CW: We're delving into Bridget MacBay's psyche again, so expect general bigotry, slurs, and violence/gore. Also, Bridget's psyche's version of Daisy Holland is somehow even more bigoted than the actual Daisy, so expect that, too.
When Bridget fell asleep, she opened her eyes in the nude. She saw in might and glorious torture Daisy Holland, her rotting corpse puppeteered by meat hooks jammed into the comic's skin. Daisy's hair was a mane of fire that bled blue, and she hung limp in the air. Her mouth was sewn in on one side, and she cackled at Bridget. "Well, Eva, we all knew you were a dyke, but this is ridiculous!" Daisy cackled. She floated above the grass.
Bridget looked up and realized that the giant, gloved hand of the Foxwoods Sniper puppeteered the comedian. Radiohead begun to play, even if Bridget couldn't hear the lyrics. She just knew it was playing.
Orgasmatron. "Go away," Bridget snarled. "I'm not a lesbian." Even in her dreams, she'd trained herself to stay politically correct. You had to in this fallen world.
"Oh, then what was that wet dream? Wait a minute! Wasn't the object of your affections a
tranny? Maybe you are straight after all, Bridge!" Daisy giggled, a dead hand grasping Bridget's neck. "Still makes you a faggot of some kind, though, wanting to bang a tranny. Then again, we all knew that your Nazi affectations were just for your
boyfriend. If you really hated the niggers, trannies, kikes, spics, and all the rest you'd do what I did. You'd stop being a terrorist or a coward and just get people to
hate the fuckers.
"I hate niggers too, Bridge! I know you want to cut them into itty-bitty pieces! I had to pretend to like the KFC-eating fucks, but you know what? I learned how to fake being respectable way before you did! I bet you wouldn't've gotten that Satan Nazi tattoo if you'd picked it up early, huh? What a fucking retard you are!"
Bridget tried to punch the marionette-corpse of Daisy in the mouth, but her hand went straight through. Then, Bridget's fist was surrounded by Daisy-flesh, slimy and half-spoiled. Daisy continued. "Oh, but you're a nigger too. You're a fuckin' wigger, a real
class act with your Satan shit. You took it too seriously, and look where it got you! You weren't supposed to take it seriously! You were supposed to
tell jokes. If the jokes get a few trannies killed, well, that's a bonus, but you can do
anything if you say it's a joke, Bridge! Bridge! Bridge! Bridge! Lesbo! Cocksucker! Tranny whore!"
"What do you
want?" Bridget snarled.
Daisy Holland's corpse vanished, replaced with Kendra Oswald's face on the hooks. Bridget's hand was still stuck in her head. "What do I
want? I want what
everyone wants. I want you
dead. Maybe if you'd been a liberal, or a good person, I would've slept with you, but you're a cartoon villain and a total piece of shit." Bridget tried to pull her hand out. She succeeded, taking most of Kendra's face with it. Kendra's faceless hole still spoke. "Oh, you've really dug yourself deep, huh? You've done things you'll
never get to take back."
"Oh, I don't wanna take them back," Bridget snarled, a suit of Germanic medieval armor appearing on her body. "Maybe I like killing you people," she said. "I am Death incarnate!"
"Yeah, that's why nobody will ever love you," the faceless Kendra said.
She vanished, to be replaced by a corpse-marionette of Calliope Anderson. Calliope looked beautiful, more a vampire than a zombie. She laughed. "Oh, you think you're Death? That is
adorable. I wiped out entire states with a word. You're small time compared to that."
Bridget stared at the beautiful horror, from her full hips to her sharp facial features. "You're an angel."
"Oh, no. MacBay, I'm the
exact opposite. I'm Satan, the Devil, the Adversary, and the Lady of Lies. I'm your queen. Atompilz, the mushroom cloud? I
gave birth to the mushroom cloud. I am your mother, your master." The hooks on strings receded from her, and Calliope walked on her own power. "I don't give a shit about your race science, but I killed more liberals and multiculturalists in half an hour than you did in your entire career. Cute sword, MacBay, but when you swing it someone's head goes right off. Mine goes off too." Calliope put a hand on Bridget's shoulder.
"You're not Him, you're the enemy of the race. You promoted perversion, degeneracy, and race-mixing. You put the Negroid above the Aryan."
Calliope chuckled, and turned into a male demon made of flesh and sinew. "For I am Beelzebub, Lord of Flies, and you shall heed my name."
Bridget bowed as Kendra groped her, as Daisy kissed her on the mouth. She succumbed, and the monsters vanished. She was a mess in the meadow, covered in sweat as she curled her legs together. Then, from above, she heard a booming voice. It was a feminine voice. It wore a gas mask, the symbol of the Foxwoods Sniper from the calling card left at Daisy's body. "One day, I shall bring you to a place of torment," God said. Her hand reached down and grasped Bridget, lifting her up. The corpse-creatures watched. Bridget found herself being pulled higher into the sky.
Higher, faster.
The world disintegrated below her, and the clouds broke above her.
She woke up. She looked at her phone: 4:03 AM. She checked her wallpaper: Kendra Oswald in a crop top. When had she changed it? She changed it back. She googled Kendra Oswald, just to remind her of the degeneracy of that...woman. It was funny how anyone could be a woman, now, she thought. Apparently she'd taken a break from directing.
She pleasured herself to the thought of Kendra Oswald's cock and then waited to go to the gym in the later morning. She read Kendra's Wikipedia page, salvaged from before the Revolution. She looked as far as she could for evidence of what Kendra looked like before she'd turned herself into this horrible angel of God's will, but found to her horror that Kendra had transitioned at a young age and had been kept out of the public view for much of her childhood: The former was degeneracy.
She came to Kendra's face again.
What is it about you? she thought.
TJ, please, beyond the grave, help me.
She went to the gym and returned to her apartment, falling fast asleep. Then, she found herself in a nice Italian restaurant, staring at a very much non-zombified Kendra sitting across from her. "Bridget?" Kendra asked. Kendra cared about her. Kendra knew her name.
"Yeah?" Bridget asked, taking a bite of spaghetti.
"You don't seem OK, babe. What's up?" Kendra asked.
"I just feel bad. You're not right, and I miss TJ. Why am I obsessing over you?"
Kendra put a hand, softly, on Bridget's thigh. "Babe, you're obsessing over me because the Nazis
lost. You did so much damage, and it was all for nothing. Your boyfriend who got you into this stuff is dead. You never got your crazy Aryan paradise. You're just here, under communism, same as I am. I lost out, you lost out. We're two of a kind, and you need to move on. You can't ever take back the things you did, but you can stop. You can turn away. You can sin no more, right? That's all you want. You want to stop hurting people."
"You don't know me at all," Bridget said, recognizing that as the story she wished she could believe about herself. "You're nothing like me. You're a degenerate, transgender liberal."
Kendra sighed. She sounded disappointed. "Bridget, none of those things matter. We're both just people, and you're a person who's, well, evil. I love you, please, but if you ever want to be with me you need to fix your life. You need to leave the ANCP, you need to stop lying to everyone, you need to rebuild, you need to help people, and you need to prove that you're not Commander MacBay anymore. You need to devote your life to doing good, just like you devoted your life to doing evil. After that,
maybe I'll be with you."
"I can do that," Bridget said, hastily. "How do I start?"
"Well, first, you shouldn't be judgmental to someone you love," Kendra said. "Your entire worldview is wrong, and loving me means accepting me and everyone like me."
Bridget took another bite of spaghetti. "What if I can't? What if I'm just a monster?"
"You are a monster, Bridget. You turned yourself into one, and you can't stop it. All you can do is be a nicer monster from now on."
Bridget began to tear up. "Should I just take her?"
"She'll never love you if you take her."
"I could teach her to love me," Bridget said. Kendra faded away, and Bridget woke up again. She looked at herself in the mirror. There were two sig runes on her collarbone under her pajamas and a swastika on her shoulder that was barely visible. She prayed for guidance.
Everyone wants me dead, she thought. She paced back and forth.
It was TJ or Kendra.
Her life was blowing up.
She heard her phone's notification sound go off twice.
Savannah Housing Network said:
Dear Bridget MacBay, due to your breach of the terms of your residential stay (See Section 4B of your agreement, which covers promoting hatred and bigotry), you have been evicted by vote from the Savannah Housing Network. Please vacate your apartment within twelve hours.
Worldwide Republic Department of Criminal Justice said:
Mrs. MacBay, you have been found subject to a higher sentence due to your creation of a fascist party. When combined with your confirmed atrocities during the Second American Civil War, this act of treason has caused your sentence of two years of imprisonment and weekly monitoring has been replaced with service in the 74th Army Penal Battalion, serving in the German Civil War. Please report to your local WRA.gov-affiliated recruitment office tomorrow, on August 3rd, 2048. The People's Militia is inbound to ensure your trip will be safe.
Bridget grabbed her head with a hand as she read the news. It was well-known what being made to fight in a Penal Battalion meant: no running, no hiding, and no breaking anything you weren't told to. It was time to break shit.
She stalked her way to the wall hangar, and took from it her heavy claymore. Perfectly balanced, she put two hands on its hilt before swinging it against the wall. It went straight through drywall and wires, and the lights flickered off. She swung it next against the end table, then the TV, then the framed copy of that defaced Norman Rockwell painting she'd gotten cheap. She took another swing, then another, her movements first deliberate and military before devolving into bestial war-screams.
"Fucking kill!" she yelled, the blade hitting a mirror and shattering it into ten thousand pieces. It screamed. She screamed louder. She slashed at the walls, leaving deep cuts and electrical sparks.
Evicted. Drafted. Humiliated.
Loveless. Hopeless. Heartless.
Comeback. Come back. Come back!
She swung her sword straight through the wooden coffee table, her face a demonic mask.
Why, Lord, why? she thought, staring at the canyon that was where she used to put her take out.
Where were her victory, her comeback, her party, her boyfriend, and her
corpses?
She was supposed to have
won. She heard a knock at the door.
Her muscles were so tense they were numb, and all she felt was atomic inferno.
