Alarms wailed through the corridors of Los Angeles County Medical, shrill and unrelenting. Red lights flashed along sterile white walls, bathing the hospital in emergency hues.
Mike Tyson, wrapped only in his torn gown, stood in the corridor, blood and wires trailing from his wrists, sweat dripping down his scarred back. His eyes bulged with madness, his lips twitching, muttering biblical warnings to invisible foes.
"I AM—TH-THE WRATH OF G-G-GOD!" Tyson shrieked, his voice cracking into a familiar, high-pitched stutter. "Y-Y'ALL GONNA FEEL THIS—TH-THIS DIVINE FURY, YOU UNG-GRATEFUL HEATHENS!"
Suddenly, heavy footsteps thundered toward him from the other end of the hallway. Two security guards emerged, skidding awkwardly to a halt. They stood facing Tyson like heroes from a low-budget anime, their postures exaggerated, faces frozen in confusion and awe.
The smaller guard, Josh—a skinny teen on his first job, his hair swept back dramatically—dropped into a fighting stance, his eyes suddenly alight with fiery excitement.
"This is my moment! Baki Hanma's got nothing on me!" he yelled, flexing slender arms that lacked any real muscle definition. His attempt at intimidation looked more like a child posing for a comic con photo-op than a true threat. "You face the pinnacle of martial arts!"
The second guard—Terry, nearly four hundred pounds, towering and round, clutching the remains of his donut—shifted heavily beside Josh. Terry adopted a wide stance like a sumo wrestler, arms spread open. Sweat glistened on his brow as he puffed up dramatically, breathing heavily.
"You better chill out, Mike! Or I'll power up like Goku!" Terry bellowed, deep voice resonating through multiple chins. He took a massive bite of his donut for courage, spraying jelly across his uniform. "KAIO-KEN TIMES THREE!"
Tyson blinked, momentarily baffled. Then his stuttering anger surged back, and he snarled defiantly.
"Y-Y-Y'ALL THINK THIS SOME K-KIND OF G-G-GAME?!" Tyson screeched, his voice sharp and quivering. "I—I—IMMA SMITE YOU, YOU B-B-BITCHES!"
Before either guard could respond, Tyson lunged forward, charging down the corridor in a deranged tackle aimed squarely at young Josh. The boy's anime bravado shattered instantly.
"Wait! Baki didn't teach me this part!" Josh yelped, eyes widening in panic.
Tyson collided into Josh like a freight train hitting a scarecrow. They crashed to the floor, skidding wildly across polished tiles. Josh wheezed, desperately attempting something resembling an armbar—but Tyson's brute strength and manic fury overwhelmed him completely.
"W-W-WELCOME TO TH-THE OCTAGON OF CHRIST, BITCH!" Tyson yelled, gripping Josh in an awkward, flailing grapple. "REPENT! R-R-REPENT!"
Terry, watching this unfold, snapped out of his stunned stupor. He dropped what was left of his donut and stepped forward dramatically, the tile floor trembling beneath his colossal weight.
"Alright then! You made me do this, Tyson!" Terry roared, slapping his hands together. "Final move—SPIRIT-BOMB SIT ATTACK!"
Terry leapt—well, fell forward, really—arms outstretched, belly wobbling majestically in slow motion. Tyson glanced upward too late, eyes bulging in disbelief as the immense shadow blotted out the overhead lights.
"W-WAIT! N-NO! THAT'S TOO M-MUCH MEAT!" Tyson squealed desperately.
With a heavy, earth-shaking thud, Terry landed squarely on top of Tyson and Josh, trapping them beneath his monumental bulk. All three men lay sprawled on the floor, tangled, writhing.
"D-dammit, Terry!" Josh gasped from underneath, barely audible beneath layers of fat. "I can't breathe!"
Tyson flailed helplessly, muffled curses lost beneath Terry's colossal backside. His high-pitched stuttering now reached dolphin-like octaves of panic:
"G-G-GET OFF ME, YOU TH-TH-THICK SAIYAN B-B-BASTARD!"
But before Terry could move, his face scrunched tightly, eyes widening in sudden horror.
"Oh no...the donuts...they're coming back!" Terry groaned.
A deep, rumbling sound echoed ominously beneath him, and then—
The fart came like an earthquake—loud, long, and devastatingly pungent. It was a weapon of mass nasal destruction.
"AAHHHHH!! MY EYES! MY SOUL!" Josh screamed weakly, consciousness rapidly fading. Tyson gagged violently, eyes streaming with tears as he clawed desperately at the tiles, fighting to escape the biological warfare unleashed upon him.
"WHAT KIND OF D-D-DEMONIC BUTT-CHEEK JUST UNLEASHED THIS HELL?!" Tyson howled, coughing, retching violently beneath Terry's vast bulk. "I—I—TH-THIS IS WORSE THAN HOLY J-JUDGMENT!"
Summoning every ounce of frantic, desperate strength, Tyson wriggled and writhed free, sliding out from under Terry's crushing posterior. Tyson immediately vomited onto the pristine hospital tiles, his body convulsing from the trauma of the noxious fumes.
"You—YOU—f-filthy s-s-swine! That's chemical warfare! That's illegal in g-geneva!" Tyson cried, crawling weakly away, covered in sweat, bile, and tears. "I—I-I will NEVER f-forgive th-this evil!"
Terry groaned loudly, rolling off Josh, who lay curled in a fetal position, pale and gasping weakly, muttering incoherently about anime betrayals.
Tyson staggered to his feet, unsteady, breath coming in ragged, stuttering sobs. The corridors spun around him, madness and nausea warring for dominance in his battered brain.
But determination—however insane—pushed him onward.
"Y-You—you thought—y'all could stop me?! N-N-NO ONE C-CAN STOP THE F-F-FIST OF CHRIST!" Tyson screamed hysterically as he limped away down the hall, barefoot, gown flapping wildly behind him, dignity abandoned entirely.
In the wreckage behind him, Terry groaned weakly, clutching his stomach.
Josh whimpered softly, reconsidering every life choice that led him here.
And down the hallway, Mike Tyson—the self-proclaimed Messiah, battered, nauseous, utterly insane—stumbled onward, ready to face whatever madness came next.