One annoyed and somewhat dusty Alex Mercer looked out of a giant neck hole, surveyed what remained of the sidewalk and street where the giant mascot had fallen, twisted his neck back and forth to get a few cracks out, and menacingly walked forward the whole of two steps before realizing that he was still about ten feet above the ground.
The resulting crash set off a chain reaction that caused a specific butterfly to flap its wings in such a way that a massive tornado was created somewhere in Kansas through a series of highly improbable events before kidnapping a young girl and her little dog too. With a grunt, Alex pushed himself off the ground, flicked away some of the dust that was left on his leather jacket, and, muttering profanities, sauntered forth in search of Marty Stu.
The first few city blocks Alex passed through were deserted. Hollerin' Jimmy and his heavy metal parade had scattered as the Wa'sturn an' Cuhntry Apperishiashun Brigade reared its fat-chewing head, banjos a' blazin', before disappearing under the nonexistent cover of late afternoon. The creepy guys that just stood around bus stops all day were gone too. Hell, even the crows were silent, save the ones clustered around the omnipresent McDonalds, pecking at the stray French fries.
The only noise, besides Alex's footfalls, was the merry tune of an ice cream truck as it drove about on its route. Everybody likes ice cream, except for lactose intolerants. But don't worry about them, they probably eat people to make up for it. The jingling of the tunes grew louder, as if it was homing in on Mercer.
"But I don't even like ice cream!" Alex yelled at no one in particular.
He tensed as the sound of wheels grinding into asphalt came closer. The truck pulled around the corner, and slowed next to Alex. The mustachioed driver turned his baseball-cap-wearing head to Mercer.
"Hurlo, urh'm tha urthur's des-pur-urt uhttempt at geddin thur plot ta move ahn."
No. This will not do. There's already been too many meta things like this, thought Alex, before consuming the poor chap. Memories he didn't really care about flashed through his mind. The first day on the job. Cheating some drunken miscreant out of a buck to pay for dinner. Ripping off the parents of sugar-crazed children. And then, the more recent events began showing up. A huge bearded man with a mullet, ordering... what was that? Some kind of blue quadruped with violet-maroon gum ball eyes and… was that some kind of rainbow hair? Geeze this guy has seen some serious sh-uh, stuff. The giant then paid with a credit card, and, ever the crafty one, Ice Cream Man stole all his personal details and used his convenient personal time machine to figure out where one "Marty Stu" would be for the next fifty years.
Shaking his head, Alex heard the man's last train of thought. "Hurrhur, turld yu I'd ged th' plot muvin'."
'`'`'`'``'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'``'`'`'`'`'`'`'`
Marty Stu was having quite the day at the local park. After eating his fill of ice cream, he discovered that the playground was devoid of hostile children and busied himself conducting important military physics tests, such as how far a grown man can be flung from a swing set, or the maximum velocity that can be reached on one of those spinny things before the passenger is forced to empty their stomach. All of a sudden, outta nowhere, a wild Alex Mercer appeared. General McAwesomepants quickly activated his rocket boots, rolling his shoulders around in what he figured was an intimidating manner.
Alex barreled forward, propelled by his hatred of Marty Stu, and whatever that red goop he kept spewing out of his limbs was. The author believes that it tastes like cherry or maybe pomegranate if you're a pessimist, but raspberry isn't out of the question either. Tendrils of Blacklight ascended Mercer's arms as his fingers elongated and sharpened into a pair of claws, and he emitted a guttural roar of anger. He rushed up the side of a conveniently placed skyscraper, each footstep sending a cascade of glass to the earth as he gained altitude before launching off towards Marty Stu.
Momentum and brute force buried Mercer's talons deep inside Marty Stu's chest and shoulders, unleashing a small rain of blood. In desperate response, General McAwesomepants fired off three rounds of point blank missles. Alex loosened his grip on Marty Stu's arms enough for the latter to deliver a vicious haymaker, twisting Alex's head to one side with the force of the blow.
Mercer began to fall back to the ground, as webs of tendrils tended to the damage incurred. He withdrew his claws, simultaneously bursting forward in a liberal defiance of physics. Reaching out, ZEUS shifted his biomass, elongating and thickening his arms and fingers. Bulging muscles that made Charles Atlas look like an anemic fifteen-year-old erupted about, as did fins and other spiky things that were typical of deadly viruses incarnate. His ham-size hands grasped Marty Stu near where the claws had sunk in, before one of them balled up into a fist.
That fist then found itself hurled towards Marty Stu's face. A series of loud splatters and sickening crunches followed, quieting down after the fist made it all the way through and was subsequently torn free. A man from the special effects crew popped open a can of Pappa Goregini's extra chunky tomato sauce with bone fragments("Why yes we are indeed OSHA compliant" collector's edition) and went to work liberally spreading it about the scene.
The two floated in the air, still supported by General McAwesomepant's rocket boots, Alex took a moment to examine his handiwork. He suppressed the urge to make a one-liner, probably something to do with religion and holiness because there was now a large hole where his enemy's face had been, since it would be stupid.
Alex was about to fall back down and continue on his merry way when Marty Stu's robotic kung-fu arm of doom grabbed his shirt. There was a loud rustling, accompanied by jimmies and schlorping sounds as tentacles weaved their way about Marty Stu's face. Mercer, having nothing better to do, bemusedly watched. The tendrils, now receding, revealed horrific features, such as a bulging cranium, a massive jutting jaw, a pair of squinting, almost mocking eyes, and a broken nose.
The new visage of Marty Stu gave the widest grin known to mankind.
"hurr… Problem, Alex?"
Alex's foot met McAwesomepant's crotch at full force. Marty's grin melted as his eyes bulged out, face contorting in pain, humiliation and contempt. And then he exploded into a million bits of confetti and candy.
Alex's urge to make one-liners could no longer contain itself.
Landing back on earth, he uttered one word as he straightened his back.
"Solution."
Dusting off his hands, a thought struck Alex.
"OW GHDMMIT"
Then he recalled that there was one last thing to be done. Something that had bothered Alex long before the incident with the pot of flour. Something that should have been done long ago.
Provided he rushed through to his goal at top speed, it'd be a mere sixty hours. He had the dying screams of thousands trapped in his mind forever, but this was the one thing he needed to do to live out his existence in relative peace.
Of course, he needed to make preparations before his journey got underway. Alex's first and only stop was the penthouse he had gotten for Dana after consuming Donald Trump, to drop in and make sure she was alright.
Resting on the sill of a window his sister had carelessly left open, he called out for her.
"Hey, Dana?"
"I'm kind of busy right now," she said, furiously mashing buttons on her laptop.
"Yeah, uh, I'm going to be gone for a few days. If something happens to you, you're kinda screwed." He thought for a moment before adding "Stop making pixel porn of Cole McGrath." before hopping back down to the street.
'`'`'`'``'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'``'`'`'`'`'`'`'`
Two and a half days. I'll wait for him to wake up so I can savor it that much more.
Sun's rising. Make it three days.
It's been a few hours. He's getting up. Headed toward the computer.
Here we go.
He's sat down, turned on the computer. Clicked on a few things, with his fist pressed to his cheek.
This is it. Make it count.
'`'`'`'``'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'``'`'`'`'`'`'`'`
The window was smashed apart, broken bits of glass littering the carpet of the room that the hooded figure had just leapt into. His icy blue eyes locked with those of his prey.
"You." he growled.
"Me?"
"Yeah, you. This is a bad story and you should feel bad. Stop writing it."
So I did.
The end.
A/N: haby birday