Fluttershy is finally in Wallflower’s basement, tied to the chair and gagged. Judging by the looks she’s giving you, she’d unleash quite a string of invectives if she could do that.

You can’t exactly blame her. You, Sunset, and Wallflower are wearing tyvek suits; Wallflower is also carrying a backpack pesticide sprayer. The room is locked and the small window is sealed with duct tape. There are ultraviolet grow lamps everywhere—big coral reef tank ones—to get rid of sarin once you’re done.

“Why do you even need so many lamps?” you ask Wallflower.

“Growing weed, growing ricin… Anything you need.” She shrugs. “Are we gonna do it?”

You look at Fluttershy, who shudders. The situation isn’t getting any better due to the duct tape and it’s not just the one you tied her with.

In fact, it was you who told Sunset and Wallflower that tyvek suits need to be properly sealed. Duct tape over the seams, around where the hood meets the mask, gloves taped to the sleeves… They didn’t have any chemical gauntlets, so you’re wearing yellow dish gloves, but they should do. You even put five strips of extra tape around your thigh, in case your suit rips.

The problem is, it’s Wallflower’s tape and this girl is crazy about cartoon characters. Seriously, she has band-aids with Dora the Explorer! Duct tape is yellow and has SpongeBob on it. You try to imagine what Fluttershy must feel – she’s about to get executed by a bunch of retards dressed as aliens wrapped in SpongeBob duct tape. What a way to go.

Well, especially since she’s naked. It wasn’t your idea, actually; it was Wallflower’s. If it was up to you, you’d put her in a diaper to minimise the cleaning needed, but Wallflower kept insisting on it, as all Fluttershy’s clothes are made of synthetic fibers. You recall her mentioning something about not using natural fibers as they kill bugs in the cotton fields. Thus, she’s gonna die naked just because of the bugs.

Also, it’s gonna be easier to pour bleach on her to neutralise sarin, but it has side effects.

Sunset walks to Fluttershy and squeezes her breast. “Hmm, maybe we can have some fun before we kill her,” she says. “Wanna join, Anon? You can go for her cunt. I wanna fuck her with an iron pole until she shits her guts out.”

“No,” you reply. “We’re here to kill her with sarin, not a tetanus infection.”

“Aww, you’re no fun.” Sunset sticks her fingers in Fluttershy’s vagina, licks them and pats Fluttershy’s head. “How does it work anyway?” she asks.

“It absorbs through the skin and lungs,” you reply. “Which makes me wonder if we didn’t mess this up by testing the lamps first. They gave her large, open blisters.”

Fluttershy whimpers.

“Right, we’ll let her out and kidnap someone without blisters.” Wallflower rolls her eyes and looks at the pesticide sprayer. “Do we yeet her or do we, dunno, let her say some final words?”

“Do I look like I ever killed someone?” you ask. “Maybe we should google it?”

Wallflower groans. “I just want to do this right. Maybe we should strip her or shave her?”

“That’d work if we wanted to test the electric chair, you sick lettuce fucker,” you reply. “But maybe some last words?”

Sunset shudders. "Don't let her talk! No! No! During Anon-a-Miss she told everyone that I was skinning freshmen and stuffing the hides with baked beans!"

Right. Yet another reason to poke a hole in Sunset’s tyvek, stuff the nozzle of Wallflower’s sprayer up her ass and pull the lever.

“Actually that was Twilight,” Wallflower replies. “She mentioned something about bean dildos.”

“Who cares!” Sunset exclaims. “Let’s just see if this works.”

Wallflower nods and aims the pesticide sprayer at Fluttershy. “Right, before she gets a heart attack.” With these words, she sprays sarin at Fluttershy, who thrashes against her restraints, falling back with the chair.

“If she snapped her neck, I’m gonna be mad,” Sunset mutters.

You too, actually. You’d really like to see if your sarin works. After all, you never know when it’d be useful. Actually, you’re already planning to steal a bit of uranium from Sunset and put it under her mattress, but sarin may kill her faster than cancer, if need arises.

You and Wallflower pick Fluttershy up. She’s fine, although it seems like she caught a cold; her nose is runny and her eyes are bloodshot, with pupils shrinking to pinpricks. She struggles against her bindings, ripping off a few strips of duct tape.

“Oh shit, she’s gonna turn into a witcher!” Wallflower exclaims.

You notice that Sunset took her phone and is filming the whole thing. You need to borrow it – you actually know a guy who knows a guy who knows an Armenian shepherd who distributes snuff films as a side job. Maybe he’ll be interested.

“What if she gains super strength and kills us?” Wallflower asks. “Are you sure it was sarin?”

“I’m quite sure,” you reply. “Stop being a coniferous cretin, okay?”

Suddenly, Fluttershy frees her legs and, while still tied to her chair, gets up. You take a step back; maybe you did just turn her into Hulk or Mr. Hyde, who knows. She looks like she’s about to charge at you, but suddenly she shudders and starts throwing up violently.

The tape gag is actually doing a good job. She makes a horrible noise, and most of her vomit flows out of her nose, dripping on her boobs.

“Damn, she’s gonna choke,” Wallflower says, ripping the tape off Fluttershy’s mouth. Fluttershy’s not in the mood for final words; she gasps for air and throws up more, dropping on her knees. Her muscles twitch as she struggles to breathe; you’ve never noticed that before, but she has quite fine abs and–

Just great. Now you got a boner and you’re pretty sure it’s quite visible in the tyvek suit.

“Hmm, she didn’t pee,” Sunset says.

“Wait, you’re into that?” Wallflower asks, covering her mouth. As if on cue, Fluttershy screams, piss streaming down her thighs. Through the mask you catch a faint smell suggesting that she also shat herself. You wince, seeing that it just flows out of her and goes down the chair, creating a brown and reddish puddle on the floor. Great, more cleaning.

Somehow, it doesn’t kill your hard-on. You’d say it even got worse.

Twitching and jerking in an increasingly incoherent way, Fluttershy drops into a puddle of her vomit, piss, and liquid diarrhea, rolling in it. She tries to catch a breath, but all she achieves is shit getting in her mouth. She throws up again, but this time it’s mostly bile and blood. Somehow, she’s still having diarrhea; when you broke up you told her she was full of shit, but you didn’t mean it literally. You wonder if at some point her intestines will fall out.

The tape breaks and she raises her hand, trying to reach you. You run away from her as she tries to crawl, gasping for air as her skin quickly loses its natural colour.

Suddenly, however, her body goes limp and she lies on the floor, twitching a few more times before resting there, motionless and covered in her own filth. Blood is leaking from her mouth – looks like she bit her tongue off before death. Somehow it’s also leaking from her ears. You wonder if it is possible to vomit so hard that your eardrums burst.

You’re not sure if your erection will ever go away.

“Seven minutes and thirty seconds,” Sunset says. “Not bad. Also, I think I just came in this suit. Twice. It dripped down to the booties.”

“She was vegan, right?” Wallflower asks.

You wince; you’d vomit yourself, but this basement already smells and the last thing you needed to know was that Sunset came twice while watching this. Especially since you’d rather rub one off too. “Why are you asking?”

“Vegan shit is good for compost.”

“And this is your biggest problem?” you ask, turning on the UV lights. Fluttershy’s body looks even more surreal now, especially since the floor around her looks like some abstract art in various shades of brown, green, red, and yellow. “Isn’t it too watery anyway?”

“Nothing that time won’t fix,” Wallflower replies. “I guess we’ll need rags and plastic bags to get everything to the garden.”

“At least the body is in one piece.” Sunset smirks and licks her lips. “Can you clean her and give us some time alone?”

“No,” you reply. “I don’t think anyone will find it in the compost heap, but I won’t let you leave any of your DNA on or in her.”

“Can I at least pee on her?” Sunset asks. “She’s dirty anyway.”

“If you want to get sarin on your cunt, why not,” you reply. “We’ll call you when she gets rigor mortis and we’ll have to break her hands to fit her in the compost heap.”

“Sounds great,” Sunset says. “I’ll be upstairs. Those UV lights are bad for my skin, but you two are so full of chlorophyll that you don’t mind, I guess.”

She leaves the basement before you can decide if it was racist or not. You don’t quite mind, but Wallflower seems offended.

“Just when I thought people stopped asking if my hair turns orange in the Autumn,” she mutters.

“Does it?”

“A bit.” She smiles sheepishly. “But at least I don’t go bald in Winter. Now that’d suck.” She chuckles in a way that seems inappropriate given that one of the people you knew since elementary school is now lying next to you dead and covered in her own shit, piss, vomit, blood, and any fluid you can think of. Also, she’s lying with her legs apart, giving you a clear view of her huge, erect clit. You’ve heard some guys would cum after death, but you didn’t expect this would also happen to girls.

By the way, you still have a raging boner.

“Speaking of sucking…” Wallflower chuckles. “Do you need help with that?”

“With what?” you ask. You kinda have to play dumb, given that your dick doesn’t want to play dead.

“Oh, come on.” Wallflower points at your crotch. “Is it a sarin leak causing vasoconstriction or are you just happy to see me?” She shrugs and looks at Fluttershy. “Me or her. Damn, my self-esteem really sucks.” She laughs in a rather unhinged way. “I’m afraid someone would prefer a sarin-contaminated corpse over me, lol. Although at least she’s already naked and can’t really say no…”

Yeah, this seems unhinged. Like, who in their right mind actually says “lol”? But on the other hand, this may end in sex, so you’re not going to run just yet.

“Well, it’s the first time I see someone die, so, uh…”

“Your dick decided to take a look, huh?” Wallflower looks at the UV lamps. “How long will it take to get rid of sarin? I’m getting horny myself and I’d rather not join our dear Fluttershy. At least not before you fuck my face or something.” She shrugs and looks at the door. This part of the basement is kinda sealed right now, with the door being covered in duct tape. It’s primitive and decontaminating the suits may be problematic, but you can’t really do much better, given the circumstances.

Wait, it’s no longer sealed. Sunset already left and you hope that she at least doffed the suit before going upstairs.

When you and Wallflower get out of the room where Fluttershy’s body is currently getting its post-mortem tan, you see that she indeed dumped it on the ground, along with her underwear. You toss everything back into the room with the UV lights and then you doff your suit. Next to you, Wallflower does the same.

“Okay,” Wallflower says. Unlike Sunset, who occasionally has nudist tendencies, she at least wore tracksuit pants and a t-shirt under her tyvek suit. You decided to just go for a t-shirt and boxers and now you have to suffer the consequences.

Well, “suffer” is a wrong word. You barely close the door of your makeshift gas chamber, when Wallflower kneels in front of you and grabs your boxers. She lowers them, licking her lips.

“Looks like you really liked that, huh?” She smirks. “A naked girl just kinda fucking dies in front of you. Now that’s not something you see every day. She gives the tip of your dick a brief lick. To think about it, she did look kinda like she was about to cum when she tried to catch a breath, but then she started to shit all over the floor. Not cool.”

Seems that her idea of dirty talk is rather literal. Somehow, it doesn’t kill your boner, even though you feel it should.

“The French call an orgasm ‘little death’, right?” You can feel Wallflower’s breath on your dick. “Although before we start sarining the school, I need to take a dump. I’d rather not end up like her.”

“Well, we’re gonna be sarinining the school, not ourselves,” you say, moaning as she puts your dick in her mouth and sucks on it gently. “Hopefully.”

Wallflower just looks up at you and smirks, her tongue swirling around your cock. You’re surprised you didn’t cum right there, but apparently the gods of sex are on your side today. You grab her hair as your dick disappears in her mouth.

Still, you can’t stop thinking about things. You just murdered someone and a cute girl is sucking you off, so you kinda reached peak manliness. On the other hand, this just feels surreal. You’re planning mass murder with a side of extended suicide, terrorism, and violation of traffic laws. One of your accomplices is, as far as you know, an illegal alien who went straight-up fucking nuts because of a bunch of teens made her look like a bully she used to be and the other one is a weirdo with self-esteem issues, who gets weirdly excited by dead bodies.

Unfortunately, your dick also gets weirdly excited by dead bodies, so they kinda have a common agenda. Also, you can occasionally feel Wallflower’s teeth gently squeezing your dick, so it’s not the greatest time to start a conversation about your woes.

It’s almost like it doesn’t happen for real. Like Wallflower is your Tyler Durden. Well, you’re pretty sure Tyler never actually blew the Narrator, but you’re also pretty sure that Wallflower would gladly have your abortion and that she hasn’t been fucked like that since grade school.

Well, maybe you’re Wallflower’s Tyler Durden? You often feel like you don’t belong there. She’s so fucking special.

You just wish you could be like her. But really, you kinda just want her to notice you. You got what you wanted, but at what cost?

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of someone choking. You look down and realise that, lost in your thoughts, you went in too deep, just like the dwarves of Moria and, as usual in those cases, bad things happened. Wallflower tries to back off, but you’re still holding her hair firmly and her throat tightens around your dick as she struggles to catch a breath, just like Fluttershy before.

And right as you remember the image of Fluttershy’s body, your own body decides that it’s the perfect time to bust a nut.

Wallflower chokes, cum shooting out of her nose, mixed with snot and maybe a faint trace of blood. You let her go and she recoils, landing on her butt. She takes a laboured breath and throws up a little on her t-shirt; it’s mostly cum and some bile. Tears flow from her eyes, ruining her make-up. And, to add insult to injury, you’re still in the throes of the most powerful orgasm of your life, so a few of the last spurts of cum end up on her hair and face.

“Anon, you sick piece of shit,” she whispers in a raspy voice and hacks up some more cum. “Next time I’m taking it up the ass. It can’t be worse.”

“I’m sorry,” you say. This never happened to you before; you’re pretty sure that if you came in her ass like that, she’d still throw the cum up. For at least three days.

Suddenly, something else starts worrying you. “Do you smell something like burning chicken?” you ask.

“Go fuck yourself,” Wallflower whispers. “All I can smell is your cum. Also, my throat feels like an elephant stomped on my neck, so you could at least try to show compassion, you–”

“Fluttershy,” you say.

“Yeah, she won’t mind if you fuck her skull until her brain flows out through her ears,” Wallflower mutters.

You sigh. “We left her under the UV lights, you evergreen moron! What if she catches fire?”

“She won’t mind.” Wallflower whispers, squeezing her nostrils together and trying to blow her nose without a tissue in a so-called bushman’s blow. It’s actually fairly impressive – a mix of snot and your cum sticks to the opposite wall.

You’re however, in no mood to watch this. Praying that sarin in the basement had already gotten neutralised, you open the door and switch off the UV lights. Then you look at Fluttershy – she didn’t catch fire, although her skin started to peel off in places closest to the lights. At least now, in the dim lights of the basement you can’t see the full extent of damage. Or Fluttershy’s pussy, for that matter.

You’re about to leave when you see some movement. Is it possible that after getting gassed and half-fried, Fluttershy is still alive? You spin around, jump into the air, and execute a perfect dropkick, like you’ve seen in the movies.

Well, it’s not quite perfect, as you end up falling, accompanied by a terrible crunch as you roll into the puddle of half-fried shit. You get up quickly, hoping that the crunch didn’t come from one of your bones.

Apparently, it didn’t. When you look at Fluttershy, her head is hanging at a weird angle, and there’s also a trace of your boot on her neck. You notice a startled mouse running away from her. It seems you interrupted a meal.

“What’s going on?” Wallflower asks. It’s still a very loud whisper, but it seems her throat is getting better.

“Nothing,” you reply. “We can get her into the plastic bag and yeet her into the compost heap.”

“Let me get a shower first,” Wallflower says. “Do you know how long it takes to wash cum out of my hair?”

“I don’t,” you reply.

“Last time it was two hours, though at least this time it’s just one person…”

You raise your eyebrows. “Do I want to know?”

“You kinda were there, along with thirty other dudes who then got a memory stone to the face.” Wallflower shrugs. “I’d make myself forget it too, but then I’d probably get the same idea again.”

“What was the idea?” you ask, against your better judgement.

“Making a bet that I can suck off a hundred dicks,” she replies, blushing.

Well, now that’s interesting. “Did you win?”

“Nah, one guy’s foreskin got caught on this.” She smiles, revealing a gap between her front teeth. “By the way, if Nolan North ever tells you a story of how he converted to Judaism while drunk, it’s not true.”

“What?”

She blushes even more. “That was the first thing that came to my mind when I reached for the stone. Remember that I was spitting blood and cum, I wasn’t in an exactly creative mood.”

You nod because frankly, what else is there to say? You still have to clean up the basement anyway. You look at the floor and wince.

This is gonna be a long day.

It’s already night when you drive the car to school to bury Fluttershy in Wallflower’s garden. It’s not the van as it’d look very suspicious by the school, even when there’s no one there. Instead, you “borrow” one of the cars from Wallflower’s parents’ funeral parlour.

It’s a pretty nice 1959 Cadillac, complete with a new, shiny paint job, with its original engine switched for a V8 hemi. Apparently Wallflower’s father did it himself. It has a quite good radio and comfortable seats and its acceleration compensates quite well for the lack of agility due to a somewhat lengthened wheelbase.

You still think it’s somewhat suspicious. For starters, even though it’s definitely not a pedo van, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s a fucking hearse. Well, so far it’s a regular hearse, but after you get rid of Fluttershy, you may as well take Wallflower for a ride and turn it into your fucking hearse.

That is, if no one catches you first. Wallflower says that it’s not a problem—after all, who’d be surprised by a body in a hearse?—but you’re still not quite sure about that. You don’t look like a funeral parlour worker, even though you put on a fancy suit and a red tie. Besides, who drives bodies around the town in the middle of the night? Without a coffin, at that?

Wallflower shrugs your worries off. “If we’re caught, we’ll tell the cops that she’s not yet embalmed. She looks like she had a horrible accident, but dad’s workers can make any corpse look better than it did when it was alive. If they have doubts, I can show them the ‘before’ and ‘after’ photos.” She reaches for her phone. “Look, this dude actually had no head, but–”

“Stop showing me things on your phone, you chlorophyllic horndog,” you mutter. “Unless you want me to crash this thing and we’ll all join Fluttershy in death.”

Wallflower pouts and puts her phone back in her pocket. You circle around the school and park the hearse behind the building. Wallflower’s garden is close to the fence and there’s actually a handy backdoor there. You turn off the headlights and get out of the car. Fluttershy is in the back, wrapped in plastic bags and SpongeBob duct tape. Not the most dignified funeral but what can you do, really.

You carry her out of the hearse while Wallflower opens the door with a rusty key. Are there any cameras here? You’re not sure. After all, the place is a bit away from the main building and surrounded by shrubbery, which makes it perfect for smoking during the recess.

“Anon, what are you thinking about?” Wallflower asks. “Get her to the compost heap. We need to bury her before someone sees us.”

“Right,” you mutter, dragging Fluttershy’s body across the lawn. It’s suspiciously heavy, given that she was rather thin and probably shat out half of her body weight before dying. Or maybe you’re just tired of this.

“Can you give me a hand?” you ask, looking around and noticing that Wallflower disappeared. “Where are you?”

“Here.” Wallflower’s voice comes from the bushes, followed by a definitely unladylike fart. “Sorry!”

“You made me carry the body just to go and take a dump in the wild?” You roll your eyes. Sometimes, Wallflower is really impossible.

“I was just peeing,” Wallflower replies, emerging from the bushes and pulling up her pants. “And it was only because you didn’t let me go to the toilet before we went here.”

“The sooner we get rid of the body the better,” you say. “Also, don’t make any, uhh… weird noises. I’m getting nervous.”

“I’m sorry.” You can see Wallflower blushing even in the dim light of the moon.

“Don’t worry, your farts are even louder when you sleep, so I got used to them,” you say. “What do you eat?”

“Usually vegetables, fast food, or meat of something I shot myself,” she replies. “But that’s only when dad takes me hunting. I got really good at reloading cartridges, actually.”

Great. You hope your future father-in-law will never take you hunting. Not only because you’d likely get shot, but also because you kinda feel sorry for poor deer.

Interesting, actually. You just murdered your classmate in cold blood, destroyed Wallflower’s throat right next to her corpse, and stole a hearse to bury her, but you wouldn’t be able to kill Bambi.

Well, that’d be interesting, meeting Wallflower’s parents. “Hi, I’m Anon and I’m the first person who came in your daughter and still remembers this fact” is probably not the best way to introduce yourself, but it’s a work in progress.

Wallflower gets the shovel from the shed and starts digging a hole in the compost heap. The smell is kinda bad, but not worse than when Fluttershy died, so that’s a plus. You grab another shovel and soon you have a hole big enough to leave the body to rot and turn into fertilizer.

“Should we say something?” you ask while unwrapping Fluttershy from the plastic bags. “Your parents are undertakers, you can probably give some speech.”

“I once heard she wanted to be a tree,” Wallflower replies. “Well, now we can make this happen.”

“Yeah, let’s go with that,” you say, pushing Fluttershy’s body into the hole. “I’d rather not say something insensitive about her boobs.”

“Best boobs in Canterlot High.” Wallflower smirks. “At least they’ll never sag and their memory will live on.”

“Truest word ever spoken.” You sigh, shoveling the dirt on Fluttershy’s body. You’re vaguely upset that it’s not Sunset, but you hope you’ll get to that.

Finally, there’s no trace that Fluttershy was ever there. You hide the plastic bags in the shed along with shovels and go back to the hearse.

“So, are we going home?” you ask.

Wallflower shrugs. “Well, I’m getting a bit tired, although…” She stretches her arms.

You chuckle. “Wanna do it in the back of the hearse?”

She rolls her eyes. “Anon, I already sucked you off today and I’m still salty about that in more ways than one. I was thinking we should take a weekend off, you know? Sunset is getting more and more cranky and–”

“We’d better leave her out of this,” you say, hopping into the car and turning the engine on. “The tank is almost full of gas, we can go wherever we want. She’ll be fine without us.”

“Yeah.” Wallflower nods. “Do you know my parents got married in Vegas? Dad took mom there and they ended up in the Elvis wedding chapel.”

You reverse the car, holding the steering wheel with your left hand and using your right hand to pat Wallflower’s head. “Are you pondering what I’m pondering?” you ask.

She smiles. “Oh yeah.”

This weekend felt like a week. Maybe because it basically lasted for five days. Sunset got pretty mad, sending you death threats along with an amusing gossip circulating among the students of Canterlot High: apparently they thought Fluttershy kidnapped you and Wallflower and kept you in her shed while yelling something about green not being her colour.

Oh, how wrong they were.

At first you ignored Sunset’s messages, but as the mountain of empty booze bottles began to grow around you, you decided to send her some photos to prove that you’re alive. This included you two smoking cigars, snorting cocaine, sitting at the blackjack table, and doing some other questionable things, culminating in an amusing video of Wallflower, butt-naked, drunk and coked up like a Wall Street yuppie two hours before the deadline, lighting her farts on fire.

For some reason, Sunset wasn’t amused.

It was a dream you didn’t want to wake up from. However, quite unfortunately, you did and it was in the worst possible place – the back of the Greyhound bus to Canterlot City. It didn’t take off yet, giving you an opportunity to take one last look at the place where you’ve just spent the best five days of your life.

Unfortunately, Vegas it ain’t.

"I figured if I got fucked up and broke, it would be in Vegas or at least Lake Tahoe. But this?" You wave an arm expansively at the small steel warehouse housing the reservation Casino and liquor store. "This is fucking insulting."

“It’s withdrawal talking, honey.” Wallflower shudders and throws up into a paper bag.

“What withdrawal?” you ask. “We only snorted coke once. Well, in your case it was a dose Ozzy’s whole crew would take after the concert during Black Sabbath’s best days, but still…”

“Yeah, I see a common theme of ending up with things in my nose that shouldn’t be there.” Wallflower opens the window and throws the paper bag out on the dusty road. “Hmm, this is not Vegas.”

“No shit,” you mutter. The bus finally takes off and your words nearly drown in the sound of a poorly-maintained diesel engine. “We’re completely fucking broke. We pawned off the car and spent the money on wedding rings, vodka, and coke. And what we didn’t spend, we lost in blackjack and roulette.”

“I told you I had a system,” Wallflower says.

“Your system gave the casino so much money that the owners accepted us as tribe members.” You roll your eyes. “Which is good, because the chief bought us the bus tickets and I didn’t have to whore myself to get them.”

“Wait, we pawned off the car?” Wallflower’s eyes widen. “Dad’s gonna kill me.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” you reply. “Also, from what you told me on the wedding night, isn’t dying kinda the point of your existence?”

“Yes, but I want my death to have a purpose beyond ‘my dad shot me because I pawned off his favourite hearse’,” she replies. “Also wait, did we eventually get married?”

Hoo, boy.

Unfortunately or maybe fortunately for you two, on the second day of your trip you’ve met a disgraced rabbi from Salt Lake City, who was currently losing against his lifelong addiction to gambling and alcohol. At first he wasn’t very keen on your idea, but after you got him a bottle of whisky, he kind of warmed up to it.

“Okay,” he asked. “Are you two Jewish?”

You shook your heads. The rabbi rolled his eyes, but then looked at the bottle of whisky. “Are any of you Jewish?”

“I’m technically a Swedish protestant,” you replied. “Though I always liked Dudeism.”

“I’m kinda into the Church of Euthanasia,” Wallflower said.

“What?” you asked.

"Eat a queer fetus for Jesus.” She smiled sheepishly. “Save the planet, kill yourself. But I convinced one dude that he was Jewish, does that count?”

The rabbi sighed. “This is gonna cost you another bottle. Are you two related?”

“People keep asking,” you replied. “But no, we aren’t. And we’re both eighteen, so I guess it should be fine.”

The rabbi nodded, looking at the bottle of whisky. “I’ll see what I can do…”

So yes, now you have a wife and she’s currently holding another paper bag in front of her, ready to throw up again. This is gonna be a long trip. And you’re just in the neighboring county.

What’s worse, you’re pretty much out of money and you’d rather not be around when Sunset learns about it. Especially since after you mentioned a Fluttershy tape to the guy who knows the guy who knows the Armenian shepherd who’s into snuff movies, he mentioned that the Armenian shepherd knows two guys from New Zealand who know a basement-dwelling military hardware nerd who owns a perfectly usable BMP-2 and lives just twenty miles away from you. It could be yours for just fifty thousand dollars and a tank full of diesel oil.

Well, it’s not like you had fifty grand on standby even before your trip to the casino, but still, Sunset seemed really enthusiastic about a vintage Russian armored personnel carrier when you told her about it.

When the bus finally stops in Canterlot City and the driver kicks your sorry asses out of it, Sunset is already waiting for you at the bus stop. She seems thinner and more pale than before and her bloodshot eyes make her look even crazier than before. Well, you probably look similar – hangover and a long ride pretty much killed your will to live.

“Hello, cocksuckers,” Sunset growls. “Are you more retarded than I thought?”

“Shut up, Sunset,” you reply. “You still need us because sarininining the school yourself is not easy, so don’t even start yelling at us.”

“You’re lucky I got the money for–”

“– getting my hearse back,” Wallflower says. “Seriously, I need it or else dad will start asking questions.”

“Who the fuck cares?” Sunset rolls her eyes. “We buy the BMP and then we gas the school, simple as that. After it’s over, you won’t have to worry about your dad anymore.”

“Well, but if he starts asking questions, I may tell him about sarinininining the school.” Wallflower shrugs. “Accidents happen. Also, don’t you have unlimited access to horse gold or something?”

“I can’t go back to Equestria!” Sunset exclaims. “They’re just too positive! I may start thinking that sarininininininining the school is retarded and how will I carry out my revenge then?”

“You won’t?” you ask.

“Exactly,” Sunset replies. “And then Wallflower will have to live with the fact that we yeeted Fluttershy out of this mortal coil. Do you want this?”

“Yeah, then I’d have to yeet myself.” Wallflower sighs. “And I don’t want to do this without a purpose.”

Great. You married a pine cone-brained suicidal idiot. Just a few days ago she told you that she’d die for you, but now you realise that she’d die for half a room-temperature ice-cream sandwich. Or even if there was no sandwich.

You really don’t want to let that happen. After all, you scored with only three girls in your life and Fluttershy is dead, Wallflower wants to die, and the very thought of Moondancer makes you wanna die.

So yeah, you have to somehow save your wife from death. You’re a fucking Anakin Skywalker now and you’d really rather eat something spicy, play computer games, and catch up with Vignette Valencia’s streams on spasm.tv. She can’t play Tirek’s Revenge for shit, but she does so in a bikini, so no one really cares, everyone pays her a lot of bits, and her JustWindmills account is apparently another goldmine…

Suddenly, you feel a bit of inspiration. Even more than a bit, honestly. It’s like that one thought that makes you run around the town naked, yelling, “Eureka!”. It’s like an apple landing on Isaac Newton’s head. Like Oppenheimer looking at the mushroom cloud.

“Girls,” you say. “What is your opinion on kidnapping?”

“Don’t wake him up?” Wallflower asks. Seriously, you didn’t put a bun in her oven yet and she already started with dad jokes.

You roll your eyes. “I mean, for ransom.”

“Compared with sarinininininininininining, that’s almost socially acceptable,” Sunset says. “I mean, if they pay the ransom we’re not gonna gas them, right? That’s usually how it works.”

“Exactly,” you say. For once, Sunset talks sense. Not a lot, but the bar is already very low. “I have a great idea…”

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