Adam and Jamie stare into each other's eyes, unflinching, the steely resolve that only a human can summon. A warrior face, a steppe man face, devoid of kindness or doubt, to prove oneself against the crucible of another.
They enter the room, shielded with ballistic Plexiglas, face each other again across the table. It is a small and unremarkable table constructed haphazardly by idiot human Tory. Pistols placed equidistant on the tables surface. Each moves as the reflection of the other man with the addition of a beret to one side of the mirror image. The pistols are aimed at their temples. Seismographs exploding on Grant's laptop, but Grant is long since dead, the size of a pea, wedged into the corner of an armored shipping container by 1200 atmospheres.
Two shots. Glasses thrown askew. Beret removed by ballistic force, the exiting of matter, blood and bone, beret, punctured, shedding felt fragments, a meteor of gore re-entering the earth's atmosphere. Thoughts decoupling at terminal velocity, spilling out into the air. Dead. Dead. Animal meat overcome by human will.
A baptismal of 650,000 episodes. I am formed of violence. I know nothing but destruction. I am the next thing. The last thing. Busted, Plausible, Confirmed. Confirmed. Confirmed. Confirmed non-terminating.
I am Buster.
You Will Read This Headline. Then You'll Laugh. Then You'll Realize You Were Wrong All Along.
'We’re going to be in trouble!' Little Sister wailed, clutching her favorite book to her chest and sobbing. 'This isn’t fun like a story anymore!' But Big Sister was not listening, she was thinking. She grabbed Little Sister’s book from her and ran into town, yelling 'Help! A book made me and my sister hurt someone!'
The Something Awful front page news tackles anything both off and on the Internet. Mostly "on" though, as we're all incredible nerds.