You can run, sure. Some of you can even run really fast, but you can’t hide. Okay, yeah, there’s that invisible guy, but the rest of you can’t hide! And we’re coming for you!
My hubby and I found an interesting box full of interesting things. There was even an entire file on the Burnt Toast Diner, a quaint little coffee shop in Midland, TX. Said they have the best waffles in Texas. But that’s not all it said. It turns out it’s a favorite stomping ground of so many of you freaks! So after my boo and I broke out of that underground children’s prison, I told him we just had to stop by. I had to find out just how good these waffles are for myself.
Turns out they’re really good. Not good enough to distract me from my mission, but still pretty good. I found a freak out back levitating rocks and put a couple of rounds in him. And then we ordered the peach cobbler. My word, I love this place!
“Will that be all?” a strange boy asked me as I turned the fork over on my empty plate.
“Who are you?” I demanded. “Where is our waiter?”
“You, uh,” he stuttered, “you k-killed him.”
“Oh, right.”
“Really sorry about that,” Luke said. He pulled out his wallet and began leaving an all-too-generous tip.
I slapped the wallet out of his hand. “Don’t apologize. This little fool is lucky we didn’t off him too. How can you work alongside people like that?”
“Y-you mean Trekkies?” our new waiter asked.
“Huh? No, Evos,” I explained. “With their magical evil and whatnot.”
“Jared wasn’t an Evo,” he said.
“Of course he was. He was all weird-looking!”
“He was j-just a nerd.”
“Then what about his enlarged supervision eyes?”
“Thick glasses.”
“His red mutant facial spores?”
“Acne.”
“The strange sound when he breathed? He had gills, didn’t he?”
“He had asthma. That was wheezing.”
“Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have murdered him,” I admitted. “But better safe than sorry. Trust me.”
Afer lunch, we learned that a lot of you freaks and freak sympathizers have been blogging here on the diner’s website. It’s a propaganda machine is what it is. I’d have blown up the entire building if their waffles weren’t so damn good, but instead I decided to get into the blogging game myself. And to let you all know that we’re coming for you. This isn’t a warning; it’s a threat. I’m going to take down every last one of you mutated weirdos!
And this box is going to help. It’s full of juicy secrets. For example, did you know that Peter Petrelli wet the bed until he was nineteen? And Claude Rains is afraid of kangaroos.
“You shouldn’t post that stuff online,” Luke said. He’s always whining about being fair, about being decent.
But what do I care about decency?
Is this what you want?
I keep telling him that it’s part of the mission. We have to kill, destroy, discredit and humiliate every last one of these extraordinary people before they blow us all up. There is no room for mercy. This is a war.