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Earlier that day, he had gone around as he always did looking for someone to annoy. He found it in the momentary ecstasy of the hare Pikestaff Silverfur, who in a moment of excitement wanted to share something she found extremely satisfying to her.
Billy saw his chance. He pounced, trying Osric-like to be clever and throw Pikestaff’s own words back at her. And then he laughed; because he was certain that he had succeeded and voiced the subdued thoughts of his peers. He laughed and continued his torrent of superfluous diction, and he felt that now he would finally be accepted. Perhaps now, creatures would finally understand.
Pikestaff was one who did not understand. Her boundless energy and enthusiasm was not always well received by others, but most of the time she was tolerated and at least treated with some miniscule amount of respect. Not so this time. Billy the Bull had no sense of respect. He did not—could not, even, respect anything, not even himself. His goal in life was to try to fit into the drab monotony of normalism, and ideal that does not exist. But Billy doesn’t realize this. He has never before sat down and tried to think of it. Perhaps it is impossible for him to do so. Pikestaff, however, feels struck by an invisible blow that knocks her back. Normally she would take petty comments and insults in stride. It was her nature not to care about what others said, because she knew the truth—that she was actually living and enjoying herself, while those that mocked her were, like Billy, living in a bizarre trick mirror, striving for a Utopia that will never come to pass and filling the void in their soul with the comfort food of acceptance. Pikestaff knows this. But this time is different. This time she really felt happy about something, she honestly could not contain her excitement. She wanted to show others her joy and invite them to come take a moment from their world-weary lives and partake of the thrill with her. But she was cut down by an individual who had probably never known happiness in his life, and who refused to let himself go for even one moment. No. That would be contrary to his rule--that he must fit in.
Pikestaff’s ears drooped. Her original plan was to retort using similar cutdowns, but she soon realized that she could not and would not stoop to the level of the insulter. Instead she replied using linguistic terminology that would show Billy that, while he may have popped her bubble of joy, he had not touched her intellect.
Then she turned and walked away. She would not talk to him anymore. He was not worth talking to. He would always be like that until he managed to escape the illusions poisoning his mind… something that perhaps isn’t even possible or likely.
Pikestaff Silverfur would walk away and ignore the beast leashed to the proverbial chain. He wasn’t capable of generating any real change in the world, and thus wasn’t a legitimate threat.
But the SCV of Death would not let this crime be forgotten.
The SCV of Death had seen and heard it enough. The SCV of Death was tired of the tauntings of the immature psyche. The SCV of Death had been waiting for his chance to take the initiative, for once, just once, and take revenge for all the misdoings that had been done to Pikestaff and other so-called “radical philosophers” who, like the mockingbirds, never meant to bother anyone.
The SCV of Death saw all, and heard all.
The SCV of Death was here.
Billy the Bull felt his work was done. Sickly, he continued laughing as Pikestaff shuffled into the forest. And then he continued his day’s terrorism, finding anyone else whom he felt was not conforming to the harsh commandments of his nonexistent society, and then went home, feeling quite proud of himself for having done so, and so successfully, as well. Of course he will continue his police work tomorrow. It was something he just knew. He didn’t have to think about it. He never thought about his future. Blissfully unaware, he throws himself on the dirty, hard mattress he calls a bed, pulls a jacket over himself and within minutes he falls asleep.
This is where he is now. Asleep. Unaware of the shadow looming over him…
Suddenly he is wide-awake, his vision blurred and crimson red, his entire body filled with a twisting, burning pain. He is hefted out of bed, unaware of what is happening to him. And for less than one second… for one brief, agony-filled moment… he looks into the eyes of he who seeks revenge-- the pitch-black nightmare eyes of the SCV of Death.
Another piercing pain fills Billy’s weak frame. His brain ceases to function. What is this thing? What is it doing to him? He can’t answer these questions. His mind is reeling.
His head is smashed into the wooden floorboards of his hut. Again, everything turns red, but this time it is a much darker red… so dark… things are fading out… desperately, Billy’s subconscious tries to place what is happening to him, but the ash-gray files in his mind can only pull out one thing: this is not normal.
And immediately after this occurs to him, he hears his last words. The SCV of Death hisses, “You’re… wasting… our… space!” and two shining blue crystals rocket out of its twin cannon claws. Then everything permanently goes black for Billy, and Billy dies, only sorry that he will now never be able to reach the perfect society of his dreams—unaware that he would never have found it anyway.
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And now the reason why I'm having a heart attack:
BLIZZARD ENTERTAINMENT IS MAKING A 3-D STARCRAFT GAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'm dying!!! I'm dying!!! Oh man!!!!!! I've dreamed of this moment!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh, just kill me now because I can't handle this!!!!!!!!! I'm off to go tell me old friend Solo the Swift at Black Bandits.... ack I'm ready to fall over dead!
Okay, I'm done now. I'm relaxing... slowly... slowly... deep breaths...
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