“Hello, my dear subscribers. Today, we’re going to take a look at dresses from Rarity’s new– thanks for the bits. Be sure to subscribe for a daily does of #AwesomeContent. So, as I said–”

Sunset looks over at your phone. “People pay to watch this shit?”

“Yes,” you reply. “And that’s why we’re here today.”

In this case, “here” means “in a van parked right in front of Vignette’s house”. You’re wearing your tyvek suits, but this time you have rubber masks depicting various presidents. You’re also armed to the teeth; Sunset and Wallflower couldn’t agree whether to get some AKs or AR-15, so you called your new friend the rabbi, and he sent you a pair of UZIs and a nice IWI Tavor complete with a box of 5.56×45mm NATO.

Of course you kept the Tavor to yourself. Wallflower took both UZIs, as Sunset got a diamond-studded Beretta somewhere.

“Did you rob a pimp?” you ask, when she produces it.

“Well, the pimp actually paid for your hearse.” Sunset drops an American Express Platinum on the dashboard of the van. The name says DIAMOND TIARA.

"Where'd you get this?" Wallflower asks.

Sunset smirks. "She doesn't need it where she is."

"Where is she?" You ask cautiously.

"In the hospital, getting the baseball bat removed from her spleen."

You shrug. “Couldn’t have happened to a meaner bitch. Didn’t she have enough to pay for the BMP too?”

“She did, but Filthy Rich already blocked it,” Sunset replies. “Wallflower, do you want this card? You can use it to make cocaine lines or something.”

Wallflower winces. “I don’t even like cocaine. Also, something’s not right.”

“What do you mean?” Sunset asks.

“Look.” Wallflower points at another pedo van that’s just parking in front of your own vehicle. Well, calling it a pedo van is a bit of an understatement. Your own van indeed looks like one – it’s rusty and battered and it only needs someone to write “free candy” on the side. The one that just stopped in front of you is brand new and if it indeed belongs to some diddler, then they’re definitely richer than you. Maybe Michael Jackson had a few of those on standby.

“Is it the police?” you ask.

“Worse,” Sunset replies, eyeing the van. It has Fluttershy’s face on the side, captioned with “have you seen me? Call 0-555-DARLING”. That’s the stuff of nightmares.

You look at the other van closer and see the most unlikely trio getting out of it. Rarity, Zephyr Breeze, and Angel Bunny? Now that’s weird. Not as weird as you, Wallflower, and Sunset, but still. Also, it looks like the confrontation is imminent.

“Do you think we’ll find Fluttershy here?” Zephyr asks.

“No, darling,” Rarity replies, grabbing some boxes from the back of the van. “I need to deliver my dresses to Vignette Valencia. Then we’ll get back to the store and hope Angel sniffs some traces of your sister.”

“It’s a rabbit, not a dog.” Zephyr sighs.

“But a very intelligent one,” Rarity replies. “If he doesn’t find Fluttershy, no one will.”

Well, one thing is sure: the rabbit must die.

Wallflower clicks the safety of her uzis and puts on a black trench coat over her tyvek suit. “I’ll be right back,” she says, getting out of the van.

Fuck, what is she gonna do? You grab the Tavor while Sunset gets a pipe bomb from under her seat. Great, does she just keep it there? A large enough bump and you’ll all explode.

Wallflower walks to Rarity and Zephyr. “Hello,” she says. “What are you doing here?”

Rarity furrows her eyebrows. “Wait, aren’t you that little Sunset’s friend?” she asks. “Sunflower or something like that?”

“What did you call me?” she asks in a tone suggesting that underneath the coat she’s armed to the teeth and one more mistake will end with getting pumped full of lead.

“Right, I’m sorry, darling,” Rarity says. “It’s Cauliflower, right?”

“Really?” Zephyr asks. “I always thought it was ‘Deflower’.”

Wallflower sighs. “Yeah, let’s go with that. In fact, I have some news about Fluttershy.”

“Really?” Zephyr asks. “Where’s she?”

You can see Wallflower’s smirk in the faint light of the moon. “Oh, you can see her soon…” With these words, she pulls out her uzis and fires a short burst at Zephyr. It throws him at the van, his mouth open and his eyes wide. Wallflower fires another burst from the second uzi and he drops on the ground, leaving bloody marks on the van.

Rarity takes a few steps back, her face more pale than usual. “Cornflower, wait!” she cries. “You don’t have to–”

“IT’S ‘WALLFLOWER’, YOU POSH FUCKING BITCH!” Wallflower screams, firing both uzis at Rarity. You expect the bullets to rip her apart and spread her guts across the street, but somehow, this doesn’t happen. A shiny shield flashes in front of Rarity, stopping the bullets dead in their tracks. What is this? A fucking Matrix or what?

“Her geode!” Sunset shouts, explaining absolutely nothing. “Anon, fire!”

You shoot the Tavor at Rarity, but she conjures another shield. Bullets ricochet off of it and you’re afraid they’ll hit Wallflower. Angel runs away; you hope that one of the stray bullets turns him into a bloody pulp, but he somehow avoids them all. Sunset rolls her eyes, arming the pipe bomb and throwing it under Rarity’s feet.

“Fire in the hole!” she shouts.

Rarity’s eyes widen. Zephyr regains consciousness for a brief moment and throws himself on the bomb, right before the flash of the explosion shakes the van, blinding you for a moment.

When you’re able to see again, the fight is over. Zephyr is nowhere to be seen, or rather he’s everywhere. Wallflower gets up from the pavement, cursing and complaining about being deaf. All the dogs in the neighborhood are barking and you can hear a car alarm going off.

Somehow, Rarity is still alive. She’s screaming, covering her face. Her clothes are charred and her hair is no longer as divine as usual. Still, it’s not bad compared to her legs, which turned into a bloody, charred mess with bits of bone sticking out in some places. The bits of shrapnel in her ass must feel worse than hemorrhoids. You reload the rifle to blow her brains out and put her out of misery, but Sunset shakes her head.

“We have no time for that,” she says. “We just turned this suburb into a fucking warzone!”

Wallflower staggers to the van. “Did Vignette notice something?”

You look at the phone, tuning in to Vignette’s stream.

“Kids and their fireworks,” she says. “Do they think it's the fourth of July?” She shrugs. “Yes, chat, fifth of November for all the folks on the other side of the pond. No, chat, it’s not gunshots. Do I look like I live in Atlanta?”

“Either she’s a moron or the show must go on,” you reply. “We’d better kidnap her quickly. I don’t know if you realise that soon this place will be swarmed by paramedics, police, army, SWAT teams, and the neighborhood guard.”

“Right.” Wallflower drops her trench coat and puts on the mask. You and Sunset do the same and soon you look like Dubya, Tricky Dick, and Agent Orange who decided to don tyvek suits and take a stroll across the warzone. You’re still watching Vignette’s stream. She’s complaining about Rarity’s getting late. She doesn’t know that Rarity won’t get anywhere anytime soon, but that’s not really your problem.

Sunset doesn’t bother with knocking. She just kicks the door open.

“Hey, chat,” Vignette says, “did one of you send a SWAT team to my house again? I already told you that this is–” She’s interrupted when you kick open the door to her room. She turns to you, raising her eyebrows. “#WhatTheFuck?”

“Turn this off!” Sunset yanks the microphone cord out of Vignette’s computer. You notice the chat filling with messages.

For some reason, all those morons think you’re a part of the show. But then, many of them pay to watch this, so they aren’t very bright to begin with.

“No, seriously, what’s going on?” Vignette asks. “I expected Rarity or a SWAT team, not a bunch of, uhh…”

“No one can hear you, you can say whatever you want and not get banned,” you say. “Though we already murdered two people and scared off a rabbit today, so this should be the least of your problems.”

“A bunch of autistic virgin motherfuckers dressed like faggots!” Vignette exclaims.

“Hey!” Wallflower exclaims, aiming one of the uzis at Vignette. “We’re not virgins.”

“And soon you won’t be one either, honey, unless you cooperate.” Sunset leans closer to Vignette, making a move as if she wanted to grab her private parts. Her mask is already creepy, but you’re pretty sure her expression underneath it is even creepier.

“#BitchPlease.” Vignette rolls her eyes. “Also, finally I can say ‘faggot’ on stream and no one cares! I can even go with–” She’s rudely interrupted when Sunset punches her in the face; she falls on her desk, dropping the camera. “#CallThePolice,” she whispers, spitting some blood and at least two broken teeth.

Sunset looks at her curiously, like an entomologist who just discovered an exceptionally ugly species of a bug. “Did she go nuts from the trauma?” she asks.

“Probably,” you reply. “Like, how can you be a virgin and a motherfucker at the same time?” You shrug. “Let’s get her out of here before someone notices.”

Suddenly, an explosion breaks all the windows in Vignette’s room. Apparently Rarity’s van caught fire and blew up; good thing you moved yours closer to Vignette’s house.

Wallflower pokes Vignette with the barrel of an uzi. “Get up.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fair warning,” you say. “She just shot a guy because he got her name wrong.” You grab Vignette and drag her out of her room, kicking and screaming. She tries to scratch you, so while normally you wouldn’t hit a girl, this time you make an exception and hit her in the solar plexus with the butt of your Tavor. This makes carrying her downstairs a bit easier.

There are a few neighbours standing in front of their houses, but no one really notices you when you’re dragging Vignette to the van. The fact that the remains of Rarity’s van are still burning, there's a dead body in multiple pieces scattered all over the street, and several people are trying to stop Rarity from bleeding out while two girls are fighting over the contents of her purse somehow makes you the least interesting part of the renaissance painting called “A Night at the Suburb”.

After a brief struggle, ended by Wallflower smacking Vignette’s head against the side of the van, you manage to put her inside and drive off before the paramedics arrive at the scene.

Well, time to make some money.

A few days later it seems that no one cares about the disappearance of the biggest social media star of the last six months.

Well, there are more important things on the news. Fluttershy still hasn’t been found, her brother is very dead, and Rarity is apparently in a coma after having both of her legs amputated. Thoughts and prayers were sent around; Trixie got arrested for hate crime after trying to blow up a used car dealership with a firework. She was freed the next day after the psychiatric evaluation revealed that she was a complete and utter moron with a deeply-rooted prejudice against wheels.

Meanwhile, Vignette made sure you wouldn’t forget about her for a while.

For starters, she refused to pay the ransom, laughing in your masked faces when you threatened her with death, torture, and sodomizing her with a rusty lead pipe. Worse, she pointed out that #LeadDoesntRust. Yes, complete with a hashtag.

Pissed off by the lack of results, Sunset whipped out the largest, scariest-looking strap-on she could find and threatened to rape Vignette’s brains out of her.

As it turns out, it’s really hard to rape someone who, seeing the fifteen inches of barbed, mean-looking rubber dong, laughs into the face and dick of danger, rips her dress off and consents. In the end, you and Wallflower just ended up watching them fuck for two hours and then you decided to also engage in some filthy married sex.

In the end, you achieved nothing. You’re still not getting paid, Vignette is still imprisoned in Wallflower’s basement, and Wallflower’s ass hurts after she let you finish there.

Also, Vignette starts making demands. She was supposed to be the one paying, but so far she cost you more than she contributed.

“I want to take a shower!” she exclaims. You locked her in a part of Wallflower’s basement with just an old mattress, a chair, a desk, and Wallflower’s first computer, which still kinda works, but it has no internet connection and runs on Windows 95. Still, you can hear her whining almost everywhere in the house. “Also, I need tampons and fresh underwear. My vagina is bleeding worse than a mongoloid kid with a katana.”

You roll your eyes. “You can say whatever you want, but it doesn’t mean you should.”

Somehow, it’s mostly you who keeps watch over your prisoner. Sunset claims that kidnapping Vignette was your idea and as such it was completely retarded. Vignette doesn’t want to pay, her spasm.tv followers apparently don’t want her back and she doesn’t even have rich parents who’d pay the ransom. Like, you looked it up and apparently when she was five, her parents tried to sell her to a circus for a pack of fags. Now they’re dead anyway – who’d have thought that smoking and sniffing glue doesn’t end well.

Eventually, Wallflower gets Vignette some fresh panties and tampons. However, she doesn’t agree for a shower.

“We could let her use the bathtub,” you say. “Then we’d sell the bathwater and we’d be good.”

Wallflower rolls her eyes. “I’d rather get sarin and give her a proper German shower.”

Sunset furrows her eyebrows. “Is German shower the same thing as Dutch oven?”

Wallflower shrugs. “Well, gas is involved in both.”

Vignette doesn’t give up. She bangs at the water pipes in the middle of the night and comes up with another demand.

“What is it again?” you shout through the door.

“It’s the bucket,” Vignette replies. “I can pee in it just fine, but I can’t bring myself to shit in it.”

You’re actually fine with it. Mainly because it’s you who actually cleans the bucket.

“We’ll definitely do something about that,” Wallflower tells her.

Given the state of the bucket on the next day, “something” involved spiking Vignette’s food with laxatives. Not the best idea – she got slightly dehydrated and spent most of the day lying on the mattress and trying not to die or shit herself. Also, she only eats some organic vegan stuff; the people at the grocery store are already giving you weird looks.

On the third day, you realise it’s not just dehydration. She just kind of withers in the basement, even though she has food, water, and everything she needs. Despite that, she just wanders around the room, crying or laughing; occasionally she talks to herself in several different voices. Maybe it's the lack of sunlight?

“I’m gonna go crazy!” Vignette yells, banging her fists against the water pipes. “You took my phone away!”

“What did you think?” you ask. You expected the damn thing to ring all the time, but she didn’t get a single message over the last three days. “You’d call the police if we gave it to you.”

“Maybe,” she says. “But the thing is, I don’t know what happens on the internet! Do you know how many things I missed?”

“Not much,” you reply. “They’re gathering money for Rarity’s new legs. Also, there’s that thing in Egypt–”

Vignette groans. “I’d give everything to read about that!”

“You can just pay the ransom and we’ll set you free,” you say innocently.

There’s a brief pause. “Do you accept dogecoin?”

---

“Bad news,” Sunset says, looking at the computer screen. “Apparently one of the idiots who watc h her called the police. Seems the FBI blocked her accounts.”

“So what do we do with her?” Wallflower asks. “Technically, she paid. It’s not her fault we can’t do shit with her money.”

“Dogecoin plummets anyway,” you say. “Also, is it a kidnapping or an exercise in philosophy? We have no money either way. She has to get us cash or we’re gonna be very angry.”

“Do we even plan to let her out?” Sunset asks. “We wear masks around her, but she may have seen our faces. Also, she may know where we keep her. But then, I’d rather not kill her before she pays.”

“What if she doesn’t have anything more?” Wallflower asks.

“She’s an internet thot who sells her bathwater to people,” you reply. “She probably has some offshore account in the Bahamas or something.”

“Great, we could tell mom and dad to pick it up,” Wallflower says. “I’ll just call them.”

Speaking of, Wallflower already told her parents that you’re married. It was a surprise to you as you still believed that they were buried in the compost heap. Instead, yesterday you got a video call from a thin guy in a black shirt and a cowboy hat, sporting an impressive amount of skull-shaped rings on his fingers, who was chilling on some beach. He told you that you look okay and that he’ll have to have a drink with you once he and his wife are back home, and he may even take you on a hunting trip, but if you ever hurt his daughter, he’ll shoot you and hang your head on the wall as a trophy.

You just didn’t have the heart to tell him that the only person who wants to hurt Wallflower is Wallflower herself.

“Wait,” Sunset says. “First Anon has to ask her if she has an account in the Bahamas. It’d be pretty awkward if it was Turks and Caicos or some other place.”

“Why me?” you ask.

“Because you can beat the crap out of her if she refuses,” Sunset replies. “With us, she’d have a chance to win.”

Yeah, right. Sunset can probably bench press more than her weight. Wally would probably somehow kill herself with a barbell, even without trying, but Sunset is way stronger.

“You’re just lazy, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Sunset says. “Also, I lost my gun somewhere.”

You sigh and go to the basement. You expect to find Vignette either curled up on the mattress and sobbing, or utterly bored, waiting for you to set her free. Well, once or twice you walked in on her trying to take a shit, but that’s not something you’d want to remember.

When you open the door of the room you keep her in, she’s sitting on the desk with Wallflower’s old computer. She hops off of it when you enter, smiling at you.

“Are you satisfied with the price?” she asks. “Can I go home?”

“Well, there’s a problem,” you reply. “Seems that your account is blocked.”

“Well, of course it is.” She smiles in a seductive way. “Do you think I’m stupid or what? Why would I even pay you?”

You roll your eyes. “We’re keeping you in the basement and my friend is getting desperate. She’s kinda nuts, so you’d better watch out. She’s armed and dangerous.”

“Armed, you say?” Suddenly, Vignette pulls out a gun on you. You immediately recognise the diamond-studded Beretta. “Seems she lost something.”

“Put that down!” you shout, hoping that the girls can hear you. You’d be really happy if Wallflower ran down here, shooting at everything with her uzis.

Well, she’d most likely hit you as well, but that’s still better than getting shot by Vignette.

“No way.” Vignette smirks. “Finally I’m the one with a gun, faggot, and now I’m going home, whether you want it or not. And then I’ll call the police.”

You walk closer to her. “You don’t even know how to use this.”

You’re bluffing. She even remembered to switch off the safety.

“I had three stalkers and managed to emasculate one of them with one shot.” She aims at your nuts. “Do you want to find out how good I am?”

“You won’t shoot,” you reply. Famous last words.

“I just may,” Vignette replies. “You’re boring as fuck.”

With these words, she pulls the trigger. You dodge, waiting to hear trumpets, see angels, and meet St. Peter telling you to get the fuck out to hell for hanging out with murderers and psychopaths for so long that you’re one yourself.

Expect the gun doesn’t fire. You vaguely remember that Wallflower took the whole stash of 9x19mm Parabellum for her uzis, leaving Sunset with the ammo she refilled herself. She has a lot of enthusiasm when it comes to this, but results so far are less than stellar.

“What the hell?” Vignette looks at the gun and then stares down the barrel, furrowing her eyebrows.

Suddenly, the gun goes off, turning her right eye into a bloody mess. Judging by the red and grayish mass that hits the wall behind her and slowly flows down, the back of her head is not in a great shape right now. She recoils, resting herself against the desk, piss flowing down her legs. Her hands twitch as she tries to prop herself, but without success; she drops on the desk, her hand landing on the keyboard and pressing the “F” key as her moves become more erratic and finally stop.

Your boner, however, comes to life. Vignette’s brain is all over the place, but unfortunately, your dick doesn’t seem to mind, only noticing the fact that she’s lying on the desk, her ass in a miniskirt facing you. You unzip your pants and lift Vignette’s skirt.

Her panties are soaking in piss, but at least Wallflower’s shenanigans with laxatives saved her the humiliation of shitting herself. You yank them down and jam your dick in her still-warm pussy, trying not to think what you’re doing. Still, you can’t help but notice how tight it is; maybe the bullet passing through her brain stem caused some muscle spasm? You’d have to research that, but right now you’d rather fondle Vignette’s tits one last time before you inevitably throw her in the compost heap. A thought of blowjob passes through your head, but you dismiss it; the shockwave ruined the roof of her mouth, breaking some of her teeth in the process.

At least it doesn’t last long, for once. After three thrusts, each of them causing a new stream of blood to erupt from Vignette’s mangled skull, you cum all over her ass, pussy, and thighs, your seed mixing with her piss. Given her aversion to the bucket, no wonder she’s been holding it for so long.

Seems you finished right on time, as you can already hear steps on the stairs. Also, it’s not like Vignette has a problem with that; she has other things on her mind than worrying about your performance. You quickly pull her panties up and put your dick back in your own pants.

Sunset and Wallflower burst in, each of them armed with an uzi. You’re currently thanking all the gods for cumming so quickly – the situation is awkward enough without them walking in on you literally fucking the brains out of Vignette.

“Are you crazy, Anon?” Sunset asks. “Now we won’t get any money from her!”

“Hold on,” you say. “For starters, she shot herself by accident. Which wouldn’t happen if some imbecile didn’t just lose a fucking diamond-studded Beretta!” You point at the gun lying next to Vignette. “I’m alive only because Wallflower absolutely sucks at making ammo!”

“What?” Sunset raises her eyebrows. “How did it get here?”

“I don’t know, I’m not an idiot who wants to gas the school because a bunch of kids framed her,” you reply.

You’d rather not add that you’re doing it without any particular reason.

“Whatever,” Wallflower says. “We have to clean this before someone gets curious about where she is. Sunset is scrubbing the brain off the walls.”

“Why me?” Sunset asks.

“It was your gun and Anon and I already have experience in disposing of the bodies.” Wallflower walks to Vignette and slaps her butt. “At least we don’t have to strip her naked. All natural fabric.”

“The last time you went to hide the body, you lost everything in some casino.” Sunset sighs. “What if this happens again?”

“Oh, I’m sure this won’t happen…” Wallflower says, furrowing her eyebrows.

As you’re driving to the garden, Wallflower is oddly silent. It’s getting unnerving, especially since you’re again driving the hearse and she has her uzis with her. Maybe she’s on her period? After all, she gunned down Zephyr Breeze rather unceremoniously.

If you get pulled over, she’ll most likely shoot a cop. Now that’d be hard to explain.

Vignette is also quiet, though in her case it’s understandable. You put the bigger parts of her skull in the plastic bag with her, but it still doesn’t change the fact that it basically exploded. Even her other eye got pushed out by the pressure, though you didn’t quite notice it at first when you were fucking her.

Suddenly, you shudder as a terrible realisation strikes you. “Wallflower?” you say.

“Yes?” Her tone suggests that you don’t want to continue this conversation, at least as long as she’s armed and you’re driving a hearse with a very dead corpse of a yellow-skinned girl. Again.

“Nothing,” you reply. “Or at least not much.”

“I’d say a lot,” she says, idly clicking the safety of the uzi on and off.

“Be careful with that.” You look at the uzi. “You know that if by some, uhh… unfortunate accident you’d shoot me, we’d have an accident. And it’s an old car without airbags. You could die or become a vegetable, and even if you’d be fine, there’s a bagged corpse of a kidnapped social media influencer in the back. No lawyer would be able to–”

“Shut up, Anon,” Wallflower growls.

You obey and promptly shut up. You hope she’ll say something before peppering you with bullets, but she just sits in silence for the next ten minutes. Seriously, at this point death would be preferable.

“Wally?” you say, pulling over by the garden. “Is everything alright?”

“You should know best,” she replies.

“I suspect I know,” you say, “except I’d rather discuss it when you’re not pointing the guns at me. Why did you even take them? It’s not like Vignette is gonna get up and attack us.”

“If she did, you’d have a lot of explaining to do.” Wallflower gives you a nasty look. “The sooner we bury her, the better. I guess you’d rather not look at her, either.”

You push the brakes way harder than you’d want. “Okay, I fucked her! But I really couldn’t help it! She just shot herself and you know how I react when someone dies next to me?”

“My throat still hurts after the last time, yeah.” Wallflower nods. “Also, Anon, you’re the only person in the world who thinks the fact that she was dead when you fucked her makes things better.”

Well, she has a point.

“I thought you were a cheating son of a bitch, but now I see you’re also a sick fuck.” She sniffs. “How am I supposed to fuck with you if I know that you put your dick in her dead cunt? At least it won’t take much more.” She lowers her head. “Soon I’ll yeet the whole school and then myself. Maybe you’ll even fuck my body then, if there are no nicer ones around.”

“I’d choose your body over any other,” you say, hoping that it sounds romantic. You’d hug her, but she’s still armed and the gun may go off even by accident. “Vignette was a mistake. Let’s bury her and move on.”

“Until you find another popular whore?” Wallflower asks.

“She was popular and now she’s dead,” you reply. “What is popularity? No one even cared about her disappearance and now she’ll lie anonymously in a compost heap, with Fluttershy as the only company.”

“Not quite,” Wallflower says. “Remember Cozy Glow?”

“No,” you reply.

“No one does.” Wallflower smirks. “Even after I broke every bone in her arms and legs into tiny pieces, the bitch begged me to spare her life. I buried her alive and now no one at school even remembers her name.” She clicks the safety of her uzi. “So be careful, Anon.”

“I will,” you reply. “Why did you kill her?”

“She fucked my boyfriend.”

“Why didn’t you kill him?” you ask before realising that maybe it’s better not to give him ideas.

“Well, he’s in jail, so it was a bit hard.” Wallflower shrugs.

“In jail? For what?”

“Fucking a seventh grader, obviously.” Wallflower sighs.

You suddenly start rethinking your life choices. You basically married a psychopath mostly because she had a cute face and nice tits, but then you cheated on her with a corpse. She’s not likely to kill Vignette again, but she may still kill you. What does that make you?

A moron with the life expectancy of a roofied teen girl at a furry convention, that’s what.

Trying not to think about it, you say to Wallflower, “Time to get Vignette out.”

“Can I shit on her face before we bury her?” Wallflower asks.

You’re not in a mood for another argument. “Yes.”

“Cheer up,” you say. You just got back in the car and you’re driving home, but Wallflower just sits in silence. “This could happen to anyone.”

“This never happened to me before,” she replies.

“Maybe it’s the circumstances.” You shrug. “Uhh… Performance anxiety or something like that.”

“What performance?” She sighs and shakes her head. “I even told you not to look and still I couldn’t do it.”

Right. Despite many attempts, Wallflower didn’t manage to shit on what remained from Vignette’s face. She did pee in her skull, at least, but then you just buried Vignette in the compost heap with that last shred of dignity intact.

Not that you were better. At some point you offered to pound her in the butt to force things out, but since you already busted a nut in Vignette today, probably giving her some sort of post-mortem babies, you couldn’t quite get it up, even when Wallflower showed you her tits. Seriously, your dick has a really fucked up taste.

“Let’s forget about it,” you say. “And think what we tell Sunset when she realises that we won’t be getting the BMP. Unless we find another rich girl we can kidnap.”

“Nah, too many problems with this,” Wallflower says. “Can’t we just get the van? It’s far less suspicious.”

“It’s still suspicious,” you reply. “We literally don’t have any non-suspicious vehicle.”

“We can paint some logo on the van.” She shrugs. “Maybe a pest control company. Or we just ram the gates and–”

“– get shot by everyone, including the school guards and Applejack?” You sigh. Wallflower is your precious little evergreen darling, but she can be almost suicidally stupid, sometimes.

Well, to think about it, this can be said about pretty much every girl you’ve ever been with. When you think about it, you realise that it just got worse: Fluttershy is dead, Wallflower wants to die, Moondancer makes you want to die, and Vignette was already dead when you fucked her. On the other hand, she was pretty rude and called you a faggot, so you kinda proved her wrong. Not that she could be there to see it, so to speak.

Yeah, as a wannabe mass murderer and necrophiliac rapist, you’re not the one to point out someone’s raging homophobia, but still, gotta have at least some semblance of standards. Else we’d become animals and start shooting people in the streets…

Wait, the girl next to you just recently stuffed a guy with lead, so you’re already there. Also, you think that with your luck when it comes to women, being gay becomes a viable alternative.

You start to wonder if Flash Sentry is free. He’s a chill guy, despite that one weird thing when you two got drunk and it turned out he had a full closet of pretty dresses in suspiciously big size.

You looked very nice in that pink one.

“Anon, you nearly ran over a granny,” Wallflower says. “What the hell are you thinking about?”

“What the fuck is a granny doing in the street in the middle of the night?” you ask.

Wallflower shrugs. “Trying to get ran over, I guess.”

Yeah, that could be a thing.

“I can kinda understand her.”

“You only think so,” you reply. “Guess she wouldn’t want to be ran over by two retards in a hearse.”

“Yeah, I’d aim for a better car.”

You just shake your head. Wallflower is simply impossible.

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