Scrappy's Conquest

by The Spicy Mooch

With a life of humiliation and ridicule as the punching bag of the Mystery Inc crew in his past, Scrappy Doo finds acceptance in a religion of Dog Supremacy which teaches him that not only should he put his past behind him, he should put it in the ground. Six feet in the ground, and Fred is the first victim.

Scrappy's Conquest:

A Four Legged Crusade Against The Detective Dog Who Wronged Him-

Scrappy, now going by the moniker Agent Brown, pointed his pistol at his helpless victim, the ascot fuckboy Fred Jones, whose privilege and superficial satisfaction seemed as transparent and exposed as Fred's naked body, strapped to the chair which Scrappy was now torturing him in. The moments before the murder heavy and damp with intent and dog breath. Scrappy contemplates the purpose of the pistol in his paw, turning it over in his animalistic fingers, feeling up its metal workings and masculine shape, the phallic performance of murder, forcefully enacting one's will upon another in one's own self interest fascinated Scrappy, as did the blind, mad, disoriented ramblings of Fred struggling to see through the ascot tied around his eyes. What once announced and shorthanded his presence was now the very thing holding the world hostage, outside of his perception.

"Jinkies" Fred sputtered out.

"Quite the pickle I've found myself in. Nothing Velma can't outthink or Scooby can't smell the solution to."

"That name" Scrappy said, hostility renewed,

"A name pregnant with misplaced faith. If your life is to struggle into maintaining its own presence, that name will never pierce this air to my ears, unless I say so".

"Name?" Fred inquired, his familiar cluelessness assuring Scrappy that the beaten and confused mass of flesh and misplaced self importance was indeed Fred Jones.

"You mean Velma? Who could get mad at Velma except a librarian, what with all the books she takes out, it makes ya wonder how every creep we unmask isn't a disgruntled library worker, huh gang?" Fred asked the invisible Mystery Gang, their silent exclusion going amiss as per usual, Fred's own burden of self worth had no space for anyone besides himself. The audience which usually accompanied him and complied with his behavior and self appointed public service gone amiss in the senses of the amateur detective.

"Not that name, you fool. I meant the name of that man in a dog's body. That affront to God's separation of the animal kingdom and man's. That snack chomping uncle of mine, Scooby Doo." "Hold up, you masked chump, the only thing I have to wonder about Scooby Doo is, where are you!" and with that nonsense of vowels and consonants, a familiar absence of logic filled Scrappy's head, as Fred fulfilled the requirement which Scrappy had ascribed him. Merely say the name, and the liberation of Fred would take place. The liberation of spirit from body. The click of the gun and locking of triggers signaled to Fred that the final breaths he took would be because of someone else, his ultimate moments would be at the mercy of a stranger and with that knowledge, Fred was finally at peace, his body collapsing on the floor with that orange ascot stained a dark shade of red of blood and brown of sewage, with Scrappy's gun responsible and the transformation complete.

"Puppy power" he recited, the old Sentient Dog Clan chant leaving his lips as frequently and familiar as was the exchange of blood currency with the purchase of Fred's death. Scrappy had left the basement, with his body remaining, only now, Agent Brown had control. Scrappy's Conquest had officially started off, to roaring success. The head of Mystery Inc officially dead, with Agent Brown's next target picking her glasses up off the floor.