Snake Train might have retired for the night or simply ran out of steam.
[Previous Chapter]
So I'll take
Chapter 4: CHAD.
Beth fantasizes over TERFS for a majority of this chapter. He can't stop thinking about them.
They passed by Foxborough without leaving the interstate. Crows and turkey vultures circled the town in ragged spirals and perched on the eaves and chimneys of the buildings closest to the highway.
With no car? Suit yourselves.
Fran had grown up with money, back when money still meant something, and she had that middle-class brain disease that makes people think calamities can be controlled.
So Tran was a rich bitch. Who knew? However, I think don't think it's the 'middle-class brain disease' that fueled Tran's rejection of reality.
Beth thought again with a rush of shame and guilt of the girl she’d plugged with an arrow at the edge of the woods. She’d felt so confident lining up her shot on Teach. It would have been perfect. Right through the TERF’s nose and out the back of her stupid fucking head. Someone else would have taken over, sure, but it would have felt good to ventilate that bitch’s sinuses and watch her groupies lose their narrow little college-girl heads.
Passages that will give you whiplash. What? Beth feels bad for TERF Underling #1 but is still fantasizing over bursting TERF Lord's head open like a melon
days after he missed his chance? He doesn't seem to have as much of a problem with the group or what it stands for, he just
hates Teach specifically. This infatuation with her has gone from tardy to re-tardy.
Fran’s voice snapped her out of her morbid daydream. “Are you listening to me?” She sounded hurt. “We need to find somewhere to sleep.”
Alright it's hot as hell and da galz need to find shelter or they'll be attacked by the TERF Boogeyman or something.
Mosquitoes boiled in the gathering dusk and Beth realized they’d bitten up her arms and legs. She hadn’t even noticed.
Beth was so caught up in his little jerkoff fantasy that he didn't notice all the bugs drawn to the scent of dingy man-sweat and rotten flesh coming to take a bite. LOL. We at least have a timeframe for this. Summer in MASSACHUSETTS.
A man’s scream rose up from the woods again, not far off this time, and by unspoken agreement they paused to watch the birds fly in whirring coveys from the trees. Not for the first time, Beth wondered if they were lonely, those things that had been men.
Awe?
If they missed their wives, their mothers, their daughters and girlfriends and dominatrixes.
Jesus Christ. We can't have one tender reflective moment without these degenerates inserting their fetish terms into everything.
Or maybe they were happy now, free to rape and kill and eat whomever, free to shit and piss and jerk off in the street.
Maybe this world was the one they’d always wanted.
Oh, that's rich you fags. This comes not even half a page after a lengthy description of Beth putting one right between the eyes of some woman. Aren't these all things
you wish to do as well? Specifically to one Ms. Teach? Justice for my zombie bros!
Anyway, after a long 50 steps on the highway they come across an old shed and take refuge.
Fran knotted their climbing rope to the top step so that they could pull it up after them. The new men were stupid, but they could still use a ladder.
New men, she thought, gripping the gutter and bracing a foot against the wall. Like Coke Zero. Same great vicious disregard for our lives, none of the socially enforced restraint!
Alright. He's just projecting at this point. LOL, TOTALLY NOT LIKE THEM MY LADIES.
A line of fat brown sparrows sleeping on the south eaves eyed them coolly as they laid out their sleeping mats in the starlight. Beth thought about trying for a shot at one, but it would be a mouthful at best and they still had power bars and trail mix.
It made her think of the girl, too. The TERF she’d shot. She hadn’t nocked an arrow since. Another fun thing to have PTSD about in the post-civilized wasteland of New England.
One last thought of TERF Underling #1 before bed. Sweet dreams, Beth.
Oh.
Beth shook her head. She passed a hand gingerly over her face, brushing light against the swollen skin around her stitches, and wondered if she’d have time for a quick shave tomorrow. It felt stupid to still care about it. It wasn’t like she’d ever passed, not at six foot two and two hundred poundswith her long horse face, broad shoulders, and blocky jaw. Why bother scraping another few days of stubble off something no one with eyes would ever think was a real woman?
LOL BASED. TROONS ARE TRULY THEIR OWN WORST ENEMY.
A sound jerked her bolt upright in the starlight. A muted thunder of crunches and snaps from the forest to the north. Across the parking lot, a doe burst out of the dark under the pines. Behind her, mouths gaping, eyes luminous in the faint silver light, came a tide of men. Beth dared, for a moment, to hope the creature might make it. They got the doe near the on-ramp, it sounded like, and she screamed, just once, a high, hoarse sound Beth wanted to forget as soon as she’d heard it, and then there was only the crunch of breaking bone and the wet ripping noise of the men worrying at her flesh.
Well, that's one way to wake up I suppose. I cut so much of this scene out. He dragged it on for far too long. Also... worrying?
I guess it works. Huzzah! GFM knows how to use a thesaurus!
She got her shaving kit and vaulted from the roof, leaving Fran to sleep. A backed-up drainage cut near the west edge of the parking lot had flooded some time recently. The water didn’t look bad, Beth thought as she drew closer. Not drinkable, but fine
So you decided to shave after all. And you're going to clean your face with some stagnant water? Enjoy those breakouts. That is if Beth's face isn't already a mess of blackheads and cysts from all that dude-gunk.
He came at her out of the cut, exploding through the placid surface in a cloud of sparkling droplets,
So you just shaved with dirty infected zombie water. Nice.
and she saw with a thrill of terror that he was erect, his cock standing hard against his concave belly. She dropped her razor and went for her knife, but slowly, so slowly. It felt like she was moving through stirred concrete, like someone had filled her arms with steel ball bearings. Her hand closed on the knife’s worn hilt. The smell of his breath was cum and rotten meat and old, forgotten gym bags where the accoutrements of manhood festered unseen in the sweaty dark. His filthy nails dug into her neck. She looked up at him, breathing through her teeth, fighting the urge to shrink into a ball and go away until he’d finished what the thing between his legs wanted to do to her.
Oh shit. Beth's about to get bent. This is Chad, everyone.
I can take him. I can take this piece of shit. When he was a person I’d have whipped his ass at pool and gone home with his fucking girl.
Are you kidding? Girls that date Chad don't go for fat NEET virgins. He probably would've whooped your fat genderblob butt even harder if he was a conscious person.
Warm drool dripped onto her upturned face. His nails broke skin. Her own breath hissed in her ears, thin and strangled, and she thought, for some reason, of Fran’s hesitant mouth on hers, not opening, and of the other woman’s soft, husky voice tickling her neck.
You make me feel so delicate.
Especially if you're going to have an erotic fantasy while he's doing it. LOLOLOLOLOLOL. This satyromaniac literally cannot think of anything other than sex even when he's about to get BTFO.
BUT NEVER FEAR,
PLOT ARMOR FRAN THE TRAN IS HERE.
He was going to kill her. She couldn’t hold him off. He was going to kill her, and if she was lucky he’d do it before he raped her. Spots formed and burst like blackheads in her vision. Then running footsteps. A dull, solid thwack of impact. The man rolled off of her with a gurgling moan. Beth lay gasping in the mud. Fran stood over her, breathing hard, a bloodstained brick clutched in her hands.
“Are you okay?” Fran asked.
Beth levered herself up onto her elbows, coughing. “I’m great,” she croaked. “I was about to focus my ki into the first two fingers of my right hand and liquefy his entire spine with a single strike, but you threw off my technique.”
Gahhhh kill yourself you weeb. (
in minecraft)
The brick came up, Fran’s arms trembling with its weight, then down again. Up and down, hammering his face into the mossy ground. Finally, Fran stumbled away from his still form, the brick falling with a splash into the muddy water.
Chad taken from us too soon.
The worst of the split skin and scarring confined to just behind his ears and the soft flesh under his jaw—he seemed disconcertingly normal, like a stock image of a high school football player,
or a Ken doll. Beth burst out laughing.
“Oh my God,” Fran squeaked. She clapped her bloody hands over her
mouth. “I killed a Chad!”
That's it. The Chapter ends there.
Yeah. Smear that contaminated blood all over your orfice, retard.
Let me know if there are things that need cutting.
