Four Feathers by DJ666

Okay, so I thought there'd be a firefight, and there wasn't. But Durin's Bane is still there! Jim escaped, though...too bad. I guess that means I'll have to write more FUNNY SPACE-FILLING THINGIES!!!

You know. Chapters.

In fact, I have no plot left to develop. I have written myself into a corner of the most roundabout story in existence. Like George Lucas and the Wachowski bros, I have screwed up an unscrewupable story. In that case, there is only one way to continue this crap until the revelatory chapter forty-two:

Completely random conglomerations of pointless shit that is funny.

Wait, that's what the story is already...that's how it started! I didn't write myself into a corner! NICE!

Content: You know, the usual. If you wish to retain what sanity you may still possess, feel free to skip this chapter and wait for the next one. I just watched Madness Combat for a little while, so this is gonna be an action-packed chapter.

Disclaimer: One day, I just know it, some Square-Enix porn freak is going to find this fic and say, "Hey! This guy never wrote real disclaimers! Let's sue him! It's not like Square-Enix has too much money anyway, milking every million they can out of a tired line of RPGs that shouldn't even exist!"

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Chapter Ten: Completely Random Conglomerations of Pointless Shit that is Funny

"OW, GODDAMNIT! YOU SHOT ME IN MY FACE!"

"SORRY REEVE, I GOTTA GET THAT GUY!"

There was a harsh moment of silence.

"YOU SHOT ME IN MY FACE!"

Vincent put three more lightning-quick caseless rounds into Reeve's lungs, ensuring that he couldn't bitch anymore without killing himself. The vampire leapt over the crouching form of the official and sprinted into the mist, following the vacuum of air that Jim had left in his passing. He could hear, with his super-undead reflexes, the sound of dead leaves being crunched underneath sprinting feet.

"Stop running!" Vincent yelled, cold air biting his lungs. "I'll catch you anyway!" And with a sudden leap, he lunged forward and tackled the fleeing form in midair. Jim gave a yelp of surprise and pain. Unexpectedly, the vampire's arms wrapped all the way around the bastard's waist; using this to his advantage, Vincent began crushing his torso with the sheer strength of his lithe musculature. But he realized that the resistance was greater than he expected; dropping Death Penalty, he groped upward, reaching for his victim's throat.

Damn it! Vincent thought. I can't reach past his man-boobs. Why did he have to eat so much KFC? The vampire attempted desperately to keep his grip on the target and simultaneously to find his throat. Well, at least they're not nasty, pudgy man-boobs. These are kinda firm. Shapely. Kid probably has breast cancer.

It was at that instant that Vincent realized what to do: he had to reach into Jim's chest and rip out his heart, a la Indiana Jones™ and the Temple of Doom©. He had just placed his claw in the correct position for heart-ripping, just over the left boob, when he heard the scream: "Vincent, what the HELL are you doing?!?!?!?!"

It was Yuffie.

Vincent took a thirty-second gasp, and then screamed.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO – "

Deep breath.

"– OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!11111!!1!"

"What he said," Yuffie answered. Like a crab, she scuttled out from underneath her companion, kicked him in the chest and rolled to a crouch, clutching her chest protectively. Damn, this soccer commercial has awesome music. Anyway, Vincent knelt up momentarily, gasping for air before he flopped on his back. The cold, crisp oxygen bit at his lungs; and his sides felt as though they'd been pierced with sewing needles. And he was pissed off.

"We missed him."

Vincent shook his head.

"We missed him!"

Slamming his head into the earth, he screamed,

"WE MISSED HIM!!!"

He fumed silently. Not only had they lost their quarry, but they had done that which they had most despised: they had interacted sexually. Vincent had betrayed his companion, an innocent eighteen-year-old; he had betrayed Lucretia, his one and only love whom he had sworn to love forever; and he had betrayed himself. The vampire rolled over, smashed the ground with his mechanical fist, and then pulled out his 'To Atone For' list.

Let Lucretia die

Let Hojo nail Lucretia

Let Hojo manipulate Lucretia's baby

Liked 'Snake's Revenge' for the NES

Let anger mutate me and cloud my judgment

Let my 'To Atone For' list get out of hand

Stole Crystal's pot after that 'Black Sabbath' reunion concert

Bought a GameCube just for 'The Twin Snakes'

Did that thing to that guy at that place

Made up more sins to avoid having to get up in the morning

He sighed. There were no checkmarks whatsoever, and now he added:

Groped Yuffie

Lost my prey

Shot Reeve

Left Rude in a trap of punji sticks behind the house

Where the hell is Reno, anyway?

WHEEZE

Such a failure. Such a failure.

"DAMN IT!"

There was an 'I Dream of Genie'-style DING.

"Man. Things sure have gotten outta hand here."

Aeris pushed herself up from Vincent's position on all fours and shrugged the knobs of the bass from digging into her shoulder. The strap was a bit tight around her bust, so she loosened it and grasped the instrument by its neck, keeping it in a weapon-style grip. Her left hand casually tugged at her bangs as she surveyed the situation.

When she saw Yuffie, Aeris chuckled; memories returned of the horns granted by the strikes of the guitar. A quick finger-snap turned the horns into three flaming imps, who flew away chittering and burst into the house in order to link up with the Balrog. Three more, presumably from Cid, followed suit.

"Feel better?"

Yuffie spat towards her arch-nemesis. "Excuse me, bitch. Could you help us find all the penises in the world besides Vincent's? It's like they all just...fell off the face of YOU!"

"You don't have to take out your anger on me," Haruko-Aeris answered, "just because you can't give good head."

"Well," the ninja replied, eyes narrowed in hatred, "I may not give good head. But I sure do give good BUTT!"

Yuffie launched herself at her opponent, Conformer in hand, trying to ram the attacker with her cranium. Aeris hopped to the left and brought the guitar around and up in what would have been a vicious uppercut had the shinobi not parried with her shuriken, tucked into a roll, flipped forward into a spin and landed crouching with her eyes on the bassist.

"Not too bad," Aeris muttered, grimacing and sneering.

"Not too bad yourself," Yuffie whispered.

The ninja hurled her shuriken high and leapt after it, launching herself into the air and kicking straight at the creature's head. The guitar battered the foot aside, inadvertently giving the warrior the leverage she needed to reverse her movement and slam a heel into her opponent's sternum. Aeris dropped, doubled over in agony. Yuffie would have jammed her Conformer into the slut's back had the thing not rolled into her legs and toppled her onto her ass.

In an instant, Aeris was upon her like a spider upon its prey, limbs pinning the joints to the earth. Both had dropped their weapons, useless at this distance, and began locking flesh, clashing sinews like two succubi revealing their demonic power in a struggle for the queendom of hell. Cid and Reno, sharing a cigarette, watched intently. (Oh, THERE he is. Son of a diggity.)

Yuffie wriggled her left arm free and poked her antagonist in the eye; she followed up with an undulating kick that sent the slum whore flying away. Rather than recuperating herself, the shinobi took a knee and hopped forward, driving her thigh through her opponent's legs. Aeris, in turn, propped herself up on one bent leg and drove the other booted heel into Yuffie's back. Waists pressed together, the two struggled awkwardly for a second before clutching at each other: the ninja began compressing her foe's chest while the healer crushed her enemy's head to her bosom. Finding this regrettably inefficient, the magician took a handful of Yuffie's hair and jerked her skull backwards. She leaned her face close to the young warrior's, sneering. "I got more years of Turks CQB experience in here than you could beat with all your ninja training put together."

"Fuck you!" Yuffie retuned, spitting upon Aeris' face. "No – fuck you," the other returned. She ran her tongue across the young woman's flesh, from clavicle to cranium, laughing as she did so. Rather than submitting, the shinobi gritted her teeth and lunged upward, latching onto Aeris' lower lip with her teeth and clamping down as hard as she could. The magician bent further down, reached into her opponent's shorts and tugged up hard on her panties, producing just enough discomfort for Yuffie to stop biting and for Aeris to drop back and kick her in the chin, rolling away and catching her breath as she leaned forward on an elbow.

The ninja took a sumo stance and rotated her pelvis, managing to slip her undergarments into a more comfortable position. In the confused melee, both of their weapons had been kicked aside; to the left lay the shuriken, and to the right the guitar. Their was a John Woo kind of moment: close-ups on the eyes, shifting to either side. And then, as though on cue, both made a mad scramble for the other's tool: Yuffie was unaware of anything but herself as she jumped forward, twisted up from her roll with the guitar in her hands. Aeris was infinitely faster, but she had made a crucial mistake.

She'd swung too soon.

The Conformer passed by Yuffie's head, short by a full twelve inches. The guitar, on the other hand, struck perfectly, neck snapping in two and splintering with the strings wrapping themselves about Aeris' throat. The magician fell back. Then she turned red. Then she turned blue.

And then she turned into a thoroughly confused Vincent.

"Whah the fuh...mah lih huhs lie heh..." He sat up. "Ugh, mah rihs...eh bah...shih." He glanced at Yuffie, sweaty and breathless, standing sumo-style beside him.

"Oo beher hah a WEE fuhin guh ehanashuh fuh thih."

"You turned into Aeris. Again."

"Uh."

Yuffie dragged herself slowly over to her companion's side. "Lie down," she suggested. All too happy to comply, Vincent fell backwards. The ninja leaned over him, frowned momentarily, then grabbed his jacket and tore off the right sleeve. With it she made a bandage of sorts, which he placed over her patient's middle. She considered for a moment, then stretched it out and leaned very close to Vincent. Taking extra care, she snaked a hand beneath him in an effort to wrap it about his midriff. The vampire, looking pale, glanced up at her for a second before she realized the awkward position:

They were just about placed for an intimate kiss.

Indeed, the shinobi was partially embracing her former opponent, and her face was barely inches from his, her sweat dripping onto his cheeks as she worked. Painfully aware of their proximity, she grabbed the other end of the bandage, tied a knot and cinched it tight.

Vincent gasped, sat partially up, then sank back down and lay still. He breathed out slowly, nodded, and muttered a thoroughly miserable 'thah oo'. Now silent, he felt feebly around his waist, comfortably wrapped his fingers around Death Penalty's hilt, and fell blissfully asleep.

Yuffie, crouching at his side, sighed (he he he...sighed at his side...god, I love English). He'd be alright, eventually. The ninja stood, glanced about, found Cid and Reno slumped against one another sharing a cigarette. With much difficulty she tried to move them over to keep watch beside Vincent before realizing it was much easier to simply drag the cadaverous vampire over to them.

She then pressed on through the fog, finding Reeve and his bullet-ridden ass laying facedown on the leaves. Although he could himself walk, it was far more difficult than dragging him, Emma Emmerich-style, to the rest of the group. At last she circled around the house and found Rude, extricating him from his punjified prison with an effort slightly greater than that required to defeat all 25 Metal Gear RAYs in MGS2, had they all been MG REX instead, with Big Boss piloting all of them at once, and Psycho Mantis blowing up your Stingers the second you fired them, and chaff grenades fucking up Gray Fox's exoskeleton the second he tries to help you and the big foot crushes you as MG REX ceases to function. And thus, at long last, everyone was assembled in one place.

The shinobi took a gander about the sorry collection of companions. In the center lay the severely beaten Vincent, and beside him Reeve (having been severely beaten BY Vincent). Around them, staring blindly forward, sat Cid and Reno – nearby, the silent Rude, and lastly herself.

"So."

Those of them still conscious lazily looked at Yuffie. Cid and Reno were certainly stored, and if not then they were certainly in no state to suffer a prolonged conversation. Rude was being Rude – and that was, completely quiet and removed from the conversation.

"Well, don't we look good," Yuffie posed. "I just had to beat the shit out of Aeris, thus totally crapping out Vincent in the process. Cid and Reno, you guys may as well have been shoving tear gas grenades down your throats, since you're about as useful now as you would have been after doing that. Rude, you appear to be bleeding profusely from the punji-induced wounds in your chest."

"I thought I felt an extra navel or two," he softly grumbled.

"Okay, now I hate to say it, but we just missed the object of our homicidal obsession as he escaped. So we need to get up really fast and follow him."

"Why?" Rude asked succinctly.

"Because – "

"No," Cid broke in, "no, FUCK NEG, FUCK NYET, FUCK NEIN, FUCK NOCHO HUEVES, SEÑORITA. I do NOT have the fucking patience for more fucking exposition right now, okay? This is a goddamn action chapter, no fucking talkie-talk, sí?" (Check it out, I just started taking Spanish class. Kickass, huh? My teacher Profesora Fernandez is wicked hot. And the music from the Skateboarding Mission in Metal Gear Solid 2: Substance is so frickin' awesome, it's awesome. Its awesomeosity scares lesser men dickless, I swear. Excuse the profanity, but Metal Gear in all its forms is, frankly, THE BALLS. And as long as we're on the topic, my penis is like the entirety of Yao Ming's body mass, but a penis.)

With the pilot's proclamation that all audio intercourse should be suspended, they found themselves sinking into boredom. But then, Yuffie leapt to her feet with joy and shouted at the top of her lungs, "RONALD MCDONALD!"

"Yeah, I was thinking exactly the same thing," Reno answered. "I'm so hungry I could vomit air."

"No, stupid," the ninja returned, "Jim's dad. We can interrogate him!"

"Presuming he's been quietly sitting in his house with six avowed murderers on his lawn for the past twenty wasted minutes."

The shinobi stared Reno straight in the eye for eight seconds, then said, "ExACTly. If you can still stand, please do so now. We are going to find Ronald McDonald!" (Wow, this joke got unfunny fast.)

Leaving the wounded to their own devices, the four of them grabbed their respective weapons and set off towards the front door of the McDonald mansion. It was time to go to the mattresses.

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"Okay, we checked all the bedrooms AND the linen closets AND the wash room. Obviously, these are not the mattresses to which we should have gone."

"True," Yuffie allowed. "I could swear that the Godfather had the answer to everything. Like remember that road trip we took through Alabama? We left the gun and took the canollis."

"Yeah, but didn't you end up getting raped on camera by eighteen rednecks on that trip?"

"Sure, but that started my entire part-time porno career, didn't it?"

"...Let's get to checking the rest of the house."

"You know," El Cid put out, "I can't help but think you fuckers forgot something real fucking important."

"Like what?" Yuffie responded, trying to elicit details.

"Like...I dun fuckin' know!"

"Well that's really not HELPFUL!" the shinobi shouted, exasperated and tired. "Was it just important, or was it useful, or was it dangerous or WHAT?!"

"Uh – well, three fucking monkeys on fire popped out of my head and those fucking horns went away. That's probably some kinda fucking omen of our fucking doom or some shit."

Yuffie's mouth dropped open. Then she closed it and calmly sat on the floor, deep in thought. Reno was the only one brave enough to ask, "What is it?"

"The Balrog."

At that instant, Durin's Bane burst through the floor, mane aflame and fiery whip in hand. His roar lit Cid's new cigarette, burnt it through, and reddened the tip of each one still in the package in the man's breast pocket. Where were those goddamned Leviathan Scales when you needed them?

Thinking fast, Reno hurled his electro-shock stick directly at the creature's eyes. Although it did not strike the thing, the intense heat of the air surrounding the creature caused the weapon to explode. The brief sparkling output of thermal energy alarmed the Balrog, making it jerk back and lose its whip for a moment. It gave Rude just enough time to whip out his pistol and begin unloading his magazine into its head. Unfortunately, the bullets turned to molten goo before hitting Durin's Bane; golden circles appeared on his forehead. With a roar that shook the building to its foundations, he swung his whip.

All six managed to duck, but the aftershock of the snap sent them all flying out of the window and onto the front lawn. Leaping straight through the roof, the Balrog crashed down upon them, its batlike wings barely slowing its fall. It growled a low growl, making its intentions quite clear to the cowering companions before it. One step forward.

Yuffie raised a hand, cast Ice3 and watched as a puff of steam obscured the thing's face. Scrambling to her feet the ninja began fleeing, Reno and Rude side by side with Cid in the rear. But the Balrog recovered faster than was expected and unleashed its whip upon them, tripping them all. Now they were truly at its mercy: Yuffie glanced anxiously at her stupid little battle timer as it filled up like a snake digesting its prey.

Having been absorbed in taping down the L and R buttons in order to flee, nobody saw the great foot lift in preparation for certain stompification. As though in slow motion, Reno looked over his shoulder to find a great cloven hoof, akin to those of Satan, tore itself free from the ground, leaving a burnt and blackened patch of grass upon the lawn. Cid was loosely preparing his staff for combat, and Yuffie's shuriken were flying faster than anyone could see. But despite it all, it was too late; no one could outrun the massive engine of destruction that now assailed them; even if they made it back to the airship, the creature had wings.

(Most people will realize that here I follow the description of the Balrog as presented most commonly by the religious audience connecting the Balrog to its literal 'demon' form in the sense of a winged bull-horned creature with cloven hooves, or by the massive audience of the three Lord of the Rings films in which Peter Jackson opts for a winged demon, perhaps for the greater scare factor of such a behemoth with all-encompassing, batlike wings. However, there is a large school of 'informed' thought regarding the lack of Balrog wings.

(There's a problematic passage of Fellowship that states "His enemy halted again, facing him, and the shadow about it reached out like two vast wings." Fellowship II 5, TBOKD. This in and of itself is not problematic, but conflict arises due to "...suddenly it drew itself up to a great height, and its wings were spread from wall to wall..." Ibid. The second passage leaves debate as to whether these wings are literal, or the figurative 'shadow about it...like two vast wings'.

(Most anti-wingers point out that Balrogs have never flown, even when it would be advantageous; both Gothmog in combat with Glorfindel and Durin's Bane in combat with Gandalf explicitly FELL to their deaths. Durin's Bane is quite pointedly stated as having leapt the chasm it had to cross to reach the fellowship.

(Other proofs include the fact that such wings would have been enormous; they are stated as stretching from wall to wall of what would have been a cavernous chamber of Moria. In his personal correspondence, Prof. Tolkien described Balrog's as somewhat greater than a man, but not a giant; one should also consider that, through natural selection, the Balrog's would have evolved these useless things, a contradiction in terms. To boot, Tolkien used the metaphor of 'wings of shadow' elsewhere in his work, and as such this lends considerable credence to the anti-wing argument.

(However, one must consider from the 'pro-wings' side that Balrogs are themselves creatures of shadow and flame; taken either way, a Balrog's very body is no more or less real than his indefinite wings of shadow.)

The foot did not crush down.

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Gazing up at the hideous beast, no one had noticed that the house was changing considerably. Not that it was alive or anything (just wait til that chapter!), but there was certainly something...odd. A bit of flashing was occurring in the upper levels of the mansion – a red blur tearing at the edges of the structure. Windowsills tore, panes shattered, the gutters fell off, and shingles were ripped from the roof. And then, it disappeared.

The Balrog dropped back, slammed its ass into the ground and flapped its wings once. 'Dead in the water', it scooped at the blood jetting from its chest and coagulated the lava to serve as a poultice.

Before it stood Vincent.

With his torn sleeve bound about his chest, Vincent's bare right arm trembled; the tendons practically jutted from its surface. Clutched tightly in the hand was Death Penalty, held sideways for a smooth aiming field, and the left hand grasped in a reverse-grip a great sword, looking quite heavy and burnt black at the edge from contact with the demon's torso. He was untouched and unfazed; in fact, he wasn't even sweating. Or breathing.

The Balrog advanced a second time. Vincent did not move. When it came within ten feet of the motionless figure, it raised its sword for a strike and let loose a horrific roar that would shake leaves from the trees. Its opponent did not move. One step forward. No response.

Uncertain, the Balrog reached down to grab Vincent. One fiery hand closed about his paralyzed frame and lifted it into the air. The companions below watched in horror as the hand tightly fisted, leaving no room for Vincent at all. He was dead.

He was dead.

Vampiric Vinny was dead. The heart, mind, soul and balls of the team had just been turned into a black dust crushed between the fingers of some weird cross-over freakshow. Yuffie slumped to the ground. Vincent was the greatest fighter among them; without him, what were they to do?

"Vincent!" the ninja cried. "VINCENT! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DIE, WHY?!?!?! I NEVER EVEN GOT THE CHANCE TO TELL YOU HOW MUCH I LOVED YOU!"

Oh, wait, scratch that. He ain't dead.

The hand exploded. Yeah, literally, what with the sparking fireballs and such. A bloody violet tornado jumped backwards and slammed into the ground, revealing a thoroughly Chaotic gunman. His eyes were pure red.

Without waiting for the terrified Balrog to recover, he sprang forward, flapped his wings once and launched himself into the air, high, above the clumsy and off-balance retaliatory swipe of the fire blade, and alighted easily upon the creature's head. A swift movement jammed the sword into the demon's face. Lava gushing from its eyes, the thing wailed like a cinderblock dragged on cement, "...W-wings?"

"Red Bull. It gives you wings."

He sneered.

"BITCH."

Death Penalty let fifty silver-lined chunks of lead tear through the creature's braincase, digging into the grey matter and severing the top of the spinal column. Vincent's wings retracted, blood spilling as the hooked thumbs of the extra appendages snagged on his skin, and the vampire jumped, the sword dragging itself down the demon's whole front before exiting the groin. The combatant landed in a comfortable crouch, sword tucked back and firearm resting on a shoulder, and did not stand until he heard the SLAM of the massive body striking the ground.

He stood quietly, strode to meet his friends, and tossed an empty can to Yuffie.

"YOU STOLE MY RED BULL, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

"...And then saved your life with it, moron." Without missing a beat, the SMG spun from its holster and clicked at the ready, bolt open, barrel pressing into the shinobi's scalp. "What was this I heard about you loving me?"

Yuffie laughed nervously. "Oh, yeah...see, um, about that. I – all I said was I love you, not that I'm IN love with you. 'Cause, yeah. He he he ... whoops. Misunderestimastanding, yup? Whew! Glad that got cleared up!"

"You love me? Even that I find...disturbing."

"Well, you see, it's because one day I was in your room – "

"When?"

The shinobi laughed again. "Oh, you remember that – time – when I was – in your room? That time."

"The time you tried to get into bed with me, because, and I quote, 'The Thumpulator was chasing me', or the time you were going to stick my hand in warm water to make me piss myself and realized several minutes too late that I sleep with a knife in that hand?"

The ninja couldn't say a thing. Vincent had always been cold and polite, but now he was downright frigid...and tearing into her like nobody's business with the professional ferocity of a Doberman. It was like he had just snorted a bowlful of 'cream of whupass' soup and was ready to piss something fierce. Yuffie stammered out a response:

"The first one. And, you see, uh, I saw your PTK list and saw that I was on top. Nobody's ever thought I was a first-rate gal before!"

"You do realize that's my 'People to Kill' list."

Yuffie gulped.

"Save it," Vincent assured her. "We've got something to do." He slung the sword at his back and lowered his gun. "Someone leave Reeve a note to put the police on alert for a James McDonald. Reno, Rude, I want a quick smear campaign; pull up his records, show his picture on TV, and when someone finds him and reports him, bring him in. Cid, get the Highwind booted up and fix that damned weapons system. Yuffie, you and I have something to do."

Throwing caution to the winds, she asked. "What do we have to do?"

"Give Jim's dad his just desserts; and trust me, it's not gonna be a shitty apple pie. We're gonna bleed the sucker of anything he knows, then make sure he gets what's coming for him." He racked the bolt of his weapon.

"We're gonna kill Ronald McDonald."

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Boo-yah!

Less humor, more action. I felt it necessary to just put in a kind of weird, violent, sexy, badass pie chapter in here somewhere. Like the way I write action? Tell me. Prefer the funnies? Wait for the next goddamn chapter, I'm spent.

Hopefully, Vincent's Dante side will show up more as things progress. Hopefully, I'll work in a meeting with Auron, Sephiroth and Dante himself, just to have a kind of fucked up "check it out, we're all based on the same stereotypical can of stabbity kickass!" moment or two. Hopefully, I still have some jokes up my sleeve to last until chapter forty-two.

DMC is the shit. If you don't have it, but it. If you don't have a PS2, buy one, then buy DMC. If you suck too much at video games to play DMC, beat a bunch of crappy games, then buy DMC. If you don't have money, sell some crack, then buy DMC.

I'm back in school, and I'd imagine everyone else is too. My homework load is considerably greater than it was at my old school, so adjustment is going slow. Thus, writing may take even longer. Horrors. Check back in three weeks-ish. Til then, read Ishmael by Daniel Quinn. It's pretty cool. Two words: telepathic. Gorilla.