Dave & Terezi/Vriska: "Those alien bastards are gonna pay for shooting up my ride." - Duke Nukem, Duke Nukem 3D.

Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Oh man. Oh shit, oh fucking shit. Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ on a Goddamned Fucking Cracker. Oh man. God, you are so fucked right now. Fucked up the ass with sandpaper and three or four of Bro's fucking smut puppets. With sandpaper. There is literally no way you're coming out of this alive.

Goddammit, that was Bro's motorcycle. You weren't even supposed to have touched it, let alone driven it out to a party. And now here you are, in butt-fucking Ohio, after Rose's twenty-first birthday party, with a completely trashed motorcycle. Someone took keys to it, Jesus Christ. And whoever did it, slashed the tires too! Shit, you're so dead.

And they tagged it, not that it's going to help you find the culprits at all. Now the remnants of Bro's baby sport a spray-painted "Scourge Sisters" tag on it. You're a thousand plus miles from home, your ride (Bro's ride, really) is damaged beyond your ability to fix, you have literally twelve bucks in your pocket, and you're supposed to be back home in two days or else Bro finds out you've been sneaking around.

Oh fuck.

You're so dead.

Rose finds you crying in the parking lot an hour later. She takes one look at your tear covered cheeks, the snot hanging out of your nose, and the once-motorcycle, before she ushers you back into the house and hides you away in her bedroom.

She calls in her older sister's boyfriend, Hale Strider (one of your many cousins, you assume, but you've never met the guy before). She claims he can fix the bike. And he does, within hours, though he never stops talking. And, thank all the Gods responsible, it looks exactly as it did before the "Scourge Sisters" got their fucking paws on it.

Maybe you aren't dead.

You make the eighteen-hour drive back to Texas in twenty hours (you pulled into a rest stop to grab a couple hours of sleep). Bro is waiting for you when you get home. He has sandpaper, and the puppets. Also his entire collection of shitty weapons is sitting just inside the garage doors.

He's scowling.

You're probably going to wet your pants.

The puppets are everywhere.

You yelp, but you take your beating like a man. Hale Strider is a man marked for death at your hands. His traitor's ass is yours.