Synopsis:

Ford has been tortured and killed multiple times. But things take an unexpected turn when Bill's friend came to drop by drugs.


Words cannot describe the overwhelming pain of being brought back to life for the 27th time.

It was excruciating the first time I died, having all my bones crushed and fractured with Bill grotesquely squishing me as slowly as possible, making sure to prolong my suffering. He repeated the torturous murder over and over, patiently waiting for me to slip up and tell him the formula; I am far more persistent than he was.

I come back to consciousness, my muscles burning harshly as my wounds stitched itself together. I open my eyes to the dull red light of the room, my sight blurred and fuzzy. I try to pull myself to a sitting position. To my surprise, it didn't hurt. I'm perplexed. Usually, Bill wouldn't fully heal me like this. Every waking moment was supposed to be a living nightmare. Everything should hurt, just being pulled back to consciousness is supposed to be agonizing.

Why is this an exception? What was he planning?

"HEY SIXER!"

Speak of the devil, here he comes.

"HEEEEEEYYYYY SIIIIIXXEEEEERRRR!"

I twirl around to face Bill with a scornful scowl, ready to throw a bout of insults at him but stop as I see him approaching me. I'm mildly… confused and am in disbelief when I notice the giant demon holding an empty bottle of vodka equally large as he is in his hand. How long was I out for him to get this drunk?

"What?" I ask stubbornly in an annoyed yet pretentious tone. "I'm still not talking."

"OH BUT YOU ARE TALKING." Bill's voice booms loudly in dull lunacy. He closes his eye and let out a loud burp at which I cringe at the stench of rotten flesh he emitted. "HAVE YOU MET MY FRIEND?"

I twitch at his question because the answer to that is yes. I met them and they are the worst. I narrow my eyes. "Yeah, why? Do you plan to let your minions have a go with me?"

"WHAT?" He asks me, processing what I just said. "MY HENCH-MANIACS? NO. I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT THEM." He gestures at his friends playing spin the person. "I'M TALKING ABOUT MY OTHER FRIEND. MY... HMM... BEST FRIEND, AS YOU HUMANS WOULD SAY." Bill shrinks in size so he could wrap his cold arm around me. I cringe and withdraw from his sober embrace.

"Wow, you have a best friend, that's surprising," I mumble under my breath, making sure he doesn't hear me. I catch myself making the comment. Bill's drunk, who knows what kind of worse torture he might have in mind. I elect not to evade the question. "No." I answer firmly. "I don't know them and I'd rather not meet your best friend."

"OH GREAT! I WANT YOU TO MEET HIM," Bill screams in enthusiasm. I let out a tired sigh as he leaves to go get his friend. I look around me. I'm no longer in his 'pent house suite' and am probably, I assume, in the main party hub. There are no doors here. There are, however, mazes of stairs and corridors leading to who knows where. I look down at what I am stnding on, the throne of petrified human beings.

I need to find a way to get down…

"STANFORD, I WANT YOU TO MEET…"

I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and pretend to act normal. I turn to face the triangle. I look at the person standing on the humongous demon's hand. The blood drains from my face, horrified.

"R-rick Sanchez." I stammer.

"RICK SANCHEZ." Bill repeats. He pauses the looks at me, impressed. "WOAH, YOU KNOW RICKY OVER HERE? SWEET."

I gape at the two of them, my gaze switching from Bill to Rick. I take a step back, stunned, confused, and downright shocked at this revelation. Rick Sanchez has been a longtime friend of mine whom I met when I visited dimension C137 during my exile. This… this doesn't make sense. He helped me escape Bill. He gave me equipment that could help me navigate through dimensions. He's… he's MY best friend.

Rick notices me and his face lights up with a lopsided grin. "Ooooo Stanford Waddup?" He jumps off Bill's hand and landed in front of me. He wraps one of his arms around me before taking a swig of alcohol. "I didn't e-eeugh-xpect you here! I thought you were still stuck in dimension Zetta with i-i—" Rick drones on, recounting how another version of himself told him I was still in dimension 52.

Bill shrinks in size once again to join the two of us. I look down at my feet. Great, I tell myself, Rick's drunk, Bill's drunk too. To make things worse, they're friends as if that fact would help me get out of this mess I'm in.

I have no problem with Rick being drunk but if he's drunk with Bill, which is something I never imagined would be possible in the 30 years of being friends with Rick, this is obviously a cocktail for disaster. I look at Rick who was still talking about Dimension Zetta, hoping he still has the rationality of mind to get the hint that I need his help to escape Bill.

"Yo. Earth to Sixer," Rick says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. I blink rapidly as my train of thought dissipates. "Are you still there?"

"Uh, yeah," I say while nodding, the chains on my collar jingling along the motion.

Rick gasps. "Holy shit," he exclaims, pulling on the chain, sending me tumbling forward. He examines it with utmost care, caressing the sleek blue chains. He turns to Bill, "Can I have a moment with Sixer here?"

"YEAH SURE WHY NOT." Bill, who was watching his hench-maniacs, replies absent mindedly.

Rick drags me away from the demon. I breathe a sigh of relief. We stop at the edge of the throne. "Ford," he whispers urgently. I listen attentively. He looks at Bill then back at me. "Stanford, I didn't know you had a kink for triangles."

I… don't know how to respond to that. I am literally dumbfounded at the fact that, despite him knowing my history with Bill, had the capability of asking if I have a kink for triangles. I…

I turn my back on him.

"Ooohh, Hey B!" He yells, "How can you leave me out of all the juicy action with you and Ford?"

I want to throw myself off the edge of the throne.

Bill laughs. "OH, I'M SURE THAT YOU'D RATHER NOT SEE THE ACTUAL JUICE RUNNING OUT OF SIXER'S MOUTH. IT'S NOT PLEASANT."

"B!" He exclaims. "I've seen Ford beg for it!"

My face reddens and I punch Rick's shoulder. "I don't beg!" I scream at him. At least not for my death.

Rick nods in mock confirmation to my statement "Yeaaah. Riiightt," Rick says, nudging my side hard. He and Bill laughs. This temperament of mine is increasingly unbearable I'd actually rather being physically tortured by Bill to death.

I look at the edge of the throne.

Maybe a little suicide is arranged? Besides, it's not like I'd be permanently dead. Bill's bound to revive me at some point, preferably when Rick is gone because, in all honesty, betrayal feels worse than physical pain.

I step to the edge and turn at Rick and Bill.

"Hey, Assholes," I yell out, drawing the attention of the two who seems to be deep in conversation. I raise the two middle fingers of my hands.

I jump off.


Author's Note:

Ford pls stop lmao