sunset’s face. “Anon, you fucking son of a donkey…”

“Hey, no need to be rude here!” Wallflower exclaims. “And she’s even better than Angel. We can test how it works on an actual human. Even from the same school, so the test is closer to the real deal.”

Sunset scratches her chin. “Yeah, why not,” she says. “She won't have to watch her friends die, so maybe that’s for the best.”

“Exactly,” you say. “Now drive carefully, we don’t want to get pulled over while she’s here.”

“At least she’s not making much noise,” Sunset mutters. “What did you do to her anyway?”

“Aquarium salt,” you reply.

“Make sure she doesn’t choke on her own blood,” Sunset says, starting the engine. “We need to get her alive to Wallflower’s house.”

“You can count on me,” Wallflower says. “When we had first aid classes, I listened carefully.”

“I can confirm.” Sunset sighs. “Especially when they talked about gunshot wounds.”

“Hey, it’s better to always be prepared in case some nutjob shows up with a rifle and tries to shoot everyone.”

“Nutjob?” you ask. “What does that make us?”

“You don’t understand,” Sunset replies. “For what they did to me, the students don’t deserve an ordinary crime. They deserve a war crime.”

You’re still not convinced. “What exactly did they do to you? Sure, they thought that you were Anon-a-Miss, but–”

"During Anon-a-Miss, Rarity broke into my house and drilled my nipples with a CNC lathe."

You look over Sunset's head at Wallflower. She shrugs, then twirls a finger to the side of her head, followed by shooting a finger gun at the back of Sunset's head. You nod, but then Wallflower points the finger gun at her own head and makes a face suggesting fatal brain damage. She then makes a spreading-fingers gesture at her own crotch levels and mouths something that sounds like "sploosh”.

You shake your head and turn to Sunset. “A lathe, you say?” you ask, hoping that you sound like Freud asking a patient whether he ever considered having coitus with his own mother. “Are you sure it was Rarity? Because I don’t think Rarity would ever–”

“I am completely sure of that,” Sunset replies. “She made a video and everyone saw it.”

Now you’d surely know of that. After all, everyone allegedly saw it. Unless you and Wallflower were omitted again.

It’s not easy being green, sometimes.

“Enough about that,” Sunset says. “Although I wonder why no one suspected you, Anon. It’s not a common name, right?”

“It’s Swedish,” you say. “I mean, isn’t it obvious?” You point at the yellow football jersey you’re wearing.

“No,” Sunset replies. “What country is that anyway?”

You sigh and roll your eyes. Goddamn Americans. At least she didn’t ask you about Alps, yodeling, gold from suspicious sources, and cheese.

“Long story,” you reply. “I think Fluttershy is waking up.”

“Should I smack her again?” Wallflower asks. “We don’t want her to make too much noise when we bring her to the basement.”

“She’s gagged anyway,” you reply. “Also, we can put the van in the garage. It looks suspicious when it’s parked in the street. Who did you get it from? Some retired pedophile?”

“Nah, some priest from a nearby parish.” Wallflower shrugs. “He had to sell it quickly as he was moving out.”

“Good for him,” you say. “Not good for Fluttershy, though…”

Author's Note

E

Fluttershy is finally in Wallflower’s basement, tied to the chair and gagged. Judging by the looks she’s giving you, she’d unleash quite a string of invectives if she could do that.

You can’t exactly blame her. You, Sunset, and Wallflower are wearing tyvek suits; Wallflower is also carrying a backpack pesticide sprayer. The room is locked and the small window is sealed with duct tape. There are ultraviolet grow lamps everywhere—big coral reef tank ones—to get rid of sarin once you’re done.

“Why do you even need so many lamps?” you ask Wallflower.

“Growing weed, growing ricin… Anything you need.” She shrugs. “Are we gonna do it?”

You look at Fluttershy, who shudders. The situation isn’t getting any better due to the duct tape and it’s not just the one you tied her with.

In fact, it was you who told Sunset and Wallflower that tyvek suits need to be properly sealed. Duct tape over the seams, around where the hood meets the mask, gloves taped to the sleeves… They didn’t have any chemical gauntlets, so you’re wearing yellow dish gloves, but they should do. You even put five strips of extra tape around your thigh, in case your suit rips.

The problem is, it’s Wallflower’s tape and this girl is crazy about cartoon characters. Seriously, she has band-aids with Dora the Explorer! Duct tape is yellow and has SpongeBob on it. You try to imagine what Fluttershy must feel – she’s about to get executed by a bunch of retards dressed as aliens wrapped in SpongeBob duct tape. What a way to go.

Well, especially since she’s naked. It wasn’t your idea, actually; it was Wallflower’s. If it was up to you, you’d put her in a diaper to minimise the cleaning needed, but Wallflower kept insisting on it, as all Fluttershy’s clothes are made of synthetic fibers. You recall her mentioning something about not using natural fibers as they kill bugs in the cotton fields. Thus, she’s gonna die naked just because of the bugs.

Also, it’s gonna be easier to pour bleach on her to neutralise sarin, but it has side effects.

Sunset walks to Fluttershy and squeezes her breast. “Hmm, maybe we can have some fun before we kill her,” she says. “Wanna join, Anon? You can go for her cunt. I wanna fuck her with an iron pole until she shits her guts out.”

“No,” you reply. “We’re here to kill her with sarin, not a tetanus infection.”

“Aww, you’re no fun.” Sunset sticks her fingers in Fluttershy’s vagina, licks them and pats Fluttershy’s head. “How does it work anyway?” she asks.

“It absorbs through the skin and lungs,” you reply. “Which makes me wonder if we didn’t mess this up by testing the lamps first. They gave her large, open blisters.”

Fluttershy whimpers.

“Right, we’ll let her out and kidnap someone without blisters.” Wallflower rolls her eyes and looks at the pesticide sprayer. “Do we yeet her or do we, dunno, let her say some final words?”

“Do I look like I ever killed someone?” you ask. “Maybe we should google it?”

Wallflower groans. “I just want to do this right. Maybe we should strip her or shave her?”

“That’d work if we wanted to test the electric chair, you sick lettuce fucker,” you reply. “But maybe some last words?”

Sunset shudders. "Don't let her talk! No! No! During Anon-a-Miss she told everyone that I was skinning freshmen and stuffing the hides with baked beans!"

Right. Yet another reason to poke a hole in Sunset’s tyvek, stuff the nozzle of Wallflower’s sprayer up her ass and pull the lever.

“Actually that was Twilight,” Wallflower replies. “She mentioned something about bean dildos.”

“Who cares!” Sunset exclaims. “Let’s just see if this works.”

Wallflower nods and aims the pesticide sprayer at Fluttershy. “Right, before she gets a heart attack.” With these words, she sprays sarin at Fluttershy, who thrashes against her restraints, falling back with the chair.

“If she snapped her neck, I’m gonna be mad,” Sunset mutters.

You too, actually. You’d really like to see if your sarin works. After all, you never know when it’d be useful. Actually, you’re already planning to steal a bit of uranium from Sunset and put it under her mattress, but sarin may kill her faster than cancer, if need arises.

You and Wallflower pick Fluttershy up. She’s fine, although it seems like she caught a cold; her nose is runny and her eyes are bloodshot, with pupils shrinking to pinpricks. She struggles against her bindings, ripping off a few strips of duct tape.

“Oh shit, she’s gonna turn into a witcher!” Wallflower exclaims.

You notice that Sunset took her phone and is filming the whole thing. You need to borrow it – you actually know a guy who knows a guy who knows an Armenian shepherd who distributes snuff films as a side job. Maybe he’ll be interested.

“What if she gains super strength and kills us?” Wallflower asks. “Are you sure it was sarin?”

“I’m quite sure,” you reply. “Stop being a coniferous cretin, okay?”

Suddenly, Fluttershy frees her legs and, while still tied to her chair, gets up. You take a step back; maybe you did just turn her into Hulk or Mr. Hyde, who knows. She looks like she’s about to charge at you, but suddenly she shudders and starts throwing up violently.

The tape gag is actually doing a good job. She makes a horrible noise, and most of her vomit flows out of her nose, dripping on her boobs.

“Damn, she’s gonna choke,” Wallflower says, ripping the tape off Fluttershy’s mouth. Fluttershy’s not in the mood for final words; she gasps for air and throws up more, dropping on her knees. Her muscles twitch as she struggles to breathe; you’ve never noticed that before, but she has quite fine abs and–

Just great. Now you got a boner and you’re pretty sure it’s quite visible in the tyvek suit.

“Hmm, she didn’t pee,” Sunset says.

“Wait, you’re into that?” Wallflower asks, covering her mouth. As if on cue, Fluttershy screams, piss streaming down her thighs. Through the mask you catch a faint smell suggesting that she also shat herself. You wince, seeing that it just flows out of her and goes down the chair, creating a brown and reddish puddle on the floor. Great, more cleaning.

Somehow, it doesn’t kill your hard-on. You’d say it even got worse.

Twitching and jerking in an increasingly incoherent way, Fluttershy drops into a puddle of her vomit, piss, and liquid diarrhea, rolling in it. She tries to catch a breath, but all she achieves is shit getting in her mouth. She throws up again, but this time it’s mostly bile and blood. Somehow, she’s still having diarrhea; when you broke up you told her she was full of shit, but you didn’t mean it literally. You wonder if at some point her intestines will fall out.

The tape breaks and she raises her hand, trying to reach you. You run away from her as she tries to crawl, gasping for air as her skin quickly loses its natural colour.

Suddenly, however, her body goes limp and she lies on the floor, twitching a few more times before resting there, motionless and covered in her own filth. Blood is leaking from her mouth – looks like she bit her tongue off before death. Somehow it’s also leaking from her ears. You wonder if it is possible to vomit so hard that your eardrums burst.

You’re not sure if your erection will ever go away.

“Seven minutes and thirty seconds,” Sunset says. “Not bad. Also, I think I just came in this suit. Twice. It dripped down to the booties.”

“She was vegan, right?” Wallflower asks.

You wince; you’d vomit yourself, but this basement already smells and the last thing you needed to know was that Sunset came twice while watching this. Especially since you’d rather rub one off too. “Why are you asking?”

“Vegan shit is good for compost.”

“And this is your biggest problem?” you ask, turning on the UV lights. Fluttershy’s body looks even more surreal now, especially since the floor around her looks like some abstract art in various shades of brown, green, red, and yellow. “Isn’t it too watery anyway?”

“Nothing that time won’t fix,” Wallflower replies. “I guess we’ll need rags and plastic bags to get everything to the garden.”

“At least the body is in one piece.” Sunset smirks and licks her lips. “Can you clean her and give us some time alone?”

“No,” you reply. “I don’t think anyone will find it in the compost heap, but I won’t let you leave any of your DNA on or in her.”

“Can I at least pee on her?” Sunset asks. “She’s dirty anyway.”

“If you want to get sarin on your cunt, why not,” you reply. “We’ll call you when she gets rigor mortis and we’ll have to break her hands to fit her in the compost heap.”

“Sounds great,” Sunset says. “I’ll be upstairs. Those UV lights are bad for my skin, but you two are so full of chlorophyll that you don’t mind, I guess.”

She leaves the basement before you can decide if it was racist or not. You don’t quite mind, but Wallflower seems offended.

“Just when I thought people stopped asking if my hair turns orange in the Autumn,” she mutters.

“Does it?”

“A bit.” She smiles sheepishly. “But at least I don’t go bald in Winter. Now that’d suck.” She chuckles in a way that seems inappropriate given that one of the people you knew since elementary school is now lying next to you dead and covered in her own shit, piss, vomit, blood, and any fluid you can think of. Also, she’s lying with her legs apart, giving you a clear view of her huge, erect clit. You’ve heard some guys would cum after death, but you didn’t expect this would also happen to girls.

By the way, you still have a raging boner.

“Speaking of sucking…” Wallflower chuckles. “Do you need help with that?”

“With what?” you ask. You kinda have to play dumb, given that your dick doesn’t want to play dead.

“Oh, come on.” Wallflower points at your crotch. “Is it a sarin leak causing vasoconstriction or are you just happy to see me?” She shrugs and looks at Fluttershy. “Me or her. Damn, my self-esteem really sucks.” She laughs in a rather unhinged way. “I’m afraid someone would prefer a sarin-contaminated corpse over me, lol. Although at least she’s already naked and can’t really say no…”

Yeah, this seems unhinged. Like, who in their right mind actually says “lol”? But on the other hand, this may end in sex, so you’re not going to run just yet.

“Well, it’s the first time I see someone die, so, uh…”

“Your dick decided to take a look, huh?” Wallflower looks at the UV lamps. “How long will it take to get rid of sarin? I’m getting horny myself and I’d rather not join our dear Fluttershy. At least not before you fuck my face or something.” She shrugs and looks at the door. This part of the basement is kinda sealed right now, with the door being covered in duct tape. It’s primitive and decontaminating the suits may be problematic, but you can’t really do much better, given the circumstances.

Wait, it’s no longer sealed. Sunset already left and you hope that she at least doffed the suit before going upstairs.

When you and Wallflower get out of the room where Fluttershy’s body is currently getting its post-mortem tan, you see that she indeed dumped it on the ground, along with her underwear. You toss everything back into the room with the UV lights and then you doff your suit. Next to you, Wallflower does the same.

“Okay,” Wallflower says. Unlike Sunset, who occasionally has nudist tendencies, she at least wore tracksuit pants and a t-shirt under her tyvek suit. You decided to just go for a t-shirt and boxers and now you have to suffer the consequences.

Well, “suffer” is a wrong word. You barely close the door of your makeshift gas chamber, when Wallflower kneels in front of you and grabs your boxers. She lowers them, licking her lips.

“Looks like you really liked that, huh?” She smirks. “A naked girl just kinda fucking dies in front of you. Now that’s not something you see every day. She gives the tip of your dick a brief lick. To think about it, she did look kinda like she was about to cum when she tried to catch a breath, but then she started to shit all over the floor. Not cool.”

Seems that her idea of dirty talk is rather literal. Somehow, it doesn’t kill your boner, even though you feel it should.

“The French call an orgasm ‘little death’, right?” You can feel Wallflower’s breath on your dick. “Although before we start sarining the school, I need to take a dump. I’d rather not end up like her.”

“Well, we’re gonna be sarinining the school, not ourselves,” you say, moaning as she puts your dick in her mouth and sucks on it gently. “Hopefully.”

Wallflower just looks up at you and smirks, her tongue swirling around your cock. You’re surprised you didn’t cum right there, but apparently the gods of sex are on your side today. You grab her hair as your dick disappears in her mouth.

Still, you can’t stop thinking about things. You just murdered someone and a cute girl is sucking you off, so you kinda reached peak manliness. On the other hand, this just feels surreal. You’re planning mass murder with a side of extended suicide, terrorism, and violation of traffic laws. One of your accomplices is, as far as you know, an illegal alien who went straight-up fucking nuts because of a bunch of teens made her look like a bully she used to be and the other one is a weirdo with self-esteem issues, who gets weirdly excited by dead bodies.

Unfortunately, your dick also gets weirdly excited by dead bodies, so they kinda have a common agenda. Also, you can occasionally feel Wallflower’s teeth gently squeezing your dick, so it’s not the greatest time to start a conversation about your woes.

It’s almost like it doesn’t happen for real. Like Wallflower is your Tyler Durden. Well, you’re pretty sure Tyler never actually blew the Narrator, but you’re also pretty sure that Wallflower would gladly have your abortion and that she hasn’t been fucked like that since grade school.

Well, maybe you’re Wallflower’s Tyler Durden? You often feel like you don’t belong there. She’s so fucking special.

You just wish you could be like her. But really, you kinda just want her to notice you. You got what you wanted, but at what cost?

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of someone choking. You look down and realise that, lost in your thoughts, you went in too deep, just like the dwarves of Moria and, as usual in those cases, bad things happened. Wallflower tries to back off, but you’re still holding her hair firmly and her throat tightens around your dick as she struggles to catch a breath, just like Fluttershy before.

And right as you remember the image of Fluttershy’s body, your own body decides that it’s the perfect time to bust a nut.

Wallflower chokes, cum shooting out of her nose, mixed with snot and maybe a faint trace of blood. You let her go and she recoils, landing on her butt. She takes a laboured breath and throws up a little on her t-shirt; it’s mostly cum and some bile. Tears flow from her eyes, ruining her make-up. And, to add insult to injury, you’re still in the throes of the most powerful orgasm of your life, so a few of the last spurts of cum end up on her hair and face.

“Anon, you sick piece of shit,” she whispers in a raspy voice and hacks up some more cum. “Next time I’m taking it up the ass. It can’t be worse.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. This never happened to you before; you’re pretty sure that if you came in her ass like that, she’d still throw the cum up. For at least three days.

Suddenly, something else starts worrying you. “Do you smell something like burning chicken?” you ask.

“Go fuck yourself,” Wallflower whispers. “All I can smell is your cum. Also, my throat feels like an elephant stomped on my neck, so you could at least try to show compassion, you–”

“Fluttershy,” you say.

“Yeah, she won’t mind if you fuck her skull until her brain flows out through her ears,” Wallflower mutters.

You sigh. “We left her under the UV lights, you evergreen moron! What if she catches fire?”

“She won’t mind.” Wallflower whispers, squeezing her nostrils together and trying to blow her nose without a tissue in a so-called bushman’s blow. It’s actually fairly impressive – a mix of snot and your cum sticks to the opposite wall.

You’re however, in no mood to watch this. Praying that sarin in the basement had already gotten neutralised, you open the door and switch off the UV lights. Then you look at Fluttershy – she didn’t catch fire, although her skin started to peel off in places closest to the lights. At least now, in the dim lights of the basement you can’t see the full extent of damage. Or Fluttershy’s pussy, for that matter.

You’re about to leave when you see some movement. Is it possible that after getting gassed and half-fried, Fluttershy is still alive? You spin around, jump into the air, and execute a perfect dropkick, like you’ve seen in the movies.

Well, it’s not quite perfect, as you end up falling, accompanied by a terrible crunch as you roll into the puddle of half-fried shit. You get up quickly, hoping that the crunch didn’t come from one of your bones.

Apparently, it didn’t. When you look at Fluttershy, her head is hanging at a weird angle, and there’s also a trace of your boot on her neck. You notice a startled mouse running away from her. It seems you interrupted a meal.

“What’s going on?” Wallflower asks. It’s still a very loud whisper, but it seems her throat is getting better.

“Nothing,” you reply. “We can get her into the plastic bag and yeet her into the compost heap.”

“Let me get a shower first,” Wallflower says. “Do you know how long it takes to wash cum out of my hair?”

“I don’t,” you reply.

“Last time it was two hours, though at least this time it’s just one person…”

You raise your eyebrows. “Do I want to know?”

“You kinda were there, along with thirty other dudes who then got a memory stone to the face.” Wallflower shrugs. “I’d make myself forget it too, but then I’d probably get the same idea again.”

“What was the idea?” you ask, against your better judgement.

“Making a bet that I can suck off a hundred dicks,” she replies, blushing.

Well, now that’s interesting. “Did you win?”

“Nah, one guy’s foreskin got caught on this.” She smiles, revealing a gap between her front teeth. “By the way, if Nolan North ever tells you a story of how he converted to Judaism while drunk, it’s not true.”

“What?”

She blushes even more. “That was the first thing that came to my mind when I reached for the stone. Remember that I was spitting blood and cum, I wasn’t in an exactly creative mood.”

You nod because frankly, what else is there to say? You still have to clean up the basement anyway. You look at the floor and wince.

This is gonna be a long day.

***

It’s already night when you drive the car to school to bury Fluttershy in Wallflower’s garden. It’s not the van as it’d look very suspicious by the school, even when there’s no one there. Instead, you “borrow” one of the cars from Wallflower’s parents’ funeral parlour.

It’s a pretty nice 1959 Cadillac, complete with a new, shiny paint job, with its original engine switched for a V8 hemi. Apparently Wallflower’s father did it himself. It has a quite good radio and comfortable seats and its acceleration compensates quite well for the lack of agility due to a somewhat lengthened wheelbase.

You still think it’s somewhat suspicious. For starters, even though it’s definitely not a pedo van, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s a fucking hearse. Well, so far it’s a regular hearse, but after you get rid of Fluttershy, you may as well take Wallflower for a ride and turn it into your fucking hearse.

That is, if no one catches you first. Wallflower says that it’s not a problem—after all, who’d be surprised by a body in a hearse?—but you’re still not quite sure about that. You don’t look like a funeral parlour worker, even though you put on a fancy suit and a red tie. Besides, who drives bodies around the town in the middle of the night? Without a coffin, at that?

Wallflower shrugs your worries off. “If we’re caught, we’ll tell the cops that she’s not yet embalmed. She looks like she had a horrible accident, but dad’s workers can make any corpse look better than it did when it was alive. If they have doubts, I can show them the ‘before’ and ‘after’ photos.” She reaches for her phone. “Look, this dude actually had no head, but–”

“Stop showing me things on your phone, you chlorophyllic horndog,” you mutter. “Unless you want me to crash this thing and we’ll all join Fluttershy in death.”

Wallflower pouts and puts her phone back in her pocket. You circle around the school and park the hearse behind the building. Wallflower’s garden is close to the fence and there’s actually a handy backdoor there. You turn off the headlights and get out of the car. Fluttershy is in the back, wrapped in plastic bags and SpongeBob duct tape. Not the most dignified funeral but what can you do, really.

You carry her out of the hearse while Wallflower opens the door with a rusty key. Are there any cameras here? You’re not sure. After all, the place is a bit away from the main building and surrounded by shrubbery, which makes it perfect for smoking during the recess.

“Anon, what are you thinking about?” Wallflower asks. “Get her to the compost heap. We need to bury her before someone sees us.”

“Right,” you mutter, dragging Fluttershy’s body across the lawn. It’s suspiciously heavy, given that she was rather thin and probably shat out half of her body weight before dying. Or maybe you’re just tired of this.

“Can you give me a hand?” you ask, looking around and noticing that Wallflower disappeared. “Where are you?”

“Here.” Wallflower’s voice comes from the bushes, followed by a definitely unladylike fart. “Sorry!”

“You made me carry the body just to go and take a dump in the wild?” You roll your eyes. Sometimes, Wallflower is really impossible.

“I was just peeing,” Wallflower replies, emerging from the bushes and pulling up her pants. “And it was only because you didn’t let me go to the toilet before we went here.”

“The sooner we get rid of the body the better,” you say. “Also, don’t make any, uhh… weird noises. I’m getting nervous.”

“I’m sorry.” You can see Wallflower blushing even in the dim light of the moon.

“Don’t worry, your farts are even louder when you sleep, so I got used to them,” you say. “What do you eat?”

“Usually vegetables, fast food, or meat of something I shot myself,” she replies. “But that’s only when dad takes me hunting. I got really good at reloading cartridges, actually.”

Great. You hope your future father-in-law will never take you hunting. Not only because you’d likely get shot, but also because you kinda feel sorry for poor deer.

Interesting, actually. You just murdered your classmate in cold blood, destroyed Wallflower’s throat right next to her corpse, and stole a hearse to bury her, but you wouldn’t be able to kill Bambi.

Well, that’d be interesting, meeting Wallflower’s parents. “Hi, I’m Anon and I’m the first person who came in your daughter and still remembers this fact” is probably not the best way to introduce yourself, but it’s a work in progress.

Wallflower gets the shovel from the shed and starts digging a hole in the compost heap. The smell is kinda bad, but not worse than when Fluttershy died, so that’s a plus. You grab another shovel and soon you have a hole big enough to leave the body to rot and turn into fertilizer.

“Should we say something?” you ask while unwrapping Fluttershy from the plastic bags. “Your parents are undertakers, you can probably give some speech.”

“I once heard she wanted to be a tree,” Wallflower replies. “Well, now we can make this happen.”

“Yeah, let’s go with that,” you say, pushing Fluttershy’s body into the hole. “I’d rather not say something insensitive about her boobs.”

“Best boobs in Canterlot High.” Wallflower smirks. “At least they’ll never sag and their memory will live on.”

“Truest word ever spoken.” You sigh, shoveling the dirt on Fluttershy’s body. You’re vaguely upset that it’s not Sunset, but you hope you’ll get to that.

Finally, there’s no trace that Fluttershy was ever there. You hide the plastic bags in the shed along with shovels and go back to the hearse.

“So, are we going home?” you ask.

Wallflower shrugs. “Well, I’m getting a bit tired, although…” She stretches her arms.

You chuckle. “Wanna do it in the back of the hearse?”

She rolls her eyes. “Anon, I already sucked you off today and I’m still salty about that in more ways than one. I was thinking we should take a weekend off, you know? Sunset is getting more and more cranky and–”

“We’d better leave her out of this,” you say, hopping into the car and turning the engine on. “The tank is almost full of gas, we can go wherever we want. She’ll be fine without us.”

“Yeah.” Wallflower nods. “Do you know my parents got married in Vegas? Dad took mom there and they ended up in the Elvis wedding chapel.”

You reverse the car, holding the steering wheel with your left hand and using your right hand to pat Wallflower’s head. “Are you pondering what I’m pondering?” you ask.

She smiles. “Oh yeah.”

***

This weekend felt like a week. Maybe because it basically lasted for five days. Sunset got pretty mad, sending you death threats along with an amusing gossip circulating among the students of Canterlot High: apparently they thought Fluttershy kidnapped you and Wallflower and kept you in her shed while yelling something about green not being her colour.

Oh, how wrong they were.

At first you ignored Sunset’s messages, but as the mountain of empty booze bottles began to grow around you, you decided to send her some photos to prove that you’re alive. This included you two smoking cigars, snorting cocaine, sitting at the blackjack table, and doing some other questionable things, culminating in an amusing video of Wallflower, butt-naked, drunk and coked up like a Wall Street yuppie two hours before the deadline, lighting her farts on fire.

For some reason, Sunset wasn’t amused.

It was a dream you didn’t want to wake up from. However, quite unfortunately, you did and it was in the worst possible place – the back of the Greyhound bus to Canterlot City. It didn’t take off yet, giving you an opportunity to take one last look at the place where you’ve just spent the best five days of your life.

Unfortunately, Vegas it ain’t.

"I figured if I got fucked up and broke, it would be in Vegas or at least Lake Tahoe. But this?" You wave an arm expansively at the small steel warehouse housing the reservation Casino and liquor store. "This is fucking insulting."

“It’s withdrawal talking, honey.” Wallflower shudders and throws up into a paper bag.

“What withdrawal?” you ask. “We only snorted coke once. Well, in your case it was a dose Ozzy’s whole crew would take after the concert during Black Sabbath’s best days, but still…”

“Yeah, I see a common theme of ending up with things in my nose that shouldn’t be there.” Wallflower opens the window and throws the paper bag out on the dusty road. “Hmm, this is not Vegas.”

“No shit,” you mutter. The bus finally takes off and your words nearly drown in the sound of a poorly-maintained diesel engine. “We’re completely fucking broke. We pawned off the car and spent the money on wedding rings, vodka, and coke. And what we didn’t spend, we lost in blackjack and roulette.”

“I told you I had a system,” Wallflower says.

“Your system gave the casino so much money that the owners accepted us as tribe members.” You roll your eyes. “Which is good, because the chief bought us the bus tickets and I didn’t have to whore myself to get them.”

“Wait, we pawned off the car?” Wallflower’s eyes widen. “Dad’s gonna kill me.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” you reply. “Also, from what you told me on the wedding night, isn’t dying kinda the point of your existence?”

“Yes, but I want my death to have a purpose beyond ‘my dad shot me because I pawned off his favourite hearse’,” she replies. “Also wait, did we eventually get married?”

Hoo, boy.

Unfortunately or maybe fortunately for you two, on the second day of your trip you’ve met a disgraced rabbi from Salt Lake City, who was currently losing against his lifelong addiction to gambling and alcohol. At first he wasn’t very keen on your idea, but after you got him a bottle of whisky, he kind of warmed up to it.

“Okay,” he asked. “Are you two Jewish?”

You shook your heads. The rabbi rolled his eyes, but then looked at the bottle of whisky. “Are any of you Jewish?”

“I’m technically a Swedish protestant,” you replied. “Though I always liked Dudeism.”

“I’m kinda into the Church of Euthanasia,” Wallflower said.

“What?” you asked.

"Eat a queer fetus for Jesus.” She smiled sheepishly. “Save the planet, kill yourself. But I convinced one dude that he was Jewish, does that count?”

The rabbi sighed. “This is gonna cost you another bottle. Are you two related?”

“People keep asking,” you replied. “But no, we aren’t. And we’re both eighteen, so I guess it should be fine.”

The rabbi nodded, looking at the bottle of whisky. “I’ll see what I can do…”

So yes, now you have a wife and she’s currently holding another paper bag in front of her, ready to throw up again. This is gonna be a long trip. And you’re just in the neighboring county.

What’s worse, you’re pretty much out of money and you’d rather not be around when Sunset learns about it. Especially since after you mentioned a Fluttershy tape to the guy who knows the guy who knows the Armenian shepherd who’s into snuff movies, he mentioned that the Armenian shepherd knows two guys from New Zealand who know a basement-dwelling military hardware nerd who owns a perfectly usable BMP-2 and lives just twenty miles away from you. It could be yours for just fifty thousand dollars and a tank full of diesel oil.

Well, it’s not like you had fifty grand on standby even before your trip to the casino, but still, Sunset seemed really enthusiastic about a vintage Russian armored personnel carrier when you told her about it.

When the bus finally stops in Canterlot City and the driver kicks your sorry asses out of it, Sunset is already waiting for you at the bus stop. She seems thinner and more pale than before and her bloodshot eyes make her look even crazier than before. Well, you probably look similar – hangover and a long ride pretty much killed your will to live.

“Hello, cocksuckers,” Sunset growls. “Are you more retarded than I thought?”

“Shut up, Sunset,” you reply. “You still need us because sarininining the school yourself is not easy, so don’t even start yelling at us.”

“You’re lucky I got the money for–”

“– getting my hearse back,” Wallflower says. “Seriously, I need it or else dad will start asking questions.”

“Who the fuck cares?” Sunset rolls her eyes. “We buy the BMP and then we gas the school, simple as that. After it’s over, you won’t have to worry about your dad anymore.”

“Well, but if he starts asking questions, I may tell him about sarinininining the school.” Wallflower shrugs. “Accidents happen. Also, don’t you have unlimited access to horse gold or something?”

“I can’t go back to Equestria!” Sunset exclaims. “They’re just too positive! I may start thinking that sarininininininining the school is retarded and how will I carry out my revenge then?”

“You won’t?” you ask.

“Exactly,” Sunset replies. “And then Wallflower will have to live with the fact that we yeeted Fluttershy out of this mortal coil. Do you want this?”

“Yeah, then I’d have to yeet myself.” Wallflower sighs. “And I don’t want to do this without a purpose.”

Great. You married a pine cone-brained suicidal idiot. Just a few days ago she told you that she’d die for you, but now you realise that she’d die for half a room-temperature ice-cream sandwich. Or even if there was no sandwich.

You really don’t want to let that happen. After all, you scored with only three girls in your life and Fluttershy is dead, Wallflower wants to die, and the very thought of Moondancer makes you wanna die.

So yeah, you have to somehow save your wife from death. You’re a fucking Anakin Skywalker now and you’d really rather eat something spicy, play computer games, and catch up with Vignette Valencia’s streams on spasm.tv. She can’t play Tirek’s Revenge for shit, but she does so in a bikini, so no one really cares, everyone pays her a lot of bits, and her JustWindmills account is apparently another goldmine…

Suddenly, you feel a bit of inspiration. Even more than a bit, honestly. It’s like that one thought that makes you run around the town naked, yelling, “Eureka!”. It’s like an apple landing on Isaac Newton’s head. Like Oppenheimer looking at the mushroom cloud.

“Girls,” you say. “What is your opinion on kidnapping?”

“Don’t wake him up?” Wallflower asks. Seriously, you didn’t put a bun in her oven yet and she already started with dad jokes.

You roll your eyes. “I mean, for ransom.”

“Compared with sarinininininininininining, that’s almost socially acceptable,” Sunset says. “I mean, if they pay the ransom we’re not gonna gas them, right? That’s usually how it works.”

“Exactly,” you say. For once, Sunset talks sense. Not a lot, but the bar is already very low. “I have a great idea…”

E

“Hello, my dear subscribers. Today, we’re going to take a look at dresses from Rarity’s new– thanks for the bits. Be sure to subscribe for a daily does of #AwesomeContent. So, as I said–”

Sunset looks over at your phone. “People pay to watch this shit?”

“Yes,” you reply. “And that’s why we’re here today.”

In this case, “here” means “in a van parked right in front of Vignette’s house”. You’re wearing your tyvek suits, but this time you have rubber masks depicting various presidents. You’re also armed to the teeth; Sunset and Wallflower couldn’t agree whether to get some AKs or AR-15, so you called your new friend the rabbi, and he sent you a pair of UZIs and a nice IWI Tavor complete with a box of 5.56×45mm NATO.

Of course you kept the Tavor to yourself. Wallflower took both UZIs, as Sunset got a diamond-studded Beretta somewhere.

“Did you rob a pimp?” you ask, when she produces it.

“Well, the pimp actually paid for your hearse.” Sunset drops an American Express Platinum on the dashboard of the van. The name says DIAMOND TIARA.

"Where'd you get this?" Wallflower asks.

Sunset smirks. "She doesn't need it where she is."

"Where is she?" You ask cautiously.

"In the hospital, getting the baseball bat removed from her spleen."

You shrug. “Couldn’t have happened to a meaner bitch. Didn’t she have enough to pay for the BMP too?”

“She did, but Filthy Rich already blocked it,” Sunset replies. “Wallflower, do you want this card? You can use it to make cocaine lines or something.”

Wallflower winces. “I don’t even like cocaine. Also, something’s not right.”

“What do you mean?” Sunset asks.

“Look.” Wallflower points at another pedo van that’s just parking in front of your own vehicle. Well, calling it a pedo van is a bit of an understatement. Your own van indeed looks like one – it’s rusty and battered and it only needs someone to write “free candy” on the side. The one that just stopped in front of you is brand new and if it indeed belongs to some diddler, then they’re definitely richer than you. Maybe Michael Jackson had a few of those on standby.

“Is it the police?” you ask.

“Worse,” Sunset replies, eyeing the van. It has Fluttershy’s face on the side, captioned with “have you seen me? Call 0-555-DARLING”. That’s the stuff of nightmares.

You look at the other van closer and see the most unlikely trio getting out of it. Rarity, Zephyr Breeze, and Angel Bunny? Now that’s weird. Not as weird as you, Wallflower, and Sunset, but still. Also, it looks like the confrontation is imminent.

“Do you think we’ll find Fluttershy here?” Zephyr asks.

“No, darling,” Rarity replies, grabbing some boxes from the back of the van. “I need to deliver my dresses to Vignette Valencia. Then we’ll get back to the store and hope Angel sniffs some traces of your sister.”

“It’s a rabbit, not a dog.” Zephyr sighs.

“But a very intelligent one,” Rarity replies. “If he doesn’t find Fluttershy, no one will.”

Well, one thing is sure: the rabbit must die.

Wallflower clicks the safety of her uzis and puts on a black trench coat over her tyvek suit. “I’ll be right back,” she says, getting out of the van.

Fuck, what is she gonna do? You grab the Tavor while Sunset gets a pipe bomb from under her seat. Great, does she just keep it there? A large enough bump and you’ll all explode.

Wallflower walks to Rarity and Zephyr. “Hello,” she says. “What are you doing here?”

Rarity furrows her eyebrows. “Wait, aren’t you that little Sunset’s friend?” she asks. “Sunflower or something like that?”

“What did you call me?” she asks in a tone suggesting that underneath the coat she’s armed to the teeth and one more mistake will end with getting pumped full of lead.

“Right, I’m sorry, darling,” Rarity says. “It’s Cauliflower, right?”

“Really?” Zephyr asks. “I always thought it was ‘Deflower’.”

Wallflower sighs. “Yeah, let’s go with that. In fact, I have some news about Fluttershy.”

“Really?” Zephyr asks. “Where’s she?”

You can see Wallflower’s smirk in the faint light of the moon. “Oh, you can see her soon…” With these words, she pulls out her uzis and fires a short burst at Zephyr. It throws him at the van, his mouth open and his eyes wide. Wallflower fires another burst from the second uzi and he drops on the ground, leaving bloody marks on the van.

Rarity takes a few steps back, her face more pale than usual. “Cornflower, wait!” she cries. “You don’t have to–”

“IT’S ‘WALLFLOWER’, YOU POSH FUCKING BITCH!” Wallflower screams, firing both uzis at Rarity. You expect the bullets to rip her apart and spread her guts across the street, but somehow, this doesn’t happen. A shiny shield flashes in front of Rarity, stopping the bullets dead in their tracks. What is this? A fucking Matrix or what?

“Her geode!” Sunset shouts, explaining absolutely nothing. “Anon, fire!”

You shoot the Tavor at Rarity, but she conjures another shield. Bullets ricochet off of it and you’re afraid they’ll hit Wallflower. Angel runs away; you hope that one of the stray bullets turns him into a bloody pulp, but he somehow avoids them all. Sunset rolls her eyes, arming the pipe bomb and throwing it under Rarity’s feet.

“Fire in the hole!” she shouts.

Rarity’s eyes widen. Zephyr regains consciousness for a brief moment and throws himself on the bomb, right before the flash of the explosion shakes the van, blinding you for a moment.

When you’re able to see again, the fight is over. Zephyr is nowhere to be seen, or rather he’s everywhere. Wallflower gets up from the pavement, cursing and complaining about being deaf. All the dogs in the neighborhood are barking and you can hear a car alarm going off.

Somehow, Rarity is still alive. She’s screaming, covering her face. Her clothes are charred and her hair is no longer as divine as usual. Still, it’s not bad compared to her legs, which turned into a bloody, charred mess with bits of bone sticking out in some places. The bits of shrapnel in her ass must feel worse than hemorrhoids. You reload the rifle to blow her brains out and put her out of misery, but Sunset shakes her head.

“We have no time for that,” she says. “We just turned this suburb into a fucking warzone!”

Wallflower staggers to the van. “Did Vignette notice something?”

You look at the phone, tuning in to Vignette’s stream.

“Kids and their fireworks,” she says. “Do they think it's the fourth of July?” She shrugs. “Yes, chat, fifth of November for all the folks on the other side of the pond. No, chat, it’s not gunshots. Do I look like I live in Atlanta?”

“Either she’s a moron or the show must go on,” you reply. “We’d better kidnap her quickly. I don’t know if you realise that soon this place will be swarmed by paramedics, police, army, SWAT teams, and the neighborhood guard.”

“Right.” Wallflower drops her trench coat and puts on the mask. You and Sunset do the same and soon you look like Dubya, Tricky Dick, and Agent Orange who decided to don tyvek suits and take a stroll across the warzone. You’re still watching Vignette’s stream. She’s complaining about Rarity’s getting late. She doesn’t know that Rarity won’t get anywhere anytime soon, but that’s not really your problem.

Sunset doesn’t bother with knocking. She just kicks the door open.

“Hey, chat,” Vignette says, “did one of you send a SWAT team to my house again? I already told you that this is–” She’s interrupted when you kick open the door to her room. She turns to you, raising her eyebrows. “#WhatTheFuck?”

“Turn this off!” Sunset yanks the microphone cord out of Vignette’s computer. You notice the chat filling with messages.

For some reason, all those morons think you’re a part of the show. But then, many of them pay to watch this, so they aren’t very bright to begin with.

“No, seriously, what’s going on?” Vignette asks. “I expected Rarity or a SWAT team, not a bunch of, uhh…”

“No one can hear you, you can say whatever you want and not get banned,” you say. “Though we already murdered two people and scared off a rabbit today, so this should be the least of your problems.”

“A bunch of autistic virgin motherfuckers dressed like faggots!” Vignette exclaims.

“Hey!” Wallflower exclaims, aiming one of the uzis at Vignette. “We’re not virgins.”

“And soon you won’t be one either, honey, unless you cooperate.” Sunset leans closer to Vignette, making a move as if she wanted to grab her private parts. Her mask is already creepy, but you’re pretty sure her expression underneath it is even creepier.

“#BitchPlease.” Vignette rolls her eyes. “Also, finally I can say ‘faggot’ on stream and no one cares! I can even go with–” She’s rudely interrupted when Sunset punches her in the face; she falls on her desk, dropping the camera. “#CallThePolice,” she whispers, spitting some blood and at least two broken teeth.

Sunset looks at her curiously, like an entomologist who just discovered an exceptionally ugly species of a bug. “Did she go nuts from the trauma?” she asks.

“Probably,” you reply. “Like, how can you be a virgin and a motherfucker at the same time?” You shrug. “Let’s get her out of here before someone notices.”

Suddenly, an explosion breaks all the windows in Vignette’s room. Apparently Rarity’s van caught fire and blew up; good thing you moved yours closer to Vignette’s house.

Wallflower pokes Vignette with the barrel of an uzi. “Get up.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fair warning,” you say. “She just shot a guy because he got her name wrong.” You grab Vignette and drag her out of her room, kicking and screaming. She tries to scratch you, so while normally you wouldn’t hit a girl, this time you make an exception and hit her in the solar plexus with the butt of your Tavor. This makes carrying her downstairs a bit easier.

There are a few neighbors standing in front of their houses, but no one really notices you when you’re dragging Vignette to the van. The fact that the remains of Rarity’s van are still burning, there's a dead body in multiple pieces scattered all over the street, and several people are trying to stop Rarity from bleeding out while two girls are fighting over the contents of her purse somehow makes you the least interesting part of the renaissance painting called “A Night at the Suburb”.

After a brief struggle, ended by Wallflower smacking Vignette’s head against the side of the van, you manage to put her inside and drive off before the paramedics arrive at the scene.

Well, time to make some money.

***

A few days later it seems that no one cares about the disappearance of the biggest social media star of the last six months.

Well, there are more important things on the news. Fluttershy still hasn’t been found, her brother is very dead, and Rarity is apparently in a coma after having both of her legs amputated. Thoughts and prayers were sent around; Trixie got arrested for hate crime after trying to blow up a used car dealership with a firework. She was freed the next day after the psychiatric evaluation revealed that she was a complete and utter moron with a deeply-rooted prejudice against wheels.

Meanwhile, Vignette made sure you wouldn’t forget about her for a while.

For starters, she refused to pay the ransom, laughing in your masked faces when you threatened her with death, torture, and sodomizing her with a rusty lead pipe. Worse, she pointed out that #LeadDoesntRust. Yes, complete with a hashtag.

Pissed off by the lack of results, Sunset whipped out the largest, scariest-looking strap-on she could find and threatened to rape Vignette’s brains out of her.

As it turns out, it’s really hard to rape someone who, seeing the fifteen inches of barbed, mean-looking rubber dong, laughs into the face and dick of danger, rips her dress off and consents. In the end, you and Wallflower just ended up watching them fuck for two hours and then you decided to also engage in some filthy married sex.

In the end, you achieved nothing. You’re still not getting paid, Vignette is still imprisoned in Wallflower’s basement, and Wallflower’s ass hurts after she let you finish there.

Also, Vignette starts making demands. She was supposed to be the one paying, but so far she cost you more than she contributed.

“I want to take a shower!” she exclaims. You locked her in a part of Wallflower’s basement with just an old mattress, a chair, a desk, and Wallflower’s first computer, which still kinda works, but it has no internet connection and runs on Windows 95. Still, you can hear her whining almost everywhere in the house. “Also, I need tampons and fresh underwear. My vagina is bleeding worse than a mongoloid kid with a katana.”

You roll your eyes. “You can say whatever you want, but it doesn’t mean you should.”

Somehow, it’s mostly you who keeps watch over your prisoner. Sunset claims that kidnapping Vignette was your idea and as such it was completely retarded. Vignette doesn’t want to pay, her spasm.tv followers apparently don’t want her back and she doesn’t even have rich parents who’d pay the ransom. Like, you looked it up and apparently when she was five, her parents tried to sell her to a circus for a pack of fags. Now they’re dead anyway – who’d have thought that smoking and sniffing glue doesn’t end well.

Eventually, Wallflower gets Vignette some fresh panties and tampons. However, she doesn’t agree for a shower.

“We could let her use the bathtub,” you say. “Then we’d sell the bathwater and we’d be good.”

Wallflower rolls her eyes. “I’d rather get sarin and give her a proper German shower.”

Sunset furrows her eyebrows. “Is German shower the same thing as Dutch oven?”

Wallflower shrugs. “Well, gas is involved in both.”

Vignette doesn’t give up. She bangs at the water pipes in the middle of the night and comes up with another demand.

“What is it again?” you shout through the door.

“It’s the bucket,” Vignette replies. “I can pee in it just fine, but I can’t bring myself to shit in it.”

You’re actually fine with it. Mainly because it’s you who actually cleans the bucket.

“We’ll definitely do something about that,” Wallflower tells her.

Given the state of the bucket on the next day, “something” involved spiking Vignette’s food with laxatives. Not the best idea – she got slightly dehydrated and spent most of the day lying on the mattress and trying not to die or shit herself. Also, she only eats some organic vegan stuff; the people at the grocery store are already giving you weird looks.

On the third day, you realise it’s not just dehydration. She just kind of withers in the basement, even though she has food, water, and everything she needs. Despite that, she just wanders around the room, crying or laughing; occasionally she talks to herself in several different voices. Maybe it's the lack of sunlight?

“I’m gonna go crazy!” Vignette yells, banging her fists against the water pipes. “You took my phone away!”

“What did you think?” you ask. You expected the damn thing to ring all the time, but she didn’t get a single message over the last three days. “You’d call the police if we gave it to you.”

“Maybe,” she says. “But the thing is, I don’t know what happens on the internet! Do you know how many things I missed?”

“Not much,” you reply. “They’re gathering money for Rarity’s new legs. Also, there’s that thing in Egypt–”

Vignette groans. “I’d give everything to read about that!”

“You can just pay the ransom and we’ll set you free,” you say innocently.

There’s a brief pause. “Do you accept dogecoin?”

“Bad news,” Sunset says, looking at the computer screen. “Apparently one of the idiots who watc h her called the police. Seems the FBI blocked her accounts.”

“So what do we do with her?” Wallflower asks. “Technically, she paid. It’s not her fault we can’t do shit with her money.”

“Dogecoin plummets anyway,” you say. “Also, is it a kidnapping or an exercise in philosophy? We have no money either way. She has to get us cash or we’re gonna be very angry.”

“Do we even plan to let her out?” Sunset asks. “We wear masks around her, but she may have seen our faces. Also, she may know where we keep her. But then, I’d rather not kill her before she pays.”

“What if she doesn’t have anything more?” Wallflower asks.

“She’s an internet thot who sells her bathwater to people,” you reply. “She probably has some offshore account in the Bahamas or something.”

“Great, we could tell mom and dad to pick it up,” Wallflower says. “I’ll just call them.”

Speaking of, Wallflower already told her parents that you’re married. It was a surprise to you as you still believed that they were buried in the compost heap. Instead, yesterday you got a video call from a thin guy in a black shirt and a cowboy hat, sporting an impressive amount of skull-shaped rings on his fingers, who was chilling on some beach. He told you that you look okay and that he’ll have to have a drink with you once he and his wife are back home, and he may even take you on a hunting trip, but if you ever hurt his daughter, he’ll shoot you and hang your head on the wall as a trophy.

You just didn’t have the heart to tell him that the only person who wants to hurt Wallflower is Wallflower herself.

“Wait,” Sunset says. “First Anon has to ask her if she has an account in the Bahamas. It’d be pretty awkward if it was Turks and Caicos or some other place.”

“Why me?” you ask.

“Because you can beat the crap out of her if she refuses,” Sunset replies. “With us, she’d have a chance to win.”

Yeah, right. Sunset can probably bench press more than her weight. Wally would probably somehow kill herself with a barbell, even without trying, but Sunset is way stronger.

“You’re just lazy, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Sunset says. “Also, I lost my gun somewhere.”

You sigh and go to the basement. You expect to find Vignette either curled up on the mattress and sobbing, or utterly bored, waiting for you to set her free. Well, once or twice you walked in on her trying to take a shit, but that’s not something you’d want to remember.

When you open the door of the room you keep her in, she’s sitting on the desk with Wallflower’s old computer. She hops off of it when you enter, smiling at you.

“Are you satisfied with the price?” she asks. “Can I go home?”

“Well, there’s a problem,” you reply. “Seems that your account is blocked.”

“Well, of course it is.” She smiles in a seductive way. “Do you think I’m stupid or what? Why would I even pay you?”

You roll your eyes. “We’re keeping you in the basement and my friend is getting desperate. She’s kinda nuts, so you’d better watch out. She’s armed and dangerous.”

“Armed, you say?” Suddenly, Vignette pulls out a gun on you. You immediately recognise the diamond-studded Beretta. “Seems she lost something.”

“Put that down!” you shout, hoping that the girls can hear you. You’d be really happy if Wallflower ran down here, shooting at everything with her uzis.

Well, she’d most likely hit you as well, but that’s still better than getting shot by Vignette.

“No way.” Vignette smirks. “Finally I’m the one with a gun, faggot, and now I’m going home, whether you want it or not. And then I’ll call the police.”

You walk closer to her. “You don’t even know how to use this.”

You’re bluffing. She even remembered to switch off the safety.

“I had three stalkers and managed to emasculate one of them with one shot.” She aims at your nuts. “Do you want to find out how good I am?”

“You won’t shoot,” you reply. Famous last words.

“I just may,” Vignette replies. “You’re boring as fuck.”

With these words, she pulls the trigger. You dodge, waiting to hear trumpets, see angels, and meet St. Peter telling you to get the fuck out to hell for hanging out with murderers and psychopaths for so long that you’re one yourself.

Expect the gun doesn’t fire. You vaguely remember that Wallflower took the whole stash of 9x19mm Parabellum for her uzis, leaving Sunset with the ammo she refilled herself. She has a lot of enthusiasm when it comes to this, but results so far are less than stellar.

“What the hell?” Vignette looks at the gun and then stares down the barrel, furrowing her eyebrows.

Suddenly, the gun goes off, turning her right eye into a bloody mess. Judging by the red and grayish mass that hits the wall behind her and slowly flows down, the back of her head is not in a great shape right now. She recoils, resting herself against the desk, piss flowing down her legs. Her hands twitch as she tries to prop herself, but without success; she drops on the desk, her hand landing on the keyboard and pressing the “F” key as her moves become more erratic and finally stop.

Your boner, however, comes to life. Vignette’s brain is all over the place, but unfortunately, your dick doesn’t seem to mind, only noticing the fact that she’s lying on the desk, her ass in a miniskirt facing you. You unzip your pants and lift Vignette’s skirt.

Her panties are soaking in piss, but at least Wallflower’s shenanigans with laxatives saved her the humiliation of shitting herself. You yank them down and jam your dick in her still-warm pussy, trying not to think what you’re doing. Still, you can’t help but notice how tight it is; maybe the bullet passing through her brain stem caused some muscle spasm? You’d have to research that, but right now you’d rather fondle Vignette’s tits one last time before you inevitably throw her in the compost heap. A thought of blowjob passes through your head, but you dismiss it; the shockwave ruined the roof of her mouth, breaking some of her teeth in the process.

At least it doesn’t last long, for once. After three thrusts, each of them causing a new stream of blood to erupt from Vignette’s mangled skull, you cum all over her ass, pussy, and thighs, your seed mixing with her piss. Given her aversion to the bucket, no wonder she’s been holding it for so long.

Seems you finished right on time, as you can already hear steps on the stairs. Also, it’s not like Vignette has a problem with that; she has other things on her mind than worrying about your performance. You quickly pull her panties up and put your dick back in your own pants.

Sunset and Wallflower burst in, each of them armed with an uzi. You’re currently thanking all the gods for cumming so quickly – the situation is awkward enough without them walking in on you literally fucking the brains out of Vignette.

“Are you crazy, Anon?” Sunset asks. “Now we won’t get any money from her!”

“Hold on,” you say. “For starters, she shot herself by accident. Which wouldn’t happen if some imbecile didn’t just lose a fucking diamond-studded Beretta!” You point at the gun lying next to Vignette. “I’m alive only because Wallflower absolutely sucks at making ammo!”

“What?” Sunset raises her eyebrows. “How did it get here?”

“I don’t know, I’m not an idiot who wants to gas the school because a bunch of kids framed her,” you reply.

You’d rather not add that you’re doing it without any particular reason.

“Whatever,” Wallflower says. “We have to clean this before someone gets curious about where she is. Sunset is scrubbing the brain off the walls.”

“Why me?” Sunset asks.

“It was your gun and Anon and I already have experience in disposing of the bodies.” Wallflower walks to Vignette and slaps her butt. “At least we don’t have to strip her naked. All natural fabric.”

“The last time you went to hide the body, you lost everything in some casino.” Sunset sighs. “What if this happens again?”

“Oh, I’m sure this won’t happen…” Wallflower says, furrowing her eyebrows.

***

As you’re driving to the garden, Wallflower is oddly silent. It’s getting unnerving, especially since you’re again driving the hearse and she has her uzis with her. Maybe she’s on her period? After all, she gunned down Zephyr Breeze rather unceremoniously.

If you get pulled over, she’ll most likely shoot a cop. Now that’d be hard to explain.

Vignette is also quiet, though in her case it’s understandable. You put the bigger parts of her skull in the plastic bag with her, but it still doesn’t change the fact that it basically exploded. Even her other eye got pushed out by the pressure, though you didn’t quite notice it at first when you were fucking her.

Suddenly, you shudder as a terrible realisation strikes you. “Wallflower?” you say.

“Yes?” Her tone suggests that you don’t want to continue this conversation, at least as long as she’s armed and you’re driving a hearse with a very dead corpse of a yellow-skinned girl. Again.

“Nothing,” you reply. “Or at least not much.”

“I’d say a lot,” she says, idly clicking the safety of the uzi on and off.

“Be careful with that.” You look at the uzi. “You know that if by some, uhh… unfortunate accident you’d shoot me, we’d have an accident. And it’s an old car without airbags. You could die or become a vegetable, and even if you’d be fine, there’s a bagged corpse of a kidnapped social media influencer in the back. No lawyer would be able to–”

“Shut up, Anon,” Wallflower growls.

You obey and promptly shut up. You hope she’ll say something before peppering you with bullets, but she just sits in silence for the next ten minutes. Seriously, at this point death would be preferable.

“Wally?” you say, pulling over by the garden. “Is everything alright?”

“You should know best,” she replies.

“I suspect I know,” you say, “except I’d rather discuss it when you’re not pointing the guns at me. Why did you even take them? It’s not like Vignette is gonna get up and attack us.”

“If she did, you’d have a lot of explaining to do.” Wallflower gives you a nasty look. “The sooner we bury her, the better. I guess you’d rather not look at her, either.”

You push the brakes way harder than you’d want. “Okay, I fucked her! But I really couldn’t help it! She just shot herself and you know how I react when someone dies next to me?”

“My throat still hurts after the last time, yeah.” Wallflower nods. “Also, Anon, you’re the only person in the world who thinks the fact that she was dead when you fucked her makes things better.”

Well, she has a point.

“I thought you were a cheating son of a bitch, but now I see you’re also a sick fuck.” She sniffs. “How am I supposed to fuck with you if I know that you put your dick in her dead cunt? At least it won’t take much more.” She lowers her head. “Soon I’ll yeet the whole school and then myself. Maybe you’ll even fuck my body then, if there are no nicer ones around.”

“I’d choose your body over any other,” you say, hoping that it sounds romantic. You’d hug her, but she’s still armed and the gun may go off even by accident. “Vignette was a mistake. Let’s bury her and move on.”

“Until you find another popular whore?” Wallflower asks.

“She was popular and now she’s dead,” you reply. “What is popularity? No one even cared about her disappearance and now she’ll lie anonymously in a compost heap, with Fluttershy as the only company.”

“Not quite,” Wallflower says. “Remember Cozy Glow?”

“No,” you reply.

“No one does.” Wallflower smirks. “Even after I broke every bone in her arms and legs into tiny pieces, the bitch begged me to spare her life. I buried her alive and now no one at school even remembers her name.” She clicks the safety of her uzi. “So be careful, Anon.”

“I will,” you reply. “Why did you kill her?”

“She fucked my boyfriend.”

“Why didn’t you kill him?” you ask before realising that maybe it’s better not to give him ideas.

“Well, he’s in jail, so it was a bit hard.” Wallflower shrugs.

“In jail? For what?”

“Fucking a seventh grader, obviously.” Wallflower sighs.

You suddenly start rethinking your life choices. You basically married a psychopath mostly because she had a cute face and nice tits, but then you cheated on her with a corpse. She’s not likely to kill Vignette again, but she may still kill you. What does that make you?

A moron with the life expectancy of a roofied teen girl at a furry convention, that’s what.

Trying not to think about it, you say to Wallflower, “Time to get Vignette out.”

“Can I shit on her face before we bury her?” Wallflower asks.

You’re not in a mood for another argument. “Yes.”

***

“Cheer up,” you say. You just got back in the car and you’re driving home, but Wallflower just sits in silence. “This could happen to anyone.”

“This never happened to me before,” she replies.

“Maybe it’s the circumstances.” You shrug. “Uhh… Performance anxiety or something like that.”

“What performance?” She sighs and shakes her head. “I even told you not to look and still I couldn’t do it.”

Right. Despite many attempts, Wallflower didn’t manage to shit on what remained from Vignette’s face. She did pee in her skull, at least, but then you just buried Vignette in the compost heap with that last shred of dignity intact.

Not that you were better. At some point you offered to pound her in the butt to force things out, but since you already busted a nut in Vignette today, probably giving her some sort of post-mortem babies, you couldn’t quite get it up, even when Wallflower showed you her tits. Seriously, your dick has a really fucked up taste.

“Let’s forget about it,” you say. “And think what we tell Sunset when she realises that we won’t be getting the BMP. Unless we find another rich girl we can kidnap.”

“Nah, too many problems with this,” Wallflower says. “Can’t we just get the van? It’s far less suspicious.”

“It’s still suspicious,” you reply. “We literally don’t have any non-suspicious vehicle.”

“We can paint some logo on the van.” She shrugs. “Maybe a pest control company. Or we just ram the gates and–”

“– get shot by everyone, including the school guards and Applejack?” You sigh. Wallflower is your precious little evergreen darling, but she can be almost suicidally stupid, sometimes.

Well, to think about it, this can be said about pretty much every girl you’ve ever been with. When you think about it, you realise that it just got worse: Fluttershy is dead, Wallflower wants to die, Moondancer makes you want to die, and Vignette was already dead when you fucked her. On the other hand, she was pretty rude and called you a faggot, so you kinda proved her wrong. Not that she could be there to see it, so to speak.

Yeah, as a wannabe mass murderer and necrophiliac rapist, you’re not the one to point out someone’s raging homophobia, but still, gotta have at least some semblance of standards. Else we’d become animals and start shooting people in the streets…

Wait, the girl next to you just recently stuffed a guy with lead, so you’re already there. Also, you think that with your luck when it comes to women, being gay becomes a viable alternative.

You start to wonder if Flash Sentry is free. He’s a chill guy, despite that one weird thing when you two got drunk and it turned out he had a full closet of pretty dresses in suspiciously big size.

You looked very nice in that pink one.

“Anon, you nearly ran over a granny,” Wallflower says. “What the hell are you thinking about?”

“What the fuck is a granny doing in the street in the middle of the night?” you ask.

Wallflower shrugs. “Trying to get ran over, I guess.”

Yeah, that could be a thing.

“I can kinda understand her.”

“You only think so,” you reply. “Guess she wouldn’t want to be ran over by two retards in a hearse.”

“Yeah, I’d aim for a better car.”

You just shake your head. Wallflower is simply impossible.

T

Author's Note

This chapter is officially too hot for Offprint (it's interesting that the previous three weren't).

T

The Day of the Yeet has come.

After all, you painted the logo of some pest control company on the van and put some bumper stickers on it, hiding some of the damage from a recent explosion. You put the tanks full of sarin in the back. For this occasion, Wallflower got new duct tape for your tyvek suits – this time with Sonic the Hedgehog and Kermit the Frog. Where does she even get those? She also used it to fix the magazines of your Tavor together, jungle style.

Her obsession with cartoons shows in other ways as well. Sunset, as usual, is unashamedly naked under her tyvek suit, aside from tape covering her nipples. Wallflower, on the other hand, settled for a pull-up diaper with Mickey Mouse. You really have questions, but you’re not sure if you’d want the answers, especially since your dick really wants to rub against the diaper while she’s wearing it and then cum in it.

“I already cleansed myself with laxatives,” Wallflower says. “So when I die, I won’t shit myself like Fluttershy. And when they find my body, it won’t be immediately obvious that I peed.”

“No diapers, we die like men,” Sunset says, rolling her eyes. “Right, Anon?”

You only nod. While you generally prefer Wallflower to be alive, your dick doesn’t seem to notice the difference. Also, it’s getting really obvious since you’re wearing a t-shirt and boxers.

“Ready for the action, huh?” Sunset pokes your dick. “Almost like that one time the guys who thought I was Anon-a-Miss gangbanged me in the toilet while I mocked their tiny penises.”

“This never happened,” Wallflower says.

“But it could.” Sunset shrugs. “Can I borrow him? Last occasion to fuck before we take everyone for a ride to hell.”

“Go fuck yourself, he’s mine,” Wallflower replies.

“Yeah, guess I’ll do that.” Sunset looks into her bag, grabs a diamond-studded Beretta, looks at its barrel and sighs. Then she looks into the bag again and produces a Hitachi Magic Wand. “You two can fuck. Don’t mind me.”

Well, what else can you do? You do get to cum in Wallflower’s diaper, at least, hoping that it’ll stop you from getting a boner from seeing everyone die while shitting themselves. It’d make running kinda difficult, after all.

Sunset looks kinda satisfied by your show. Well, she also thoroughly fucked herself with the Magic Wand, so it’s no wonder she’s happy. She also smeared her whole body in lube, possibly to make it easier to get into the suit. Or maybe she’s just fucking nuts. But then, it’s time to don tyveks and do your job.

Which in your case involves driving the van to school, all while suited up, wearing goggles and masks, not to mention the tanks full of sarin in the back. If you get pulled over, it’s gonna get weird. Like, what would come first? Cops shooting you for your suspicious outfit or cops getting a face full of sarin because Sunset Shimmer has no chill?

Would the cop have time to shoot you before he was too busy shitting his pants full of fascism and donuts?

You never find that out as you drive to school without any problems. Even the guards let you in as for once this van looks like it belongs to a legit company. Who’d say that it’s full of sarin and explosives?

You don’t have nukes, though. You took uranium from Sunset and told her that you couldn’t make anything out of it, but you actually did manage to create something that should produce the yield of a few kilotons of TNT if it ever explodes. You keep it safely under Sunset’s bed; it’s not like she ever looks there.

You park the van in the faculty’s parking lot. As if on cue, Vice-Principal Luna runs to it.

“Who are you?” she asks. “What are you doing here?”

“Pest control,” you reply, while Wallflower puts the tanks with sarin on her back. “I’ve heard you had cockroaches here.”

“I’d know about it,” Luna replies. “I’m the Vice-Principal.”

“Well, cockroaches are good at hiding,” Sunset says. “Even the ones the size of kids. They actually masquerade as humans.”

“Okay.” Luna furrows her eyebrows. “I know it’s you, Sunset Shimmer. What were you doing for the last month? You missed all the lessons.”

“I was doing some chemistry project,” Sunset replies, grabbing the nozzle and spraying sarin on Luna, who starts coughing.

“Hey, now you’re taking credit for my sarin,” you say, when Luna drops to her knees, throwing up.

“Shut up.” Sunset grabs the bag full of explosives and the tanks with sarin. “Let’s get to the building before someone notices there’s something wrong with her.”

“Right.” You and Wallflower grab your tanks as well; you also take the Tavor in case someone tries to overpower you. Before leaving, you arm the bomb in the van; you’re not planning to use it as a getaway vehicle, so it may as well blow up with everything else.

It’s the recess and the halls are crowded when you storm inside, firing into the ceiling. At first the students don’t notice you, too busy talking or looking at their phones. Bunch of idiots, to be honest; they always make you feel like a boomer, just wasting all the time on social media.

It’s much funnier wasting time on watching porn.

You lower the rifle and shoot Pixel Pizazz in the head, mainly because she’s standing right next to you. The bits of her brain hit Photo Finish, who lowers her glasses and stares at you in pure horror. Next to her, Violet Blurr looks at Pixel’s body and throws up. Off to a great start.

“Wer sind sie?!” Photo Finish yells. “Nicht schiessen!”

Wallflower aims the nozzle of her sarin tank at Photo Finish and sprays her with sarin. “Just like home, right, bitch?”

Photo coughs, staggering, while Wallflower takes the time to gas Violet Blurr as well. “Das ist nicht Zyklon, Dummkopf,” she whispers, gasping for air. The mask blocks the smell, but you can see the front of her pants getting wet as she drops to her knees. Wallflower kicks her in the face, breaking her glasses and joins Sunset, who’s just spraying everyone who didn’t manage to run away.

You lock the school door and join them in the chase. Soon, the air is permeated with sarin, so even those who didn’t get a direct hit, soon drop on the floor. Valhallen tries to tackle Wallflower, but she just shoots him with her uzi. It’s probably still better than sarin poisoning.

Suddenly, you almost trip over something. You look down and notice Vinyl, struggling to take a breath and trembling as shit pours out of her tights. She tries to catch your leg as you’re walking by.

You realise that she may be dying like this for the next ten minutes or so. Quite a painful death and you don’t even see Octavia around; in fact, no one is there to comfort the poor DJ, everyone is either dying or running for their life.

You set the gun to full auto and shoot at Vinyl, ripping her body apart. Torn innards spill to the floor along with a torrent of blood. She twitches one more time and dies with what seems like a small smile of relief on her face.

You’re gonna see this smile in your dreams forever.

You leave Vinyl’s body, pondering about the stupidity of some of the people from school. You’d get if they ran for the back door, but for some reason, a lot of them run upstairs. What are they gonna do, jump off the roof?

On a second thought, you have to admit that people dying left and right don’t exactly help with rational thinking.

You spot Flash Sentry standing by the window. It seems that Sunset and Wallflower missed him, but still, he may get contact buzz and there goes the most fabulous guy at school.

“Sentry!” you yell at him. To your horror, you realise that he’s wearing a dress. Great timing: to come out right on the day when everyone who could appreciate it is very distracted by their lungs shutting down.

Flash looks at you as you run to him, shooting at the window. The glass pane breaks, showering him in shards, but he seems fine. You run to him, stabbing him with your only atropine injector; it’s not like you’re gonna need it, with the suit and all. He looks at you unsurely, so you just shove him out of the window. It’s the second floor, so it shouldn’t be that bad, especially since, judging by the sound of the alarm going off, he landed on some car.

You look through the window – Flash is running away, limping across the parking lot. Apparently he lost one of his high heels.

Suddenly, you feel something ripping a hole in your tyvek suit. You tape it over and turn to see Applejack with a shotgun, aiming at you. You try to grab the rifle, but she just reloads and aims the shotgun at your head.

“Hold on, partner,” she says. “What do ya think y’all are doing? School shooting? Now on mah watch!” She smirks. “Don’t bring the gun to school, huh? Well, who’s laughing no–” Her voice turns into a horrible gurgle when her chest explodes into gore, blood, and cracked ribs. Some of it sprays on you; at least nothing gets in your mouth. She drops on the ground, revealing one of the school guards behind her. He’s barely standing, poisoned with sarin, but he still smiles, looking at Applejack’s body.

“I got one of them,” he says, the gun dropping out of his hand. He looks at his bodycam. “Got one of those terrorists! Tell my wife that I got one of them!”

You nod as the guard collapses to the floor, coughing. You walk to him and put the gun in his hand. The guy definitely deserved to go straight to Valhalla.

You catch up with Wallflower and Sunset and it seems that they weren’t wasting time. The whole floor is littered with corpses of both the students and the teachers. Looks like some guys decided to make the best of the situation and cum in Rainbow Dash. There’s like, five of them lying around her corpse; her legs are spread apart and her creampied vagina is on display, although she got her revenge. They all got sarin on their dicks and died in horrible pain which they totally deserved.

Disgusting savages, all of them. And you’re saying that as someone, who fucked a headless corpse of a social media thot.

Sunset walks out of the toilet. “Wanna know something funny?” she asks. “The rumors were true.”

“What rumors?” you ask.

“Trixie did have a penis.” Sunset chuckles. “I caught them when her bandmates were sucking her off.”

“Oh no,” Wallflower mutters, rushing to the toilet. You follow her, partially because you don’t want her to do something stupid and that ‘oh no’ didn’t sound right. Also, you’d really want to see the trick up Trixie’s sleeve, so to speak.

“Watch out,” Sunset says. “I put a bomb in one of the stalls.”

“Duly noted,” you mutter, entering the toilet.

Trixie is dead, there’s no doubt about that. She probably bled out before suffocating, as Sunset shot Lavender Lace in the back of the head when she was blowing Trixie off, shooting a part of her dick off. What remained is still bigger than your dick. How did she manage to hide it for so long?

Well, she was a magician, after all.

Lavender Lace’s brain is all over the place, its bits mixed with Trixie’s blood and cum. Your own dick twitches. Just great. From now on, you’ll have to deal with a raging boner in the middle of the pile of corpses.

You hear someone weeping. When you turn to look in that direction, you see that Fuchsia Blush is still alive. Her eyes are bloodshot and she clearly can’t breathe, her face slowly turning blue. She’s lying in the puddle of her vomit, shitting herself. Wallflower is standing above her, her hands trembling as she grabs her atropine injector.

“Anon, help me!” she screams. “I can’t get it out!”

You grab the injector and look at Wallflower, unsure what to do. She points at Fuchsia so, without thinking twice, you inject her with atropine. Fuchsia stops trembling, taking a deep breath, sucking some of her vomit back into her mouth.

“You okay?” Wallflower asks.

Fuchsia is pale, staring at the bodies of Trixie and Lavender with her eyes wide. “You fucking monsters!” she yells. “You… You killed them! What the fuck–”

“Fuchsia, it’s me,” Wallflower says. “Run away! This whole place will blow up soon!”

“R-run away?” Fuchsia asks. “After all this– Do you think I want to fucking live after seeing this?!”

“Please,” Wallflower replies. “There’s a broken window near the toilet, you should escape easily.”

“I can’t walk.” Fuchsia tries to get up, but suddenly she collapses, clutching to her chest. “Oh shit. No, not now...” She falls limply on the floor, her eyes open wide.

“Damn…” Wallflower’s voice trembles. “I forgot she had a heart condition.”

“Sarin didn’t help it,” you say, embracing Wallflower. “Did you know her?”

Wallflower sobs. “She was kinda my cousin.”

Right. Wallflower Blush, Fuchsia Blush. You realise that you’re a total imbecile. Guess asking Wallflower if she couldn’t just tell Fuchsia not to come to school would be in bad taste, given that her cousin just got a heart attack in front of her.

You leave the bathroom and check the nearest class. You still have some sarin in your tanks, but this one is empty, so you just plant a bomb in there and move on.

The next one, however, has four people hiding in there. Wallflower starts blindly shooting at them, killing two of them before she runs out of ammo. The other girl jumps out of the window, and the third one gets a nice dose of sarin from your tank. When you’re done, you realise that it’s no one else but Twilight Sparkle.

“Whoa,” she says. “You just caused a bad interdimensional paradox.”

Of all the things you could hear from someone who, due to your sarininining, is now a dead girl walking, this one is the most unexpected. “What do you mean?” you ask.

“Look.” Twilight points at the bodies on the floor. It’s Microchips and Pinkie Pie. Microchips took a few bullets to the chest, but Pinkie was nearly cut in half by a burst from an uzi. A lot of things that should be inside of her are now outside.

“Well, what’s paradoxical about that?” you ask.

Twilight chuckles. “This is Pinkie from Equestria. The one that escaped is the human Pinkie from our world.” She sighs. “Hope that she’s wise enough to run to Equestria and pretend she’s the pony one. I mean, what future does she have here?”

“Are you nuts?” Wallflower asks. “Maybe it’s sarin?”

“No, no,” Twilight replies, rubbing her eyes. “The first symptom is narrowing of the pupils, then the eyes start to hurt, which I’m experiencing right now. That’s an interesting feeling, you know?”

“Do you want us to shoot you?” you ask. “The next symptoms won’t be pretty.”

“No, it’s really interesting.” Twilight fixes her glasses and spits on the floor. “Salivation already started. I can feel acetylcholine flooding my synapses.” She wipes her eyes and nose. “Interesting feeling.”

You and Wallflower look at each other. Wallflower shrugs and looks back at Twilight.

“So, we have salivation, lacrimation…” Twilight takes a deep breath. “It’s getting really difficult to breathe.” She shudders and rests herself against the desk, clutching to her stomach. “Excuse me.” She throws up on the floor, wipes her mouth, and looks at the resulting puddle. “I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that.”

“Twilight, you’re about to die,” you say. “Could you be, like, less cheerful? It’s unnerving.”

“Why would I be less cheerful?” Twilight asks. “It’s pure science.” Suddenly, she farts loudly, blushing as she looks down and notices the stream of urine running down her legs. “I’m sorry. I think I just went to the toilet in my panties. It’s to be expected, but not a great feeling nevertheless.” She turns her back to you and lifts her skirt. “Can you help me take those off? It’ll make things much more convenient.”

That’s enough for your dick. You cum in your boxers hard; some of it probably landed on your suit. Wallflower gives you a mean look, shakes her head, and grabs Twilight.

“No shitting on the floor,” she says. “Shit your panties and die like a man.”

“Do you think men statistically shit their panties more than women?” Twilight’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I’d have to–” She tries to take a breath. Wallflower moves back right in time before she throws up again, this time losing balance and falling face-first into the puddle.

You turn her on her back. Twilight twitches, trying to take a breath, but to no success. At least she stopped talking. Soon, she also stops breathing, shits herself one more time, and finally lies limply on the floor.

Wallflower turns to you. “What is your problem, Anon?”

“I’ve been planning to see a doctor about that,” you reply. “Let’s go back to Sunset before she kills someone she shouldn’t.”

“Whom?” Wallflower asks. “There are no people who shouldn’t be killed here. We just murdered Twilight Sparkle and she’s probably pissing off the Grim Reaper right now with taking notes about afterlife for science. Everybody gets a ride to hell.”

“You tried to save Fuchsia, though,” you say.

Wallflower shrugs. “Family ties. Besides, I’ll join her soon.” She plants a bomb next to Twilight’s body. “Let’s go.”

You walk out of the classroom and navigate through a narrow corridor filled with dead bodies and sarin. It looks like Diamond Tiara is gonna be happy – not only she missed the massacre due to being in the hospital after Sunset fucked her up, but also her mother chose this fateful day to talk about her homework to Principal Celestia. You know that because in her death throes, she wrote “I want to talk to the Principal” on the wall, using her own shit.

You have the most absurd thought. What is Mrs. Rich's first name? You hope it's Karen, but you don't care enough to dig through the shit to find her driver's license.

Suddenly, you see something moving in the cloud of sarin. Wallflower raises one of her uzis and fires a short burst, even though anything walking there should be dead or dying. Well, unless it’s Sunset, in which case you can even join the shooting.

However, the person who emerges from the cloud is no one else but Derpy. She walks through a pile of gore with a somewhat bemused expression, and shoots you a mean look as she passes by. Wallflower looks at her gun unsurely and fires a few shots in her back. All of them miss, but you could swear at least one bullet hit her butt and bounced. Wallflower tries to shoot the other uzi, but it jams immediately. You raise the Tavor and fire as well, just to see what’d happen. Derpy turns to you and lifts her hand like some goddamn Neo.

To your surprise, it works. An incoming burst of 5.56x40 mm NATO just stops in mid-air in front of her and falls to the floor, bouncing a few times. Derpy shakes her head, salutes you with her middle finger and disappears, as if phasing through the wall.

“Have you seen this?” you ask.

“Yes,” Wallflower replies. “Do you think we have hallucinations from sarin?”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” you say.

“I think it does.” Wallflower shudders. “Guess we forced her to use ten percent of her power.”

“At least fifteen,” you say. “She’s not that powerful.”

“If it was fifteen, we’d wake up in the forest with no clothes on before the very thought of sarinininininining the school crossed our minds,” Wallflower says.

You don’t feel this is right. “Wait, are you telling me that the whole school died because someone who can stop bullets and walk through walls couldn’t be arsed to stop us before we did that?”

Wallflower just reloads her uzis. “Well, religions exist.”

That’s just too much for you.

“Are we seriously gonna discuss theology in the middle of this mess?” you ask, kicking Snips’ body and shoving him aside.

“Theodicy,” Wallflower replies. “The question of why a good God permits the manifestation of evil, thus resolving the issue of the problem of evil. We could as well do that. Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz is my soulmate.”

“I always thought Schopenhauer was your soulmate,” you reply.

“That too.” Wallflower smirks. You can somehow tell she does despite the mask. “I also liked Jacques the Fatalist. I mean, the idea of cultivating my own garden–”

“That was Candide, you evergreen moron.” You sigh and roll your eyes. “Also, you cultivated your own garden until you dropped three bodies in the compost heap and then went on and sarinininininined the whole school.”

You have to pause for a moment. The situation is not quite something you see every day. You just start to wonder why are you even discussing theodicy with Wallflower Blush right after you just left Twilight Sparkle’s body in an empty classroom.

It all started some six weeks ago...

When you got a call from Wallflower Blush, asking you to come to her house, you expected another anime marathon. Also, you just realised you’ve already remembered everything that brought you to this particular point in your life.

In retrospect, you’re a complete retard. But you’re used to this thought.

You walk upstairs. Even less students reached this floor, with just four bodies lying there. Instead, Sunset Shimmer just dropped quite a lot of explosives there and now she’s busy beating the crap of someone whose face has already been mangled into an unrecognisable pulp and whose limbs are bent at angles that are not possible in someone who’s alive. Nevertheless, Sunset still kicks them. Severed jawbone flies across the corridor and hits the wall.

“Who’s this?” you ask.

“Mystery Mint,” Sunset replies. “She asked me why I was doing this, so I made a pinata out of her.” She shrugs. “Unfortunately, there’s no candy inside, just guts and shit.”

You look at the other bodies. A short, green-skinned girl known as Starlight is still twitching, but one look into her eyes tells you she’s already too far gone. Drama Letter’s bodily fluids on the floor kinda seem like modern art, but you guess she wouldn’t be proud of it. She was always a perfectionist. Mystery Mint… Well, she deserved a better end than to be trampled under Sunset’s boots. And then, there’s Blueberry Cake. She had, uhh… ridiculously big sunglasses. That’s about all you know about her, sadly. Still, her death is yet another brick in the wall.

Sunset pulls out a detonator from God knows where. She primes it and looks at you and Wallflower. “Okay, it’s over, I guess. Do you want to shoot yourselves before I blow us all up?”

Wallflower pulls out the uzi and lifts it to her temple.

“No!” you cry.

“Right.” Wallflower aims at you. “I shoot you, you shoot me?”

“You’re the worst shot in history,” you reply. “Would you kindly reconsider this?”

“Why?” Wallflower asks. “We just killed everyone we ever liked. I’m just like Fuchsia. Who’d want to live after that?”

“She had a heart attack, for fuck’s sake!” you yell. “Guess if she had a choice, she’d reconsider it.”

“Okay, I’m blowing us up,” Sunset says. “I’m done with you two retards.” She raises her hand with the detonator.

“Stop!” You aim the Tavor at Sunset. “Finger off the button or I’ll shoot you.”

Sunset chuckles. “You lack stopping power for that. What is it, 5.56 mm NATO?”

“Well, the magazine holds thirty bullets and at point blank range all of them will have enough power to gut you like a fish,” you reply.

“Don’t shoot her!” Wallflower exclaims. “Or I’ll shoot, uh…”

“Me?” you ask.

“Myself.” Wallflower aims the gun at her head.

Great. She’s somehow holding herself hostage.

“Wait, that’s a clusterfuck.” You shrug. “I want to shoot Sunset so she doesn’t get us all killed, you want to shoot yourself to stop me from shooting Sunset who wants to get us all killed. Either way, at least one of us dies, but why does it have to be you, of all people?”

“I made my choice,” Wallflower replies. “Six weeks ago when we started this. You know this was the plan all along.”

“Can we change the plan?”

“What is your alternative?” Sunset asks. In the background, you can hear police sirens and helicopters flying above the school. “We’re surrounded. This is where the story ends. There’s no escape.”

“We may first run and then blow the school up to cover our tracks. Then we’ll go to Mexico or somewhere…”

After first dumping Sunset in the ocean, that is.

“We’ll forever be wanted criminals,” Sunset says. “Okay, Wally, shoot yourself if you wish, while I’m gonna blow this pathetic loser up.”

You raise the rifle but before Sunset gets to push the button on the detonator, two shots ring out. You look at Wallflower, but she’s still standing there, with the uzi in her hand. She’s not aiming at herself, though.

Sunset drops the detonator, staring in horror at two gaping holes in her chest. Blood erupts out of them, staining her tyvek, the floor, and the bodies of her last victims.

Wallflower walks to Sunset without a word, raises the gun, and fires a single shot at Sunset’s forehead. The back of Sunset’s tyvek’s hood explodes in bits of skin, hair, bones, and brain which lands on the wall right above Drama Letter’s dead body, like another macabre painting. Sunset drops on the floor next to Mystery Mint and finally fucking dies.

“Wallflower?” you ask.

“I couldn’t,” Wallflower replies. “I really wanted to, but I couldn’t shoot myself.”

You furrow your eyebrows, watching Sunset’s blood slowly dripping off the wall. “But why?”

Wallflower shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe I always wanted to know how a wanted criminal feels like? Or maybe I don’t like when someone tells me what to do. And I don’t think you’re a pathetic loser.” She drops the uzi. “But above all, I think I finally realised that life is like a grave.”

“That is?”

“I dig it,” Wallflower says.

“You’re a fucking nutjob,” you reply. “I love you, Wally.”

“I know.” Wallflower smirks, and picks up the detonator. “Guess we’ll have to blow this place up, after all.”

“There’s one problem,” you say. “How will we blow it up without blowing up ourselves as well?”

Wallflower points at the nearby window. “A few days ago I installed a zipline here. It leads to the garden. There, I have a camping shower full of chlorox to neutralize sarin. Oh, and some spare clothes as well.”

“Were you even planning to kill yourself at this point?” you ask. Seriously, you married a genetic fuckup, but you just love her more and more.

“Yes, but it didn’t require any planning whatsoever.” Wallflower shrugs. “So I started to make plans in case of not yeeting myself.” She picks up the detonator. “Let’s go before the cops storm the place.”

You open the window and look at the zipline. It looks alright, as long as you don’t think who installed it. Wallflower holds on to you and you slide down towards the garden, right behind the attack helicopter slowly encircling the school. Wallflower pushes the detonator. A roar of explosion deafens you as flames shoot from the building, breaking the windows and showering everything around in glass. The helicopter gets caught in the blast and crashes in the middle of the parking lot while you safely land in the garden, leaving the mayhem behind.

It’s a nice and quiet place, especially compared to the school building right now. Wallflower whips out the camping shower and soon you’re decontaminated and out of your suits. You also drop your cum-stained boxers and throw them on the pile of clothes. It’s not like Wallflower really cares.

She’s too busy pouring gasoline on the clothes. Better to get rid of the evidence.

While waiting for her to be done with burning, you spot another nice surprise. It seems that Angel found the compost heap in Wallflower’s garden, but in the meantime he got eaten by a bobcat or some other shit. All that’s left is his head and some bits of fur. You kick the head onto the compost pile. Fluttershy may have this son of a bitch back.

“What are you, a nudist?” Wallflower asks. “Spare clothes are in the shed.”

You go to the shed and find quite an interesting set of clothes. Wallflower must’ve stolen it from the funeral parlor. It’s a nice black suit, a white shirt, and a red tie. You find it oddly fitting. When you put it on, you feel that you don’t want to wear anything else for the rest of your life.

Wallflower soon joins you, putting on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt with Powerpuff Girls, and yet another striped sweater. You’ve already been in her basement, but if you weren’t, you’d think she keeps a bunch of Asian kids there, forcing them to make striped sweaters.

Something else explodes behind you. Maybe it’s your van or maybe a helicopter. The police sirens are getting louder. You’re pretty sure the firefighters also arrived at the scene.

You walk out of the garden and see the 1955 hearse Cadillac parked in front of it. “You planned this too?” you ask.

Wallflower smirks. “Of course. Guess we can borrow it for a while, even if my parents come back from the Bahamas.” She looks at the school. “What a good time to have a funeral parlour.”

“Yeah.” You shudder. “How about we try to reach Vegas this time?”

Wallflower nods. “Better go fast. The roads may get crowded soon…”

***

Cleaning up the whole mess took a while. Just enough time for you to make your own preparations. After all, you and Wallflower have a few unfinished businesses.

Despite a rather spectacular outcome, your mission kinda failed. Scootaloo, Sweetie Belle, and Apple Bloom are still alive, although they’re still hospitalized. Apple Bloom lost her sister, but her grandmother apparently survived without a scratch – the legend goes that she became impervious to gas in the trenches of World War I.

Sweetie Belle is one lucky little shit. Not only she survived the sarinininining, but Rarity is alive as well, learning to walk on her new, stainless steel legs. Apparently she already ordered prosthetics for all the occasions. Meanwhile, Scootaloo is still in denial about Rainbow Dash’s death. Apparently she has brain damage, but you haven’t noticed any difference when, dressed as a FedEx guy, you dropped a package at their room.

Immediately afterwards, you hid in the hospital toilet and changed your clothes. Now you look like a pretty ugly male nurse, but it’s necessary – you have one more room to visit.

In what was dubbed as the greatest miracle of the whole attack, it turned out that Fuchsia Blush survived. They dug her out of the charred ruins, covered in blood, shit, soot, and plaster, but before they tossed her in the plastic bag, someone noticed that she was breathing. After being rushed to the ER and the fastest heart surgery in the world, she was recovering surprisingly quickly.

You take a wheelchair from the corridor and walk to Fuchsia’s room. The whole nightstand is littered with flowers and cards from all around the world.

Thoughts and prayers got surprisingly cheap, these days.

“You okay there?” you ask. “We have to go.”

“Yeah, now I’m okay,” Fuchsia replies. “By the way, are those pacemakers only for old people or what? I wanted to rub one off and it got crazy. I thought I’d have to steal batteries from the TV remote for it, but I don’t think they fit. Also, where are we going?”

“To your cousin,” you reply.

Fuchsia furrows her eyebrows. “Didn’t she die in the terrorist attack or something? I recall some crazy bitch shooting Trixie and then Wallflower tried to save me.”

“The crazy bitch is dead,” you reply. Until Fuchsia’s heart condition stabilizes, you’d rather not tell her about Wallflower’s part in the sarin attack. “Wallflower is fine and she’s waiting for you.”

“Fine.” Fuchsia gets off the bed and sits in the wheelchair. “It’s not like I’m afraid of anything. I must be destined to do great things.”

“How so?” you ask.

“I got poisoned with sarin, had a heart attack, and then the building exploded, but I survived.” Fuchsia shrugs. “Logically, I should be dead three times. I believe He has great plans for me.”

“Who, Jesus?”

“No, Skrillex.”

You decide not to question this logic. A while ago, you noticed that everyone in Wallflower’s family is nuts. Also, you don't feel like telling her that before the first death, she was sucking off a chick with dick.

You vaguely wonder if she has a dick. The hospital shirt doesn’t leave much to imagination, but Fuchsia also put on a Trixie and the Illusions bathrobe. Well, now that there’s only one Illusion left, the bathrobe is probably priceless.

You wonder if threesome is a possibility and whether cousins are as hot as sisters. Well, with Fuchsia you’d probably have to put an AED near the bed, but the details will be ironed out.

You remember about the package you left at Sweetie’s, Scootaloo’s, and Apple Bloom’s doorstep and rush to the elevator. You go downstairs and walk to the hearse with Fuchsia.

“You came in that thing?” Fuchsia chuckles.

“It’s not a thing, it’s your cousin,” you mutter.

Fuchsia laughs. “I meant this ride, but whatever. It’s pretty topical, isn’t it?”

“Yes, we know it’s a goddamn hearse.” You sigh. “Get inside, we have to leave this town.”

You sit at the wheel. Apparently Wallflower managed to fix the radio because for once you can hear the news.

...The mayor plans to demolish the remains of the school building and turn the site into a memorial garden. In other news, we know from a trusted source in the FBI that the sarin attack was carried out by Asian Dawn Movement. In the official statement, the leaders of Asian Dawn Movement called for release of nine of their members, kept in–

You change the station to some classical music. Wallflower furrows her eyebrows, but says nothing.

“So, where are we going?” Fuchsia asks.

“To Mexico, I guess,” Wallflower says. “By the way, I think Diamond Tiara knows we did it.”

“How so?” you ask.

“She passed by the hearse and gave me a briefcase full of money.” Wallflower pulls the briefcase from under her seat. “There was a photo from Spoiled Rich’s funeral inside with ‘thank you’ written on the other side.”

“Well, either she thanks us for killing her or for a good job your parents did,” you say. “Didn’t you say that they had to scrape her off the wall after the explosion, but after your parents fixed her, she looked good enough for an open casket funeral?”

“Kind of. She needed a bit of work.” Wallflower smiles sheepishly. “If someone tells you Spoiled Rich had legs like a teenager, it’s because it’s true.” She opens the briefcase and looks at the photo. “I’d say ‘ding dong, the witch is dead’ written under the coffin is a dead giveaway.”

You shake your head. This town is crazy. Good thing you’re leaving it.

You’re almost in the suburbs, when you hear a roar of a distant explosion. You look back and see a mushroom cloud slowly forming above the place you’ve just left recently.

It seems the Crusaders opened their package.

You stick up your thumb and point your hand towards the mushroom cloud to see if the distance is safe. If you go fast, you should probably escape the fallout, even though you apparently underestimated the yield. But do you really want it? You’ve murdered most of your school and just nuked the town. Sure, most of the attack survivors were transferred to hospitals in other cities, Rarity is undergoing rehabilitation elsewhere, and Diamond Tiara probably has her own fallout shelter but still. Do you want to live with that?

Fuchsia and Wallflower look at you. Right, Wallflower and you are kinda married and you went to the hospital to save Fuchsia specifically, but then, what if your love fades? Is it better to run and live, remembering the people you killed or to die here and make your love to Wallflower eternal?

It’s only up to you.