Coming soon!!!

Science has been around for almost five hundred years. . .

 

 



It has changed our lives in almost every way . . .

 

 

 

And it gave us new ways of killing each other . . .

 

 



 

 

Now two titans of science will go head to head in single combat . . .

 

 

 

 

In a battle of guns, crowbars and chemistry only one man will emerge alive

 

 

 

 

But no matter who lives and who dies, science rules.

 

 

WALTER WHITE VS BILL NYE!!!!!!!







Deadliest Warrior: Sokka vs Hannibal Lecter

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these shows. It’s all a non-profit venture for fun. With that said, enjoy.

 

Announcer: Today it’s a battle of brains, blades and blood!

A man in a fine business suit with Scandinavian features brandishes a kitchen knife casually

Announcer: Hannibal Lecter, the merciless cannibal who terrorized good and evil alike

 

Now we see a young water tribe boy fighting with a meteoric sword at the invasion of the black sun.

Sokka, the heart and soul of team Avatar; whose skill and intelligence allowed him to take on the Avatar’s deadliest enemies and prevail!

 

Now Hannibal and Sokka are clashing, Hannibal goes to cut off Sokka’s head with his knife but Sokka rolls under the blow and prepares to swing a club at the cannibal.

Geoff Desmoulins appears before the camera, “What I love about this fight is that neither of these guys have any powers or special abilities. They’re just two baseline humans who want to brutally murder each other. It just doesn’t get any better than that.”

 

Former ER doctor and physician Armand Dorian loads a set of surgical tools onto a tray, “I’ll tell you what kills, what cripples and what maims. But honestly I don’t expect a lot of non-lethal strikes on this episode.”

 

Computer expert Max Geiger sits before super computer Cray-Titan and raises his arms joyously. “I’ve got some sweet new computer programs for rendering blood in the simulation and I’m looking forward to testing it out.”

 

Announcer: Using twenty-first century tools and technology, we establish a duel to the death; no rules, no mercy.

All in the quest to decide . . .

WHO

IS

DEADLIEST!!!!!!!!

 

We’re once more at the familiar fight club as experts and hosts alike get into gear for this very special episode.

A young water tribe girl performs tai-chi like moves before a rack of traditional water tribe weapons.

Announcer: Despite being Sokka’s younger sister, Katara has seen combat and death for as long as her brother has.

 

Feel the Water, motherfucker!

Katara straightens up for her shot in the camera. “I know my brother may seem like a goof, but he’s one of the most brilliant people I know. He’s adaptive, innovative and fearless. He’s gone up against Azula and her cronies, fought against the fire nation’s best warriors and won. I don’t think that Hannibal will even get a scratch on him.”

Suddenly a young lad with blue arrow tattoo’s and Air bender’s garb leaps in front of Katara, “Yeah! Sokka is awesome! He’s the one who taught me how to have sex with a woman.”

 

Little known fact: Air nomads love bondage sex

At this Katara makes a face, “Aang! That’s fucking gross!”

Announcer: Standing in for team Hannibal is forensic analyst and Hannibal’s same sex love interest, Will Graham.

typical episode of Hannibal, Season 3

We then cut to see a scruffy looking man in a flannel shirt. “This Sokka kid is good, but it’d be far too easy for Hannibal to get inside his head. And the last place you want Hannibal is in your head.”

“Or between the sheets,” Aang playfully quips to Will.

Will shrugs, “We never got that far.”

The camera then shifts to a bald black dude in a long leather coat and funky reflective sunglasses.

Announcer: After the end of the machine war, Morpheus of the Nebuchadnezzar took his kung-Fu and computer hacking skills to the FBI, where he was part of the task force that eventually caught Hannibal.

 

What if I told you he was still awesome?

Morpheus waxes poetic with one arm behind his back. “To defeat Hannibal, you need to get inside his mind. But his mind is like Satan’s favourite pop-up book; you may not like what you see.”

We cut to our three hosts.

Max starts to weigh in on the match from his computer console, “I’m leaning Sokka on this match. Hannibal likes to play with his food, and that’s always been something that Sokka can use against someone.”

“Hannibal is bigger, Hannibal is stronger and he’s taken on everything from rival serial killers to trained FBI agents. He brings, speed, surprise and modern firearms” Geoff says, “Sokka will put up a fight but Lecter loves when his victims struggle.”

“Both of these guys eat a lot of meat; like, a lot. I’m wondering if that’ll adversely affect either of their health.” Armand voices.

 

Both teams are now gathered around the great super computer, as well as all the hosts. As is customary, they’re sniping back and forth with each other.

“We’re backing a real hero, you guys are backing the worst villain; does that make you proud?” Katara scoffs.

Will bites back, “If you’d tangled with this fucker like I have you’d have a healthy respect for what he can do. He’s like the Joker without clown makeup.”

Before everyone, the super computer Cray-Titan speaks in monotone. “Presenting stats now.”

 

==STATS==

Sokka:

Age: 15

Height: 5’4’’

Weight: 120 lbs

Hannibal Lecter:

Age: 47

Height:  6’3’’

Weight: 190 lbs

==X-FACTORS==

Sokka:

Battle Skill: 8/10

Initiative: 8/10

Strategy: 8.5/10

Teamwork: 9/10

Discipline: 8/10

Love of Meat: OVER NINE THOUSAND!!!!!!

 

Hannibal:

Battle Skill: 9.5/10

Initiative: 10/10

Strategy: 10/10

Teamwork: 3/10

Discipline: 8/10

Love of Meat: 11/10

Geoff turns to either of the teams, “Now the X-factors are accurate to a high degree but they’re not perfect; nothing is. From this we roughly have an idea of what kind of fighter each guy is, but to really know who’d win, we have to see the fighters armed.”

Morpheus flashes a white, sparkling grin, “Excellent, blades and firearms always make me tingle.”

“Are we using live targets?” Aang asks warily?

 

Now in the fight studio we’ve set up three ballistic gelatin human stand-ins. The first is a skull atop a metal platform, the second is a disembodied torso and the third is a set of realistic gelatin legs with fully functional muscles and arteries.

 

Announcer: To combat the increasingly well armoured Fire Benders of the Fire Nation, the water tribe fielded a powerful, bone crushing club.

 

Sokka prepares for a hockey game in Vancouver

Katara appears before everyone with said club in hand. “The handle is polar bear-dog bone, the head if the club is a one pound ball of iron and there’s a notch on the back for grabbing an enemy’s weapon.” She experimentally swings the club a few times around, “With a weapon like this I can crush a walrus-bird’s skull like an egg shell and if I meet an enemy out of range I can throw it with some accuracy.”

 

“But there’s one problem with that club,” supplies Will Graham, “Hannibal isn’t wearing any armour. His armour is mobility and flexibility.”

 

This causes Katara to smirk, “Then this fight will be a lot shorter than I thought if Hannibal thinks he can get around my brother.”

 

It comes time for Geoff to dust off his trusty stopwatch. “Katara, in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . KILL!!!”

 

Giving a war cry, Katara runs as fast as she can towards the pair of legs. Bending her knees, she throws her whole body into the swing. The large metal ball on the club collides with the synthetic kneecap and turns it into powder. Yowling like a starving wildcat, she pulls back the club for another strike. The blow lands mid-thigh on the other leg, destroying the bone at its thickest point.

 

Yelling like a lunatic, Katara jumps at the torso and delivers a blow to the heart. The rib cage caves in like an elephant stepped on it.

 

With a final warrior’s shout, she throws the club at the skull where the entire face is pushed into the back of the brain.

 

Katara does a bow as Max and Geoff whoop with glee.

 

Will of course tries to underplay it. “Well you’ve proved that you can kill, unmoving unreacting targets. “

 

Morpheus steps amidst the carnage that Katara left behind, trench coat billowing as he does. “Your technique is impeccable and your precision is second to none; but in this case, ergonomics is your enemy.” He points to the club stuck in the skull’s face, “Your weapon is meant to be wielded by a two hundred pound water tribe warrior. You and your brother lack the sheer mass needed to maximize such a weapon.”

 

“Let’s see if you can do any better,” Katara crosses her arms confidently.

 

With the bickering said and done, Armand starts to go over the damage. “Well, for the legs the bone is so badly broken that mending or fixing it is impossible. This guy is going to need to get his legs amputated. Over here on the torso, shards of the sternum have been driven into the heart; to say nothing of his two collapsed lungs. And finally, the head shot. I’ve got nothing; this guy is dead in every way.

 

Announcer: Sokka’s club weapons shows promise, but Team Hannibal strikes back with a precision carving tool.  

 

Will stands before a pig carcass with a small, hook like knife in his hands. “This is a banana knife, meant originally for cutting linoleum. It cuts by pulling and it allows Dr. Lecter to get close and personal with a victim.”

 

Jason Statham uses one of these to kill rude Starbucks baristas

Will focuses on the pig carcass as Geoff starts the countdown.

 

A glowing bar of light passes over the screen and suddenly the setting changes to a public library.

 

This is my design . . .

 

Sokka sits at a library table while reading Song of Fire and Ice

 

The target reads a book I find boring and it’s ten minutes to closing time . . .

 

In this weird mental world constructed by Will, the young Mr. Graham leaps forward with the banana knife at Sokka. Grinning savagely, he grabs the young man by the wolf tail and drags the knife across his throat.

 

Throat cutting is effective but boring. I must spice up the kill.

 

As Sokka’s blood pours everywhere, Will takes the banana knife slices through his cheeks in the style of a Chelsea grin, but he doesn’t stop there. He keeps sawing until the knife cuts through bone. With a hard pull, he turns Sokka into a pez dispenser, the top half of his head held on by a flap of skin. Finally Will jams the knife down Sokka’s throat.

 

This is my design.

 

Will wakes up from his weird mental state and sees the damage he’s done to the pig carcass, while everyone around him is taken aback by the carnage.

 

Pickles the drummer appears out of nowhere and congratulates Will. “Dood, dat was da most metal thing I’ve seen in my whole life! High five!”

 

“Yeah . . . thanks,” Will grumbles, none too proud of himself for getting so well into Dr. Lecter’s mental state.

 

Back at Cray-Titan, the team is reviewing footage of Will and Katara side by side. “The club was devastating, no doubt,” Max remarks.

 

“My issue is that Katara took a long time between each swing.” Geoff inputs, “Normally I’d hate to give an edge to a tiny knife over a club but if that club doesn’t connect then Sokka is doomed.”

 

“I second the motion,” Armand declares, “Technically Hannibal’s knife only has to cut less than an inch to hit major arteries; not something hard given Dr. Lecter’s level of hand to hand proficiency.”

 

EDGE: Hannibal!

 

==WEAPONS==

 

Sokka:

Long range: Boomerang

Medium range: Space sword

Short range: Club

Special weapon: Jawbone knife

 

Hannibal:

Long range: Type 301 Porsche knife

Medium range: Blue Kiritsuke 10 in.

Close range: Banana Knife

Special weapon: Sig Sauer P226

 

Announcer: Hannibal just barely pulled ahead in the close quarter’s category, but now the battle moves into mid-range.

 

Avatar Aang has the space sword, he swings it around in elaborate patterns; displaying his great knowledge of swordsmanship. Smiling enthusiastically, he raises the sword a bit too high. There’s a spark and a crash as Aang cuts a sound boom in half and it clatters to the ground, nearly hitting the young Avatar in the process.

 

After a brief cut, Aang is showing off the sword as the terrified sound guy picks up his ruined equipment. “This is Sokka’s space sword. He made this from a meteor. In the Earth Kingdom this is called the Jian, or the gentleman of weapons. It can slice through nearly anything; pretty awesome huh?”

 

Announcer: For the purpose of this test, our usual pig carcass has been replaced with an all vegan human analogue.

 

Max attaches a motion tracker to Aung’s wrist and his sword while Armand and Geoff watch on. “Air Nomads are traditionally vegetarian,” Armand explains.

 

“And ironically this sums my feelings towards vegan food,” Geoff adds.

 

Aang prepares to chop up the vegan analogue, young body poised to strike.

 

Mortal Kombat Announcer: Fight!

 

Aang gives a very Bruce Lee type martial arts shriek and lunges at the target. With a sharp initial thrust, he spears the heart of the target. As he yanks the sword out, large quantities of beet juice pour out like the blood in Kill Bill.

 

Continuing the Bruce Lee chicken noises, Aang makes multiple swipes across human shaped mass of vegan food.

 

Bowing, Aang swings the beet-blood off the blade as the vegan stand in falls apart in several pieces.

 

Mortal Kombat Announcer: Aang wins, Flawless victory!

 

Morpheus walks forward with a large kitchen knife and smiles broadly at Aang, “Wielded like true warrior. Perhaps I can give you some inspiration?”

 

With this, Morpheus brandishes his blade and with a swing of one arm somehow manages to take off his jacket without pulling his arms from the sleeves. “Hand crafted of blue Shun Steel, the Kiritsuke is the knife for the master chef and I am such a master.”

 

Good for filleting salmon or killing your enemies without pity

Two stage hands quietly roll in a pig carcass for Morpheus as bright lights shine on the former Matrix operative. Abruptly Morpheus takes a leap towards the pig carcass suddenly he stops in mid leap and the camera rotates around him; where then he hangs in the air for a good thirty seconds.

I still think this is cool but honestly it's aged badly

 

Then like a skipping YouTube video, Morpheus shoots towards the carcass. His knife makes a shiny, glittering anime style arc as he chops down on the shoulder of the pig; dragging the fine blade through the pig’s rib cage.

 

Yanking the knife out, Morpheus runs the blade across the throat before he freezes again and the camera angle rapidly alters.

 

Off-screen Geoff shouts, “This shit has not aged well!”

 

Morpheus catches up to the lag once more and lands a powerful kick to the pig, sending it flying off the hook and go sailing strike Robert Daily, the computer expert. The pig collides with Robert and both of them explode into poorly rendered CGI blood and giblets.

 

The former Zion captain takes a bow and holds up the blade, “Ironically, the Kiritsuke is ideal for slicing pork and fish.”

 

The hosts return to Cray-Titan as they watch video footage play.

 

“This decision was a bit easier,” Geoff elaborates. “The three of us have talked and while both weapons are deadly, the Space sword can cut through Hannibal’s knife.”

 

“I want a magic sword” Max mutters under his breath.

 

EDGE: Hannibal

 

We’re back at the fight club and now Will Graham is  . . . crying.

 

Will is sobbing uncontrollably while Katara attempts to comfort him. “Hannibal . . . Hannibal,” he chokes, “Made me . . . look at his furry porn.”

 

Katara coo’s that it’ll be alright before turning to the camera, “Uh, can we cut to commercial break?”

 

Spike TV Presents Michael Rosen

 

An elderly British children’s author with a permanent case of rape face appears on the camera.

 

“Grimdark,” Begins Michael with his trademark enthusiasm. “Once when Imperium of man was conscripting men for the Imperial guard, they brought ‘round a commissar to enforce morale.” Michael’s eyes bulge and his body language becomes increasingly uncontrollable as he speaks.

 

“Naturally, we tried to like away like a bunch of pussies, but the Commissar killed Harrybo,” Michael then makes a bamf! Noise like a bolter going off. “So I did what any loyal servant of the Emperor did” Michael smiles and points a finger, “I jumped on the Commissar and I cut off his nuts.”

 

The English poet grins even wider and spreads his arms out, “And then I took the Commissar’s bolter and shoved it up his candy arse.”

 

Michael gives himself a metaphorical pat on the back as he concludes his story, “And that children, is why you don’t fuck with Michael Rosen.”

 

Announcer: We’re back! And Will seems to have come about.

 

Will is now standing before a block of kitchen knives; his eyes are a bit red but overall he’s looking pretty sober. “I’m fine guys; I’m fine; it won’t happen again.”

 

With this, the mentally damaged crime scene investigator pulls a knife from the chopping block. “This is the Porsche type 301 knife. The handle is stainless steel and the blade is hand crafted Japanese high carbon steel; the blade demarcated by a pearl design at the end of the handle. And finally the ergonomic design used for comfortable cutting also accidentally makes the knife good for throwing.”

 

Oh god! They killed treebeard!

“Mine’s bigger,” Katara brags as she holds out her brother’s boomerang.

 

This causes will to raise an eyebrow at her, “Were you a guy in another life?”

 

Announcer: To test the accuracy and lethality of Hannibal’s Porsche knives, Will is going to be pitted against eight chaos champions of Khorne.

 

That looks familiar . . .

Over at the far corner of the fight club are eight separate cages holding Khornate warriors from Warhammer Fantasy. Each one is a towering mountain of muscle and metal; clad in magical bronze spiked armour blessed by the god of war. Each and every one is shrieking and howling “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! MILK FOR THE KHORNE FLAKES!”

 

 

MILK FOR THE KHORNE FLAKES!!!!!

 

As Will prepares to face off against these eight fearsome champions of death, Aang reassures him. “Don’t worry, Will! If this doesn’t go well I’ll step in and do my Avatar thing and kick these guys’ butts.”

 

Likewise, Morpheus has some advice for his partner. “Strike without anger, strike without emotion. Be precise and be true to yourself and you will slay chaos.”

 

“Thanks Mr. Fortune cookie,” Will Huffs.

 

Morpheus is not impressed, “Will, were you listening to me or were you thinking of Hannibal naked?”

 

“Shut up!” Will shouts.

 

The event is about to kick off and Geoff starts to read from his stop watch. “WILL! You go in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .

 

As he counts, Will once more returns to the warm embrace of the glowing light bar that erases everything. As the bar swipes, everyone vanishes but him and the Khornate warriors. Then with a final flash, Will and the warriors are transported to a snowy field in Norsca.

 

This is my design . . .

 

The warriors all charge, howling their screams of bloodlust and fury.

 

I find them all boring, so unoriginal.

 

Dispassionately, Will grabs the first knife and throws it. It sails through the air and strikes true, sinking in the eye slit of the nearest berserker’s helmet. The warrior drops like a puppet with the strings cut.

 

The warriors charge despite the loss of their comrade and Will grabs all the knives from the cutting block.

 

Give them instant deaths, precise. Insult them and their feeble god . . .

 

Will has four knives in one hand and he throws them all and all knives strike eyes holes; five warriors now lay dead before they can get a scratch on Will.

 

All angles calculated, all alternatives thought out. Plan thrown out simultaneously. Spite all chaos gods, I do this for myself. No pleasure, no despair, no rage, no plan.

 

Will dances out of the way of the sword blows of the last three chaos warriors. With a few easy steps, he shifts around the third warrior and drives a knife blade under the back of his helmet into his brainstem. He drops without a word. He ducks and the second chaos warriors accidentally kill his partner. Now there is only one.

 

With ease, Will dodges every single strike from the chaos warrior. He leads the warrior back through the sparsely bushed landscape until they hit one certain bush. Behind that bush is a diamond edged power saw. With a flick of his finger, Will gets the saw roaring to life.

 

The warrior howls and swings at will, only for Will to drive his last knives into the chinks in his armour, cutting the major nerves in his arm and causing him to drop his sword.

 

Abruptly, Will slams his knee into the Warrior’s groin, where the codpiece has shifted. The Warrior pauses for less than a millisecond from the pain but it’s enough for Will to pivot around the warrior and kick him in the back of the knee.

 

The last chaos warrior of Khorne falls forward and puts his hands out to brace himself. He lands against the power saw, his armoured face mere centimeters from the spinning blade. Before he can get up, Will is behind him, pushing the man’s head forward.

 

The chaos warrior shrieks, thrashes and strains but Will pushes his head forward with a strength that is less than human and more than chaos. The warrior’s screams turn to agony as the power saw slices through his helmet and starts to work through his skull. Slowly, Will pushes the warrior forward until his head is split completely in two.

 

This is my design . . .

 

When Will wakes up, everyone is looking at him with awe while Armand examines the bodies. “You hit the warriors through the brain, breaking the back of the orbital bone and getting four inches into the cerebellum. This is actually the best way to deal with Chaos warriors since many of them have redundant organs or organs in the wrong place. It’s a bit like killing a zombie.”

 

Armand then walks over to the warrior with a knife in the back of his head, “Even chaos warriors who can survive the destruction of the brain can be stopped by taking out he medulla oblongata and the brainstem. This is not only the base of the spine but also the source of all emotion and the seat of the soul in a human or humanoid body. Without emotion and primitive drive, chaos is without fuel.”

 

And then Armand goes over to the chaos warrior with his skull split open on David baker’s power saw. “And this guy’s just fucking dead.”

 

“That’s what Hannibal does,” Will exclaims, “he goes after every weakness, mental or physical. He’s not just unpredictable; he’s consistently doing the opposite of what someone expects of him. Against a normal foe you flow like water to fit the shape of your enemy; but in Hannibal’s case how do you fit darkness? His mindset is like an evolved version of whatever is wrong with the Joker.”

 

Aang seems awed, but Katara is more confident. “That makes him sound very dangerous and it sounds like he can take on the best and win. Batman can beat Darkseid and superman, but one mook with a good shot is all that’s needed to end him. Sokka isn’t the best, just a guy with meat and sarcasm on his side. The greatest swordsman in the world needs to fear most the scared rookie with an erratic first stab.”

 

Will seems to nod, “Trust me I’d love nothing more than to see that son of a bitch go down. I don’t think your brother is the one do to it but if he does I’ll go down on you.”

 

“Eew!” Katara’s nose wrinkles and Aang jumps in angrily.

 

“Hey! She’s my girlfriend!”

 

“Not literally!” Will barks.

 

Morpheus puts a hand on Will’s shoulder and advises him, “Just walk away, Will, just walk away.”

 

Announcer: Not to be outdone, Team Sokka returns with a weapon that returns to sender.

 

For my next trick I'm going to shove this up my ass.

Held high up in the air, Katara proudly holds up a crooked piece of honed metal. “This is Sokka’s boomerang. This thing is to my brother what a lightsabre is to a Jedi, what shoulder pauldrons are to a space marine or NASCAR is to a redneck. It’s his soul, his best friend and greatest tool.”

 

“It’s one kilo of refined meteoric steel and unlike most hunting boomerangs it can actually return to the target. Sokka has consistently showed to hit targets out a hundred meters. That’s how he took out combustion man when the rest of us couldn’t reach him.”

 

“You have one knife,” Will says, “I have eight; and mine could hit gaps in armour one millimetre across.”

 

For good measure, Katara tosses the boomerang from one hand to the other, “Maybe, but even if I don’t kill you on the first shot I’ll break a leg or collapse a lung.”

 

Announcer: To test the weapon, Katara will be given just one shot to hit a target at one hundred meters out using a gelatin human analogue.

 

And to increase the difficulty of this task, she’ll be given a “hostage” target that she’ll have to try and avoid.

 

We’re now standing in the middle of the desert and Katara is exactly a hundred meters from a gelatine dummy. Standing fifty meters from Katara is voice actor Steve Blum; whom she’ll have to avoid killing.

 

“Steve Blum!” the voice actor recites for the camera as he pauses to snort cocaine from the back of his hand. Spike TV offered him more coke if he agreed to do this shit.

 

Katara is breaking a sweat under the desert heat, a sweat born from nervousness as well. She knows that she can easily take the target, but she’s not so sure that she can avoid killing the voice of Spike Spiegel.

 

There’s no more time as Geoff starts the countdown.

 

“KATARA . . . THE HUNT BEGINS IN 3 . . . 2 . . . 1. . . GOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!”

 

Shooting into action like a cobra, Katara launches the boomerang. The bent piece of metal flies in an arc, parallel to the ground. Aang has covered his eyes and Will is hugging a stoic Morpheus as they wait to see if Steve Blum will survive.

 

The boomerang sails past Steve with a ten foot margin of error. Everyone breaths a collective sigh of relief, but there’s more to go. The boomerang draws closer and closer to the target until the fatal instant.

 

The leading edge of the boomerang strikes the skull and cleaves off the left-hand side of it like popping the shell off of a nut. Blood spews from the gaping, inhuman wound and the boomerang sails on.

 

It starts to arc around, getting perilously close to being on a collision course with Blum. Every heart in the area stops as the boomerang sails past Steve’s head close enough to ruffle his hair. The three hosts start to scream as the Boomerang comes back and . . . . Katara snatches it out of the air perfectly!!!!!!!!

 

Katara lets out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding in. “Worth it,” she gasps.

 

We now take ourselves to the dummy in the desert, while Armand puts on his gloves; Will gives Katara some grudging props. “I never thought I’d say this but I’m seriously impressed.”

 

The water tribe girl smiles mischievously, “It’s the least I can do.”

 

Not a moment too soon, as we get Dr. Dorian’s prognosis. “Well, the boomerang took off part of the frontal and parietal bone in the skull.” He starts to point at the fake brain exposed, “the brain itself is miraculously unharmed but the blood-brain barrier was torn clean off. Not only is this guy going to be gushing blood like mad but now is brain is exposed to all kinds of viruses and bacteria. I give this guy thirty seconds to live if he doesn’t make any sudden movements.”

 

Max then turns to the four experts, “I hate to jump to conclusions, but there’s no contest here. This boomerang is like a sniper rifle. Hannibal’s knives only top out at about thirty or forty meters tops. Major edge to Sokka.”

 

“Shit,” Will curses, “I practiced for weeks with those knives.

 

Meanwhile Morpheus is more graceful. “I concede the superior weapon; but we have yet to see who the superior warrior is.”

 

EDGE: Sokka!

 

Announcer: With just one last set of weapons to test it couldn’t possibly be more unclear how these items will affect the fight.

 

Geoff appears before the camera, “The thing about the special weapons is that Sokka has a jawbone knife that he can use to sense vibrations in the ground like a snake. That’s pretty cool but I don’t know what kind of killing power it has; especially next to a gun.”

 vs

 

Max has similar but opposite concerns, “My issue with Hannibal is that a gun isn’t his go-to. With each kill he’s trying to out-outrageous himself; more bloody, more brutal, more sadistic. And an irregular use of guns might spell trouble for him.”

 

Suddenly we cut scene and now a car drives into the middle of the desert. The trunk opens up and Morpheus and Aang pop out. Morpheus dusts himself off while Aang gasps for a breath of fresh air. Looking around Aang sees that they’re in the desert with a purple sky and a giant red castle in front of them. “Where the fuck are we?” Aang asks.

 

“We’re right here,” says Jamie Hynamen of the Mythbusters, who was driving the car. Jamie then pulls out a Sig Sauer handgun and a jawbone knife and throws them to the respective experts. “Go nuts, and try to make it as realistic as possible.” Before vanishing in a puff of smoke.

 

Suddenly, a hidden trap door opens up and Aang and Morpheus both into a torch lit Legacy of Kain style combat arena.

From either end of the arena, two gates open up. From one gate, a horde of skeleton warriors with swords and shields attack Aang while from the other gate comes a resident evil style giant adder.

 

The skeleton warriors charge Aang with weapons raised as the young Air nomad raises his seemingly tiny jawbone knife. With the power of airbending, the young boy flies out from the range of ancient swords and weapons.

 

Meanwhile, Morpheus leaps out of the way of the Adder’s strike with typical Matrix gravity defiance. Doing so, the former freedom fighter peppers the Adder’s head with bullets; putting out one of its eyes in the process.

 

Aang moves around the skeleton warriors like a whirlwind, popping off heads and shockingly; the jawbone knife seems to be able to stand up to sword strikes.

 

The Adder strikes again at Morpheus, only to miss again; slamming into a stone wall. The mighty beast has made a mistake and its fangs have stuck in the stone walls .Taking advantage of this, Morpheus takes a flying leap and drives one snake skin boot into the base of the monster’s skull; caving it in with most superb irony. At this same time, Aang has finished the last of the skeletons and it’s just the two of them.

 

Morpheus raises his run and fires at Aang, but to the shock of Aang of all people, he dodges the bullets. Morpheus fires until he’s got only one bullet left in the gun, while Aang dodges it like only Neo could.

 

Suddenly, Aang’s foot slips on the slimy stone floor and when he looks up, Morpheus is upon him.

 

Rather than shooting, Morpheus holsters his gun and helps Aang up. “Aang, you did not know this before; but you are the reincarnation of Neo. The road ahead is unclear, but your destiny is greater than you ever imagined.”

 

It’s a bit much for Aang to take in, but he seems to think it’s alright. “Whoa, dude.”

 

Meanwhile, Will Graham and Katara are watching the proceedings on Max’s computer. “I hate Spike TV,” Will grumbles.

 

“Spike is pretty good,” Katara ventures, “you just need to have a sense of fun to enjoy it.

 

EDGE: Hannibal!

 

Max elaborates, “Well I loved the jawbone knife. It’ll definitely help to counter Hannibal’s inhuman sense of smell. However it won’t hard counter his gun.” Max then cracks his fingers like a master pianist and grins, “And now the fun stuff begins! Get ready for the sim!”

 

The camera cuts to Steve Blum, who is snorting cocaine off of a cheap poker table with Jamie Hynaman and Adam Savage.

 

“Don’t change that channel,” Jamie says as he injects heroine into his arm. “I’ll come after you.”

 

Meanwhile Adam finishes taking a hit off of his crystal meth pipe. “We are violent and mentally unstable and we pay Grant Imahara for sexual favours; we will come after you.”

 

Announcer: Just . . . what?

 

==SIMULATION==

 

Ba Sing Se, City Square Theater

 

 

Aang and Katara are just leaving the theater after catching a Friday night showing of the Johnny Cage movie, Ninja Mime. Aang is munching on leftover popcorn while discussing the movie with his beau, “That was so violent. I know it was R-rated but that’s the most blood and guts I’ve seen in a movie ever.”

 

Katara smiles, despite the fact that half of her face is covered in medical bandages. “I thought it was actually kind of funny. It definitely wasn’t a paint by the numbers blockbuster; creative people put their minds into horrible ways to die.”

 

Aang laughs, “Yeah I could watch more of these types of movies. As long as the violence stays on screen then I’m happy.”

 

Checking her phone, Katara realizes that she’s got a number of missed calls, all from her brother. “Oh my,” she says to herself as she goes to voicemail.

 

You have seven new messages:

 

BEEP!

 

"Katara, I-I . . . there's so much blood. It's not my blood."

 

BEEP!

“Katara, please pick up the phone.”

 

BEEP!

 

Katara! Pick up the fucking phone, please!!!!

 

BEEP!

 

Katara, this isn’t a joke!!!!

 

BEEP!

 

I feel so sick . . .

 

BEEP!

 

Katara, help me.

 

BEEP!

 

. "I have to kill him. He needs, to die, Katara. I’m going to kill my psychiatrist."

 

BEEP!

 

To review your messages, press 1 

 

Katara is in a panic as she realizes what’s going on. Terrified that she may be too late, she grabs Aang and pulls him close. “Aang, I just got a bunch of messages from Sokka. I think he’s going to kill someone!”

 

Aang’s jaw drops and his eyes widen, “What? Who?”

 

“Sokka is going to kill his psychiatrist, Aang! We have to save Hannibal Lecter!”

 

It is then that a bright glare fills the lobby of the theater and everyone stops and shields their eyes. It’s exactly two seconds later that a motorcycle explodes through the theater’s big glass doors. Shattered glass rains everywhere and the motorbike goes summersaulting through the air as the front wheel hits a small flight of stairs and pivots forward; throwing off the two riders on top of it.

 

The motorcycle flies through the air over and over and over before smashing into the popcorn machine and starting a giant fire behind the snack counter. People run screaming from the shower of burning canola oil and skittles.

 

Time goes into slow motion as she sees who the two riders of the motorcycle are.

 

Sailing buck naked through the air is her own PTSD afflicted brother, Sokka. Flying on a parallel course is none other than creepy Scandinavian man, Hannibal Lecter. Both guys have a soft-ish landing. Hannibal lands on a big cardboard display for a movie called The Gunslinger, while Sokka slam-dunks into a full garbage pail.

 

Groggily, Hannibal starts to pull himself from out of the destroyed cardboard mess but Sokka has already sprung out of the garbage can. With frenzied speed, the boy starts to slam Hannibal repeatedly over the head with a plastic snack tray.

 

Reacting on reflex Hannibal first shields his head from the multiple blows and then throws a kick at Sokka that tosses the boy of balance.

 

Rebounding, Sokka lunges at Hannibal and snatches a banana knife stuck into his belt. Recoiling in fear, Hannibal is only just a step ahead of Sokka, who starts to slash wildly at him.

 

“Help! He’s insane!” Hannibal cries out, looking to Katara and Aang for deliverance.

 

Unsure and unwilling to do harm to his trusted friend, Aang spins a mini-tornado and separates the two.

 

Disoriented, both men remain standing, separated but not for long. Hannibal reaches behind him and draws a gun; pointing it at Sokka, he shouts out, “He must be stopped!”

 

Face a wide eyed rictus mask of terror, Sokka foams at the mouth and hurls the banana knife at Hannibal, striking him through the left eye.

 

Katara shrieks as the flying linoleum knife rips Dr. Lecter’s eye from its socket. Strangely, Dr. Lecter makes no outcry of pain. He merely raises his gun and tries to aim best he can with his one good eye.

 

“NO!!!!” Katara cries out, freeing herself from her fear imposed paralysis. Throwing herself into combat stance, she thrusts her arms down and feels the power of the water in the underworld.

 

The theater floor rips open as the water mains bend and break at Katara’s will. Hannibal loses his footing, and the pistol he wields falls into the fast, freezing waters below. Like a tree, Hannibal falls slowly at first but then crashes into the water. But not before . . .

 

A hand working furiously, Dr. Lecter takes off his belt and throws the buckle end towards Sokka. Like a snake, the belt wraps around his ankle and the buckle draws blood like fangs.

 

Before air or water bender can react, Sokka is dragged under with Doctor and the real fun begins.

 

“SOKKA!” Katara screams as her brother and the doctor are taken away too quickly for her to stop. This night even her native element betrays her.

 

Desperate and terrified of losing her last family, Katara grabs Aang. “We have to go! NOW!!!!! I know where that water main leads!”

 

Thirty minutes ago

 

 Opening his eyes, Sokka sees himself in a graffiti covered, piss splashed back alley in Ba Sing Se's worst neighbourhood. Panting heavily, Sokka drops the bloody knife in his hands. He's dressed in his combat gear and strapped with all his weapons; the boomerang, the sword, the club and his bone knife. This knife in his hands, he's never seen it before.

Everything seems to hurt. His whole body is sore and strained from lack of sleep and poor diet. Groaning, he puts his hands to his stomach; he feels like he starved himself for a week and then gorged himself to the point of bursting

Struggling to get up, Sokka trips and falls. The thud onto the hard unforgiving earth has the effect of shaking the lad awake. Yelping, Sokka looks around with fear in his eyes. Immediately he curls up on himself like invisible assassins are all around him.

Truly he cannot remember how he got here, or why his hands are soaked in still moist blood. His eyes bulge wide as he beholds the moonlit blood on his shirt and pants as well. He trembles like a dying cancer patient and after many fumbles and misdials makes a phone call on his cell phone to his sister.  "Katara, I-I . . . there's so much blood. It's not my blood."

The youth trembles like a leaf and tries to get out of here . . . wherever here is. He passes through the shells of burnt out buildings, hears the cries of rape victims, the squeal of murder victims and the howl of the desperate. The sounds were quiet at first but they build until it's a deafening orchestra of pain. Yet through all of it he does not see a single soul in these desolate back alleys in the slums of Ba Sing Se.

Weak and weary he tries to call his sister. No answer, he's well and truly alone in a city of fear, a city of crime. In a paralysed stupor he picks up speed to a drunken run; he'd be easy prey for the devils that call the shadows their home. He picks up speed out of fear; fear that if he stops he'll die and be . . . eaten?

Now isn't that a silly fear.

A cloud passes over the full moon and the shadows grow bolder.

Things only get worse when the ghost of Jet starts to appear in front of Sokka. Screaming, Sokka tries to stop, only to slip on some uncollected garbage and fall flat on his ass. Bouncing back despite his physical ailments, Sokka desperately tries to phone his sister, as if she could banish the spectre of the fallen freedom fighter.

Jet looks terrible, whether a memory, a spirit or a hallucination his flesh is shredded and his oozing brain is visible through a giant hole cut into his skull. "Behind you . . . behind you . . . behind you. . . "

And against his better judgement, Sokka looks behind him--only to scream like he's never screamed before. Behind him stood some kind of arch demon or hell spawn; a devilish being so evil that the ruinous powers had cast it out from the warp.

The wendigo beast stares at Sokka with glowing eyes, its emaciated and starved body is pitch black and as shiny as obsidian. Antlers as wide as a man is tall span out. In those golden glowing eyes there is . . . nothing. Just . . . nothing. No reason, no motive, no biological impulses.

He tries to once more call his sister, miracle that his trembling fingers can dial anything. No words meet his cry for help, and no aid will be coming. You don’t have to be in space for your screams to go unheard.

The adrenaline rush wakes Sokka further and pushes him to action. The boy runs faster than he ever has in its life. Yet under all the raw panic, there is a twinge of recognition. Something about the face . . .

His streak of bad luck continuing, Sokka slams into a telephone pole and falls onto some garbage bags full of rusty nails and broken glass. his bloody hand clings onto his cell phone like it's his only lifeline, the only connection to his sister and his only hope of escape from this upside down nightmare world.

He turns and sees his own reflection staring back at him in the large storefront window of a shitty pawnshop. Then his own reflection starts to flicker and change. Magic is entering the world and with it comes insanity and mayhem.

Desperately he tries to call his sister once more; hoping to use her as a talisman against the creeping dementia. He doesn’t think about his words, but they come from somewhere deep in his subconscious and they read only truth. “Katara, help me.”

Sokka's flickering reflection changes spastically until it turns into the wendigo monster.  The monster continues to stare at Sokka; the ultimate unknowable. Then the beast starts to flicker and of all people transforms into Hannibal Lecter.

 

The lad's eyes bulge as he makes a connection, somewhere deep in his mind. His memories are foggy and he doesn't know how, but he just knows that Hannibal is the Wendigo. With his sanity slipping before him, he tries to call Katara again.

As he makes the phone call, the flickering image of Hannibal breaks into a silly grin and gives Sokka the middle finger. Upon seeing Hannibal's mocking visage, he calls his sister yet again. "I have to kill him. He needs, to die, Katara. I’m going to kill my psychiatrist."

Sokka runs and runs, stumbling and falling frequently but never staying down. A sense of deep overriding purpose pushes him ever forward. Through the slums of the city he charges until he begins to reach the collar district. It’s a toilet barely better or safer than the slums.

The industrial district gives way to the fine shops of the merchant’s quarter. Bright neon lights and computer screen advertisements can’t banish the shadows; if anything the increase of light leach all color and deepens the shadows.

It almost seems like the run lasts forever when Sokka finally arrives at a certain house in the upper class ring of Ba Sing Se.

There is a two story house, very lavish and very gloomy. It’s full of stories and none of them are happy. There’s much art inside; the most interesting stuff is hidden away where the owner doesn’t want it found. Once upon a time Sokka would have laughed at Hannibal’s Halloween decorations put up in august; once.

The front door doesn’t creak and feet are silent on the fine hardwood floor. The minute hand of the grandfather clock moves faster than Sokka’s hands. Precision and patience are the dominant concerns in his mind. Instinct rather than rational thought drives Sokka.

It takes a bit of time, a bit of searching but Sokka eventually finds the trap door in the kitchen.

Down a flight of stairs he goes; wooden beams and bad carpentry creak despite his best efforts to remain silent. Hands fumble in the dark and find a light switch. Sokka is bathed in white fluorescent light but what he sees disappoints and relieves him at the same time.

In Dr. Lecter’s hidden basement, there is nothing but plastic sheets and chains. The plastic billows slightly with the faintest breeze and the chains are slightly rusted but thus far there’s nothing out of the ordinary here.

The only indicator of out of the ordinary doings are the heavy duty industrial electric outlets and scrape marks on the concrete floor; some heavy equipment was moved recently. It’s just a boring old basement that little children tell stories about to spook themselves, but Sokka still can’t shake that feeling deep in his gut and especially he can’t shake the memory of Jet with a gaping, bleeding hold in his skull.

The answer that Sokka is looking for is small, shrink wrapped in plastic and still cold from its time in a refrigerator. Gingerly, he steps over to the furthest corner of the room and hidden under the edge of a plastic sheet is a kidney. He knows it’s a human kidney; he can’t say why but he just knows it like he knows he’ll die if he stops breathing.

Face firming up in determination, Sokka takes the shrink wrapped kidney and places it in one of the pouches of his armour.

And as he puts away the kidney, there standing behind him is Hannibal Lecter.

Sokka feels him before he sees the man, feels him even before the cool breeze washes over the back of his neck.

For his part, Dr. Lecter seems perfectly poised for action and perfectly emotionless. His pulse is elevated and there is fight or flight hormones in his blood but in his mind there’s nothing approaching a human emotion or motivation. His dull zombie eyes give no clue as to what the good doctor is feeling or thinking.

The boomerang goes flying, sailing across the small basement and heading straight for Dr. Lecter’s head. Hannibal’s reflexes are lightning and he snatches the heavy boomerang with reactions that are pure spinal cord and no higher process. Hannibal doesn’t even notice as his left hand reaches under his jacket and hurls a kitchen knife.

The blade zips across the room and flies straight for Sokka’s throat. There’s a flash of light and the space sword deflects the Porsche knife in mid-air; the sparks from the impact strike hot on Sokka’s skin.

Still clutching the boomerang, Dr. Lecter charges at Sokka, face vacant and nostrils flaring as if to take in new and interesting scents.

Sokka goes into fighting stance and holds out his sword in neutral position.

The mad psychiatrist hurls the boomerang back at his patient, but this is merely a ruse. Sokka deflects the boomerang with the hilt of his sword, causing it to fly sideways and get stuck in a wall. This however removes Sokka from his neutral position and gives Hannibal an opening.

Grabbing one of the chains dangling from the ceiling, Hannibal throws it at the space sword and wraps it around the blade. With a fast tug, Hannibal rips the sword from Sokka’s hands and into his own.

Impassively, Hannibal shifts the hilt into a more comfortable hold and flies at Sokka like a berserker. The sword becomes arcs of white light at it sails within millimetres of the boy’s neck.

Back stepping as fast as he can, Sokka only just managed to stay ahead of the murderous doctor. His space is rapidly running out and he has only a few more paces before Dr. Lecter has him cornered.

Hannibal moves like an expert ballerina and swings the sword like a frothing maniac. He sees that his prey has bumped up into the concrete wall of the basement. Pivoting his whole body, Hannibal swings the sword upwards at Sokka.

Sokka meets the tip of the blade with his eyes, afraid and hunted. Then at the last possible millisecond, he shifts out of the way of his stolen sword. The strike that would have sliced him in two from crotch to crown instead gets stuck in the ceiling.

Moving fluidly from one strike to another, Hannibal lets go of the sword and swings the boomerang like an impromptu club. The boy tries to dodge this hit but the doctor has a better idea of his pacing and reaction now.

The boomerang partly hits its target, instead of crushing Sokka’s voice box it strikes him on the shoulder and sends him spinning. For such an elegant, erudite man; Hannibal hits like a Viking berserker.

Ripping the sword out of the ceiling, Hannibal swings it wildly at Sokka.

Pop!

Sokka screams as his breastplate splits in half vertically and falls off. The sword cut so close that it even sliced through his shirt. Down the center of his thin but fit chest is a long, shallow cut.

Hannibal drops the boomerang and grabs Sokka by the throat. With the strength of iron, Hannibal lifts Sokka off the ground and slams him into a wall. The blow almost knocks Sokka right out.

Vision hazy, Sokka maintains a situational awareness gained from a thousand battles on a hundred theaters of war. He’s taken head shots before and much worse than this.

Everything goes into bullet time as Sokka analyzes everything in his environment.

Hannibal: Sweating. Exerting himself.

Weapon: Kitchen Knife. Space Sword dropped. One third second before blade strikes.

Strike: NOW!!!!!!!

 

Sokka lowers his chin to trap Dr. Lecter’s fingers around his neck. With both hands, he grabs the mad psychiatrists’ knife arm and his legs push against the wall and throw the pair of them backwards.

Hannibal is thrown backwards and the impact with the dirt floor knocks the wind out of him. There’s a kind of surprise in his empty eyes as he frantically looks around for Sokka.

Lighter and more spry than the Scandinavian, Sokka rolls out of Hannibal’s reach and goes for two objects; the boomerang and the kidney. The boomerang is a part of him and the kidney is the key. Hannibal has removed all doubt from the boy’s mind as he runs away with the disembodied organ.

Legs moving faster than they ever have in his life, Sokka flies up Dr. Lecter’s stairs. Almost too slow he feels Hannibal rather than sees him; feels his knife too.

Chasing after the spry boy, Hannibal swings at the lad with his Blue Kiritsuke knife. He partly misses his target; the razor sharp blade cuts through the fabric of Sokka’s pants and shreds them right off.

This time Sokka doesn’t scream because his lungs are already screaming for oxygen with the pace he’s keeping. Hardly thinking, he rips off his shredded pants like a stripper and runs out Dr. Lecter’s front door with world record breaking speed.

Panting, the young man doesn’t look back. He flees, taking ever back alley and twist and turn he can take but he can still hear it. He can still hear the sound of a pair of high end shoes running right after him.

Throwing out his boomerang behind him, the bent piece of metal arcs through the night and hits Hannibal in the shoulder, knocking him over.

Still fleeing, Sokka catches the boomerang; hoping to make the most of his temporary lead on the doctor.

On a certain back alley there are a number of cars parked behind a bar. Thinking fast, Sokka rips open the hood of one car and starts to hotwire it. Fumbling with the wires he holds the wrapped kidney between his teeth. A glance over his shoulder shows him that Hannibal is still hot on his tail and closing the distance.

A wild idea enters his mind and Sokka throws his boomerang with sniper accuracy at a Ford Pinto. The boomerang flies low and rips a small hole in the gas tank under the car. Tossing the boomerang again, it ever so slightly causes a spark on the pavement and the vehicle explodes.

The boomerang returns to its owner as the exploding Pinto quickly causes other nearby cars to explode in a chain reaction.

Allowing himself a small smirk, Sokka’s spirits rise as the car he’s wiring starts. Running to the driver’s seat he smashes open the side window and climbs in. Any relief he felt is now gone as he drops his boomerang and kidney in the passenger seat and tries to throw the car into reverse. Waves of nausea threaten to overtake him and his overfull stomach feels like it’s going to burst all over his lap.

Slamming on the gas, Sokka’s stolen car begins to screech backwards just in time for Hannibal Lecter to jump through a wall of fire like the fucking devil.

The Danish murderer sails through the air with his hair and jacket on fire. His aim is beyond true as his body lands harshly on the hood of the getaway car and his knife arm shatters through the windshield. Sokka really now does scream as the blue kitchen knife stops just one inch from his left eye.

Undeterred, Hannibal reaches back with his left hand and punches through the windshield; blood running down both of his wrists and staining his fine shirt and jacket. His left hand shoots out and grabs Sokka by the ear.

The boy screams in pain as the mad doctor twists his ear as hard as he can; it almost feels like his ear is going to be ripped off entirely. Meanwhile, Hannibal’s knife arm is pulling back for another shot.

The car blurs out of the alley way and Sokka swerves hard right. The momentum rips Hannibal off the hood and sends him flying; causing him to land on a pile of Legos.

Free from the insane doctor’s grip, Sokka puts pedal to the metal and speeds off. Tears fill his eyes. If only he can reach his sister Katara, then everything will be better

Hannibal gets up shakily, he might be in pain except that it doesn’t show on his face; only annoyance. Shaking the Legos out of his body he sees a cop stopping to report the hit and run. Fortunately or unfortunately depending on who you’re rooting for, the cop’s back is turned to the doctor.

The officer is young and has a bright future ahead of him. Hannibal cuts off his head with a single stroke of his knife. He doesn’t even bat an eyelash as the headless corpse lands at his feet. He proceeds to enter the still running police cruiser, stopping only to take the dead officer’s gun.

Hannibal slams shut the cruiser door and take a deep breath through his nose.

He has Sokka’s scent.

Not a moment to lose; the Danish cannibal burns rubber, flying after his prey.

Tonight is an interesting night indeed.

Some Time ago,

Hannibal and Sokka are sitting in the doctor’s lounge as patient and psychiatrist; not hunted and hunter.

Hannibal speaks to Sokka. “You have been attending sessions with me for almost six months. From what I gather, your condition appears to be deteriorating. Your post-traumatic stress disorder appears to be intensifying.” The Scandinavian leans forward with a twinkle in his small blue eyes, “you find yourself pushing away your friends and failing to perform sexually with your girlfriend. But I think up until this point we have gone about this the wrong way.”

Sokka looks at the doctor but says nothing, dark circles line his eyes and he’s hungry. Ever so hungry.

Hannibal goes on, “I think there’s nothing wrong with you, Sokka. I think you just need to finally accept what you’re feeling. Now, if you don’t mind. Anthony Hopkins has invited you to dinner.”

Present

Sokka weaves in and out of traffic, disobeying all rules of the road to put distance between himself and the cannibal.

Meanwhile

It is a warehouse in the industrial district of Ba Sing Se and people are in a flurry of activity. This is the headquarters of the team tasked with the job of hunting down the Ba Sing Se Ripper and bringing him to justice.

 

FBI head Jack Crawford moves among groups of armed mercenaries, ex-Dai Li agents as well as his own FBI operatives. “Heads up people! The Ripper has been sighted!” At this, every head in the warehouse turns. For months they’ve played hide and seek with this bastard and he’s killed three members of the taskforce. Revenge is on all minds.

Jack continues, “He’s been sighted on Mai-Ka Street heading due south. Cordons and blockades are being set up across the city. His picture is being handed out to everyone here. I want him alive; do you hear? I want him alive!”

Middle Ring of Ba Sing Se

Sokka wakes up to the taste of blood in his mouth. He spits it up and sucks in ragged breaths. The second thing he notices when he wakes up is the broken glass that’s everywhere. He grinds his teeth in pain as his leaden limbs push him up.

Vision is blurry at first but it doesn’t take 20/20 vision to spot the pile of burning cars; it’s déjà vu all over again.

Shakily getting up, Sokka sees the car he was driving wrapped around two police cars. He can see the officers in the police cruisers, still twitching and still alive. They won’t be alive for long the way that the fire is burning.

Lying prone before him is a motorcycle cop; looking very much like a huge pile of ground meat and broken bone wrapped in human skin. The chest rises and falls but the odd cough coming out of the police officer’s mouth assures him that won’t be for long.

Moving gingerly among the broken glass, Sokka can see the wrapped kidney that he went through such trouble for. He also finds the broken, smashed remnant of his boomerang. He wants to curl up and die from seeing that; like seeing a friend at their wake.

He looks around at the death and despair he’s caused. He knows he’s not the hero of the piece and when punishment comes he’ll submit silently to it. But first he must find his sister and get the kidney to the police. It’s the key but his memory remains as foggy as ever.

With no other choice, Sokka does what he did during the hundred years war; avoid the faces of the fallen and move on. The war is over but he’s still a soldier and it’s his duty to keep going. Hating himself for it, he takes the keys off the downed motorcycle cop and hops on the bike.

Hannibal Lecter’s house

A man swings from a rope through the night. Coat billowing out like the wings of a king bat, the man lands noiselessly on Hannibal’s front port. Drawing two large revolvers from their holsters, the man cocks the hammers and strides into the den of the cannibal. Sharp blue eyes pierce the gloom from under his wide brimmed hat.

Face hidden from the nose down by a raised turtleneck, the mystery man feels his stomach sink when he sees the trap door to the basement open. And when he hears an explosion across town, Van Helsing knows that he’s come too late.

With Sokka

The motorcycle tears burns rubber down the empty highway. Sokka has an exhilarated smile on his face. The night is freezing; riding nearly naked on a motorcycle will do that. Despite everything he’s finding joy in the small things. He’s alive for one. And the agony in his stomach is starting to let off. He’s not far from the theater where his sister was supposed to be going on a date with Aang.

He’s so close.

 

Up on a bridge, Hannibal Lecter stands at the ready. He’s thrown off his scorched jacket and he’s still shockingly handsome despite the loss of his eyebrows and part of his hair to a fire. The police cruiser behind him is burning, all the better to destroy any evidence. He might even appear sexy except for his serious case of zombie eyes. He smells his target before he sees or hears him. He caresses the knife in his hand and steps up onto the guardrail of the bridge.

Sokka is riding just below him when he jumps.

Hannibal lands on the back of Sokka’s motorcycle and nearly throws the boy off. The water tribe lad screams as the change in balance and weight throws him forward. He flips right over and lands on the front fender of the bike; legs dangling only inches from the ground and arms holding onto the handlebars for dear life.

Not missing a beat, Hannibal shoves himself to the driver’s saddle and swings down with his knife at Sokka’s head. He shows no disappointment or anger or enjoyment as the blade strikes sparks on the bike’s chassis. Repeatedly he keeps stabbing at Sokka. He changes tactics and swings the knife down on his fingers holding the handlebars.

Before the knife can hit, Sokka thrusts his legs up and hits Hannibal in the face; throwing the doctor back. Like a boxing dummy, Hannibal bounces right back with another strike in mind, but this time Sokka throws his legs back and wrap them around Hannibal’s neck.

The doctor’s body thrashes while his face tightens up while Sokka’s ankles cut off the circulation to his head.

Having only seconds before he blacks out, Hannibal leans backwards, planting his feet into the bike’s stirrups and yanking the boy back.

Sokka’s world once more flips upside down as he’s pulled back onto the bike and right into Hannibal Lecter’s lap while riding a motorcycle backwards at a hundred and fifty kilometers an hour. His hand shoots up and grabs the wrist that Dr. Lecter is holding the knife with. The edge of the Blue Kiritsuke knife just rests on his throat

To his great shock, Hannibal reaches down with his free hand and rips off his former patient’s underwear; leaving Sokka totally in the nude.

He feels the heat radiating off of Dr. Lecter’s body like he’s still engulfed in fire. Hannibal’s eyes widen with . . . something; his nostrils flare and he exhales steam out. It’s like he’s breathing out humanity and inhaling violence; Sokka has finally realized that being murdered by Hannibal might not be the worst fate in store for him.

The rape train has no brakes and Hannibal is the conductor. Then both of them look ahead to realize that the theater is looming before them and they crash through the glass.

Present time, at the beginning

The cannibal and the meat and sarcasm guy go rushing down an underground river created by Katara when she burst the pipes across seven city blocks. The pair of them are frozen half to death, tossed like a salad and nearly drowned by this ride.

It twists and turns. It has no light and it has no end. It has no up or down.

When Hannibal and Sokka leave the water ride of doom, it’s like being born. First there’s darkness and without warning there is light. All around them the world is a light without shape or meaning; the perfect kaleidoscope.

Momentum takes them sailing through the frigid night air; they’ll meet their death of cold if they don’t rip out each other’s throats or crush one another’s skulls.

Sokka can’t see where he’s landing but he’s gracefully falling through a window pane. The glass crashes all around him and there’s true darkness.

Sokka’s house

Into the warm and inviting residence of Sokka of the Water Tribe steps Sukki of the kyoshi warriors; Sokka’s one true love.

“Sokka!” she calls out brightly, holding out a big thing box that smells of meat and cheese. “I got pizza! It’s your favorite; ginger lizard-beef and deer-bacon! Come out here and eat it before it becomes cold!”

The girl’s words are bright and cheerful, maybe a bit too cheerful.

“Come on out, Sokka! We haven’t really sat down to dinner for a bit, or talked, or done anything.” With each word, her artificial enthusiasm and cheer wanes. “Look, Sokka, you’ve been ignoring me lately and it’s kind of unfair.” Each word makes her seem more hollow, sad and isolated.

She puts down the pizza with trembling hands. “You won’t touch me, you barely notice me. We haven’t talked to each other in complete sentences in months. You won’t take your prescriptions and you haven’t talked to your sister or any of your family.”

Sukki starts to raise her voice, “Look Sokka, I know you had a rough go during the war but so did I. I got a rough deal during the war; Azula went out of her way to hurt me. But I talked, Sokka.” She starts to shout in anger, “Do you hear me? I didn’t keep my mouth shut because of stupid men’s pride! I didn’t push away everyone I loved! I’m a warrior and there were my warrior sisters to help me; even when I thought about killing myself. I had people! You had people, you had me!”

Furious, the girl releases months of pent up frustration, “It all started with that damn Doctor Lecter. Sokka, I don’t care if we break up but goddamnit, just talk to me!”

Immediately, the girl collapses into a kitchen chair and buries her face in her hands. “Fuck,” she curses. “He’s probably not home.”

Beep!

Sukki looks up, instantly alert and aware; she draws out a war fan.

Beep!

There’s that noise! And it’s coming from Sokka’s “man cave.”

Beep!

Sukki follows the noise, prepared for anything.

Except she isn’t prepared for what she sees.

Beep!

Opening the door to the room that Sokka forbid her from entering, Sukki’s eyes widen and the fan drops from her hand.

Beep!

Sitting there on a work bench is a jar. Inside the jar is the head of Jet, the freedom fighter. The head is alive, kept that way by sophisticated medical machinery. Human bones are scattered about the man cave.

Beep!

In an open cooler is a vacuum sealed bag with a number of organs inside. Written on the bag in pen is the word “sweetmeats.”

Beep!

Jet’s facial features twitch, his jaws open and close; it’s an expression of ultimate terror and pain. The top of Jet’s skull is missing and it slowly leaks blood into the life support fluid.

Beep!

Chunks of brain are missing; looks like whoever killed him got all that they could from Jet, including his suffering.

Beeeeeeeeeeee—

The monitor flat lines as Jet dies, after being slowly cut up into food for over two years.

Sukki knows that Sokka’s problems are deeper than she ever imagined.

Ba Sing Se Auto-Factory

It’s not the shards of glass in his skin or the muscle deep bruises that Sokka feels first or even the possible sprain in his ankle. No the first thing he feels is the bloated feeling in his stomach. More than ever he feels like his guts will blow out like a sun baked carcass.

As he stands up the world spins and he feels like falling forever. He walks slowly down the darkened hallways of the silent factory. He might walk from now until the end of time if he could only unlock the key to the mystery.

A thread of fate binds him and Hannibal. All of it, this death and despair are no accident. Worst of all, he’s lost the kidney.

Sokka puts out a hand against a wall to steady himself. He curses, mutters, gibbers trying to remember the truth; the first casualty of the personal war between himself and Hannibal Lecter.

“Hannibal . . . Hannibal” he repeats the name like a magic word, hoping to summon a Duke of Hell. “Hannibal . . . Hannibal . . . he wanted,” what power he could unlock if only he could only bind the demon and bend him to truth.

No. The truth is not Hannibal’s way. That much is clear to him now. From the first, Dr. Lecter has done nothing but manipulates him, twist him and pull his strings. It would be easier to see the end game if he could see the inception.

Trying with all his might, something falls loose from the mental blocks scattered through his mind. A single phrase, “Hannibal Lecter wants to bring balance to the world.”

Speaking the phrase out loud makes a chill run through his spine; a sense of disgust so thorough that nothing can compare to it. One only feels such when encountering something that is corrupt beyond redemption; wretched to the extreme, malicious without forethought or cause.

Speak of the devil . . .

Hannibal Lecter himself.

And he shall appear. . .

The good doctor slowly walks into the weak glare of a security light; perspiring from the shadows themselves.

One well-manicured finger taps along the blade of his Porsche knife. His pace is slow and he favours his right leg. Worst yet, he seems to have stuffed a handkerchief into the gory hole of his missing eye. Yet for all of it, there’s nothing on his face but a look of mild annoyance.

Then the man’s swarthy, handsome face splits into a broad smile; made no less handsome for the blood that stains his teeth. With a look of nearly uncontained mirth and joy, he holds out the vacuum wrapped kidney for his patient to see; a torn piece of kerchief keeping Hannibal from getting his fingerprints on it. “You look awfully hungry, Sokka. I can cook something if you’d like.”

The physical weakness of his body, the gregarious smile, the friendly tone and the look of annoyance at the loss of an eye. It’s all an act and Sokka realizes that everything he’s learned about analyzing an opponent will do him no good against Hannibal the Cannibal.

“I just wanted to let you know I haven’t been bored all night,” the Doctor assures him.

Their banter can go no farther as the glaring floodlights of a helicopter bathe everything in white. Both fighters are stunned momentarily by the brightness. Both of them have trained to overcome sensory overload, one way or another; so it’s no shock when both of them pick up the sound of a minigun charging up over the sound of the chopper’s rotors.

Sokka and Hannibal split like greased lightning when over a thousand bullets penetrate the walls, windows and ceiling of the car factory. Furniture, lights, fixtures and a vending machine are blasted into fifty million pieces each.

 The Scandinavian and the Water Tribesman miraculously run duck and dodge through a literal storm of bullets, shrapnel and fire. A spray of bullets rip open a natural gas line and flying quarters from the vending machine scratch against one another and generate a spark.

FWWOOOOSH!!!!

Sokka rolls behind a corner just in time to avoid the fireball. The heat is intense enough that he felt his wolf’s tail ignite.

No sooner is the fireball gone than does the chopper fire two missiles at the factory. The result is apocalyptic. The entire first top floor of the building burns brighter than the sun and the roof falls in. Multi-ton steel beams fall crush the factory machinery on the main floor and structural supports collapse. Comically, the giant glowing signs of the company logo fall last.

From out of the rubble, Sokka crawls; now adding burnt as well as nude as descriptors to his current state. Gasping under the pain of what feels like a fractured rib, he winces and gasps.

He sees Hannibal, striding through the smoke, dust and fire. There’s a certain weariness in the cannibal’s swagger that’s writ too large for lies or acting. Hannibal is definitely feeling his age and superhuman thought his will may be, his mortal coil is anything but.

Hannibal sniffs once and turns to face his prey for the last time. He uses a weapon now deadlier than any sushi knife.

“Anthony Hopkins has invited you to dinner.”

The control phrase triggers a hypnotic state in Sokka’s mind. Numbness starts in his toes and fingers. It winds its way up his spine, through his veins and into his brain. He feels ice water replacing the warmth in his body and the last thing he sees is the cannibal walking towards him with knife ready.

Dreamscape, inner space

Sokka finds himself fully clothed as he was at the start of his adventures with his sister and Aang a lifetime ago. He stands in the Kingdom of Madness; a hellscape half taken from the surface of Venus and half from the cruelty of the subconscious.

Fundamental forces grab his body, mind and soul at once and Sokka feels himself about to be ripped apart in every sense. This is a realm where death itself has died, but pain is still very real and persistent.

Knowing torture that a man can only inflict on himself; Sokka’s eyes fill with despair and terror at the tornado like formation coming straight for him. His clothing dissolves layer by layer. Even his weapons melt and twist; flying off of him and turning into living spawn of hell. Frantically, he snatches out with a bit of logic and reaches for something tactical. His jawbone knife materializes into his hand and his club flies into the other.

The tornado snatches Sokka up, slowly causing his skin to peel off like the most extreme forms of radiation poisoning. Wanting but unable to scream, he is powerless as the tornado takes him. Spawning into view at the heart of the tornado is paradoxically, a sea made of ice; and abreast of the waves of ice is a rotted, battered and barely seaworthy Viking longboat.

Slamming into the deck of the longboat, large strips of skin get stuck to the dank boards and rip right off his body. Soon only his face is covered in skin; the rest of Sokka’s body is a spaghetti textured mess of muscle and tendon.

It slams into the deck and nearly capsizes the ship upon the sea of ice; a true god of death. The stag antlered wendigo towers above Sokka with a rusted, thirsting sword in one claw of a hand.

Silently and irrationally as death itself the Wendigo monster swings the blade at the boy.

In a realm of chaos, Sokka does the only logical thing . . .run.

The man sized sword of the wendigo slams into the deck and splinters it into thousands of shards which turn into giblets of bone and muscle.

A hatch beckons Sokka, a sturdy wooden door on deck with a massive iron lock. A single strike of his club shatters the lock and he does below deck with the Wendigo hot on his trail.

The inside of the longboat is infinite and two dimensional. It is a palace of memory, a realm of art through recollection. There are many doors and they all beckon a wandering traveller to abandon reason and give in to instinct. Let your gut guide you, they say.

Sokka runs through the labyrinth, sensing the danger of becoming trapped in the gallery of memories.

There are infinite paths to slavery and isolation in memory but only one way to escape.

He knows better than to fight the wendigo, he could never defeat the monster at his height. Maybe even the Avatar couldn’t kill or stop this thing. But he reasons that he doesn’t have to defeat the monster; the Wendigo is not the true objective of this Labyrinth.

His body threatens to break down totally and even his face is starting to slough off like badly applied putty. But he remembers the basic rules of logic and all the times that he has rejected spirituality and faith.

Skepticism has always been his first and greatest partner. It’s never been about his feelings; for reality had a great way of ignoring those feelings brutally.

He takes a door that is hidden well amongst a trillion others like it. For the first time since he started seeing Hannibal Lecter, this is the right door.

The wendigo’s empty eyes bulge and it arches its back in agony; the mouth works in a noiseless cry of pain. A large wound rips across its sunken, shrunken belly.

“What do you want from me?” Sokka demands of Hannibal Lecter, “You’ve manipulated me into ignoring my friends and the woman I love!”

Hannibal Lecter shrugs, “I didn’t manipulate you, Sokka. Your friends were holding you back. They’re benders, you’re not; they will never understand you like I can.”

“And what about Sukki? I want to reach out to her so badly but more and more I’m forgetting what she looks like when she’s right next to me!”

“That means you’re forgetting her,” Hannibal explains, “Love is holding you back. I try to treat my patients like love is an addiction; addiction is mean to be broken. And you’ll never bring balance to the world if you’re addicted to anything.”

The moment is over and the Wendigo strikes. But the moment of truth has given Sokka hope. It’s not long in this hell that he finds another door to the truth.

Sokka is in Hannibal Lecter’s parlour now, like the fly to the spider. His old defiance is crumbling and he seems visibly frightened of the older man. “Please, Dr. Lecter; I have to see my friends. I need to be with Sukki.”

Hannibal frowns at him with both anger and hunger, “Go back? Do you want to go back to being a nobody? Do you think a short stint with a sword master and a new toy make you anything other than a worm?”

Sokka shrinks back in the chair, sweating profusely. “How did I let you do this to me?”

Hannibal looks over at the young man with disappointment, “I own you, never forget that, you little slut.”

The Wendigo’s wounds spread like cracks on glass. It’s not dead by a long shot but the doors are helping and Sokka is onto the next one.

“Why can’t I remember any of your sessions?” Sokka begs Hannibal. His eyes are sunken and he hasn’t eaten in over a week. He’s well on the way to developing anorexia.

“It’s not important for you to remember,” Hannibal explains casually, seemingly bored with the boy. “As your therapist it is up to me to decide what treatments will benefit you.”

More doors come and the uglier the truth gets.

Sokka isn’t in the parlour anymore. He’s in Hannibal Lecter’s dungeon, chained to a wall like an animal. He screams his lungs out; screams until his throat bleeds but it only makes Hannibal smile.

The ghoulish doctor carves slices of meat off of a corpse and throws it into a blender to puree. “I love the meat of fire benders,” the mad cannibal practically licks his lips, “Of all the benders their flesh is the most flavourful. By contrast the water benders have the most bland, forgettable taste.”

Sokka screams until Hannibal paralyses his vocal cords with an injection of an illegal and experimental drug. The drug does not paralyze his throat muscles and he’s powerless to stop anything as Hannibal pours pureed human flesh down his throat through a funnel.

The meat is melting off of Sokka’s bones and he’s turning into a running skeleton. Yet the doors answer.

That was how Dr. Lecter did it. Their sessions were one third emotional abuse, one third hypnotic therapy and one third torture and cannibalism. Through the phrase, “Anthony Hopkins has invited you to dinner” Hannibal could erase Sokka’s memory, control him like a puppet plant false memories. Yet he could never make Sokka willingly eat human flesh.

And that made Dr. Lecter very, very angry. So he decided to punish his little . . . toy.

Skeletal and ghastly, Sokka clenches a bony hand around the jawbone knife; his last anchor to logic, deduction and cerebral function. Behind him the Wendigo; avatar of chaos, hunger and the hind brain is wounded and more dangerous than ever. Its movements are frenzied and desperate; a starving god with nothing to lose and everything to eat. He must find the right door soon or be damned forever.

Hannibal stands next to a crying, begging Sokka who tied down and put on a leash like a pet poodle. Dr. Lecter wears a Raven-stag mask to hide his features while two strange figures enter the dungeon; a pink pony and a spiky haired man dressed like a pimp.

 

“Sokka,” Dr. Lecter explains, “These are . . . well not my friends but they’ll do. This is Ms. Pinkamena Pie and Mr. Mason Verger. You two, this is Sokka; don’t kill him but do whatever you want to him otherwise.”

Sokka shuts his eyes as the pony laughs maniacally, “you want some cupcakes!?”

The man Verger gives a joker like cackle before eyeing the boy hungrily, “Here kid, have a chocolate!”

 

He’s close to the end, the Wendigo is nearly dead but his life and sanity is nearly extinguished. It’s down to the wire now.

Hannibal and Sokka surround a wounded and downed fire bender in an alleyway in Ba Sing Se; the same alley where the night’s misery began. The fire bender screams for mercy while Sokka stands over him with his club drawn, a vacant smile on his face.

“Kill him, Sokka,” Hannibal implores as though he is the mentor of a great hero. “This is the man who burned your sister. Kill him and we can start bringing balance to the world. Only when the fire nation is wiped out as the Air Benders were can there be balance.”

Sokka keeps smiling at the downed man, who insists that somebody paid him to attack Katara; he starts to raise his weapon for a killing blow.

“The law of the Southern water tribe demands that when an enemy has gone after your women and children as the Fire Nation has, that the punishment be tenfold. Kill all the Fire Nation; gas them, bomb them, turn them into lampshades and render their fat for dynamite.” Hannibal makes it all sound so noble and good, “Trust me Sokka, compared to killing one man wiping out an entire nation will be nothing.

Sokka keeps smiling and raises his club a bit higher.

Hannibal nods, “You’re doing the right thing, Sokka. I’m so proud of you and what you are doing.”

Then everything breaks, the smile gives way to a theater mask of sadness. The boy starts to bawl like a baby and plead for forgiveness. He drops his club and says, “I can’t.” Before bawling into incoherence.

Hannibal is surprised, and for the first time not in a good way. With a sneer of disgust, he strikes the sobbing boy and knocks him to the ground. His expression changes whiplash fast to friendliness. Smiling, Dr. Lecter pulls out a banana knife and winks at Sokka. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

 

Sokka wakes up just as Dr. Lecter stands over him. “I am awake.” Is all that he tells Hannibal.

The Dane’s eyes widen with shock as he realizes that his power over the boy is broken.

Unshackled by fear, doubt or hypnotic conditioning, Sokka lunges at Dr. Lecter for all he’s got. The force of the blow throws Dr. Lecter off balance. A right hook strikes him across the mouth and several teeth go flying; disorienting the insane cannibal.

Before he can recover, Sokka grabs Hannibal by the hair and pulls him in close as if giving a kiss.

Hannibal gives a muffled cry of pain; his first real noise of the kind. With a wet, thick ripping noise Sokka pulls back and rips out the Doctor’s tongue with his teeth.

Falling over, Hannibal screams out in pain and thrashes about; vomiting up huge amount of blood, puke and saliva over the front of his shirt.

Retching with disgust but unable to stop himself from performing such savagery, Sokka glares at his former therapist with the purest hatred.

For a very brief second, Hannibal is afraid . . . and then he just can’t keep a straight face any longer.

A strange noise comes out of the cannibal’s throat, rhythmic and gargling through the torrents of blood. Hannibal is laughing. Swallowing a big gulp of his own blood, Hannibal’s laughter clears up and becomes louder and louder.  

Howling like an alpha wolf, Sokka silences Hannibal’s laugher. A glint in the fire and he cuts Hannibal’s throat with a piece of glass.

He puts his hands to his gushing throat, but Hannibal still smiles and shakes with laughter. Not even bothering to defend himself, he picks up his own severed tongue and starts to eat it.

Giving one final scream, Sokka picks up a piece of fallen concrete and crushes Lecter’s skull like an eggshell.

Finally, there is blessed, blessed silence.

Sokka nearly faints. He definitely wants to just fall over and take his chances sleeping among the burning rubble. He would have too except for the arrival of his sister and all his friends.

An air bender’s tornado clears away the smoke and blows out the fire while Toph’s earth bending clears away the most dangerous parts of the rubble.

Before the battered, wounded and nude teen lands Appa the sky-bison.

Sokka smiles at the sight of his friends who begin to climb off the bison and move to embrace him and care for him.

Too bad it’ll not play out that way.

Something finally gives and Sokka empties the contents of his stomach. Bending over, he hurls all over the ground. His throat burns and tears flood his eyes. He doesn’t need to hear his sister scream to know that something is wrong. Hearing Toph scream as well and Aang as well definitely confirms that something is wrong.

When he opens his eyes, he finally sees what he had in his belly all along. He’s vomited up a large amount of blood that’s not his own, as well as chunks of flesh the color of raw pork, skin that’s too pink and smooth to be that of a pig. And finally there are several fingers and human eyeballs all over the ground.

 

Maybe he had to pull out of the memory palace too soon. Maybe he couldn’t have stayed to see just one more door, but now Sokka has to live with the fact that his best friends and his family see him as a monster.

Katara claps a hand over her mouth as she shakes her head with disbelief. Aang clutches Katara for support and even rock solid Toph looks ready to attack and kill him. He might be alive but Hannibal is the true winner here.

“No!” he begs, taking a step forward. Everyone moves back, afraid of hurting him and afraid of what he’ll do to them if they let him. He screams for their understanding and love; something he’s lost forever. “I didn’t do it!”

 

Then at that moment, the Ripper Task force arrives on the scene. Choppers and police cars pull up to the ruin and surround Sokka with more than two dozen guns.

FBI head Jack Crawford personally serves the warrant to Sokka as a set of Dai-Li agents throw manacles on the boy. “Sokka, by the power vested in me by the Earth King you are under arrest on account of murder, cannibalism, torture and more. May god damn you forever, you son of a bitch.”

Sokka screams for his friends and sister. He screams for them to save him even as he’s thrown naked and chained into a police cruiser. As the cruiser drives away, Sokka is given a last look at the friends who do nothing to save or free him. It’s a punishment worse than any torture of Hannibal. Heaven spits on him and hell awaits his arrival with a party.

And in the front seat of the squad car, Officer Randall Flagg smirks and congratulates himself on a good night’s work.

 

THE WINNER!!!!!!!!!!!!

SOKKKKAAAA!!!!!!!

Kill stats:

Sokka: 550

Boomerang—204

Space Sword—209

Club—97

Jawbone knife—40

 

 

 

Hannibal: 450

Type 301 Porsche Knife—103

Blue Kiritsuke 10 in—76

Banana knife—67

Sig Sauer P226—204

 

 

 “I know it seems counterintuitive that the guy with no gun would come out on top,” Max explains, “But given that Hannibal’s gun is under used he just lost out. In the sim, Hannibal used his gun to start the fight, not finish is. And there’s nothing more dangerous than a wounded animal.”

“Both of them were highly intelligent,” Geoff says, “Anybody who could go against Azula and survive is good; and when you back that up with a sword that can cut through anything, you’ve really got something.”

“As it turns out,” Armand explains, “Neither fighter was that badly impacted by their meat heavy diet. Sokka comes from an ethnic group who’s been eating a mostly meat diet for millennia; and most of the meat is not processed or packaged. Hannibal likewise seems to have some mutant resistance to the adverse effects of cannibalism. So I’m a little bummed out.”

We’re now with the experts, “That was nerve wracking,” says Will, “I could use a beer and some vegan food after this.”

“You said it,” Aang says in agreement.

“Why are you guys wearing wigs?” Katara asks Aang and Morpheus, who are both wearing long, metal head type wigs to cover their bald heads.

Morpheus is silent and Aang bites his lip nervously. “Um, can we explain this outside?”

“Well it doesn’t matter,” Will insists, “Good job everybody. Good job Aang, and you too Katara.”

All of the sudden, a broken saw goes flying past Will’s head and crashes against a wall.

“I don’t believe it!” shouts veteran blacksmith and sword maker David Baker, “you blew out the motor on my fucking saw!” he furiously waves a baseball bat in one hand. “I dropped ten grand on that thing! Do you think I can make replica fantasy and magic weapons just with any old saw?”

Will jumps back from the enraged blacksmith. “Hey, I’m sorry. It was an accident.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” shouts David, then he suddenly swings his bat but Will ducks out of the way.

Standing behind will is none of than fake-Navy Seal and armed lunatic Richard “Mack” Machowitz; who still intends to kill Max Geiger for staying with the show. He’s armed with an AK-47 and he’s just about to shoot when David’s bat collides with his head.

Mack drops his guns and starts to go limp, but not before David swings his bat a second time and clocks Mack twice; making a noise like a home run with the aluminum bat. David then starts to wail on Mack with the bat, replacing him with Will as the target of his anger.

Deciding that he’d better peace out, Will and Morpheus run to a nearby ringing payphone and vanish out of the Matrix.