Four Feathers by DJ666

Fun fact: Chaos' scream at the loss of Halo 2 privileges contains one thousand and two O's, making it the longest anguished scream known to man.

Funner fact: Having read that, forty-four percent of readers will go back, copy/paste the scream into MSWord, and use the 'word count' tool to confirm the previous fun fact.

In other news, there are two reasons it's been so long in the interim. Wait, I just thought of a third one. Let's say 'a few' and see what I can come up with.

Reason one: MGS3. I'm going for a no-alerts game to get the stealth camo. Meaning I have to save about every other area change so I don't fuck it up and not get it.

Reason two: book. Not only am I nearing the 222,222-word mark, but I'm now active on two different writer's boards, so just checking with all my internet peeps now literally takes an hour or more. CORRECTION: Upon this edit, I have reached said mark. Word 222,222 was 'a'. How exciting.

Reason three: I'm now more actively involved in the running of a faction on Gamefaqs. Authoritarian duties are sucking me dry like a Korean whore in heat. (Note: In that statement, I'm dry. It's the Korean whore who's sucking and in heat. Just in case. It seemed a bit ambiguous, you know.)

Reason four: DMC3 came out. I've been too busy ogling it to actually buy it (or work on this), but whatever.

Reason five: More MGS3. Discussion is rampant.

Reason six: Speaking of rampancy, I do more work on Halo-related discussion boards (Primarily HBO) as well.

So in any case, my schedule be bizzay. OH YEAH, and Madness Combat 5 came out: 'Depradation'. Zip on over to the grounds that are new and watch it.

Content: Violence, language, drug use, some kinkiness of sex, and the word 'Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia'. W00TNESS.

Disclaimer: AH! NINJAS!

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Chapter Twelve: And Lo, a Newe Chaptre Cometh!

"And then I'm like, 'Suck it!' and I totally kicked him in the nuts."

"…Fantastic."

Yuffie and Vincent approached the McDonald mansion with little heed for traps or guards. The vampire was on a mission, sword and gun ready for action; his ninja companion trailed behind him, trying to elicit anything beyond a one-word response. There was only one task Yuffie knew of that occupied his focus so completely, and it was cleaning Death Penalty. Well, to be fair, he did act about the same whenever he was playing Splinter Cell 5, but whatever. Apparently, there was just something about killing people that turned him on.

"So…Vinnie, how were you planning on killing him, again?"

"Sword," the gunman answered, eyes straight ahead, weapon leveled for the throat.

"Um…what with the sword?"

"Eyeballs."

"…Ew."

"Calm down," insisted the other. "They're just eyes. He can live without them. For a while."

The shinobi lifted an eyebrow. "How long of a while?"

"Depends on whether I hang him upside down so he bleeds out his sockets or not."

"I guess that makes sense."

"Shut up. We're in."

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Ronald McDonald worked furiously, slamming items into his briefcase in preparation for his flight. His keys, his gun, his Balrog-spawn, his PSP, his bondage gear – eh, maybe that'd have to stay. Nah, drop the passport and fit the crotchless pants, at least. He did some quick math and decided that if he could fit all his clothes on his person, he could take more stuff on the road. He began changing; and hence, when Yuffie and Vincent busted into his room, he was wearing considerably less than what one might call…you know. Clothing.

"Dude, you're way nakeder than I ever wanted to see you," remarked the former.

"And far more alive, as well," finished the latter.

Ron pondered his predicament. He was standing nude before two young persons armed with more pointy, sharp, death-inducing objects than he could shake a stick at, and they wanted him dead. Which he was probably about to be, so good for them. But bad for him, of course.

Or was it…

"Vincent, you can't kill me," he said proudly. "If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine." Valentine smiled grimly and cocked his weapon, aiming for the head, but Yuffie turned away with a hand to her eyes. "Oh, MAN," she groaned. "He just, uh…activated his lightsaber, if you catch my meaning."

The gunslinger let his eyes flit down for an instant. "Whew. It's a good thing those pants have no crotch, because otherwise you'd have been hard-pressed to find some new ones." He shook his head. Damn…'hard pressed'? Chaos had gotten a penis joke AND a dry-cleaning joke into the same sentence. "You know, it's too bad I have to kill you. That is one huge man-sausage. You're almost as big as the author is. But he's an insecure sonuvabitch, so I guess you have to die now."

Wondering how Vincent happened to know just how big my manhood is, McDonald cringed in fear. "Please, no! I can't die now!"

The vampire shrugged. "It was a figure of speech. You won't literally die now. You'll die after we torture you for a couple of hours."

"I – please, don't kill me!" the naked man begged them. "I'll do anything, please, just let me live!"

"Oh, I don't think so," Vincent said, shaking his head lightly. "You dead, bitch. You dead."

"Please, WHY, WHY! WHY DO YOU WANT TO KILL ME!"

"It's fun."

Ronald McDonald threw his hands into the air. "But why me? WHY ME!"

"Cause you're Jim's dad, so we – "

Vincent stopped midsentence.

You're Jim's dad.

Jim's dad.

Jim's dad.

JIM's dad.

JIM'S DAD.

"Okay, you scumsucking cockbite, you've got one chance to live, and it's a slim one. Tell us where your son is going and we might be inclined to let you go. Or at least, let you not die. In a certain, limited sense of the word."

Ron went pale. "My – my son?"

"Yeah," Yuffie affirmed. "He's sort of been writing smut about the two of us, and it has pissed us off. Massively. Don't you remember?"

"Well," McDonald suggested, "maybe you shouldn't have been doing things smutworthy in the first place."

"We weren't," Vincent answered. "Your son made them up. He's a pervert. A big, fat, greasy, lying pervert."

"I think it may run in the family," Yuffie supplied helpfully, "so you might want to look out for that one."

"Now get up," the vampire barked, gesturing with the barrel of his weapon. "Stand up." Ronald erected himself, weak in the knees. "Now turn around, face the wall." McDonald did so. "Now…

"Which knee do you like more?"

The perverted father furrowed his brow, turning a bit to regard his tormentors. "Which knee do I like more?"

"Left or right," Vincent explained icily. "You've got a fifty-fifty chance, man, it's a bit hard to fuck this one up."

McDonald considered his kneecaps for a moment. They stared back at him, anxious to see who he chose. He could feel it in his cartilage – the one he let die would doubtless look up in its final moments and cry out in agony, 'Et tu, Roné?' Frankly, the idea of discussing mortality with his own anatomy was something of an unpleasant one.

"Can't I avoid this altogether and just tell you where Jim is going!" The father was sweating now, torn between his loyalty to his son and his love for his legs. I mean, his legs had known him WAY longer than Jim had. And hell, his legs sure hadn't milked him for cash all the way through college. Credit, shmedit – it was his money not to lose. He lost it. Big whoop.

"Are you serious!" Yuffie exclaimed. "You'd just – tell us where he is?"

"Yes, yes!" McDonald cried. "Anything to save my legs!"

The Gothic gunman took half a second to consider the situation, lowered his weapon, and shot Ronald McDonald directly in the left kneecap. The man dropped like a rock, ululating in agony like a muhajadeen in heat. "What the FUCK!" he shouted. "I just SAID I'd HELP you!"

"I know," the vampire replied. "I just think it's not cool that you'd abandon your own kid like that."

"Well, he wasn't that great of a kid," McDonald defended himself. "Never played baseball or went outside or nothing. Just sat in front his TV and played them little cartoons. That and did the whoopee."

"What's that now?"

"You know. Did the whoopee." Ron lifted an eyebrow. "Did the whoopee. Choked the chicken. Jerked the turkey. Beat the meat. Played the skin flute. Cleaned the gun. Reefed the beef. Stang the wang. Rocked the cock. Checked the dipstick. Broiled some French onion soup."

"…I don't get it."

"He wangsterbated twenty-five hours a day."

"Oh."

A moment of awkward silence passed. For good measure, Vincent shot Ronald in the other knee. "FUCK," the man screamed, clutching both his legs in tandem. "WHY THE FUCK DID YOU SHOOT ME IN THE OTHER KNEE!"

Valentine shrugged. "I hate those long, awkward silences. They're so uncomfortable, you know?"

"Yeah, I feel ya," Yuffie agreed. "It's like meeting your girlfriend's parents all over again."

The vampire lifted his eyebrow. "Girlfriend's?"

"THERE ARE MORE PRESSING MATTERS AT HAND HERE!" McDonald shouted, trying to regain his captors' attention. "I AM BLEEDING. A LOT."

"You've got a point," Vincent admitted. "Now…

"Which eye do you like better?"

"WHOA! WHOA! LET'S NOT BE HASTY, NOW!" the cripple squealed, holding his hands to the sky. "Just let me tell you where Jim is going, all right!"

"It's about time you cooperated," Vincent remarked. "Now tell us: where is Jim going?"

"Ah…he's – he's going to go find help. He's going to go the most powerful man he knows, the man for whom he writes his smut: the Merovingian."

"We're waaaaay ahead of you, dude." The ninja nodded vigorously. "We blew his house up about a week ago." (Ah, remember that? Back in the day, when making fun of Matrix: Revolutions was still cool? Those were the days. The golden years, if you will. It was a lot easier to make funny stuff back then, since I've seen those movies a shitload of times. Man, they got kickass music and crazy fight scenes and – well, they do have one sex scene, but it sucks. The total of amount of titties seen was far below my expectations. The plot was awesome, though!)

"Well…huh." Ron groaned in agony. "Then he must – he must be going to the only place that harbors perverts like he."

"Really?"

"Really."

"…Where might this – asylum of asshats, as it were, be located? This bastion of bastards? This castle of crap? This – haven of heinous horn-dogs, if you will. Where! Answer, man!"

"Fanfiction – fanfiction dot net!"

Dun dun DUN!

"Ye gads," Vincent murmured as the full force of the statement struck him. "He's – wait. Fanfiction dot net? How does one physically go to a WEBSITE?"

"I think he's bullshitting us," Kisaragi remarked. "I think he needs to lose something. How about a lung? Make him breathe lead."

Vincent cocked his weapon with some satisfaction. "Enjoy your PNEUMONOULTRAMICROSCOPICSILICOVOLCANOCONIOSIS, bitch." (That's a lung disease caused by breathing in certain particles – in this case, bullets.) Yet then, an amazing thing happened: Ronald curled up and began to sob in earnest. More so than before, not desperation – just pure, unadulterated fear.

The vampire lowered his weapon, just to be sure of his eyes. There was a naked man weeping in abject terror at his feet. In an attempt to alleviate the man's suffering, the Goth coldly advised him to not be a total pussy. "At least be a mangina, and get the fuck up" he said, to be precise. It didn't help.

Suddenly, the gunman was torn. "I can't believe this," he remarked sullenly, his voice losing its razor edge. "I've never seen something like this before. There's – " He regarded his firearm in amaze. " – I can't believe I would shoot a man like this, unarmed. Naked. Innocent." He stood frozen for a moment, unsure.

"Meh. I'll get over it."

He leveled the weapon again, but Yuffie knocked it aside. At which point he aimed once more, knocking Yuffie aside in the process. "Say goodbye, bitch."

"No, please!"

Vincent shook his head in disgust. "Man, 'goodbye'. Good. Bye. Not 'no, please'. Can't you even speak English?"

"Who knows what language we speak!" he pointed out. "It could be Armenian for all we know!"

After another awkward silence, Vincent took it upon himself to shoot Ron in the shoulder.

"You sadistic GOATFUCK, what the HELL is wrong with you!"

"You still haven't told me where he's going?"

"It's a website – AGH – yes, it is a real place, though. You see, to get into you have to – I can't believe this – "

"SPIT IT OUT!" Yuffie shrieked.

"YOU HAVE TO GO TO THE SOURCE!"

"The Matrix jokes are getting real stale, real fast, Ronald McDonald." The vampire let his gun arm fall away and lifted his sword to the fore. "Where, then, is the source?"

"Uh…forty-two?" supplied the nude man hopefully.

"Swing and a miss. Try again."

"Okay, okay – it's – whew, boy." He wiped his face. "Basically it's – in the – well, it's – Junon."

"Well," Vincent reasoned, "I guess it figures that it'd be in the city which had a giant phallic symbol violently ripped out of it. Castration seems to be a big thing with these people." He turned back to their hostage. "Where in Junon, precisely?"

"I don't know for sure," Ronald explained. "I've never been. My best guess is, look in the big hole where the penis is supposed to go."

"I am NOT liking where this conversation has headed," Vincent remarked.

"The big – you know Junon used to have a giant penis? Then Shinra cut it off and grafted it onto Midgar?"

"Oh, man, this is SO gross," Yuffie moaned. "I'm gonna puke. Or cream my pants."

"Well, follow the penis-hole," Ron suggested. "That will bring you to them."

"Will do," Kisaragi promised. "Vincent, can we go? This place kind of smells like…you know. Yeah."

"I noticed." The vampire turned and walked away.

"WAIT!" Ronald screamed as the pair began their outro. "Are you just gonna leave me here like this!"

The ex-Turk slowed to a halt. Without even looking, he lifted Death Penalty and fired a single round. It ricocheted about the room and hit two shelves, knocking a single FHM and a bottle of Vaseline to the ground, just by McDonald's left hand.

"Good riddance," the Goth remarked.

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"We're going."

"Where the fuck we going?" Cid asked.

"Junon."

"Why?" Reno asked.

"Penis."

"What?" Rude asked.

"You're not coming."

"Thank Jesus."

"Why? He didn't do anything for you," Vincent pointed out.

"Well, except for the whole…you know. Die. Sins. Forgivey. Thingie."

"Meh. Details. Go away. Reno is enough."

"I dunno. Vegas is – "

"Go away."

"…Right."

"Four is enough. Four feathers. It's the name of the goddamn fic, and we're keeping it that way. I can't be bothered babysitting any more than the trippy trio here. Do me a favor and nuke this place."

"Um…the Turks don't have nukes."

"If the North Koreans do, the Turks do. Or just use the Vengeance-12 IRBMs we 'removed' forty years ago."

"Uh – how do you know about that?"

Vincent shook his head. "Dude, what part of 'ex-Turk' don't you understand?"

"Fine, fine."

"The rest of you – come on, let's move. We have to get to Junon before Jim does, so we can ambush him as he enters the town."

"Why?"

"So we don't have to wade through bucketloads of perverts to find him. And by 'wade through', I mean kill. And by 'bucketloads', I mean thousands. And by 'perverts', I mean innocent victims. And by 'don't have to', I mean 'can later at our leisure'."

Everyone stared at Vincent for a moment of awe.

"And by 'to find him', I mean for fun."

FINIS

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Ye gads. Another chapter done. And I did indeed use the Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia. So there.

I can't believe this thing is still alive, yet has less than twenty reviews. It seems that crappier, less funny material is constantly pushing this thing into the depths of nothingness, thus preventing people from reading it. I guess I should update more often. But I won't, because I'm lazy.

I'm trying to lose fat since I read this horrible article about how men die and stuff. So tonight I had a salad for dinner. It did have meat in it, though! Grilled chicken. It was pretty good. But it wasn't quite a rare steak slavered in fat over a slab of butter. With extra salt.

In other news…I feel like being n00bish. Hence,

WHOAMFGTEH BUTTSECKS'D

'Til next time.