(A/N: It's good to be back…really, it is.  Sorry it's taken so long…man, I feel like Tank. =D One huge thing I'm noticing is a mass (opposite of exodus) of new people *must not use the word 'newb'*.  Well, only time will tell if this is a good or bad thing – and I'd also like to take a time-out to give a hearty salute to 'Lulah for being able to review practically EVERY SINGLE chapter of EVERY SINGLE fic out there.  Hot damn!)

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Act V – Doom!

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Scene I – F'ed up Dreams and Dead Chicks

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Beat…

"Gum?"

Beat…

"Who's there?"

Beat…

Sleep-crusted eyes opened, and Beat found himself lying face-down in the middle of Verona-Cho Square.  Dim moonlight lit the place, and he was able to make out another figure.  He wasn't sure how…for he knew he hadn't walked…or even skated…but he was suddenly there, staring down at the girl. 

"No…this can't be…"

But it was, and he had known it from the start.  The prone body with that green sundress, the striped socks, and the grey helmet.  It had been, was, and always would be, Gum.

Beat wanted to cry.  He wanted to cry and cry and cry until he was fresh out of tears, and the blood came instead. Wanted to cry until his face tinted crimson and he looked like a junkie fresh out of a moshpit. 

But the tears wouldn't come.  He gasped and sobbed and retched until he thought he would be ill…but nothing happened.  Gum's lifeless body still lay there on the concrete beside the crying Beat. 

Nothing…

Beat…

"What?"

Beat!

"Who's there?"

Beat!  Wake up!

A sharp backhand to the jaw told Beat…well, many things.  One, that he had been dreaming.  Two, that Gum was not dead.  Three, that whoever had slapped him would catch it baaaaad…

"Who the…?" Beat protested, eyes blinking away the tinted morning-vision.  It was Beta, his landlord. 

"Boy…get the hell up!  I ain't no damn message service!  Lucky I actually bothered to give your punk ass this note.  Hmph…" he shoved the crumpled up piece of paper into Beats hands, and pulled an about-face, giving Beat a nice eyeful of...hindquarter.

"Check that out…it say UPS on there?"

"No…but get it the hell away from me!"

Beta stomped off, slamming the door on his way out.  He had always been nice like that. 

But Beat couldn't complain.  Father Garam and Beta learned the art of… "gardening" together, and the Father had gotten Beat the apartment for dirt cheap…which summed up the appearance of the place. 

Beat opened the piece of paper with a sigh, reading the sloppy handwriting as best he could.

Graham cllaed.

Yur bich is ded.

Bring him summore brownee micks.

And sum freetos.

And sum pop tarts.

And sum nachos.

And sum soft surv frozin yogurt.

And sum pork chops.

Yur bich is ded.

And sum pudding.

And sum wyte-owt.

Beat must have been running on empty that morning, for he actually read that far down before his brain finally wrapped itself around the idea.

"My…my bitch is dead…?" he whispered raggedly.

But he couldn't believe it.  It had to be a mistake.  To hell with Onishima…he was going to Verona-Cho this day!

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Scene II – Customs is a Bitch!

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"Another day, another…shit, what was I gonna do?"

It wasn't hard to guess that Father Garam was toking up once again.

"Ooooh I wish I were an Oscar Meyer weineerr…cos that is what I'd truly like to beeeee…"

It went on for quite some time, the Father paying homage to one of the greatest munchies on the face of the earth…cold hot dogs.

Around the fourth verse, however, Garam was interrupted…unfortunate.

Knock knock knock, went the door.  Garam turned 'round (now, somehow in his underwear and holding a comb that was doubling as a microphone), and stomped over to the door.  Knock knock knock, it said.

First he kicked it. 

Knock knock knock, went the door.

Then he punched it.

Knock knock knock, went the door.

And then he remembered that doors don't make noise.  So he opened it.  And kicked what was on the other side.

"Ouch ouch ouch," went the man.

"Who the hell is you?" Garam demanded…of course, at this point, everyone looked like gummy bears.  With claws.

"It's Beta, fool!  Shooot…kicking me when I come back to tell you something important.  I should just let that Beat sucka' off himself."

This, of course, sobered the Father right up…sort of like eating the worm in a bottle of tequila, and then realizing that you've been talked into tightrope walking between the top of the Twin Towers.

"No, no, no, c'mere…I'm sorry, man.  What happened?"

"Well…it was sorta my bad, y'see.  I was a little bit…" And here he coughed, whether suggestive, or from emphysema, who could tell?  "…high…and I wrote down that Gum was dead…for real."

The Father scowled…and then cussed.  A lot.

I won't go into much detail, but let's just say that in the time Garam spent parading around the place in his underwear, swearing in every language he knew, he probably could have met Beat at the train station, and explained to him what the hell was going on.  When he got it out of his system, though, he calmly put on some clothes…threw a shirt and pants on…though he might have mixed the two up.  Fortunately, there was already a hole cut in the crotch of the pants.  Don't ask why.

Don't do drugs, kiddies.

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Scene III – You All Knew It Was Coming…Mucho Death!

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It had taken two trains, four taxis, and one rather surprised man with a Toyota, but Beat had finally made it to his destination. 

Tokyo-To Cemetery.

It had always been a depressing place, as all graveyards were.  Cement blocks that served as drop-off spots for flowers, balloons, and other such gifts.  The dead were just that; what use did they have for roses, or heart-shaped, helium filled ozone diminishers (balloons, people). 

That's what Beat, thought, anyway.

But none of this was on his mind…nothing but Gum, now.

He reached a hand into his pocket, withdrawing a small tube; it looked like it would hold a roll of film quite nicely.  But he wasn't here to take pictures…he was here to see Gum one last time…and then be at peace forever.

He stepped nimbly past the tombstones, not caring what spirits he angered by walking across their burial sites.  He knew where he was going.

A small part of the cemetery had been sectioned off especially for those rudies that met an untimely death, for whatever reason.  It was a large circle, surrounded by hedges twice as tall as a grown man.  The only way in or out was a large gate, that had been constructed by the rudies themselves, in a joint effort.  Heh…joint. 

Unfortunately, when Beat got there, he was not alone.  Disk, Gum's would-be groom, was already trying to force his way inside, his weak, flimsy shoulder enduring more and more abuse as it slammed into the sturdy wooden gate time and time again.  This, of course, in accordance with Newton's thirty-seventh law, that men with muscles smaller than rolled-up newspapers (the weekday edition, mind you) will be unable to bend or break anything stronger than cotton.

"Open, damn you!  Open!"

Beat arched a brow, lifting his sunglasses.  "I'm not sure the gate can hear you, Disk."

Disk whirled, blue-green veins pumping blood to tired biceps.  Beneath his shirt, bruises were already forming.  "I know you!  You're that murderer!  What are you doing here?!"

"Relax.  I just came to visit Gum one last time.  Then I'll be gone…I promise."

"Hold on a sec…" And Disk reached into his pocket, producing a small, paperback book; the title read "Jet Set Romeo and Juliet."  Disk thumbed through the pages…seemed to find the one he was looking for, and read over it.  "Aha!  Says here that we have to fight, and then you kill me…WAIT!  That can't be right!  I'm the hero!"
And so it went for another few minutes, with Disk crying like a 5 year old, and Beat standing there, doing nothing.

"I've got a better idea, Disk.  How about you just take a couple of these?"  And that black canister was held up, the top removed.  "Hold out your hand."

Disk obeyed, and had two small, white tablets poured into his hand.  He popped them into his mouth, and swallowed.

"What are they, Advil?  I've been having some really bad migraines lately.  Of course, that's how all the people in my family are.  In fact, my uncle Richie, one time, told me that when I was really little, the entire family was taken aboard a UFO called the S.S. Arkabama, and they did creepy experiments on all of us, and that's why our heads hurt all the time.  Do you think there's an actual school for bullfighters, or do they just grab a guy from the stands, dress him like a pimp, and send him out there with a red cape?  Hey, weren't you supposed to-"

Disk's ramblings were cut off, unfortunately, as his heart stopped pumping blood.  Were someone to try and take his blood pressure, they would feel nothing.  If someone down at the morgue tried to pump his stomach, they would find a squeaky toy, two ballpoint pens, a CD for 1045 hours of free AOL (Broken into small pieces, or course), and a phone cord.

But Beat simply walked past Disk's prone body, and did what Disk had never thought to do – climb the fence. 

On the other side, Gum was there, doing a fabulous impersonation of a dead person.  Her body, due to financial reasons, had not yet been placed in a casket, and was laying on a cement pedestal.  Clutch, it seemed, had, during one of his Corona binges, bought Algeria on eBay with all of the Capulets' money. 

Beat approached the pedestal, and knelt next to her, taking her hand in his.  As was appropriate for the occasion, he was crying.

No time for wasted words, and he simply took two of the small, white pills.  Rat poison.  There was room for two on the pedestal, and he lay down beside her, offering one last kiss…and trying not to think of necrophilia…as the last of his life slipped away.  Beat did not move again.

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You all should know the rest.  Gum awoke later, feeling dazed, and with a bit of a hangover.  She saw Beat.  Cried, and found his film canister.  Two pills left for her, which she gladly took.  Three deaths already…this was sure to be on the news.

Father Garam, Clutch, Jazz, Piranha, and the rest of the Capulets arrived the next morning, and saw the two of them, lying side by side.  Father Garam explained the situation to them…though he had to reiterate it several times, as they kept looking at each other and muttering things like "He's stoned again." Or "Just nod and smile…he's high."

They eventually believed him, however, and the two were buried together in the Rudie Graveyard.  Some people cried.  Some didn't.  Some people wore black for days after.  Most didn't.

Onishima retired two years after that, and was replaced by a rookie fresh from the academy, by the name of Hayashi.

Clutch was caught Skating under the Influence, and was sentenced to 40 hours of community service.

Jazz got pregnant…but not by Clutch.  She named the baby boy Clutch Jr. anyway, much to Yo-Yo's dismay.

Piranha went on to be a Hooters girl.  She looks damn good in orange shorts and a tank-top.

Father Garam was caught selling his "Magic Veggie" to minors, and ran like the wind.  He was last seen in America, under the assumed name of "Albert Sharpton".

THE END