Author's Note: Well, here it is, the conclusion to General Zod Goes to Washington. An entire year plus a month it took to finish this thing. I apologize for the long wait. All I can do is say that these past few months have been incredibly busy for me as well as a horrible case of writer's block. A terrible combination, that. But that's not what you want to hear, is it? You want to see how this is going to end. Well, let it not be said I leave a story unfinished. It will be completed no matter how long it takes.

So, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, a Happy New Year to all, and

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, death

Chapter 5

With the sun setting and a crowd growing in Dealy Plaza, the three boys from Colorado were making their way towards the scene of the debate. They had ditched their bonehead parents who were probably so engrossed with anything Zod-related on television that they hadn't noticed them gone yet. It was a big "probably" they were talking about because there was always a chance that one might get it in their heads to check up on them.

So long as that didn't happen there would be less of a chance to screw this up. Stan's dad in particular had a talent for screwing shit up.

And speaking of screwing shit up, how were they going to do this? There was a growing crowd of Zod fans growing in front of them, Zod had yet to show up, and really, how were they going to take down a guy whose looks could actually kill? Did they actually think they could talk sense into any of these adults?

Because talking sense into an adult was hard enough to do as it was.

As far as Kyle was concerned, an "I learned something today" speech was not going to be enough this time.

Should they go back and wait this thing out? Let their parents be annoying and make fools of themselves as some would-be alien tyrant took over their word? Continue to suffer their parents' stupidity when they realized that they had been duped and try in vain to go back to the way things used to be?

No, that would be unbearable. Plus, their parents would risk getting their heads blown up. They were only ten years old! As much as they were annoyed by them, they still needed their parents.

Jehovah, see them through this.

"So what's our plan?" Kyle asked aloud.

Silence greeted him from the other two.

"Well?" Kyle prompted.

"I was hoping one of you guys had thought of something," Stan admitted.

"Yeah, not gonna lie, but I thought you two had come up with something," Cartman shrugged.

"Wait, you mean to tell me that, right now, right as we're about to go into the lion's den, that neither of you two have any idea of how we're going to pull this off?" Kyle nearly exclaimed. "Stan! You're the one that got us to bring all this stuff with us and nearly get finger-raped by the TSA and you have no clue how we're going to use any of it?!"

"Like I said, I was hoping one of you guys could think of something to do with all this crap," Stan said. "I can't always be the one to come up with ideas, you know?"

"Oh, this is great! This is perfect!" Kyle fumed.

"I don't see you coming up with any ideas, Jew," Cartman pointed out. "Why don't you use that Jew brain of yours to benefit us for once instead of using it to satisfy your Jew greed?"

"Oh why don't you—"

"Guys! Guys! This isn't helping anything," Stan interrupted.

"Oh, so you have a plan, Stan?" Kyle turned on his best friend.

Stan paused for a second. "No. No, I don't. But think about it. Things always work out for us, somehow."

"Always?" Kyle raised an eyebrow at him.

"Okay, we get screwed over once in a while but at least we learned something," Stan said.

"No, no we don't. We never. Fucking. Do," Kyle deadpanned.

"Um, should I get you two fags a room so you two can work out your sexual tension?" Cartman snarked.

"Shut up Cartman," the two boys retorted with varying degrees of contempt.

"Says the two assholes who don't have a plan," Cartman shot back.

"Look, we'll just make something up as we go," Stan dismissed. "How can we screw this up more than it already is?"

"Tom, I'm standing here in front of Dealy Plaza where in a little bit, presidential candidate General Zod will debate against General Zod. I don't know about you but that sounds like the makings of a great political debate right here. Behind me is a gathering of Zod supporters who have been waiting days for the event as well as a glimpse of the great and glorious Zod, may his rule last a thousand years. Already we are reporting that there has been acts of cannibalism as people literally starve themselves, refusing to lose their places. We have not actual seen any of this but we are reporting it as per instructions of Rupert Murdoch. This just in, I was not supposed to say that last part."

The reporter stood in front of a backdrop of a mass of what looked like human beings that were all crowded together as it crammed into a sardine can. As the reporter had reported, they all wanted a glimpse at their lord and savior who offered nothing but tyrannical rule and severely limited freedoms.

At the very least that meant no more foreign terrorists bombing them. 'Murica!

The reporter whose job security was very much in doubt continued, "There have been concerns raised about the location of this debate. After the last president who came here died, many have tried to convince the only presidential candidate to change venues. General Zod's reply to such arguments were that he was immune to any and all Earthian weaponry and that Earthian weaponry was weak and pathetic. Many have taken that to mean that General Zod is pro armed forces and there may be raises in military spending should he be elected. It was also reported that General Zod threatened to use our weak Earthian weaponry on new born babies and unborn fetus. No one has actually come forward to say that but that is what we are reporting as per instructions of Rupert Murdoch. This just in, I was not supposed to say that last part also."

"Whoooo! General Zod, president-for-life!" a random Zod supporter yelled out in the background.

"Yes, yes, the feeling here has been overwhelming," the reported continued to report, "and this just in, Rupert Murdoch, dead at age 83 due to an aneurysm. There seems to be a lot of aneurysms happening lately and we have witnessed this and are not just reporting it." The reporter paused and looked up into the air. "This just in Tom, General Zod has arrived for the debate."

Behind the reporter, there was an uproar as all the Zod supporters raised their hands in the air as if reaching for the Kryptonian general. Like a black specter of death, only more awesome, the presidential candidate flew over the crowd without deigning to look down at them. His gaze was angled to the lit-up, empty stage where he would be participating in the Earthian ritual of debating.

"That's right, you are seeing this right now. General Zod has arrived and looks completely psyched up. We are unable to tell if this is true or not but that's what we are reporting. Oh, it also looks like General Zod has shown up, his entrance not as spectacular as General Zod's but now that both participants are here, it should not be long before this debate gets under way. Now Tom—"

The reporter was cut off as he began screaming before his head exploded, another victim of a Zod-induced aneurysm. Apparently the General had overheard him and had not like what he was hearing.

The screen cuts off into static for a few seconds before the picture returns, a new reporter standing in front of the camera.

"This just in Tom, Channel 9 news reporter Dan Ackron has suffered and died from a sudden aneurysm. He will be sorely missed but in the meantime, this reporter will be taking over his spot until the coverage of the debate between General Zod and General Zod is concluded. We should be getting started any moment and the only thing that is for certain is that this debate will be one for the record books."

Watching from a relatively safe distance, Obama and company watched the "big" debate. Surely this would be one for the record books for its sheer ridiculousness. How does one debate against himself? Was that like, arguing with a conscience? None of the men and women in here knew what a conscience was!

"Are they ready?" Obama asked as he sipped at his stereotypical alcoholic drink.

"Cornyn? You ready?" John McCain asked into his walkie-talkie.

From his vantage in the book depository, John Cornyn replied, "I'm locked on and ready to go. This bastard is as good as pwned."

"Reid? Feinstein? What about you?" the Republican senator asked.

"Got him in our sights," Harry Reid answered from his position behind the grassy knoll as he peered into the sniper scope, the visage of Zod crystal clear.

"He is not getting out of this," Dianne Feinstein boasted.

"They're in position and ready to fire at will," John McCain reported to the president. "Now, you're now going to backstab us when this is over, right?"

"Oh course not," Obama said dismissively, one hand out of sight as he raised his drink to take a sip. Lowering the glass, "We're all in this together. If all goes well, it's back to business as usual."

"Good, because it would be a really dick move if you were, you know, to pin the blame for this on us," John McCain said, chuckling a bit. He shared a look with Mitch McConnell and nodded. Their plans to blame this whole thing on the Democrats was right on track. You'd have to be stupid to believe one man in a book depository would be able to assassinate anybody correctly. It was always the ones behind the grassy knoll. Those dumbass, pansy Democrats had taken their bait.

"Please, if we're to keep America together, why, we have to com…work with one another at times. Todays' enemies are tomorrow's allies," Obama regaled, turning his head to share a glance with Nancy Pelosi then lowered his gaze to the hand that he had kept out of sight.

His fingers were crossed.

Dumbass, redneck Republicans. You with your hard-on for guns had made this too easy. Nothing could better help the Democrats win in the congressional elections than for the other party to be blamed for a political assassination. This was going to be easier than beating Romney in 2012.

From behind the podium, Zod stood ramrod straight and turned slightly to an opposing podium which was currently empty. Sternly, the Kryptonian general stated for all in the audience to hear, "Zod agrees that every Earthian has the right to free speech so long as Zod agrees with what is being said."

There was applause from the audience, agreeing with the general. None of the spectators paid any mind to the three boys that were making their way towards the stage.

Using his superspeed, he was now behind the opposing podium. "Zod disagrees. There will be no free speech as it is used mainly to call other Earthians names and to use inappropriate language that Zod has deemed inappropriate. Earthians have proven that they cannot use free speech responsibly and if they cannot use it responsibly, they do not deserve it."

There was silence for a heartbeat of time before the audience began to applaud the other Zod, agreeing with him.

Back at the first podium, Zod argued, "I do not agree with General Zod. It is of no business of Zod what demeaning things Earthians say to one another so long as it distracts Earthians from paying unnecessary attention to the policies of General Zod."

Over at the opposing podium, "General Zod has a point but General Zod disagrees. Free speech is a responsibility and no Earthian wants responsibility. Thus if they do not want to be responsible for free speech, they shall not have free speech."

Meanwhile in the crowd, the trio of South Park natives were passing by a small group of men and women all dressed in tie-dye shirts and sporting headbands and peace symbols. "Dude," one of the tie-dye wearing men said, "General Zod is kicking General Zod's ass."

"Dude, are you blind? It's obvious that General Zod is the one doing the asskicking and not General Zod," a second tie-dye wearing man retorted, pausing to take a deep drag on what suspiciously looked like a joint. "I can't wait for them to start talking about weed."

Cartman came to a stop and shuddered. "Hippies," he hissed, glaring at the small group before hurrying after the other two assholes leading the way.

"C'mon, Cartman, hurry up!" Kyle badgered from up ahead.

"I'm between a Jew and a hippie place," Cartman bemoaned but continued following after the two assholes in front of him.

The stage was moving closer to them by the second, even as they squeezed around Zod worshipers packed together as tightly as sardines. Yet, there was still no word of a plan or anything about what they were going to do once they reached…wherever it was they were trying to reach. This is why Cartman was the true brains of the group. Screw the fact that Kyle was a straight A student. The Jew was cheating somehow to get such high grades. He just hadn't been able to prove it yet. At least he always had an idea of what he was going to do before he did it.

Usually.

Eventually, the three boys had wormed their way to the front of the crowd, just in front of the stage. They could hear the barely heard whooshes as General Zod zoomed from podium to podium, answering as General Zod then retorting as General Zod.

"Okay, Cartman, give me the rope," Stan gestured out to Cartman.

"What are you going to do, tie him up or something?" the big-boned boy snarked, pulling said rope out of his trusty, not retarded (he was looking at you Kyle!) backpack.

"Don't know yet but I'll figure it out once I get on the stage," the boy in the red poof ball hat replied, not taking his eyes off the general.

"Stan, now's not the time to be playing this by ear. We need a plan," the Jew insisted.

"Since when have plans ever worked for us, Kyle?" the Jew's best friend retorted.

"Kyle, just let him fuck up so we can get out of here. I can feel the drug-fueled liberalism seeping into my bones," Cartman reasonably interrupted.

"But!" Kyle tried to argue.

"I'm going in," Stan hissed as he began climbing up onto the stage.

There was no way this was going to end well. Exactly why this was going to be awesome to watch.

Really, Stan had no idea why he asked for the rope. He had absolutely no idea what he was going to do with it. In fact, how could he use it to stop Zod?

Try and lasso him? Too Texan. Use it to trip the alien asshole when he switched podiums? Too 3rd grader. Trip him and cause him to hit his head on one of the podiums, possibly killing him if it was in the temple? Too Cartman. Come on Stan, think of something quick! Already he could some voices commenting on him being up here.

What could he do? What could he do? Think, damn it, think!

"Hey. Hey!" Okay, it seemed like he was trying to get Zod's attention. Not working since Zod hadn't stopped debating himself. Should he get Zod's attention by lassoing him? Damn it, now he was starting to become Texan! Think harder, you dumbass! "Um, your mustache looks stupid."

Damn it, could he sound any lamer?

The next thing he knew, Zod was standing before him, glaring down at him without looking like he was glaring at him. "This is not an Earthian mustache. This is a Zodtache."

General Zod sped back to one of the podium then said, "Zod agrees with that. It is a Zodtache."

A second later, he was back in front of the South Park native.

Huh. Okay. Worked better than he thought it would. Well. What now. Guess…guess there was only one thing that he could do.

Working with the rope for a second, the ten-year old attempted to lasso the presidential candidate. The loop in the rope itself barely got to Zod's chest but the alien caught it with his steel-like grip. Zod barely tugged on it but Stan was letting go as he could already feel the rope burning his skin even through his red gloves.

"What is the meaning of this Earthian contraption? Do you mean to use it to harm Zod? That is a crime punishable by death." Oh boy, those eyes were turning red again.

So maybe Kyle was right. Playing this thing by ear hadn't been a good idea.

"Hey! You can't do that!"

Was it too much to hope that maybe it was someone in the crowd who said that? A quick look revealed that it was not anyone from the audience but Kyle who was busy pulling himself out and onto the stage. As much as he appreciated the support from his best friend, it wasn't the same as one of those brainless boobs out there.

At least if it was one of them and Zod here decided to start zapping people, it wouldn't be a person he cared about getting killed.

"You dare tell Zod what he can and cannot do," Zod stated ominously.

"You're damn right I am!" Kyle spat heatedly.

That should have been it. That should have been the last words Kyle ever said. Yet, it seemed like out of all the things that could be said, Zod had not been expecting that kind of answer. To Stan's surprise, Zod's eyes stopped glowing and instead of that impassive expression he always had on, the alien general had what could possibly be called surprise on his face.

"Hold on a second." The three on stage glanced over at Cartman who was struggling to pull himself onto the stage. "Hold on," he wheezed as he struggled against gravity and his own fat. "Almost there." The obese boy's legs were kicking in the air as it that would somehow help him. "Just a little…bit more." A last push with his arms and fatass was now on the stage, huffing and puffing from his exertion.

As if he had the right to be there, he stumbled over to where the other two ten-year olds were, panting out, "Too…many…hippies…" He held up his hand, asking for more time to composing himself as his body heaved. Eventually, he had his breathing under control. "Okay, you guys can continue."

With permission granted, Stan watched as Kyle picked up from where he left off. "Do you know what you are? You're like every freaking politician out there. The only thing you've got going for you is that you're upfront with what you're going to do while everyone else are a bunch of lying, hypocritical assholes who are so into themselves that they think the whole world revolves around them."

From their very safe place in Obama's dressing room watching from a hopefully safe television, the gathered group of Washington elites listened to every word that the boy in the green ushanka said.

"You think he's talking about us?" John Boehner asked.

"Naw, we're too awesome and cool," Obama said reassuringly.

"True that," Mitch McConnell agreed.

"Yep," Nancy Pelosi nodded.

"Can't disagree with that," John McCain added.

"That's beside the point," Kyle continued. "You think what you're doing is something incredible? You're doing the same thing that every politician does and that's lead a bunch of very stupid people who are more interested in some electronic devise than actual world events."

"That's not true," huffed one of the spectators in the audience, his gaze focused on the latest iPhone where he was watching the very debate that he was attending.

"But you know what, I've learned something today. I've learned that the only people who can be responsible for safeguarding their own freedoms from people like you are the very people who are watching this thing right now. Sure, it's hard to take part in all the voting and political stuff but honestly, does anybody think that the people being voted for are truly the people you want in office? All of them are easily seduced by power and will do anything to hold onto it, even whore themselves for the rest of their lives if they have to.

"Sure, every once in a while you can get someone who get rise above it but even then, those safe people will be seduced by power and become the very thing they hate without realizing it. It is up to the rest of us, the ones not running for political office to hold these people accountable and remain informed. Because what people like you and the scumbags in the power want is for all of us to remain uninformed so that we keep giving you power that you don't deserve.

"Freedom isn't a privilege, it's a responsibility. Nothing ever worth having is easy. But if every one of you out there is okay with doing things the easy way and in turn losing the very thing you value, no one can stop you from throwing your responsibility away. Just remember, what you have now can always be taken away."

It was silent in Dealy Plaza as the audience listened to Kyle's appeal to their sensibilities. You know, it was very touching and you have to be incredibly—

"Socialist!"

"Get out of here you liberal pussy!"

"Unpatriotic traitor!"

"General Zod, please forgive this child for he knows not what he says!"

You know what, he was glad he didn't finish that thought. It was a waste to finish it on a bunch of dumbasses. Seriously, their species was begging to go extinct.

"Congratulations Kyle. That was the gayest speech that you have given to date," Cartman added in his two cents.

"SILENCE!"

The booing crowd shut their traps as their future overlord had spoken. Looking down at the three boys, General Zod began to speak—

—only to stop as a bullet nailed him in the temple.

What. The. Fuck?

Suddenly, two more bullets struck the alien general, one in his neck and the other in his back. Yet Zod did not fall.

Unbeknownst to them, up in a certain book depository building, a sniper rifle armed John Cornyn looked up from his scope and repeated the words that one Stan Marsh had thought. "What the fuck?"

Behind the grassy knoll, both Harry Reid and Dianne Feinstein looked up from their scopes and repeated the words of their Republican colleague. "What the fuck?"

Bending to gravity, the bullets peeled off of Zod, falling to the floor of the stage one by one. With narrowed eyes, Zod zeroed in on the first of his would-be assassins. His eyes glowed and fired, the laser beams striking the head of John Cornyn first, causing the Texan politician's head to swell before blowing apart.

Next, Zod turned to the grassy knoll and fired again, getting Harry Reid this time and causing another Zod-induced aneurysm. With the blood of Harry Reid splattered against the side of her face, Dianne Feinstein made the decision to get the hell out of there. Leaving behind her still smoking sniper rifle, the female Democrat ran for all she was worth.

"I can't die! I still need to pass gun control legislation!" she cried out.

High heels, as it turned out, were horrible for running.

They were especially horrible at outrunning Zod whose laser beams struck her in the back of her head, causing her head to swell and then explode, sending bits of blood and brain all over.

From the safety of Obama's dressing room, the gathered politicians watched as their great plan fell apart.

"Well this sucks," Eric Cantor said.

Okay, Stan had no idea where those bullets came from. However, whether he knew or not didn't seem to matter right now.

"Pathetic Earthians, believing your weapons can harm Zod," Zod proclaimed. "Your insolence must be punished."

Those glowing red eyes were now on them and this time, it didn't look like they could get themselves out of this one.

"Uh oh!" Cartman yelped as he began digging into his backpack, like whatever he had in there could do anything against their future lord and master.

Kyle shot him a look that spoke of fear and helplessness. Stan could only return it as he awaited his turn to have his head blown up.

"Zod's patience with you Earthians has been tested for the last time." Zod's glowing eyes increased in intensity. "You Earthian children will now be made an example of."

"Got it!" Cartman exclaimed as he pulled out the mirror from the previous chapter.

Light reflecting off the reflective glass caught Zod's attention just as he fired his laser beams. The two beams of killer red light struck the mirror and were reflected back at the Kruptonian, entering his head through his eyes. The back of Zod's head began to swell, growing larger by the second yet the only sound he made was a low grunt.

"Zod's…brains…" the alien grunted right before his head exploded.

Blood and brain matter splattered against the boys, the three of them staring as Zod's headless body collapsed onto the stage floor, never to move again. The would-be planetary dictator was dead and by his own hand—

"Ha! What did I tell you Kyle! You thought it was impossible but look at that! My mirror deflected those laser beams just like I said it would!" Cartman crowed.

Kyle growled at the fat boy but said nothing. What else could he say?

Stan, meanwhile, had tuned them out as he approached the alien's body. It…it was over. No more Zod meant that there would be no more anything related to Zod meaning his father could stop being lame and embarrassing. Yes! Oh thank you God! Not Zod but God! How could things get any better?

"Is he all right?" a voice from the audience called out, the crowd of people starting to murmur at the events unfolding before them.

For some…reason, some guy was here all dressed up in medical scrubs and he was coming up to the body, checking the vitals for any sign of life. "I'm sorry, but he's dead."

Silence greeted the doctor's proclamation. Then…

"No. NO!" a random spectator cried out.

And that started off the mourning. Stan could hardly believe what he was seeing. Did these morons really want to be lorded over by an alien—you know what? Forget it. Kyle was right. Insert flashback to best friend's speech earlier here and that's a wrap. He was so done with this.

"What will we do? Who will we follow?" someone moaned out.

"The only thing we can do. We learn from this," the doctor answered. "Chiefly, we must learn that aneurysm can strike at any time and can kill up to thirty to forty percent of the time. We all must take precautions and engage in preventative care so as to avoid the unfortunate fate of having our brains explode."

…what? Throughout all this, that's the big lesson these idiots learned.

"Guys, let's get the fuck out of here," Stan stated blandly.

From the Dallas hotel room they were staying in, watching the dramatic finish to such an aspiring political career, Randy Marsh was sobbing his heart out. The man for whom he would have given up everything for all so that he could be in his perfect presence for just a single minute longer was gone.

What was he going to do? Who was he going to blindly follow now? There was nothing left. The country was doomed now without Zod's iron fist guiding it.

That was why the grown geologist had holed himself up and was laying on one of the queen sized beds in a position that vaguely resembled that of a teenaged girl sobbing about breaking up with her boyfriend.

Which he most definitely was not! …Sort of. …Kinda.

And his pillow was definitely not drenched in tears! No, no, just…their room might have a leak, that's all. He was complaining to the front desk in the morning, he was going to guarantee that!

The mattress dipped beside him and he felt a hand place itself on his shoulder, rubbing him in an attempt to calm him down. By the way, he was totally calm, don't let the moisture on his face deceive you.

"How are you holding up?" Sharon's voice spoke up, her hand continuing to rub him.

Well, since she asked… "I'm not holding up Sharon! His Zodness is dead and our country is going to hell and we're all going to die because the bums in Washington are going to run us into the ground and I could totally go for a McRib right now—"

Sharon shushed him and Randy forgot what his point was because now that he thought about it, he was kinda getting hungry right now. But he was still stung by the death of the great and glorious Zod. Had not seen that one coming.

"It's going to be alright, Randy," Sharon said.

"But it's not going to be alright, don't you see? We're all going to die!" he wailed.

"I know, I know, things seem really bad right now but it gets better Randy," Sharon continued.

"It doesn't!" he sobbed.

"I know you were really…invested in this Randy but you know what? If you're really bothered by how everything is, you can do something about it yourself, you know? You don't have to let it end here. If you want things to change, maybe you could do them yourself? Try and make a difference yourself instead of letting someone else do it," Sharon suggested.

Randy peeked up at her from where he was burying his face in his very wet pillow. "You…you really think I could change things, Sharon?"

"Who knows?" Sharon replied. "But can you really change things if you're lying around like this? Sometimes you gotta make things happen instead of waiting for them to come to you. That's life. If you don't do anything, somebody else will and there's no guarantee you're going to like any of it."

Randy sniffed, thinking about his wife's words. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes, Randy. Now it's time for night night."

Another sniff. "Okay."

Even though he was going night night, Sharon's words continued to stream through his mind. Maybe she was right. If he wanted to change things, then he was going to have to do it himself. He couldn't wait for a great man like General Zod to show up and shake things up. No, it would have to be an ordinary person like himself.

And you know what? He knew exactly where he could start.

It was a big night, election night to be exactly. For nearly two years there had been campaigning, words, accusations, "I know you are but what am I"s, and gaffes galore but it was over. The 2016 election for the next president of the United States was over and there was a winner.

Looking through the television that was but one of millions across the nation, the news anchor straightened his shoulders and announced the big news.

"The votes are in for the 2016 Presidential election and we have a new president." Pausing, allowing the viewers to take in the news, he continued. "America, this man," a box appeared right beside him, blank, "General Zod, will be the 45th President of the United States." In the box was the image of a headless General Zod, the innards of his neck clearly visible to all.

"All hail the glorious one and may his reign last a thousand years."