#nah i do get what you mean i like the norwegian robot for his personality he seems like a chill dude but his footy is vv ugly

[meowmeowmessi]

Please don't speak Haaland breaking Leo's 91 goal record into existence 😭 nothing against him but it kind of doesn't sit right with me??? Don't know if you know how I mean it

no worries anon as the president of messi fc pep'll kneecap him the moment he reaches 90 goals and he'll be out for two whole seasons #trust

[statistically-unlikely-monster]

Jon’s Not Dead- Prologue

1280 words. It kinda sucks, but I never been good at beginnings. :/ Hope you enjoy!

Bad days are hard enough, but bad weeks are even worse. Especially for Tord and his loyal soldiers, Paul and Patryk. Tom destroyed the giant robot, his arm and face was brutally ripped up in the crash, his plan for world domination was dismantled, and any sort of pity from his former friends was lost. In short, so much bad luck had hit him at once at he felt physically winded.

He was in his base’s common room, reading manga as Patryk tended to his damaged arm. It was beyond saving according to the medic and would soon need to be amputated. Tord wasn’t looking forward to the loss of an arm, but he figured that at least he wouldn’t need to have it constantly injected with pain killers.

“This might sting a bit,” Patryk warned his leader, dabbing the injection site with a bit of alcohol. 

Tord hissed at the sudden pain, but forced himself to stay still.

“Sorry sir,” Patryk apologized, sticking a needle full of novocaine into the spot, “There, that should keep the pain down a bit.” He unrolled a roll of bandages, and wrapped the arm like mummy, “The amputation is some time this afternoon, sir.”

“Good. Anything on what happened to the loser and his friends?”

“If you mean Tom, him and the others got apartments somewhere in town. I don’t think they’ll be after us anytime soon.”

“What about that other house I blew up?”

“The remaining two moved into the same apartment building. I don’t think they know it was you.”

“Good...Did Paul ever come back from his recon mission? I haven’t seen him all day.”

“I don’t think so. I wouldn’t worry about it though. He probably got lost or something.” 

“Let’s hope so. Last time he went MIA, he got his hand stuck in a slushie machine at a 7/11. I still don’t know how he managed that one.”

With a shrug, Patryk got up, “I’m gonna go call him. Need anything while I’m gone sir?”

“A cigar would be great.”

Both went silent upon hearing a loud thud on the door. After a few seconds, the person on the other side started banging on the door as if trying to break it off the hinges. No one was supposed to know about the location of the base. Shouts and rabid screaming could be heard from the other side.

“...Sir, I think you should get it.” Patryk whispered, his heart racing.

“No no no. That’s clearly for you. You should get it.” Tord returned.

“Oh, I insist you get it.”

“As your leader I command you to get it.”

“...Yeah, that’s fair.”

Pulling his gun off his back, Patryk crept to the front door with cat-like steps. The pounding on the door continued, progressively getting harder and harder. Patryk slowly unlocked the door, only for it to fly open and smack him in the face. 

There, bright red and shaking from pure fiery rage, was Eduardo. (Or as Tord calls him, cheap ripoff Edd.) Paul was passed out from being used like a knocker, hanging limply from Eduardo’s clenched fist on the back of his coat. Behind Eduardo was a significantly less angry Mark.

“YOU! I GOT A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU!” Eduardo growled, lunging at Tord like a wild beast.

Tord flinched. The only thing that saved him from Eduardo pummeling him was Mark, whom had him by the shoulders, “Eduardo, le-”

“SHUT UP MARK AND LET ME GO!” Eduardo roared, dropping Paul like a sack of potatoes, “HE’S THE MOTHERF*CKER THAT KILLED JON! LET ME AT HIM!”

“No!”

Several things had taken Tord off guard with this one moment. First, someone actually found the base and got past the guards. Second, this civilian beat the snot out of Paul and managed to land a hit on Patryk. Third, he was being threatened. Someone was actually threatening the leader of the Red Army. On one hand, Tord was impressed, but on the other he was just confused.

“H-How? How did you even get here?” Tord asked, pulling away from Eduardo as he swiped at him.

“You are the only warehouse in the area with a Red Army symbol on it.” Mark explained, sounding ultimately unfazed by the situation.

(Flashback)

Paul and Patryk finished off the last of the spray cans. Both were covered in sweat from being out in the sun painting the side of the warehouse. Tord, smiling genuinely for once, handed them each a bottle of water as they climbed down from their shaky ladders.

“This is perfect. You two did great,” Tord applauded them, “Now there’s no way we can forget where the base is.”

Paul threw his coat onto the dirt, and guzzled his water, “I’m just glad to be done.”

“Sir,” Patryk asked, “Couldn’t this reveal our location to our enemies? This isn’t exactly subtle.”

“Hmmm...Nah, it’s fine.” Tord replied.

(Back to the present)

“...Okay, in my defense, it seemed like a good idea at the time,” Tord sighed at his own stupid decision, “Wait- how are you two not dead? I had guards stationed around every entrance. You should have more holes than swiss cheese.”

“What guards? We just walked in the front door.” Mark asked.

Tord then remembered something very important. Most of the soldiers were off that day.

He groaned, “Forbann helgen og alt det gir- fine. What do you two want?”

“REVENGE FOR JON YOU SON OF A NORWEGIAN PROSTITUTE!” Eduardo roared, snapping at Mark in an attempt to free himself. Mark only wrapped the material around his fist. 

“...Norwegian prostitute?”Tord muttered in confusion at the insult, getting up from his chair and setting his manga aside. He groaned, “Look. If I bring your friend back, will you leave me alone?”

“Can I get at least one punch in?” Eduardo asked, seeming to calm down a bit.

“Ugh, fine. One punch,” Tord agreed begrudgingly.

With a sh*t eating grin, Eduardo reeled back his fist, and punched Tord with full force in the gut. Tord toppled over like a fallen tree, groaning and clutching his stomach in pain. 

Patryk chipped in, finally recovering from the hard blow to the head, “Are you okay sir?!”

“Call the medic,” Tord groaned, “I think there’s internal bleeding.”

“That’s what you get for promising a bunch of bs!” Eduardo replied, “There’s no way that you of all people could bring him back.”

Tord slowly stood back up, using Patryk’s coat and Paul’s head to pull himself off the ground, “I can. There’s this book I used to come back from being a zombie.Patryk, bring me the intercom phone.”

Patryk ran to the other side of the room, and came back with a small, Nokia style phone with a Red Army symbol painted on the back. Tapping in the room code 777, he called the only other soldier in the base, “Hello, Dr. Devin? Remember that book I gave you? …No, the black one. It says Necronomicon on it… What?... How did you lose it?! It’s huge!... What little witch girl?... Sønn av en- I said not to bring friends here. Do you know where they live?... Okay. Thank you Dr. Devin. I’m coming down actually. I got punched, and I think something may be broken… Ok, goodbye.”

With a sigh, Tord hung up the phone, “Great. Just great. The book was stolen by some kid named Kate. We can find her tomorrow… I’m going to the med bay. Patryk just- put them in in the cells for now.”

“Yes sir,” Patryk replied as Tord limped to the med bay, “You two, come with me.”