A/N: Sorry for the delay. . .moot court try-outs. . .craziness. Anyway, in honor of the Superbowl. . .new chappie!
Sue Sylvester had woken up with a headache, which could only mean one thing: it was going to be a very bad day. Because she didn't get headaches. She triumphed over them with the sheer power of her mind. Her force of will could destroy any cold. But that Friday, she had a headache, and no matter how many pep talks she gave her mirror, it wasn't going away.
She knew what it was, of course. It was Will Schuester and that sissy glee club of his. They were on the way to Nationals while her Cheerios – her award-winning, brilliant, talented, skilled Cheerios – were stuck at home because of a stupid technicality that prevented them from moving on to Nationals. Really, Sue still didn't understand why the choreographed elephant dance had gotten them disqualified. It had broken the OSU gym floor, sure, but that just went to show that the pansy-asses at the university needed to buy a new gym. It was superb. It was fantastic. It was brilliant.
Meanwhile, a technicality had gotten the Geek Club to New York.
It was definitely a red track suit type of day, Sue decided. Also a scowl type of day. She strode into the front doors of McKinley with her regular attitude and power. Children scurried before her, which was a bit disappointing. A bit of violence would have made the day better. She did manage to grab Jew Fro (who had to be her least favorite person alive, excepting the gel-head Astaire, of course) and hurl him into some lockers, though, so that was a bonus.
"Sue!" Figgins yelled, poking his little Abu head out of his office. "Stop attacking the children!"
"Crowd control!" Sue snapped back.
She relaxed a little when she entered her office – all of those trophies had a tendency to calm her down. She took a deep breath, and turned on the television. A screen filled with charcoal and dust appeared. Sue quirked one eyebrow. Her headache was going away already.
"In a surprising strike, the Chinese have released a pair of nuclear missiles, striking Brooklyn and the Bronx," the news reporter said. "The only reason they gave was:"
The video feed switched to show a Chinese man. Sue gazed at him appreciatively. He was scowling and wore a suit with a dozen twinkling military medals. He spoke in Chinese. Beneath him, in subtitles, it said: "Stop the Cheerios, Start a War."
"It turns out that the Chinese government is a fan of a local cheerleading team," the anchor continued, as the screen switched back to show her stony face. "When the McKinley High Cheerios were banned from Nationals, they retaliated."
It got better, Sue still learned. North Korea and Pakistan, elated at the aggressive action, had launched their own nuclear warheads. Washington D.C., was a smoldering mess. Chicago was going next. And the U.S., in a clear panic, had released all of its warheads at once.
It was, quite simply, the Apocalypse. Sue grinned. She'd been preparing for this for years, ever since her mother had warned her about the hidden Nazi powers lurking around South America.
First things first: she sent a quick text to all of the Cheerios. Next up: Figgins.
"Sue, what is going on, now?" the Maha Raja whined, putting one hand dramatically to his head. "Schuester isn't even here right now."
"No, he isn't, and that's part of the reason that this is the best day of my life," Sue agreed. "Also, there's nuclear war. We need to get all of the kids gathered into busses and head off to Westerville."
"Westerville? Nuclear war? I don't understand. . ."
"No surprise there," Sue said. "You've never understood much. Let me put it this way, Figgins. The war is on, and Sue's in charge. I'm leaving in five with my girls, and anyone they bring with. It's up to you whether you follow us."
Five minutes later she was on the bus, happily heading the two hours toward the bunker that Sue had constructed. The bus was filled almost entirely with Cheerios and football players. Figgins had foolishly disregarded her advice. Which was fine. Sue had no problem with the rest of the school going up in smoke, and all of the students and faculty turning into radiation scarred zombies. It was going to be a new era, and Sue would finally achieve what the Nazis never had: a perfect, superior race, composed entirely of toned, strong, obedient cheerleaders. And stupid football players.
As they neared the bunker, a steady stream of cars met them, and Sue knew another moment of regret. The land under Dalton Academy had been ridiculously cheap. At the time, she'd assumed that made it the perfect bomb shelter. But now, as she was debating whether it would be quicker to drive in the median or just run over the panicked students, she wished that she'd paid out the extra 7K for land in the wheatfield behind her backyard.
After exiting the expressway, however, the parking lot was thankfully vacant. Only one car remained, with a familiar, flannel-clad man standing in front. Sue pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Cheerios, remain on the bus until I give the signal," she ordered. She looked around for any of the leaders, remembering at the last minute that Quinn and Santana were off with their Geek Club. She was surrounded by imbeciles.
The minute that she exited the bus, the man standing by the car rushed at her. "Principal Sylvester. . ."
"I'm going to stop you right there." Sue closed her eyes and held up one finger. "I abandoned that post, remember?"
"Right," Burt Hummel said. He looked scared. Sue wasn't surprised. Most people were scared. That's why most people weren't Sue Sylvester. "Ms. Sylvester, then. . ."
"President Sylvester," she interrupted. "Thanks to a clause in my contract, should the President, Vice President, and Speaker of the house all die simultaneously in a nuclear attack, I become President. Section eight, clause fifteen. Anyway. I assume that you're here looking for your porcelein-skinned lady-face."
"Um. . ." Burt processed for a moment, before nodding his head. "Yeah, that's right. I'm looking for my boy. Kurt. Have you seen Kurt?"
"As I understand it, your son was headed to New York for Nationals." Sue considered for a moment. "If it's any consolation, he was probably killed by the bomb itself. He shouldn't suffer from radiation poisoning."
Burt's face went white, and his jaw dropped. Behind him, a middle-aged, dumpy woman stepped around. Sue was displeased. Flannel and flab had no place in her new world order.
"What about Finn?" the woman asked. "Did you ask about Finn?"
"I'm going to stop you right there," Sue said again. "Finn is the name of a country, not a teenage boy. Also, the breeze is carrying the smell of decay, which means bombs, which means sickness. I'm going to take my Cheerios belowground. If you'd like to comb with, we can continue this conversation there."
Burt and Carol Hummel nodded their heads blankly. Sue turned back toward the bus and gave a sharp whistle. Moments later of flood of red and white clad students disembarked. Sue led them quickly to the small shed located just off the parking lot.
"Into the bunker, you lazy, no good excuse for human beings," Sue snapped. When the last football player (the same bulky, stupid looking boylover who had threatened her favorite lead vocalist) had entered, she slammed the door shut.
She looked at the fifty-odd terrified faces peering up at her, and couldn't keep a broad smile from spreading across her face. It was time for a new era. The reign of Sue had begun.
Things were going well in the Subterranean Kingdom of Sue. She'd stockpiled enough food that they could all survive for fifty years, which should be more than enough time for the atmosphere to realize that noxious fumes from atomic fission, or fusion, or whatever it was that caused bombs to go kaplooey. She was working hard on her breeding list, trying to match the strengths and weaknesses of her various Cheerios and football players. With the limited gene pool, it was taking all of her considerable talents to match them up. It had to be done quickly, of course, if she wanted the human race to survive.
She was just debating whether to match the one black cheerleader up with Azimio or Anthony when she heard the knock. She cocked one eyebrow. They'd been below ground for three days, and hadn't had a single visitor. As she walked to the door, she passed by Burt Hummel, wearing a hopeful expression on his face.
"Who's there?" Sue asked, refusing to open the door before receiving confirmation that the person on the other side met her standards.
"The UCLA Glee Club," came back the voice. "Are you people alive in there? Thank God. . ."
"What do you want?" Sue asked. Another pause.
"Is Wes there? I'm his brother. I remembered the bomb shelter from when I used to go here."
"West is a direction, not a name," Sue said scornfully. "Now go away. I can't have a group of singing castrados destroying my gene pool, or sucking up what little good air is left with their pathetic, whining emo songs."
"Wait. . .Coach Sylvester. . ."
She knew that voice. Also, she was pretty sure that she could smell the hair product through the steel door.
"Let us in. Please. We'll die if you don't."
Sylvester considered. They did go to UCLA, implying that they had some brains. And that Jesse St. James liked girls, at least. . .and he was tall.
"Provided you don't make any squawking or trills, you may come in," Sue said. When the boys eagerly agreed, she opened the door to them.
She tried to ignore the disappointed look on Burt Hummel's face.
The UCLA Glee Club had told her about what was going on. The radiation sickness that was plaguing the land, that had decimated their numbers from thirty to merely five. So Sue was more than a little surprised when, more than a week after they'd gone underground, she heard another knock at the door. Once again, Burt beat her to the door, and she felt a moment of pity for the man, keeping hope alive.
"Who's there?" she asked.
There was a long pause and then a shaky, female voice asking "Coach Sylvester?"
This time there was no thought, no consideration, Sue opened the door as fast as she possibly could. And then wished she could slam it closed again. Because, sure enough, standing in front of her was her most favorite cheerleader and protégée, Quinn Fabray.
Unfortunately, standing beside her was a squadron of Glee Geeks, ranging from Frankenteen to the singing Hobbit.
"Um . . .can we come in?" Frankenteen asked awkwardly. Sue winced, knowing what was going to happen next.
"Fiiiiiinnnnn!"
Sure enough, the homely looking middle aged woman had darted forward, and hugged the towering teen. Sue just rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Get in, before you let in all the radiation," she said.
"One second," Frankenteen said. He loped back to the car and returned with Noah Puckerman over his shoulder. Of this, approved. Puckerman was a BAMF, and had excellent virility. She would immediately add him in to the breeding program. Except that he was looking pretty sickly at the moment.
"What's wrong with him?" Sue asked with a sneer.
"We think he's relapsing," Quinn said. She bit her bottom lip. "Finn, don't forget Artie."
"Oh, yeah," he said. Wretching himself free of his mother, he loped back again, returning this time with the wheelchair kid who looked at bad as Puckerman.
"Finn?" Burt was there now, too, looking worried. Sue ignored them, and pulled the heavy door closed behind them. No need to let any more radiation in than necessary. "Finn, did you see Kurt? Is Kurt okay?"
"Um. . ." Finn exchanged a nervous look with Quinn.
"We don't know," Quinn said honestly. "He was fine when we left. He was helping to take care of some of the kids who were sick. But. . .it seems like everyone's relapsing so. . ."
"What do you mean, relapsing?" Burt looked terrified. Sue sighed.
"Where are they?" she asked, because really, she didn't care about all of this sickness talk. It bored her. You lived or you died. If you lived, you were okay in her book. If you died it meant you weren't worth being alive anyway. She did, however, have a certain weakness in her heart for the fairyboy, and Santana and Brittany were two of her most talented dancers, so she had a certain vested interest in the kids. She didn't care about the rest of Schuester's losers, though. Of course not.
The helicopter landed on top of the motel, and Sue didn't even try to disguise the look of disgust on her face. Of course the glee dorks would be staying in a flea-ridden place like this. No class, none of them. She would never let the Cheerios go through such conditions.
Putting her megaphone to her lips, she said "please exit the building via the roof exit with your hands above your heads, and any weapons left behind. I am declaring marshal law, and am here to save your lazy behinds."
She waited about two minutes. Nobody appeared. She rolled her eyes. Was it so hard to meet her standards? Really?
"What's taking so long? You think climbing stairs is hard? Try evacuating the entire McKinely High School during a nuclear attack, that's hard."
It was another two minutes before anyone appeared, and Sue was seriously considering heading back without them. But she'd put a lot of effort into this mission, going to her private base to pick up the helicopter that she was licensed to use, and then driving out here armed only with Quinn's admittedly careful directions. She was not going home empty-handed.
The door at the end of the roof finally opened. Santana was the first one out, carefully carrying Brittany over one shoulder. She was followed by – dear God, what was on that boy's head – a strange kid, who was helping the other Asian to walk. Sue frowned. . .was Other Asian glowing? Hmm. . .she considered briefly whether he deserved to be in the breeding program or not. Asian One walked on her own, one hand held to her head. Gelfling brought up the rear, dragging Ladylips on the ground.
"That all of you?" she asked.
"Yes, Coach." Santana said.
And then, oh dear God, the girl hugged her.
Sue groaned. The post-Apocalyptic world was not going according to plan.
A/N: So, I just couldn't handle Burt and Carole not making it. So. . .they went to Dalton, to try and find Kurt. Yay!
Coming Soon: Sue's Breeding Program causes some problem, Quinn sucks up to her new life, Rachel/Kurt have a diva-off, and Blaine finally deals with the loss of his arm. Plus the double-dose of tragedy!