I had a much longer finale written, and I’ll probably extend this version, but for now I wanted something short and sweet.
Chapter 10 – Name Unknown
The enormous mechanical body plummeted from the sky. A trail of green fire and broken machinery. Scattered fragments of brass and blackened steel. An earshattering cry arose from the cultists until as the red eyes of Rabbi Schneerson slowly dimmed. And then, all at once, they collapsed. As if someone had unplugged their tether from this mortal coil.
And left only silence.
There was no mad dash for the exit. No beeping alarm that announced the start of a final warthog run. For the first time since Sarah had arrived on the island, nothing was trying to kill her. The complex was as calm as she was.
Sifting through the rubble she soon found the lead cultist, and casually swiped his portal key and complex map. Navigating to the holding pens was simple. So was killing the few remaining guards, and pressing one single button to open all the pens.
She was sickened by the inhumanity of the captors represented through the escapees. Thirteen year old girls sex trafficked from Mar a Lago. Young boys sex trafficked from corrupt foster care systems. Fifteen year old Eastern European girls promised non-existent work far from home. Most with a shell shocked
And then she saw him.
“Johnny,” she cried, rushing over to her GigaChad boyfriend. There was so much to say, but her voice caught in her throat. Extremely cute tears streamed from her face, giving her a fragile, feminine appearance.
“Hush now, sweet thing,” he said as he embraced her. “I’ve missed these,” he remarked, his head sandwiched between her back destroyingly large breasts.
They remained like that for a while, the purest picture of young love. At last they parted, and he looked at her with a stern, hypermasculine face.
“Coming here was recklass,” he told her. “Thanks.”
“What did they do to you,” she managed, through the tears. “D-did they make you sodomize Lindsay Graham?”
He held her close again, and whispered in her ear. “They plied me with so much viagra I thought my heart might burst, but I never once got an erection.” When she asked him how, he told her about his extreme kegels routine, coupled with occasionally thinking about naked trannies who think they pass.
He had a distant look on his face, like a war torn soldier recounting his dead friends. “So much vileness. It’s hard, sweet cheeks. Such psychological torture. It… changes a man.” Then he grimaced, his breathing growing harsh, accidentally holding her so strong it hurt, before he collected himself.
“But what kept me going was you, my love.”
Sarah had been reduced to little more than moderate tears and cute moans of happiness, all attached to a giant rack. In short, the ideal woman.
“Even though,” he started, before that cocky half grin that she had fallen in love with lit up his face again, “thinking of this tight little package was always counterproductive.” And then he smacked her on the ass, before grabbing her by the waist and pulling her close.
“Give me some sugar, babe.” Her mouth flew open in gleeful surprise as he pressed their lips together. Forcefully pressing thorugh her giant knockers, which escaped upwards and sidewards, framing their love. For a full minute, a casual observer would have been treated to sounds eerily similar to wet cantaloupe being sucked on by a geriatric with no teeth. The heat was unbearable.
But at last they parted, both panting, faces flushed.
“Now sweetheart,” he said, “let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
***
For a brief moment in Johnny’s arms, the island had ceased to exist. Now it was about to actually cease to exist.
They watched, hands together, purchased atop a rubber dinghy, fingers on the detonator. Finding the explosive materials hadn’t been difficult. It had been no problem rigging a few tons of TNT to the island’s main quantum teleportation generator. All that remained was to push a button.
“Ready,” he asked her, and she nodded with a smile on her face.
She wished she’d been cool enough not to flinch when the first tremors reached her feet. She remained standing, only because her Gigachad boyfriend caught her, with a wink.
When she looked back at the pyramid at first she saw nothing. But then, more tremors, a chain reaction happening underneath. Then the pyramid began to sink, starting at the base, and continuing in freefall. The controlled implosion reminded her a lot of 9/11 for some reason she couldn’t quite place her finger on.
And then, when all seemed over, one last rush of light streamed from the now collapsed pyramid, stretching up to the sky. So bright it turned dusk into noon, if only for an instant. Then it was gone.
“It’s over,” she said softly, before looking to Johnny because she couldn’t be sure unless she got a man’s approval.
“It is,” he confirmed, looking at her with love.
Then they turned on the dinghy’s motor and skedaddled. They’d done what they came here to do, what none had done before, what none would do after.
Escaped Epstein Island.
Below is one additional cutscene I wrote, but didn’t know where to place. It’s the one where the fitness influencers and body positive activists are introduced.
Chapter ? – The Fitness Dichotomy
The doors of the arena slammed shut.
On the left stood Chad Thundercock, real name Melvin Jones, the physical embodiment of the modern fitness influencer. A lifetime natty, who had managed to put on eighty pounds of muscle in six weeks due to his clem eating regiment of chicken, broccoli, rice, and the occasional trenbologne sandwich. “Be the best version of yourself,” he told his followers, “anavar give up.”
Thundercock’s unnaturally bronzed skin gave him the appearance of burnt leather wrapped around an anatomy experiment. His jawline looked surgically negotiated, because it came with a warranty. He was the rare man with duck lips, and wore a stringer vest displaying his own supplement brand. Reports of his hairline being created in Turkey were greatly exaggerated.
“A real alpha male doesn’t wake up in the morning and ask himself how he feels. You’re a man,” said the self-proclaimed looksmaxxing hedonist. “And a man’s life is suffering.”
“Wake up. Look in the mirror. Ask yourself, ‘how many people have I disappointed by not being richer, stronger, or more successful?’ You think a nine-to-five is freedom? You think watching Netflix is happiness? That’s blue pilled, beta cuck behaviour.
“If you’re not making money while you’re sleeping, you’re probably sleeping because you’re broke. That’s why I sleep four hours a night, which I can do because I inject experimental substances that I can’t pronounce directly into my anus. Why my anus, and not anywhere else? Because as a real G, I’ve conquered my lizard brain. That little guy inside your head that tells you not to put weird shit in your ass. And from one Top Dawg to another, let me let you in on a little secret. The sooner get over that little hangup, the sooner Peter Thiel will start giving you the massive loads of fuck you money he’s dropped on my face over the years.
“Bruh. I have seventeen cars, four watches worth more than the house you’ll never even get to own, yet I’m always hustling except for with the hoes. I don’t chase pussy. I provide an ecosystem in which women may compete for the privilege of standing near me.
“Reject modernity, embrace tradition. Also fuck tons of skanks. Christ is King, and running scams on lonely men is queen. Escaing the matrix is all in a day’s work, homedog.”
The voice of a genetic Karen interrupted him.
“Fucking excuse me.”
Sarah didn’t know who spoke up, but she was sure it would be more reasonable than Chad Thundercock.
“Stop with the fucking problematic, ableist, sexist language you fucking bigot.”
Sarah was less sure.
“First of all,” they began, “the concept of personal responsibility is a tool of oppression. Secondly, suggesting that exercise has health benefits is fatphobic. And thirdly, I find your aggressive language emotionally unsafe.”
Sarah noticed then the Jabba The Hut real-life cosplayer wearing an “ALL BODIES ARE PERFECT” shirt marked with the nametag “Bertha.” She moved in from stage left, at first glance appearing to levitate. Upon closer inspection, she was moving on a powered wheelchair, her legs having quit a few hundred pounds ago.
Chad scoffed.
“In a world of healthy at any size. You my friend, must be the healthiest.”
“Has your alpha male university finally gotten accredidation you fucking closet case.”
“Simmer down, Big Mac.”
“Check your privilege, shitlord.”
They circled each other.
Chad opened his phone and began recording.
“What’s up, Kings? Today we’re dismantling a high calorie individual. Remember, if you’re not cruelly and sadistically dominating your environment this is basically your future.”
Body Positive Bertha opened her phone.
“Hey, beautiful humans! Today we were supposed to be debunking one hundred years of medical research through a study of self-reported food intake with a sample size of me. Instead, we’re unpacking why accountability is actually a form of violence, and why anyone who disagrees with me should literally be killed in a fire.”
Both began livestreaming. Both immediately received thousands of likes. Both had blocked their mothers, although Chad Thundercock did still have her name on his shoulder.
“Can we get some dubs in the chat,” they said together, more focused on their phones than each other. “Oh my gosh, ten gifted subs. Thanks ShitOnMyFaceAndKillMe1488.” They actually said that line at the same time as well. ShitOnMyFaceAndKillMe1488 had eclectic tastes.
Anyway, then they noticed Sarah and put aside their differences.
I’m going to make a post now amalgamating all these cutscenes into one article.
