Calamity Hound Overture, Cascade Ominence, Benign Overlord

You know what is funny?

No, clowns are not funny. I’ll break their stupid red noses. Creepy fucking clowns... Neither are you. Your friend. Or your friend’s cat. Your mom. You see where I am getting at?

And before you even fucking ask. Jokes. Are. Not. Funny. Especially when they come from a smartass like you. I don’t know you, but you must be a huge dork. No offense... No, you know what? All the offence! Because you are worth it.

…

Where the fuck was I?

“This is your last warning, Abigail. Come quietly and there will be no complications.”

Oh yeah! What IS funny! When you skip school so much and are such a badass that even the great drill won’t pierce your fucking heavens. Such a rebel that your principal sends some fucking hired mooks to haul your ass to the school seat. With force, if necessary.

So here I am, in a dark alley, cliche, I know, and these two guys are standing in my way, blocking my path to... I don’t really know where I was going but these guys just appeared like some dumpster ninjas. These two dykes were:

 A big black guy, a fat bastard who SOMEHOW has as much muscle as fat, whom I have taken to calling Bubba the Buttbreaker. Name appropriate, since he is gay. I have confirmed this!

And a real white meathead, Jim. Just... Jim... I got nothing on this guy. I could call him Steroid Arse, if it was even relatively original. He is the one doing most of the talking.

So here I am. Two icons of sheer testosterone driven manliness stopping my esca- PFFT! Sorry, can’t do it...

Oh, what? That is not funny? Get outta here! You obviously don’t see the novelty of this situation here. Speaking of which...

Initiate: Witty comeback.

“Your mother’s a complication.”, I sneer and smirk like an asshole. All. The. Way. I even put my hands in my pocket. Like. A. Boss.

Jim took exception to that.

“Look here, runt! We are getting tired of chasing your sorry ass around town, so why don’t you just come with before we are forced into A-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-------” The jerk did not break that single single falsetto note for a while when my foot broke his balls.

That’s right! I fight like a cheap bastard.

While Jim was shocked for his sudden lack of nads, I just turn nonchalantly and jump kick Bubba in the face. Too bad his head is so fat that it does nearly nothing but stagger him. That’s cool, cause I just sweep his legs.

“ Fly, fat boy, fly~!

Into the concrete~!

And break your back~.

Like a li----itle bi--------itch~ ”

And by the end of the little song, the richter scale called. It wants a health insurance.

Bubba in the ground, Jim getting back to reality. Solution? Kick Jim in the face. So I do. One good kick is all it takes to knock the sense out of that meathead. Jim falls to the floor, out like a little baby.

Naturally, I kick him a few more times. For kicks. Pun intended.

Knockout!

Bubba, on the other hand, is as helpless as a turtle. I firmly believe it is a turtle, not a fucking tortoise. And when I say like a turtle, I mean it quite literally. When that fat lardass is on his back, there is no way to get up. Maybe now he regrets eating so many walruses.

Naturally, I abuse this and kick him in the face a time or two.

Flawless Victory!

And what follows after the beatdown is this:

1. I snatch both of their wallets and pocket them

2. I leave a Joker-card in the place of their wallets[Any card will do, really]

3. I walk away, like a boss.

I don’t know what 4 is, but I do know one thing.

1. Sweet, motherfucking profit.

I quickly count the money they had on them, which is not much. Only 53 dollars and fifty cents, which I throw away. Cents are bullshit and you know it!

Yeah, I stole their wallets. Do I feel bad? Nope. Kind of a daily routine by now. Those two are gonna be on my case again in a few days. It is one fucking rat race, every other day, over and over again. I throw the emptied wallets away because, let’s be honest, I only want the money.

Those two look tough, but are nothing more than pushovers. Fucking glass jaws. No challenge at all. Stupid steroid pumping bone heads.

What interrupts my little oncoming rage session on how weak these assholes are is interrupted when my PDA signals to me that someone is trying to contact me. Since I don’t give my contact info to many people, I have a faint idea of who it might be.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my unbelievably sleek looking, shining black PDA. I saved loads of money to get this jewe- Just kidding! I stole it. Anyway, this beauty helps me keep in touch with some contacts of mine. My common chat name is RavenRenegade[RR]. Cool as hell name if you ask me. Let’s see who is calling me now...

… Oh, God damnit!

MatriarchPrinciple[MP] is contacting you

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

RR: fuuuuck

RR: what is it

RR: bitch

MP: What was that?

RR: YOU HEARD ME >:0

MP: I suggest you change your tone, Mr. Abigail.

RR: you aint the boss of me

MP: I am your principal, that is close enough.

MP: Now get back to school before I expel you.

RR: pfffft yeah right >:I

RR: i was wondering where that option has been dying for the past six months

MP: Abigail, I am serious. I have about had it with you and your juvenile attitude. I am trying to deal with this peacefully.

RR: hahahaha oh that is rich XD

RR: it has been real peaceful with all these thugs you send my way

MP: Abigail, do understand that I do not enjoy this. But you must be educated. You must grow up.

RR: So says a 30 year old virgin! >:]

MP: Trace Abigail! You are treading on very thin ice!

RR: oh now we are on first name basis :O

RR: sure thing Jane sure thing

RR: the ice is as thin as your metaphorical dyke is long

RR: bite me >:p

You have blocked MatriarchPrinciple[MP]

I shove the PDA back into my pocket. I don’t have the patience for this shit now. Especially for that bitch. I am just not in the mood...

I need something to eat.

Sitting down at a local diner is always fun. Less so when every asshole in the radius of me is staring at the way I look! Fucking dumbasses with their condescending stares. To their defense, my style is... pretty distinguished.

And badass. I only have multiple sets of one set of clothes. I am just cool like that. My outfit includes:

-A really thick hoodie that is colored with mixed splotches of black and white as well as having white fur around the collar and inside the hood.

-Really baggy black pants that are loose and flexible. These help with my main style of fighting. I kick the shit out of people. That’s right! There’s some Sanji up in this bitch! Also, the pockets are spacious.

-Customized military boots with with some metal plates on the tips. The bottom of the boots are also hard rubber. These make my kicks bring in some major pain!

I also don’t wear socks. Socks are for pussies. Only true badasses go without them.

My face may also have something to do with the stares. My skin is kinda dark. Like, really well tanned dark, not black guy dark. My eyes are kinda unnatural too. Because of some genetic mutation, or some shit, my eyes are bright red. That’s right! I’m a fucking Ishval. Suck it, FMA!

I even bleached my short dreads white to make the image complete... I watch too much anime, but do I regret it? No. No, I do not.

… Aaaand someone is messaging me again... Stop... STOP! You know what, I’ll flip for that. I take out a special coin from my pocket. It is custom design. One side has a blue carving with an angel symbol and the other has a red carving with a devil symbol. Blue means do good, red means do evil. Duh! The coin’s decision is absolute, so I only use it sometimes. I flip the coin...

Angel...

… Fine. I’ll answer this shit.

… What. The. Fuck.

Chat log:

GodofDice[GoD] is contacting you

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

RR: the fuck

RR: who are you

RR: and how the fuck did you get my number

GoD: I work in many ways.

RR: … huh what

RR: no you know what never mind

RR: lets cut the bullshit

RR: what do you want creepy asshole i do not know

GoD: I only wish to discuss something with you. So if you could come meet me, we can talk. I have a present for you. And some jelly babies.

RR: …

RR: ok I am 19

RR: go away pedobear

GoD: I am sorry if that came through in that sense. My mistake.

GoD: Apologies, Trace.

RR: … is this candid camera or something

RR: how the fuck do you know my name

GoD: I work in many ways. All I ask of you is to meet me outside.

GodofDice[GOD] disconnected

… “What. The. Ass?!”, I yell. Many pairs of eyes are drawn to my direction. I don’t give a fuck and just want my sandwich.

I leave the diner after my meal. Walking out the door I begin to wonder who that weirdo was. How did he get my number? And how in Satan’s beard did he know my name?! And should I go meet this suspicious individual?

I say fuck it. I just want to go to my place and sleep a bit. Really tiring day.

I stop as I spot something interesting on the ground. I, of course, bend over to pick it up.

‘Hey, someone has dropped a 100 dollar bi-’

*CRASH*

I open my eyes and see white. Craptons of it. It hurts my eyes, as they are naturally light sensitive so normal sunlight is tolerable, but this is just torture. I have to squint majorly to even see without a slight pain in my retinas.

Naturally, I ask the BIG question.

“What. The. Hell?” I notice I am lying on my back and get up. Looking around, it seems I am in some... place. A room, I guess, of endless whiteness. Why my eyes are not bleeding like mad is beyond me. “Where the fuck am I?”

“That is simple.”

“JEGUS!”, I yelp and jump a little... Yeah, I was spooked. But the voice came from right behind me, so screw you... Wait a minute. That voice... Why is is familiar? I turn around and-

“Oh my God!”, I manage to muffle a loud yell into a loud whisper. What I see is only one of the most known faces, or at least voices, to ever be heard by mankind. The herald of narration himself! “It’s Morgan, fucking, Freeman!!”

… Wait, what?

“Good to see you made it. I was thinking you would not come.”, Morgan Freeman said with that iconic, orgasm inducing voice. Of course I am unaffected by it. What do you think I am, gay?

“...” I just stare at him blankly. It really is Morgan Freeman in a white tux. “... What.” Really? That was the smartest thing I could say?

“It appears you are a bit confused, so let me tell it to you straight and get to the point.”, He said with a small smile on his lips. “You, Trace Abigail, are dead.”

I stare at him vacantly for a few seconds, until, “Bull. Shit.”

He just keeps looking at me with a warm expression. “I assure you, no manure of any kind is at work here.”

“Okay. Fine.” I put my hands up in the air in surrender. I really can’t think of anything to say to that. “Let’s say I am dead. What of it?”

“Well, that verily depends on you.”, Morgan Freeman said. “You see, there is a game going on. A big Chess Game, if you want to think of it that way. Many forces of great power wish to participate in these games, so they kidnap or trick humans into being their pieces on the board.”

“Okay, so you, Morgan, fucking, Freeman, want me to what? Be forced into this game?”, I ask and give him my best suspicious eyes.

“No. None of the sort. You see, Trace, you died. I am not forcing you into anything. I am simply giving you the option to start fresh. A new life.”

“In the game?”

“In the game.”, He confirmed.

“... You are the worst manipulator. Ever.”, I deadpan.

“No one is perfect. Not even God.”, Morgan Freeman, who is, apparently, literally God... Huh.

“... Details. Tell me why I should give a rat’s diseased, worm infested ass?” I tried to sound angry, but that voice... Oh man, that voice...

“Well, what if I told you your whole life, as well as the world you live in is nothing but a lie? What if you and your world are only figments of imagination of a powerful being of God-like might, slumbering in an endless dream?” He said that all with a straight face, by the way.

“I’d say you are full of shit.”, I reply, shoving my hands in my pockets. Even with that heavenly calming voice, my irritation is beginning to show...

And then he hushes me... Welp, there went that seed of rage.

“I assure you, I do not lie. You, and your world are all a facade, made of a dream of an ethereal being. I extend to you a pass to an independent existence. I give you the gift to become reality.”

“In the game?”

“In the game.”

…Wow. Morgan Freeman is transparent as fuck.

“Okay, let’s say I agree to this. What then? What is this “game” about?” Damnit, if I am going to do something dumb I might as well know WHAT the hell I am doing. I cross my arms in expectancy and wait.

“That is simple. The game has no clear goal but for you, the piece on the board, to do your part. What that part is is up to you.”

“The catch is..?”, I ask. There is always a catch.

“Nothing important.”, Morgan Freeman says calmly.

“... Really?”, I squint my eyes in suspicion.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”, I shrug... What? It’s Morgan Freeman! I can’t not doubt those sweet, flowing words of glorious and gracious truth!

I’m not gay! Stop sneering!

“Then it is decided.” Suddenly, a paper appeared in my hands. “Just sign this contract and it is done.” Then a... quill, I think, appeared next to the paper.

Decision, decisions...

“One more thing!”, I say sharply, quoting a really old, and relatively badass man. “How did I die? Please tell me it was badass.”

Morgan Freeman waved his hand to the right, and a vision appeared in the air. It was me, bending over to pick up someone’s lost money. Then...

*CRASH*

…

“...”

…

“...”

…

“I got run over by a fucking ice cream truck! Fuck this! There is no fucking way I’m gonna pass on with a death so anti-badass! Give me that!”, I lash out and grab the contract and the quill, writing my signature on it. But not my real name. Fuck. That.

Signed, Raven Renegade

I saw Morgan Freeman pop a smile. Odd. It seemed a little like a shit eating grin. “So you have accepted.”, He chuckled... darkly? “Excellent~.”

Then I remember a sensation of falling. I blacked out, but before I did, I swear I could hear laughter.

I stir. I slowly open my eyes and am greeted by a blurry image. I can tell it is green, but my eyes... GOD, THE BURNING! My eyes feel like someone spilled some bleach in my eyes, and NO ONE is that stupid! Why does it have to be so fucking bright? FUUUUUUUUCK!

‘Okay... Calm breaths. Just like Nanna told me. Breathe.... HOW IS THIS HELPING MY EYES! GOD, THE BURNING WON’T STOP!’

*le 20 minutes later*

‘Okay.... I’m okay... Just... calm down.’ I breath heavily, panting. My throat is a bit sore from screaming my ass off. It’s pain, so screaming is allowed. I AM NOT A PANSY, SHUT UP!

My eyes are adjusting to the sunlight. The pain is gone. I am okay... Relatively. My retinas are still sore... MY god! That was the most painful case of eye burn I have ever had... Never again... Just... No.

I am still lying on some grass. I am outside it seems. Lying on some grass. How in the fuck I got here, I have no fucking clue. And I am getting a headache...

I raise my head and look around a little. Mounds of grass, mountain in a distance, a river nearby. Clouds in the sky, duh... Nope. Dorothy, I am sad to say this, but we are not in fucking Kansas anymore.

Where am I anyway? ...

“Damnit, Morgan Freeman! Why won’t you tell me shit!”

A rustling in the some bushes nearby catch my attention, and I instinctively jump up... Standing feels weird for some reason, but never mind.

“It come from here?”, I hear a voice speak in hilariously bad english.

“Shh! You makes too much noise.”, said another voice that sounded a bit like Gollum. Gollum-ish. Whatever.

Then, out of the bushes jump out two figures... And you are not gonna believe this. These creatures look like anthropomorphic dog, or are at least pretty darn close. Walk on two legs, have large hands and expressive faces. One looks like a bulldog, small and ugly as fuck. The other looked a bit like a...  Pffffft! A sausage dog, aka Mr. Weeney. I had to stop myself from bursting out laughing.

The two looked at me and took an offensive posture. “What is that?”, Mr. Weeney asks.

“Me not know, but me sure boss will like it.”, The bulldog said and took a step at me. “Chicken come here.”

‘… What did the flea bag just call me?’ I glare angrily and take a step of my own. My step falters, for reasons I cannot even begin to understand, I trip, and hit my head on some rock, or some bullshit like that.

My last minute thought before losing consciousness?

‘Worst. Fucking. Knockout. Ever.’

EPIC FAIL!