Antares One sauntered into the briefing room, smirked at the lack of people, then quietly took a seat in the front row. It was too early for even the operator in charge of the briefing to be setting up the presentation, and that made it perfect for what this man was about to do in here.
Well. It's not like Martinez Security cared much for his quirks or interests, but Antares preferred his peace and quiet whenever possible. After all, he didn't have many opportunities to smoke during a mission.
He pulled out a sand-colored joint from his pocket and a small silver lighter. It took three flicks for the lighter to flame up, but he finally got the blunt burning. Taking a deep drag, Antares inhaled the funk of mediocre marijuana.
"Damn," he sighed, disappointed. "This shit mid as fuck."
All of a sudden there was a strange figure standing before Antares, appearing out of the shadows. It was the Razgriz. Their spontaneous arrival from the darkness however, didn't faze Antares. He simply removed the joint from his mouth and said to the glaring demon-
"Who the hell are you, cuh?"
"Shut up, you lame-ass mortal," snapped the Razgriz as the demon snatched the cheap joint from the man's hand. "Lemme hit that shit." The Razgriz ignited the joint with the flame from its lantern and took a deep drag, quickly adopting an equally disappointed expression. "This shit mid as fuck."
No human language in this world could describe the sheer let-down both man and demon felt right now.
Nuh-uh. The demon was not about to accept this underwhelming conclusion. The Razgriz pulled out an ebony blunt from the depths of its equally black cloak. "Hit this shit," said the Razgriz, offering the blackened blunt to Antares.
The man gladly obliged, lighting up the demonic blunt and putting it to his lips. He was immediately overcome with the power of the Raz Weed, his eyes turning red and watery within seconds and his mind hitting the stratosphere at Mach 5.
"Damn," he managed to say, "this shit off the gloop. On Razgriz, bruh."
The eponymous demon grinned and flashed Antares a peace sign before vanishing.
Someone else entered the room and walked up to Antares, who was now as high as a satellite in low Earth orbit. It was another man, with brown hair and brown eyes. He looked mildly impressed at what he was seeing.
Antares squinted, and then giggled. "Sulejmanweed? What are YOU doing here?"
"That shit smells loud as fuck," replied Sulejmanweed. "Could smell it all the way from my room. Can't believe you smoked the Raz Weed without coughing, bruh." He nodded to himself. "Surely you've got what it takes to become an Ace Trapstar."
"Okay word," giggled Antares enthusiastically.
"First, we must seek out the plug: Andre Mollyvieri."
One mediocre air show over Sand Island and "peacefully" negotiating with Commander Blueford for one day off later, both men find themselves entering into the lobby of Mollyvieri Life Insurance, Osea Branch.
Antares frowned. "Sully what the hell are we doin' out in the projects?"
"Sup slatts," said a bald man with the smuggest voice and face ever. It was like the sound of money rubbing together, personified. "Whatchu want?"
"Sully tells me I gotta be an Ace Trapstar or some shit," said Antares, eyeing the smug man suspiciously. Sulejmanweed, for his part, looked indifferent to their conversation. He was busy eyeing a vending machine nearby with Oreos. After a split second of deliberation, he decided to check it out.
"The Ace Blunt Rotation is a sacred ritual that takes place every ten years alongside every war on this forsaken planet," explained the bald man to Antares. "Several Ace Trapstars take to the skies and shoot each other down until one remains flying high, fighting over who gets to smoke the worst joint ever rolled."
The bald man pulled out a photo of the worst joint ever rolled. It was a pathetic thing, a stub of a blunt with its grassy innards sticking out, wrapped messily in the kind of transparent plastic the tearable bags are made of in the produce section of a typical grocery store. The entire blunt could barely fit in the palm of a hand. Its rancid vibes practically radiated off of the picture.
Antares cringed in disgust. "What would anyone want with that mid-ass joint? That itty-bitty roach won't even light!"
"What's inside is the Belkan Loud," murmured the smug man. "That shit will get you higher than molly, percs, and weed combined."
Now the man was convinced. "Say no more, cuh. Where can I find this blunt?"
"The last spliffy was cleared by your father Blaze and his crew, the Wardogs. Their blunt rotation was legendary. He cheefed that shit for six puffs before he passed." The bald man chuckled darkly. "They didn't call him Blaze for nothing."
"Damn, my pops was a chad of an Ace Trapstar." Antares gestured for Sulejmanweed to come over, who was well into his third bag of Oreos. "Okay Sully, let's roll."
"Rejoice, boy," said the bald man from the lobby as they both headed out. "Your wish will finally come true."
Antares paused, then glanced back at the bald man. He simply gave Antares a smug smile and a wave goodbye before disappearing further into the building.
"The hell did he mean by that?"
Sulejmanweed shrugged, casually stuffing another Oreo into his mouth. "Who cares?"
(Unbeknownst to Antares, he knew what Mollyvieri- the bald man meant. And it was fun keeping Antares in the dark. All according to plan…that Belkan Joint was going to be his to win.)
TO BE CONTINUED
[A/N]: A wise person once said "Be the change you wish to see in the world" or something along the lines of that, so here's a horrible story about a couple of games that don't get much talk. And a dollop of nonsense and memes because why not? This story can be found on AO3 as "Weed Combat: Joint Assault" by the way, in case there's confusion about the title.
