LET'S WRITE... FANFICTION!

The sun was spitting hellfire, a hazy green fog was settling in, and some chump who didn’t know she was beat was blabbering on about destiny or whatever.

In other words, just a normal Tuesday for Hellboy.

“Anung Un Rama,” said the demon (Hellboy couldn’t remember her name; way too many consonants), “we both know how this ends. Fulfill your destiny as the Beast of the Apocalypse.”

“How about no, buddy?” said Hellboy. He picked up a log.

“You dare defy Hell? Traitor! I’ll destroy you!” She lunged.

Hellboy drove the log straight through her heart. “Right back atcha, pal.”

Hellboy wiped the slime off his arm. “Ugh. Hate it when they start dripping like that.”

The jerk who started the whole mess stared at Hellboy blankly. “That was my brother. How could you? He was my brother.” He broke down sobbing.

“Hey.” Hellboy put an arm around the jerk’s shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, there wasn’t much of him left by the time I got here. Got all swallowed up by that demon or something.”

“It should have been *me*.” He turned to face Hellboy, furious. “*I* summoned that monster, it should have been me!” He broke off from Hellboy’s grip and pounded on the twisted, broken machinery on the floor.

“Hey!” Hellboy shouted. He yanked the jerk right off the floor and shook him. “Now listen here… uh…”

“Stanford.” He choked back a sob. “My name is Stanford.”

“Alright, Stan, listen--” (Stanford opened his mouth as if to protest, but then shut it with a remorseful look.) “--it’s been a rough day for us both, okay? I know it’s hard to deal with the death of a friend, but at least you’re still alive, right? I mean, that’s a better end than most folks who mess around with demons get.”

“Cold comfort.” Stanford slowly breathed in and out. “How am I supposed go on after—to, to deal with this?”

“You want my advice, pal?” Hellboy thumped him on the shoulder. “Stop messing with this stuff.” Together they walked out of the ruined basement.

Two Imperial Storm Troopers stand, guarding the dusty entrance to a weapons cache no one had used in 30 years, on a planet that only makes it on to the Galactic World Registry two out of three times. Between the humid weather, the persistent insects, and the lengthy alternating storms of dust and slimy rain they contemplated (on a daily basis) the life choices that had brought them here.

"I'm going to look inside today. I'm going to do it, Brand." said the first Storm Trooper. They both remained stoically facing forward.

"That's what you always say, Cykes. And I'm going to tell you, they're gonna notice. There's probably some wall of lights some idiot has to watch, and every time one blinks on, he fills out three stacks of paper work that will eventually lead right back to us."

"What worse post could we possibly get?" This got a reaction from Brand, who actually turned to face his friend.

"Are you kidding me? Do you want me to answer that question?"

Cykes sighed. Then, he said, "Well... I think I hear a noise. We'd better check it out."

Brand sighed even louder. "Are you sure you heard something? A big part of me really doesn't want to ruin the mystery. I rather like the idea that this is like some secret entrance to some kind of amazing super secret weapons research."

"... Yup, still hear the noise."

There was nothing left to say. They nodded briskly to each other, took up a formation for appearances sake, and entered the code to enter.

Inside, it was pitch black. "Identify yourself!" shouted Cykes. There was no response. "Hey, find a light switch, will ya?"

Brand fumbled long the wall, trying to feel something through his armor. Finally, a light came on.

They each stared in shock and despair.

Rows and rows of racks, shelves, cases. Dusty, knocked over, broken.

Emtpy.

"Brand?" Cykes said, his weapon dangling by his side.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Thanks for sticking up for me when I did the thing that time. I... I really appreciate it, you know? More than I can really say."

Brand put his arm on his friend's shoulder. "It's alright, man. We win together, we fuck up together."

***

700 meters below the surface

A man at a terminal suddenly looks up and calls out. "Commander. They entered the cache."

A short, thin man with a scarred, hawkish face walked over the the terminal, holding s cup of coffee, and regarded the screen for a few moments. "How long has it been?"

The man at the terminal thought a moment, and then answered, "Just over four years, Sir."

The Commander scowled slightly while looking at the furthest wall. "Damn, looks like Rico won the pool."

"Do you have a problem with my advisor, Miss Chancellor?" said The High Princess of Hyrule, Zelda, imperiously from atop her dais. The other members of the court turned to watch. To Zelda's right and close to her side, a strange man, with the head of a mushroom stood.

The Chancellor, slightly disturbed by her Majesty's tone, continued, "Well, you're Majesty, it is merely that I do not fully comprehend-"

"Miss Chancellor, please approach the dais." When the Chancellor did as her Majesty bid, Zelda leaned in closely and spoke in a near-whisper. "Mr. Funguy advices me in private matters, Miss Chancellor." Conspiratorially, Zelda looked about to ensure no-one could possibly overhear. "Let me simply say this: His head isn't the only thing shaped like a mushroom." Zelda then gave her Chancellor a significant look.

Now, speaking more publicly, Zelda said, "Has my explanation satisfied you, Miss Chancellor?"

The Chancellor levelled a slightly envious glance in Funguy's direction before quickly lowering her eyes and saying, "Yes. Thank you, your Majesty."

"Very well. Court is dismissed for today," Zelda said, before turning to her Advisor. "I need to consult with my advisor."

"Well, Doctor?" Zelda asked.

The doctor looked at his chart and said, "Well, it's not a disease, just a fungal infection. Apply this cream twice a day for two weeks. Let me know if your condition worsens."

Trevor woke from his unpleasant slumber, letting out a hostile grumble at the sound of a freight train's horn echoing from a distance that wasn't exactly far away from his position. The sociopathic criminal quickly realized he had fallen asleep on the tracks, and rolled aside knowing it would spare him from a mortifying death. Trevor threw aside his empty bottle of whiskey, and forced himself to stand up in spite of his dazed condition.

"Well, at least I'm in the right county!" Trevor said to himself confidently, satisfied that he was near Sandy Shores. The mentally unstable individual limped over to his pickup truck situated on the road, ignoring the enormous amount of dirt that covered it.

Trevor clumsily placed his hands over the passenger door, and forced it open to reveal the limp body of a man dressed as Santa Clause, which temporarily caught his attention.

"Oh yeah, it's that one time of the year where I'm supposed to be shopping!" Trevor proclaimed in excitement, throwing the seemingly dead male out of his truck. "And punishing the assholes who put themselves on my naughty list! Now, Mr. Philips will pay each of those jerks a visit!"

Trevor hopped in the driver's seat of his personal vehicle, and turned the ignition key to start up the engine. Without even thinking about a precise destination, he drove off to pursue the last of his enemies that remained in San Andreas, and satisfy himself for the rest of the year.
_______
Another possibly miserable Christmas with Trevor. I've been looking forward to this for years, Michael thought sarcastically, cringing at Trevor's rusty trailer. I don't know what I'm fucking doing here. He says that he's gonna stay the hell away from my house if I join him, but we all know that's not gonna fucking happen. Knowing my luck, I end up doing something that's going to piss him off and he'll come up my ass yet again.

Michael grumbled to himself in disgust, and turned back to his sedan before seeing what seemed to be a lonely male biker standing across the street. The young man was busy conversing with a local homeless woman, who suddenly shouted a random profanity and stormed off in a hurry.

"Screw it, I'm not going in there!" Michael told himself, stomping over to his car's trunk and swiping the large package containing Trevor's gift. The former bank robber dragged the package over to the front door, and rudely dropped it on what acted as the welcome mat.

Michael began pounding on the door with his fists hoping he would catch the occupant's attention and get this over with, as his patience for dealing with Trevor was already gone despite the fact that he was planning on skipping the event.

Before he had the opportunity to yell, Michael saw the door swing open with Ron standing in the entrance, frowning at Michael as he usually did during each of their encounters. Wade was also inside of the deteriorating trailer, smoking whatever foul substance Trevor had left unattended.

"What do you want, Michael...?" Ron sighed in disgust, clearly ready to slam the door on his face.

"Look, I'm not in the mood for any crap today. I just want to have one Christmas Eve without any bullshit for once," Michael stated firmly before pointing at the package. "That's for Trevor. Don't tell him I came here, and I won't come back to put you in a coma. Okay?"

Instead of giving a vocal response, Ron simply grabbed the package and tossed it onto the couch without hesitation. Ron obviously didn't want Michael anywhere near the trailer, and he was making that clearer every second.

"Just go away, alright?!" Ron demanded nervously, unaware that the door was closing behind them. "We don't need any more of your c-"

Ron discontinued his sentence once the trailer's door was sealed, and gasped when he tried to open it. The door appeared to be locked from the inside, and it seemed that the paranoid old man had no way of opening it.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" Ron chanted in terror, clutching the sides of his head in complete fear. "If Trevor finds out that Wade is in there by himself, he'll torture the shit out of me! Or worse..."

"He'll stick a lump of coal up your ass for being a naughty boy?" Michael joked before walking back to his car.

"No, he'll do something worse than THAT!" the worried elder replied before running up to Michael, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. "Michael, you gotta help me! You know what Trevor will do if he thinks I endangered Wade! Let me stay in your house for a few days, or-"

"Look pal, I got no reason to help you. I have a family and I wanted out of Trevor's crazy shit long before I met you," Michael pointed out harshly. "Trevor's chaos isn't just with crime, it's in everything and I don't want my Christmas ruined by his antics. You're on your own."

"Fine," Ron snorted in disgust as he attempted to pull out his phone, stopping briefly to ask Michael a question. "What exactly did you get Trevor?"

"I just got him a pet anaconda," Michael quickly replied, feeling uneasy that Ron would ask him that. "Why are you asking? Is he going to make you feed her, or-"

Michael discontinued speaking when Ron hysterically dialed a number on his phone, running from Trevor's dysfunctional friend as if expecting a morbid conflict.

"Whatever," Michael commented carelessly, returning to his vehicle expecting this to be the last of today's drama.

"Oh, Mikey Townley's got us a snake!" Wade announced happily from within the trailer, instantly getting on Michael's nerves. "Is this here a girl snake? I can't see no woman parts on here!"

I'm getting the fuck outta here, Michael grumbled within his mind, racing towards his vehicle as fast as he possibly could. The former criminal was pleased that he left the engine on, and hopped in the driver's seat as he slammed the door shut.

Without any sort of pause, Michael sped away in his sedan hoping that no police would follow him, and was quickly free of the trailer park.
_____
"Argh...that's what I fucking get for not filling up the damn tank before drinking," Trevor snarled quietly as he refueled his truck, thankful that there was a gas station near his home. "I only got one present for my friends, and it's-"

Trevor stopped at the sound of his phone's default ringtone, and plucked it from his pocket to see that Ron was calling. Sensing that something wasn't right, the psychopath answered with a disturbed expression and cringed when his best friend began shouting at him.

"Trevor, it's fucking horrible!" Ron yelled hysterically, sounding almost incoherent due how quickly he was speaking. "You gotta get home, it's-"

"...would you CALM THE FUCK DOWN?!" Trevor bellowed fiercely, using the commanding tone that usually caused his lackeys to submit to him. "I'm at the fucking gas station near the trailer filling up my truck, and I'm almost done. Now, what's so important that you have to call me screaming like a little girl?"

"Michael got you an anaconda for Christmas, and he left it inside with Wade!" Ron answered frantically.

"Oh shit...!" Trevor cursed under his breath, hanging up without saying anything and ending the process of refueling his vehicle.

Trevor jumped into the driver seat of his truck, and made an attempt to restart the engine. The quick-tempered criminal was met with momentary resistance as the engine failed to activate at first, though it quickly started back up after a few seconds.

"Fucking finally...!" Trevor growled in irritation, stomping on the gas once he knew the truck would respond. The vehicle sped away from the gas station, and quickly brought its owner back to his home, which was now the setting for a somewhat disturbing scene.

Trevor saw a team of paramedics standing outside his trailer watching an animal control unit trying to get inside, failing as they were apparently too unintelligent to succeed in the task.

"Out of the way, you morons!" Trevor shouted, nearly running them over with his truck as he stopped a few inches away from the stairs.

Trevor made a distasteful leap towards the front door, and pulled out his pistol in hopes that he would shatter the lock. To his misfortune, the gun was jammed and unable to fire any rounds at its target.

"God fucking dammit!" Trevor yelled in frustration, enraged at how long it was going to take to open the door. The sociopathic troublemaker froze at the sound of Wade talking to the anaconda, and shuddered at what was more than likely happening to his friend.

"Hey snakey, why are you putting your mouth on me? I thought animals weren't supposed to eat them owners," Wade said to the predator, unaware that it could kill him. "Ooooohhhhhh, so you are a girl snake! That explains that weird thingy you got hanging in there. Oh wait...that ain't no sex organ."

"WADE, GET OUT OF THERE!" Trevor roared as loudly as he possibly could without any rationality, the volume being completely unintentional.

"God...is that you right there standing to me...and...talking? Why do you look like that one guy who played you in Bruce Almighty?" Wade asked weakly, his voice quivering and somewhat small. "What do you mean it's time to come home? I'm in Sandy Shores right now, aren't I?"

Trevor fell to his knees, dropping his gun knowing that his friend was now doomed. Wade was going to die, and there was nothing Trevor could do to save him.

"Oh...okay then...can I...say...good...bye to...Trevor...and..." Wade struggled to say before becoming completely silent.

Trevor slowly plucked his weapon off of the floor, and practically limped towards his truck. Even though he didn't actually see what was happening, he knew Wade was dead and the person responsible for it.

The former air-force pilot sat down in the driver's seat of his truck in sadness, watching the men finally open the door and enter his trailer.

In less than a few seconds, the law enforcers brought the mangled body of the anaconda outside, and the paramedics carried Wade's barely mummified corpse with it. Trevor took a closer look at their vehicle, and saw that Ron had been struck on their way to the scene.

Trevor began sobbing at the death of his friends, feeling an intense amount of despair that he would remember for the rest of his life.
______
Michael was enjoying his peaceful drive so far, almost completely forgetting about the drama with Ron. Michael hoped the usual soap opera-like garbage would be absent this time, and his family would actually appreciate his gifts for once.

Regardless of how they would act, Michael was fully aware that it would be better than dealing with the disaster imposed by Devin Weston before Michael and Trevor assisted Franklin in killing him, and ending that nightmare the three suffered through. Michael was purely convinced that it was over, until he saw that Trevor was calling him on his phone.

"What's up, T?" Michael asked with a polite tone, expecting some kind of answer that was ruthlessly unpleasant.

"Someone's on my naughty list for using a FUCKING SNAKE to kill Wade! Guess who it is?!" Trevor yelled brutally, sounding like he had recently been crying.

"W-Wait, he's dead?!" Michael shouted in response. "The stupid fucker actually opened the package?"

"That snake was probably meant to kill me, wasn't it?!" Trevor continued as if he was ignoring Michael's statement. "Do you know what happens to a Grinch when he uses a Christmas gift to kill people? Look at your rear view window for the answer, Mikey!"

Trevor hung up before Michael could answer, creating an unsettling silence for the aging movie producer. Looking at the rear view window, Michael noticed his friend's signature pickup truck racing towards his sedan at a shocking speed.

Michael slammed on the gas pedal, and sped away knowing what was going to happen if Trevor reached him.

"This is the worst Christmas Eve I've had in the last twenty years!" Michael hissed to himself, horrified that Trevor was still catching up with him.

Michael now had numerous things on his mind, the most notable one being how he was going to survive this chase. Trevor now blamed Michael for the death of yet another friend, although this one was considerably more personal than the last for some reason, and Michael knew that Trevor wasn't going to let this one go.

The sedan briefly shook in response to something hitting it from behind, triggering Michael to look in the rear view mirror once again to confirm his suspicions.

Trevor's truck was within ramming distance, and it was possible that he wanted Michael dead, or seriously injure him at least. The truck hit Michael's car once again, sending it spinning off of the road.

The sedan struck the railing that separated the road from the dirt cliffs, and flipped over the edge in a dramatic fashion, leaving Michael wondering if he was about to join Wade in the afterlife.
______
Trevor slowed down towards the edge of the road, stopping to witness the results of the crash. To his amazement and vexation, Michael's car was still in one piece despite the brutal nature of the crash.

The operational sedan drove off in a hurry now that Michael knew how Trevor felt about the saddening events of the day. The lonesome criminal began sobbing once again; two of his friends were dead, and Michael was going to tell Franklin about this for sure.

Once their younger friend knew that Trevor attempted to kill Michael, it was more than likely that their friendship was going to end and Lamar would perhaps break his friendship with Trevor also.

The former Canadian Air-force pilot slumped in his chair, unable to control his sorrow and utter heartbreak. Trevor had never felt more alone in his life, and the holiday would without a doubt be miserable from here on out.

"Excuse me...sir?" the voice of a young boy said from nearby. Trevor struggled to glance at the direction of the voice, and noticed what looked like a friendly twelve year old staring at him.

The boy appeared to be physically fit, although his muscle mass lacked clarity for whatever reason. His skin was dark to an extent, and lacked any sort of damage. His hair was relatively dark, and the irises of his eyes seemed to have a lavender hue for whatever reason.

The preteen had a robe worn over whatever kind of shirt he was wearing, and it did seem he was wearing pants underneath, though Trevor couldn't tell what they were. The boy also seemed to have somehow stolen the leather boots from wherever Johnny had lived before the biker's horrid death.

"Are you alright? Do you need help with something?" the boy politely asked in legitimate concern, clearly worried for Trevor.

"I'm...I'm all alone," Trevor sobbed miserably, looking away from the child in shame. "After today...I won't have any friends left!"

"Not quite..." the unknown boy countered with a positive tone. Trevor stopped crying upon hearing those words, and snapped to attention. The criminal took a glance at the newcomer, who was now smiling at him.

"Come with me," the boy told him in an optimistic manner. "You won't have to spend tomorrow or the rest of your life all by yourself."

Trevor watched the stranger walk towards a limo of sorts, waving as if he wanted Trevor to follow it.

In spite of today's losses, it seemed there was still hope for Trevor to enjoy his Christmas as well as improve his life.

Although he knew nothing about the newcomer, Trevor had a feeling that his life was soon going to change forever.

Regardless of what the change would bring, he knew that it would lead to a brighter future.