Super Mix-A-Lot Mix-Up Fanfic: Season 1, Episode 1, Part 2 (lol what is this? Pewds Plays The Wolf Among Us?)
As the duo (OC Guy and Anthony Ray aka Sir Mix-A-Lot) accepted the case, some guys across universe were singin some stuff, illegally. That's now a crime, apparently. Wait, this is in Totalitarian territory. That makes complete sense now. Anyways, they'll probably introduce some crime lords here. Hmmm, it doesn't look like mobsters... Hey, those are Corrops(Corrupt Cops)! Huh, I guess those are the main antagonists of the story. "Hey, you can't sing songs about your posse being on Broadway!" shouted Corrop Scout Zach, "I challenge you to a BATTLE!" " *sigh* Ugh, not AGAIN!" said Sting. * POKMON ENCOUNTER MOOSAC!* Corrop Scout Zach Wants To Battle! Corrop Scout Zach sent out MAH GUN! Go, The Police!(Irony) What will The Police do? "..." The Police used Don't Stand So Close To Me! It's Super Effective! MAH GUN fainted! "Because using music to combat a gun is obviously going to work 24/7." Sting won! (But he's still going to jail. STILL IRONY) Sting got 500p! "Eh, that's nice, I guess," Sting said as he was thrown into the back of the car. "Shut up, will ya? Seriously, it's hard enough to be a Corrop in these times, ya know?"
As the duo (Seto and PF Chang's) decided to take up the case. (Bam, Dependant Clause, people!) "Hmmm, this certainly sounds interesting enough," Seto said, with a random fedora. "It is not wise to eat broccoli, when it is poisoned," Said PF Chang's. "We'll accept!" Seto said, before PF Chang's could say anything else. "Ok, everything you need's in here," said Mr. Yellow Cake, as he handed them a breifcase. "What the- There's only a guy's soul in here!" Seto exclaimed, dropping the opened case. "Oh, wrong one. HERE'S the one ya want!" Mr. Yellow Cake replied, handing them another case. "Ok, I won't actually say what's in here, because I want to make this like a Quentin Tarantino movie," said Seto, and like a Quentin Tarantino movie it will be... HAHAHA!
"Ok, so close now, man!" said Sting, running for his freaking life from a van. "Just fall already, foolish mortal!" shouted Corrbot X-007, driving the van behind him. (Hey, I told you) Shooting a few rounds from his sniper rifle, Zenith failed to wreck any of the Corrbots, but did manage to disable the gun of the Corrbot shooting at Sting. Then Thunderstruck started playing. "Man, not AGAIN!" Zenith complained, but only because it was creepy that it followed him. First, it was Worlds Apart. Then Peace of Mind. "Oh, Good GORAK, MAKE IT STAHP!" Zenith screamed. He REALLY needed some Peace of Mind right now. (Semi-Pun intended.) So he got up, and ran. He ran like crazy, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, just to escape his musical torture. Then, finally, he had an idea. A plan, to end it all.
As he fell from the roof of the building, he thought it fit to write his will. It was, in fact, going to be a long ways down. Even though he knew he'd never finish, he felt he'd at least try. So, he got out his pen and his notebook, started writing, and found himself immersed in a whole new world. As he wrote, all of his worries of death and regrets just melted away. He wrote for such a long time, in fact, that after he finished his will, he found it strange that he wasn't already dead. As he looked around himself for answers, he found that time itself had slowed down so much, that he almost wasn't falling at all. Oh, but he was. Technically, he was falling very fast. In real time, that is. He decided to write an autobiography. When he finished the story of his life, he saw that he was still twenty stories from the ground. So, he took the time that it took to die, and committed it all to making just one more story. In this story, he put in all genre: Sci-fi, fantasy, romance, comedy, all of them. Years past was his youth, spent in a purgatory of sorts, not even a quarter's-way through. Even longer was his time in this world, then slowly learning that no way out had existed. He yearned for Death to finally come, to take him to his long-awaited fate, and he was nearly done. What was strange to him, he thought, was the fact that he hadn't had food in years, yet felt no hunger. Not a drink in ages, but felt no thirst. Before he finally did die, he thought, he'd at least finish his life's work, spent in what was in real time only seconds. As long as the work was, carried in such tiny pages, he couldn't bring himself a good enough ending. Nearing the sweet relief to a life tragically wasted, he started to panic. For once in what felt like his entire life, he didn't completely welcome the Reaper of Souls to himself. He frantically searched for a way to finish his book that would satisfy. "Ugh, screw this," said the author, his interest in his own creation suddenly gone. Then, he did what any sane author would do: just let Micheal Bay at it and see what would happen. So, this is what happened: As the man touched the ground, he exploded, because he's an alien. The end.