A/N : We mustn't be disheartened that Doa4 wasn't released at Launch, whenever THAT was, but anyways, to keep Hope alive for the Greatest Fighting Game ever, we have to keep the deep and rich storyline in our minds! So instead of busting out the dusty-azz disk, I've decided to illustrate each Doa3 ending for each day until we get our damn game! (If i did my math right...but then again, i did go to public school.)

Disclaimer – I do not own any of Team Ninja's Characters or anything else related to Dead or Alive. Also, i do not own any other various Fighting Game Characters that magically appear in this work of fiction.

Zack relaxes comfortably in the back of his white, rented stretch limo which had a down payment of only one handgun aimed at the rich owner. The silver glasses he wears are owned, but his white, pimped out suit and his Gators have both been procured in the same way as his wheels.

"Dis tha place, Johnny." Zack announces, looking out the tinted window as the famous casino known as 'Jackpot' approaches from the east.

"Listen, Sir, i told you my name is Frederick." The driver answers back as the limo slows and pulls towards the curb, but Zack ignores the foreign driver. He is too busy checking his appearance in the mirror located in the floor of the limousine.

The car stops completely and as the door opens, Zack rushes out, body checking the young, red suited attendant in the chest.

"Move, son, got money ta make!" Zack spins around and tosses a roll of thirty dollars on the concrete sidewalk in front of the doubled over young man and chuckles, "Yesterday I'd of cared about tossing around large sums like that, but tonight I'm feelin' lucky!"

Zack smirks and slicks back his silver dyed hair, strolling smoothly across the yellow floored walkway leading towards the entrance to the casino. Zack superstitiously dodges the red diamonds imprinted on the floor as he walks and the numerous young pop music and GAP clothing connoisseurs stare at him open mouthed, pointing uncouthly,

"Dude, they let black people come here now?" One asks as his girlfriend clutches her Wal-Mart bought purse and shivers,

"What has this world come to? When they can gamble beside us?"

"I'm going to call my dad about this one!" Another young man demands furiously and rushes away towards the valet parking lot in horror.

Zack saunters to the entrance door, but the behemoth NFL defensive linemen of a bouncer holds his hand out and shakes his finger reproachfully. Zack raises his eyebrow at the insult, can't this man tell he's paid in full by looking at his knock offs? He thinks to knock the man's top hat off, but he's seen Urlacher put the hurting on McNabb many times before.

"You know better than to roll up in here, boy." The bouncer says in a deprecating manner and waves his hand, shooing Zack away as he would a fly. Zack thinks to pull the gat out of his pants, but he will get paid today.

"Sorry for the misunderstandin', boss, but I'm just the lowly entertainment for tonight." Zack explains quickly in a feigned plea and the bouncer clicks his tongue, far from convinced,

"Prove it, son."

Zack quickly backs up and tosses his left arm into the air, placing his forehead to his raised fist, then switches with a quick step, and brings his left down to his side, and right forwards in true pimp style. Once again, with the fluid steps he learned from vegging in front of the TV endlessly during childhood, through the neighbors window of course, he puts his right arm behind his head and in a tribute to the thrilling boy toucher, grabs himself perfectly not to disrupt the balled up sock.

Zack is immediately allowed entrance after his great display and quickly rushes excitedly into the dimly lit red interior of the crowded casino. He instantly scans the establishment from the cash office to the slot machines, but he has only one game : roulette. Like a ninja, he ghosts through the crowd, carefully dodging the poor looking folk, but with quick hands and fingers, he pockets numerous a golden watch and wallet, and leaves a wake of female gasps and curses in his wake.

"Get me in on dis table, biatches!" Zack hollas as he reaches a less crowded roulette table after getting his bucket of chips, not chicken this time, and surveys the rainbow, patchwork of beautiful women gathered around, waiting for their lucky papi-chulo. A foursome sounds simply delightful and delicious.

"Welcome, Sir, glad to have you of course." The attendant says with a wide grin, pointing towards the seat in between the women and Zack strolls over and plops down, winking at the mocha dream boat and then rubbing the chin of the blond, vanilla sundae. The redhead is a bit coy, but he'll make sure she warms up to him.

"Put it all on zero, son! I aint got time to wait!" Zack demands, slamming the bucket on the table, and pouring out the green chips and the attendant raises his eyebrow intrigued,

"Are you sure you don't want to get a feel of the table, Sir?"

"What you bout ta get a feel for are deez nutz, son! Now spin dat damn wheel!" Zack yells angrily and the attendant quickly nods and sets the white ball spinning,

"I don't want you to get belligerent. And the ball being white isn't my fault!" The attendant quickly explains, trying to save himself, but Zack ignores him.

The ball spins around the edge, clicking against each number, and Zack stands up, eye's lighting as it bounces towards zero. He quickly offers a prayer up to the Kwanza God and to everyone at the table's amazement, the ball slams into the correct whole, a white thing actually doing a black man's will for once.

"Holy shiat! Kiss my ass Dubya, I'm out of tha Ghett-O!" Zack leaps to his feet, money and chips flying, but the attendant immediately motions towards the security officials and three more defensive linemen dressed in black and white suits rush over for the lynching. Zack holds his fists up, ready to protect his money and of course his newly earned gold diggers take up his defense.

"Sorry, Sir, but there's been a mistake, this is a white only table," The first begins, "We have to confiscate your winnings." Zack's face explodes into a scowl and he spins around, pointing at the chocolate mama,

"What about her, just chillin out! Ya'll can't do me like this!" Zack's fury dissipates and begins to transform into depression, "Please, my hot tub is ice cold! I need warm water!"

"Go back to Georgia, your homeland, if you feel oppressed." Another of the officials says and tears begin to drip down from behind Zack's glasses. He sniffles and puts his head down on the roulette table, the women looking from one to the other, wondering if he's still worth sleeping with or not,

"Where's Shaft when you need him..."

"I'm making Snakes on a Plane, Mutha Fcka, you gonna have to get over it!" Sam Jackson yells out in his loud ass, dramatic voice and Zack picks his head up and looks around through astonishment, the white folk scattering in terror, "I can't swoop in and save every Nigga that needs my Fucking help! You hear me!"

"But still, you supposed to help--" Zack's plea is cut off by another rant from Jules,

"Walk on your own two feet, Mutha Fcka, i can't help you while I'm filming my Fcking oscar winning performance about Snakes on a Plane! Be like me and walk on your own!"

"But your walking right off a cliff, Sam! This movie is gonna--"

"I still got my Mace Windu Lightsaber Mutha Fcka! Don't make me use it! It's Snakes on a Plane Damnit, Go See My Movie!"