Dragon Ball Z Uncensored

[Ryoko's Biatch]

Three Years Ago ...

In a small cubical, a man taps away at his computer's keyboard. It's a Sunday, so the building is almost empty. His boss had made him work today, though, because the big McHarris Foundation account was due on Monday. So he and a couple of his co-workers had to come in. Most of them got out of it because they wanted to watch the Death Race, but he hadn't taken much interest in FTUW.

"Phil!"

The man looks up at the sound of his name. It was Carl.

"Hey, what's up?"

"I was thinking of checking out early. The boss is back in his office watching the Death Race, he wouldn't even notice if we left."

"Well," Phil thinks for a moment, "I'm almost done here."

"Dude, come on! Susan said he was going too." Carl gave Phil a wink.

Phil had wanted to ask Susan out for a while, but he didn't think he had a chance. She was too good looking and he was average at best. He sighed.

"Okay, okay. Just le-" he's cut off when the monitor on his computer suddenly goes white and then a face wrapped in white gauze appeared.

“Good morning, people of the world,” the man speaks, “I apologize for interrupting your broadcast but I have some sad news for you.”

"What the fuck is that?" Carl asks like a retarded faggot.

“The world has become sick,” the man continues with his broadcast. “The FTUW has created a culture that thrives on SUFFERING. It has defined human existence as never-ending misery. The people of America have gave birth to this putrid, infectious torrent of pain and for what? Violence?”

"I don't know, man," Phil says, not sure what to think. How is this even possible?

“Week in and week out the people of America tune in to watch MURDER,” the man addressing the world’s leaders continues, “They happily gorge themselves on the anger and the hate and the death that the FTUW puts out as ENTERTAINMENT. Lives are now considered meaningless when fans will do anything to get closer to the action. This … is … MADNESS,” the man addresses the world, punctuating by slamming a fist into his desk. “THE WORLD WILL NOT STAND IDLY BY AND LET AMERICA AND THE FTUW SPREAD THEIR DISEASE ANY FURTHER.”

“WE WILL REBUILD,” the man in white points a finger, “WE WILL BECOME STRONG,” he slams his fist into the podium.

“WE WILL BE FREE OF THE PLAGUE KNOWN AS ‘WRESTLING’! AND IF WE HAVE TO DO IT BY LIVING IN A WORLD WITHOUT AMERICA, SO BE IT,” the man in white tells the world.

Carl's jaw drops. "What the hell does this mean?

“The FTUW superstars ARE DEAD,” the man shouts. “The FTUW STAFF, FROM THE VERY BOTTOM TO THE TIP TOP, ARE DEAD.

“THE FTUW IS DEAD!!”

Phil and Car look at each other, their eyes wide open. They can't even utter a word. And then the scream. They both look at the door to their boss' office.

"No ... NO! NOOOOOOOOOO!" The door to the office explodes as a bald man with graying hair kicks through it.

Susan runs into the room, unsure of what is going on. She still doesn't know when her boss starts slapping her in the face with a stapler, embedding the staples deep into her cheeks.

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO," their boss yells, "MY HAND HAS BEEN FORCED BY FATE."

Carl runs up to stop his boss from murdering his co-worker and knocks him to the ground. "What is wrong with you? It's just a wrestling federation!"

"Oh God," the boss pants, "Y-you're right. I-I-I need to regain my composure." Carl lets him up and then turns to Phil, shrugging his shoulders. Behind him, the boss rests his hands on the paper cutter.

"Carl!" Phil yells, "Stop Mr. Henderson!"

Carl turns and grabs the blade and pushes it down, cutting off the fingers on Mr. Henderson's right hand.

"Are you insane?" Carl backs away as Henderson holds the bloody stumps of his hand. He bumps into the legs of the prone Susan and helps her up.

Phil, shocked, falls back into his computer chair. He wonders if this is happening everywhere else. As if in answer, a building explodes and everyone jumps in surprise. "What is going on? Is everyone losing it or is that guy destroying America?"

And then he hears a thump. Looking up out of his cubicle, he sees Henderson breathing hard and then it's Susan's turn to let out a blood-curdling scream. Henderson drops his pants.

"Gonna rape you good. Nothing matters anymore. Not you and not me."

Phil looks at the floor. The paper cutter blade is buried in Carl's throat.

[Vinny]

THIS PROMO WAS AWESOME.

[Ryoko's Biatch]

"Jesus Christ."

Phil falls back into his chair. What the hell am I going to do? he asks himself. He looks at his phone and quickly dials 911. It doesn't even ring. No sound comes out at all. He drops the phone to the floor. We're on our own.

"Henderson," he can't even feign confidence, "stop or- or I'll have to stop you."

Henderson looks over while ripping Susan's pants off.

"Fuck off, kid. If you stick around, my dick is going in your ass next."

Henderson grunts, Susan thrashes her legs around making his job difficult. He starts slapping her, the stapled holes in her cheeks opening up and letting the blood flow again. She won't stop screaming and swinging her legs, so he punches her in the stomach.

"Calm down, Suzy," Henderson says in a reassuring tone. "As soon as this is over, I'll end your suffering forever. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

She spits in his face.

"So you want to do this the hard way, eh?"

Henderson lifts her by her legs and slams her head from one wall into the copy machine and then onto the side of a cubicle. The screaming is louder now than ever before. Finally, almost out of mercy for Phil's somersaulting gut as much as Susan's skull, she flies out of her pants, hitting the floor hard.

"See? That wasn't so bad. Now open your legs, bitch."

A paperweight hits Henderson in the back of the head and blood erupts from the laceration. Henderson grabs the cut with one hand and then looks for the source of the throw. Phil slinks back into his seat.

"Dammit, kid. I thought I told you to stay out of it. It's the goddamned end of the world and you're worrying about other people? Get real, it's every man for himself." Henderson looks at his own blood. "Why did you have to do that? Do you really give a shit about this cunt when you could be out saving your own skin? Now I'm really going to fuck you up."

Shit. Shit! Phil watches his boss toss cubicle walls left and right on his way to killing him.

"Ya just had to stick your fuckin' nose in it." Henderson picks up a paperweight from another cubicle. "Turnabout is fair play, the only difference is I'm not a fuckin' pussy."

The boss raises his arm to deal the fatal blow and Phil can't help but close his eyes and flinch. He didn't think death would sound like that. He didn't think it would be this painless. He didn't even feel the pressure of the hit. Then a massive weight throws him to the floor.

He opens his eyes to see the top of a monitor staring him in the face.

"I couldn't let him kill you, not after you saved my life."

Phil pushes his boss off of him. The monitor swallowed his head in a glass filled maw. Susan pulls Phil to his feet.

"Phil, right?" Susan asks. "Thanks."

Phil smiles slightly until Susan jumps into Phil's arms with a look of fear on her face.

"Oh God, Carl. He's dead, isn't he?"

Phil holds her tightly. He doesn't know what else to do.

"I think so. But we can't worry about that right now. Henderson was right when he said it was the end of the world."

"What do you mean?"

"I tried calling the police, but the phones are dead."

And then the power went out.

[Ryoko's Biatch]

Susan shrieked again. She held Phil tightly, the only person, the only thing period, that remained of the world that was falling to pieces.

"What's happening?" she asked, on the verge of tears.

Phil had no answers. "We just have to remain calm. I'm sure the government won't strand us like this. The military or the police have to show up eventually."

The familiar call of the police siren fills the air and they both heave a sigh of relief. Maybe things weren't falling apart around them. They looked out the window from their office on the fifth floor. It seemed like everything was on fire, but the car rammed through the flames. Until it weaved out of control and smashed into a street light. A nude man leaped through the windshield, ignoring the glass that slashed and buried itself in his skin, and fired a shotgun blast into the air.

"Jesus Christ. Fuck." Phil slammed his fist against the window. "We can't leave this building. I don't know what happened to this city, but it can't last forever. The army has to be on its way." He didn't believe it anymore.

Susan found a seat and started crying. Phil thought to himself that there was little else they could do. He looked at Carl's body and felt like vomiting. He pulled off his jacket and dropped it on Carl's head. Phil paused momentarily, then slid the jacket away. He placed a foot on Carl's head and ripped out the paper cutter blade, then slid the jacket back into place. They were going to need every weapon they could get.

"Sue, let's see if we can set up some kind of camp here. Maybe some defensive fortification in case someone tries to break in."

Phil looks around. Henderson's office was no good with the door broken. Anyone could get in there without warning them should they fall asleep. The rest of the offices were locked, so even if Phil and Susan could get in, it would probably leave the lock or the door frame broken. Shit.

"Do you have any of the keys to the offices?"

Sue can't even compose herself enough to reply.

I guess I'll go through Henderson's office and see what I can find, Phil thinks. He can't count on Susan, at least until she gets herself together. If only Carl hadn't died, he'd know what to do.

No. Don't worry about that. You have to survive. You're on your own, don't forget it.

He steps over the shattered pieces of Henderson's door. He wonders if he could make the monitors into bombs like in Die Hard, but he can't remember how Bruce Willis did that. So stupid. He rifles through the desk. In the center drawer, like a convenient cliché, a small revolver rests. "I wonder why he never used that when he was trying to kill us," Phil says to no one in particular and then puts the gun in the back of his waistband like they do in movies.

He thinks. Henderson might have keys to the other offices. I have to do this quick before some asshole comes to kill us. Walking back to his cubicle, he kicks his boss to make sure he's dead. Henderson doesn't stir. Phil sticks his hands into the pockets around Henderson's knees. I can't believe he ran all the way over here with his pants around his ankles. He pulls out a ring of keys.

"Unbelievable."

"You're goddamn right it's unbelievable."

Henderson pops up and the monitor still rests on his head, his arms flail randomly and Phil falls back on his ass, out of Henderson's range.

"You little faggot," Henderson pulls the monitor off. His face is a fucking mess. "I'll kill you. I'LL KILL YOU!"

Henderson stands with the monitor raised over his head ready to crush Phil's skull.

BLAM

A hole is blown through the boss' gut. His spine disintegrated and he collapsed backward, dead before he hit the floor.

"Are you alright?" a voice calls out. A flashlight points in Phil's direction.

"Uh, yeah. We're fine."

"Come on out with your hands in the air."

[Ryoko's Biatch]

Phil did as he was told. The man with the shotgun pointed his flashlight in Phil's eyes, blinding him.

"What's going on?"

"Okay, you can put your hands down. Is there anyone else with you?"

Phil pointed to Susan, who seemed to be frozen in terror. She was barely even breathing.

"Hmm. Do you have any supplies? We need any food and water we can get."

"Wait, there are more of you?"

The man smiles and removes the flashlight from Phil's face. He walks over to Susan and wraps his arms around her, lifting her to her feet.

"Here, you hold on to her. I'll look around for supplies and then take you two back to headquarters."

"Wait, I don't even know your name."

"Hhn," the man's smile disappeared. "You can call me Derrick. Names don't really matter in this new world, unless you want to know what name to write on their tombstone."

"That's a little over dramatic. I mean, the world only ended a couple hours ago."

"No shit, dickface. Look out the fucking window, I came all the way here from the Bellagio through that shit." Things looked even more dire than they had just moments ago. "I left with two other guys and their both dead, so don't tell me about drama."

Phil tried to understand. What did all this have to do with FTUW? It didn't make sense, but it was the only logical answer. That's what the man in white said. Still, it was absurd. He scratched his head and looked at Susan's frozen face. He grimaced. She seemed fine not long ago. Maybe the gravity of the situation was setting in. Maybe he'd join her in catatonia before too long.

"Oh, yeah, my name is Phil. Phil Alexandros."

"Whatever. Are there any trucks here? It would be safer to drive, plus we could use it to haul this shit. We can talk later when we're at headquarters."

"By the way, thanks for saving us."

"Whatever, man. Just get the goddamned car."

About ten minutes later, Phil sat in the drivers seat of his Toyota Corolla. Susan was laying in the back. He watched Derrick load the water cooler in the trunk. There was no way that was going to work, but he wasn't going to tell Derrick that. The guy looked like the kind of asshole who would slit your knuckles if you crossed him. Or something. Derrick jumped in the passenger seat and checked his shotgun's ammo.

"You know how to get to the Bellagio, right?"

"Yeah."

"You drive, I'll shoot any motherfucker that moves."

[Ryoko's Biatch]

Shots ring out as Derrick fires on the people who fill the streets. Phil is constantly horrified by his surroundings. Men and women who were mutilated, either by themselves or by others, and still lived and were dedicated to inflicting all of the harm they could before their pitiful existences was extinguished. Phil ran the windshield wipers, leaving a faint residue of blood though still clear enough to see where he was driving.

"Fuck yeah!" Derrick screams as he reloads the shotgun.

"Aren't you worried about running out of ammo?"

"Aren't you worried about shutting the fuck up? In case you didn't notice, every goddamned person in the city has lost their mind and killing them is the only way to survive."

Phil didn't want to concede the point, but it was likely true. Still, he shuddered each time he ran over a body. It was impossible to drive around them at this point. He looked back at Susan, who still hadn't made a sound. He couldn't dwell on it, though. Not with their lives on the line.

"Okay, stop the car," Derrick commanded and reached for the door handle. "We'll walk the rest of the way. I'll blow up the car behind us."

"What the hell? Why?"

"Because it'll be awesome."

It wasn't worth arguing. They were only a few blocks away and Phil thought he could carry her the rest of the way. When he slung her over his shoulder, he realized she was heavier than she looked. Or maybe he wasn't as strong as he thought.

He hadn't made it far when the gas tank exploded. If it wasn't for Susan on his shoulders, he may have dived for the pavement. Derrick was yelling again. Maybe he was just as crazy as the rest of them.

I shouldn't have left the building.

Derrick caught up and seemed in a much better mood. "So, Alexandros. That's Greek, right?"

Phil hesitated for a moment. "Yeah. My family is from Macedonia, actually."

"Hey, I'm Greek, too. What are the odds, man?"

"I don't know."

"When we get there, I'll take you to meet Richard Johnson. He's the guy who organized us. I'm sure he'll appreciate the extra bodies, it's looking like we'll need them."

It was already getting dark and the Strip looked strange without the lights. It was just as well, this way he couldn't see all of the blood and corpses. Stepping in them was bad enough and the smell made him gag.

He jogged up to the doors when he saw the Bellagio, but two armed men pointed guns at him.

"Stop right the fuck there, asshole," a fat, bearded man said.

"Who the fuck are you?" the second fat fucker asked.

Derrick waved his arms. "Hold up, guys. He's with me."

The two fucks look at each other. The first one asks, "What happened to Chris and Howard?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Derrick looked at his feet.

"I'm sorry, man. Bring 'em in," the fat man says.

[Action Hank]

Poor Chris!

[Magic Juan]

Derrick needs to insult the government more.

[Ryoko's Biatch]

Richard Johnson sits in a luxury suite in the Bellagio that he had taken for his "office." This would be where he would run his empire from. The view was magnificent now that the lights of the city were gone. In the glow of the moon light you could forget the rivers of blood that flow beneath it. He taps his fingers lightly on his slight paunch with one hand while digging in his pocket with the other. He pulls out his lighter and sparks a cigarette. Savor these last few, he tells himself, you never know when you'll get some more.

"Sir," a young man barges through the door.

Johnson grunts at the interruption. "What is it?"

"We just got the intelligence on the city, sir."

"Good. Great. What is our status?"

The kid smiles. He couldn't be more than twenty one. "According to the reports, the strippers and prostitutes have claimed a few blocks north of us. They've already claimed about 70% of the cocaine supply in Las Vegas."

"Do we have any coke heads here?"

"Only a few, but we have enough for a while if we ration it out."

"Okay, good. Do we have any info on what's going on outside of the city?"

"Well, we requisitioned some CB radios and it sounds like similar things are going on at least in the region."

"Jesus Christ." Johnson doesn't let the kid see his smile. With his army of loyal soldiers, the city will be his and there's no fucking government to stop him. He choks on the cigarette smoke and coughs. "If that's all, you're dismissed."

"Actually, sir, Derrick came back with some new people."

"Hmm. What about Chris and Howard?"

"They're dead, sir."

Shit. "These people, how many?"

"Two, but one is a woman and she appears to be completely out of it."

"Well, get the man up here. Let's see what we can do with him."

Johnson goes back to watching the city below him. In some places the fires were still raging, others they were dying out. He was struck with the idea that the flames represented this new world. The strong would become stronger and the weak would fade out of existence, the glowing embers would be his slaves. "Maybe I'm being a little melodramatic," he says to himself. His cigarette is nearly dead. He flicks it onto the floor. "Fuck it. It doesn't matter anymore." He stomps it out, grinding it into the carpet.

A few blocks away a voice howls.

[Ryoko's Biatch]

"Sit down, sit down." Johnson waves Phil into the room and then holds his hand up as Derrick starts to follow. "Hold on, Derrick. Let me talk to the new guy first. I have important business to discuss with you about tomorrow."

Derrick spits onto the carpet and turns around, closing the door behind him.

Phil sits down timidly, not quite sure what this outfit is all about. In the few hours he had been here, all he had seen was a bunch of guys playing card games. It was a casino, sure, but it was so different than it was outside. These people weren't killing each other. It's strange when civility is the anomaly.

"So, I hear Derrick pulled you and your lady friend out of the shitheap." Johnson smiles warmly and offers a cigarette that is quickly waved off by Phil. "Hey, more for me."

"Yeah, it's nuts out there. My boss tried to kill me." Saying it outloud, it was more absurd than it felt.

Johnson laughs hard. The laugh unsettles Phil. It seemed jovial, but there was something hollow about it.

"Well, good to hear you're alright. But working on a Sunday?" Johnson waves his index finger. "Maybe you deserved it?" The grin was as hollow as the laugh.

"Heh, maybe." Phil wanted to vomit.

"Listen, I've got a proposition for you. Before you say anything, let me tell you, I'm a gambling man. We get a bad rap, I admit, but there is a sort of honor. Honor among theives, you could say. I won't welsh on a bet and this is a big one." Johnson's face suddenly turns dead serious. "Are you willing to make a bet?"

"What kind of bet?" His head is swimming. He can't put his finger on why, but nothing in this room feels right. Is finally having a chance to sit and think finally getting to him?

"This is the bet of a lifetime. Perhaps literally." That same empty grin. Johnson leans back into his chair. "No, most definitely literally."

"What's that smell?"

"I'm not quite sure I know what you're talking about. As I was saying -"

Phil leaps out of his chair. "What is that fucking smell?"

"Relax and sit down, kid. This is pretty goddamn important. I've got a mission for you and if you don't calm the fuck down, I'll kill you right here." Johnson punctuates the threat by slamming a silver revolver on the table. "Do you understand me now?"

"God, what do you want with me? What is going on?"

"I think you have me confused with someone else, 'cause I sure as hell ain't God. God don't do what I've done in my life."

"Stop grinning like that."

"Fine, act like a cunt. Now you don't have any choice in the matter. Here's the fucking deal, you're going with Derrick to collect guns from the police armory. Everything we have is from the security guards and their ammunition is limited, as you can imagine. So any bullet, shells, magazines, whatever you want to call them, I want them. And you'll get them."

Phil sits down. Maybe the smell is just coming from outside. There must be hundreds of corpses and rivers of blood. Everything will be okay he tells himself, but doesn't really believe it. Everything's fucked.

"Now, here's where the bet would have been if you weren't such a goddamn pussy. If you get back here within two hours of leaving, I'll let your girlie live. If you fail, I kill her and you have to serve in my army. I can't let you have any guns, though. Might give you a spoon, we have plenty of silverware."

"That's insane." Phil's eyes fall to the floor. He looks around and then back to Johnson.

"I didn't say I was sane, did I? Actually, instead of killing her, I'll just let my men fuck her. It'll improve morale."

"If I do this, I want something more than my life if I win."

"There's my boy! What'll you wager?"

Phil stands up and walks to the closet, stepping in a sticky patch of dampness. Johnson let's out a small laugh. The door falls open and a half dozen bodies wearing uniforms and name tags topple over.

"If I make it in time, you join your friends here."

[Ryoko's Biatch]

"Haha, very clever." Johnson slowly rises to his feet. He strokes his mustache and begins approaching Phil. "You do realize I'm holding all of the cards here, right? What are you going to do once you kill me? Take over my operation?"

"No." Phil starts to lose the confidence he just had. His knees quiver slightly. He knows Johnson saw it.

"Oh? What then? You'll kill me and then all of these people start killing for no reason? At least under me they'll have some direction. We could rebuild this country."

"It might just be Las Vegas like this."

"Get real, kid. If it was, we wouldn't be standing here right now. The army would be here restoring order. It's not like we're some podunk, backwoods shit pile. Face it, we're fucked."

"No, I'm not giving up." Phil shakes his head. He made it this far, he thinks, maybe there is some future for him.

"Neither am I. Like I said, I'm going to rebuild the world. I'm just going to make it interesting along the way. But fine, I'll wager my life against yours." Johnson puts another cigarette up to his lips.

Phil doesn't say anything. He turns around and walks through the door. The hallway stinks like Johnson's room. There are more bodies in those rooms. Phil runs to a bathroom and vomits into the sink. He falls on his ass, coughing. Bile runs down his mouth and onto his shirt.

I'm going to fucking die.

Dread fills him. His body shakes uncontrollably for several minutes, but he doesn't cry. He collects himself. Don't let that asshole shake you. He stands up and looks in the mirror. He needs a shave. The stubble is rough to the touch. He wets his face and then smooths back his hair. He wonders why the water is still running. He presses the button on the hand drier and it still works. The building must have its own generator.

When he opens the bathroom door Derrick walks past. He points his finger at Phil and says, "Bang."

Phil can barely stand it. The environment is stifling and everyone in the building is insane. Dread sets in again.

Pull it together. You have to protect Susan from these savages. You can't let yourself become on of them.

He begins his descent down the stairs. He's on the seventeenth floor.

[My Head Hurts 90]

I fell like I should send you money after reading all of this.

[Ryoko's Biatch]

You should.

[Seru]

I feel asleep.

[Ryoko's Biatch]

Phil sits next to Susan, who is finally starting to come around. She's still not talking, but she's moving a bit on her own. Phil had gone into the kitchen and brought out some soup, which he shared with her. It wasn't much, but it would get them through the night. It was the morning he was worried about. When Derrick came down, he was too cheerful for a man who might be going to his death in a matter of hours. His confidence didn't improve Phil's own.

He likes the killing. It was a horrifying thought. There was no reason for him to shoot most of the people they drove past. Phil hadn't really thought of it before, though. He didn't need one more thing to think about.

He felt the gun he had found at the office pressing into his back. It was the only thing that comforted him about this situation. That was terrifying. But it was realistic. He was living through the apocalypse. No matter what the cost.

"Hey, man, my name's Daniel," a kindly old man says, extending his hand for a hand shake. "I'm coming with you and Derrick on the gun run." Daniel's grip was firm. He looked in good shape for his age.

"Oh, uh, my name's Phil."

"Nice to meet you, son. I know this whole thing is crazy, but you need to relax. It's the only way we're going to make it, you know?"

"I hope so. This is a nightmare."

"That's life, you know? Hey, I know Johnson is picking on you 'cause you're the new guy, but between the three of us, it shouldn't be too bad. I may not look it, but I can pull my own weight."

"I don't doubt it. I'm more worried about how I'm going to be able to help."

"If Johnson got into your head, it's because he like rattling people. It's an old gambler trick. A guy who's off balance, he makes mistakes."

"Are you all gamblers?"

"Yeah," he lets out a bit of a laugh, "There was a small tournament. Nothing special, but the prize money was decent. It's too bad everything went to shit because I was doing pretty well."

"What happened here?" The casino didn't look too bad compared to what was going on outside.

Dan grimaces. "When some of the guys heard what was going on, they lost it like most people on the outside did. Johnson was able to rally the guys who were still in their right mind and, well, we killed the other guys. I hated it, good men died. But what could I do?"

He's right. What can you do? It was a sad truth, one that Phil hadn't come to grips with. He hadn't killed anyone yet, he froze when Henderson attacked him. But the situation might come and soon.

"Yeah, it's ... I don't even know what to say."

"No one does."

There is a bit of awkward silence. Dan breaks it.

"Well, rest up, it's going to be a busy day tomorrow." Dan said with a grandfatherly smile.

"Yeah. Yeah, it will."

Phil turns to Susan and raises her eyes to him. Why won't she talk?

Fuck everything.

[Ryoko's Biatch]

In the dim morning sky Dan holds up the map, reading it briefly and then surveying his surroundings. Without a word, he looks back at Derrick and Phil and makes a hand signal. They have to turn left. One block north.

"What's that mean?" Phil asks.

Derrick's face twists up in anger. "Shut the fuck up, man. We don't want to wake any of those psychos up. Just do what you've been doing and follow my lead."

As Dan rounds the corner, he sees a body hanging from a street light with its own intestines wrapped around its throat. He closes his eyes for a second to recompose himself, then continues forward. The rest of the street isn't any better. The fires had burned up most of the bodies, but the charred limbs stank of death. He wondered if it was possible to get used to the smell. Well, it's only been one day.

Finally, the goal was within sight. Just around that corner. Dan signals for the others to stop and raises his handgun. He slides along the wall and barely peeks around it. There are noises inside the store. With the windows, it'll be impossible to sneak inside, he thinks. Phil jumps when he hears the gun go off.

The man inside the store picks up a rifle and runs outside, looking around wildly. Didn't even see it coming. Dan fires another round into the back of the man's skull. Killing another human being was much easier than he thought it would be. He casually walks to the door and then freezes. He raises his hand and shots ring out.

Phil and Derrick run to catch up with Dan only to see a group of four Mexicans covered in tattoos walk out of the door. "They killed our white boy," one says laughing. He looks down at Dan's body, the face blown away, the head just a pulpy mass. "Chingate." He laughs again. "Vamos. Grab the guns and let's head back." The others go back inside.

Derrick starts yelling and fires his shotgun, blowing a hole in the Mexican's torso. One more leaps out after Derrick cocks the shotgun, only to receive the same treatment. His lungs fall out of the hole in his chest. When the last two run out of the gun store, Derrick throws the spent shotgun to one and stabs the other in the face with a Kabar. After slashing out, of the Mexican's face, ripping through the side of his head and sending the eyeball flying, the knife goes directly in the other's temple. The bodies fall simultaneously.

"Heh heh."

Somehow, Phil controls his gag reflex. It's been getting a lot of exercise lately.

"Let's get in and out, those shots probably woke up the whole area." Derrick picks up the bag the last Mexican was holding, now stained with blood, and then his own shotgun. "Gotta see if they have more shells. I'm almost out."

Phil, not sure what the fuck else to do, follows cautiously.

[Ryoko's Biatch]

Derrick leads with the bag of guns slung over his shoulder. The whole situation deeply disturbed Phil. There didn't seem to be a single bit of sadness over the death of Dan or guilt from taking the lives of other people in Derrick. He actually seemed to like it. Ever since the first shots were fired, there was a maniacal grin on that son of a bitch's face.

"You're lagging behind, man," Derrick calls out behind him. "I wouldn't want to have to kill you." The threat was genuine, but soaked in a kind of joy. It made Phil sick. He picked up his pace.

The trip back seemed to take longer, but it might have felt that way because he had started to focus more on the horrors that surrounded him. Bodies littered the street, mutilated in obscene fashions. A woman was buried under a mound of disembodied penises. A man looked to have had his limbs gnawed on to the bone. One corpse, its sex indeterminate due to the lack of skin or distinguishing characteristics, had its skull sliced open and filled with shit. This went on for miles, as far as could be seen. Every step was a sticky mess of bodily fluids and offal, the endless puddles of blood forced Phil to disregard the stains it would make in his shoes and clothing.

As they round a corner, Phil sees a pile of children's bodies that was taller than he was. It hadn't been there when he passed this street before.

"Derrick, this- this wasn't here before."

"What? Who gives a shit, I don't see anyone around. They're probably long gone."

It's possible, but not a bit comforting. Phil couldn't help but think that Derrick is full of shit. They're just hiding, he knows it and proceeds accordingly. He carefully monitors his surroundings, but he realizes if there are any snipers, he wouldn't see them until its too late. Just focus on the ground level, he thinks. They pass a car where all of the passengers are nailed to their seats with foot long spikes. That wasn't here before either ...

"Derrick ..."

"Shut the fuck up, you're worrying over nothing. We have all of these fucking guns, who's going to fuck with us?"

The sound of scraping metal fills the street. It's coming from behind. Instinctively, Phil falls to the pavement, barely dodging a swinging blade. He cringes when he remembers all of the disgusting shit he just jumped into. One hand's fingers are piercing an unidentifiable organ.

Derrick turns and fires his shotgun, but the buckshot slides off of a makeshift shield. A large Japanese man is wearing the car like a suit of armor, transforming it to trap his prey.

"I am Honda Ichiro and this block is mine! Pay the toll or perish!"

"FUCK YOU!" Derrick drops the bag and pulls out a rifle loaded with armor piercing bullets. Honda makes a quick movement and the front end of the car falls down, covering his torso and catching the bullets.

"My armor is impenetrable! Now suffer the consequences of your insolence!"

Honda's arms have the front wheels attached to the front doors, which he uses as a shield. Spikes emerge through the rubber and then the tires spin, rapidly firing volleys of spikes. Derrick tries to avoid them, but one rams itself through his thigh. Phil is too afraid to stand, but his hand grips the handle of his pistol.

Honda's heavy steps echo loudly as he walks toward Derrick, unable to rise due to the pain. He pulls at the spike in his leg in vain, getting nowhere by the time Honda's foot falls on his chest.

"If you express regret for your misguided actions, your death will be swift. This offer will only be extended once, so make your choice wisely."

"Suck my cock!"

Before the death blow is dealt, a single shot rings out and ricochets uselessly into the concrete. Honda turns with an amused grin on his face at Phil, gun raised and frozen in shock.

"Is your friend worth your own life? This is a question you must ponder in Hell."

Honda slowly plods to his new target.

[Ryoko's Biatch]

"Not so eager to fight back?" Honda asks as he walks toward the still unmoving Phil. Honda swings his car door arm, but Phil falls back out of range. "Stand and fight me, coward!"

Honda raises his arm to strike when a hook attached to a chain stops it in place. Confused, he tries to pull his arm free when five more chains fly out, hooking his arm. Then ten more hook the rest of the car.

"CHAIN GANG, STRIKE!"

Dozens of men in ragged clothes, a chain wrapped around one arm and a sharpened piece of metal twisted around the other fist. They fall out of the sky, trying to slice open the giant Japanese.

"This is our territory, fucker," the leader of the Chain Gang yells. He swings his chain and throws the hook toward Honda's face, but Honda swats it away.

"Idiot, how can you pierce my impenetrable armor? Have at you!" The wheels spin and spikes fire out, aimed at the Chain Gang. A direct hit sends one body flying and sticking to a wall. Others destroy faces, tear off limbs or otherwise cripple and kill people, ripping bodies to pieces.

"Derrick, let's get out while they're fighting each other," Phil calls out and lifts Derrick to his feet.

"We can't leave the guns."

"This is more important than guns."

"WE HAVE TO KILL THESE MOTHERFUCKERS."

Derrick pushes off of Phil, falling on his ass. Then he opens the bag, pulling out an automatic rifle.

"EAT MY HOT JIZZ COVERED LEAD, FUCKSTICKS!"

Honda transforms back into his car form, but the unarmored Chain Gang are torn open. The useless pieces of flesh become indistinguishable from the parts that had already littered the terrain. Within seconds, the pain filled screams of the Chain Gang are silenced. Then Derrick runs out of ammo.

"Jesus Christ." Phil is astonished and sick. But he recovers faster than ever. "Let's get the fuck out."

Derrick pulls the spike out of his leg. "I can walk." He hobbles up.

A motor revs up. Phil looks back in time to leap out of the way, pushing Derrick down with him as Honda speeds past them.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY SO EASILY? HONDA IS UNSTOPPABLE!" The car brakes and spins around, facing its quarry. But it can't take off again. Hooks bolted to the insides of the surrounding buildings on the second and higher stories hold Honda in place. "What sorcery is this?" Somehow, even more men follow the chains, sliding down with the help of rags. When the land, their improvised swords start stabbing down. The blows are almost all useless, breaking and bending the poorly crafted weapons.

Honda stands, transforming back, and brushes off the attackers like dandruff.

"I see that you are persistent. Very well, then. You shall soon join your comrades."

"For fuck's sake, Derrick, let's go!"

Realizing there are just too many to do anything about, Derrick sighs and limps away, the bag strap slung over his shoulder. His eyes betray a jealousy for the battle that rages behind them. It doesn't bother Phil anymore, it doesn't shock him.

"This is the new age of America. Everyone indulges their most primal instincts. Don't you see what we've become?"

"Are you kidding? This is great," Derrick says with genuine disbelief. "This is what America has always been about. This is the ultimate liberty. The frontier and self-reliance. It's a hard world where only the strong survive. If you can't accept that, you'll be everything we're stepping in now."

"That's not true."

"You fucking idiot. You let this bullshit government, this bullshit world, brainwash you and cut off your balls. The feel of a warm gun, that's the only thing you can count on."

Derrick pulls out a Desert Eagle, and puts bullets in the heads of two approaching men armed with planks with nail through them.

"See?" He points the gun at Phil's face. "That the law. Fear and death."

Phil smells the barrel smoke and hates.

[Ryoko's Biatch]

"Hey, there's the hotel," Phil calls out.

Derrick's arm is hanging on Phil's shoulder, supporting himself as he limps. His leg wound has grown more painful and stiff. If it wasn't for the fact that Derrick was sure to die on his own, Phil would have gladly abandoned him. Derrick was crazy and dangerous and he knew the rest of the world was too, so he had nothing to lose. Phil wondered if this was really how he was going to live out the rest of his days. It would literally be days, he realized, to expect to live to a ripe old age was utterly naive.

"Listen, Phil, I've got a confession to make." Derrick grinned that same grin that everyone Phil had met since the Apocalypse, that was the only thing you could call it, made.

"What ... What is it?"

"Chris and Howard," Derrick paused to look Phil in the eyes, "I killed them."

"What? Why?"

"I'm going to kill everyone. I was going to kill Dan, but I'm glad he gave me the chance to kill those fucking spics."

"Jesus Christ." Phil lets go of Derrick, who immediately falls, the weight of the bag dragging him down.

"Oh, don't be like that. I was going to save you for last. It worked out for you anyway. Since I'm close enough to the building to crawl, this is the end of the line for you." Derrick cocks the Desert Eagle. "Any last words, my friend?"

"SHITFUCKING COCK"

A body falls out of the air, lifting Derrick into a full nelson. The man is dressed in a tattered business suit.

"What the hell are you doing?" Derrick screams out in pain, punctuating the question.

"I heard every goddamned word you said," the man in the business suit yelled, "and I won't let you fuck the world up any more than I already have." He pushes Derrick's head down as far as he can, pushing Derrick's head until it rips off and pulls the spine through his chest. Then he drops the decapitated body to the ground.

"Holy fucking shit!" Phil stumbles back.

The man appreciates Phil's surprise. "Thank God someone else hates violence as much as I do. What's your name?"

"Phil. Phil Alexandros."

The man extends his hand in friendship, pulling him from the blood-stained pavement. "This name's John. John McGuinness." John's grip is crushing.

"I've heard that name before, but I can't remember why."

"I was a wrestler in the FTUW. I should have known better. I was a part of this," John raises his arms with a distressed look on his face. "I wanted to stop this, but I failed. Goddammit. I failed."

"Wrestler? FTUW? What's that?"

It's John's turn to be confused. "How can you not know wrestling?"

"I can vaguely remember something called the FTUW, but I'm not sure what it is."

"I guess you're a decent soul." John smiled the first genuine smile Phil had seen in quite a while. "Listen, if I were you, I'd get out of here. I met some people who are about to attack this place. Then sent me to scout it out. Some bad shit is going to happen and I'd hate for you to get in the middle of it."

"I can't leave, John. One of my co-workers is in there. I've got to save her!"

"Then come with me if you want to live. We'll get her out together."

[Action Hank]

With both Psaros brothers dead, now it truly is an apocalypse!