Compton Man entered the upper floors of the white house with nothing but the death of Al Gore on his mind. He didn’t know why. He had hardly known Marie a day, and yet……..No! Vengeance was all he could think of now.

The upper levels were poorly guarded. Compton Man would kill Al Gore, destroy the raisin, then find and rescue Fat Albert. For some odd reason, he actually had a feeling he could do it. His target was the office of Al Gore. It was not far from his current location, just up the stairs of the lobby, in fact. There on the door was a cheaply made placard which clearly read “A. Gore”.

Compton Man gripped his gun, and pressed up against the wall. He slowly turned the knob…

BLAM!

A loud noise that was clearly a shotgun went off. Had the door been rigged to kill Compton Man? He dared to take a peek around the doorway. What he saw horrified him. Al Gore was simply sitting there at his desk, busy with work, acting as though nothing had happened. Compton Man hated the very sight of him.

But there was more. On the floor, was the corpse of Prime Minister Fat Albert, who had been shot in the back of the head, all because Compton Man had opened the door. They could no longer complete their attack and show the death of Fat Albert publicly, and so they had set a trap! Compton Man burst into the room, exploding with fury, slamming the door behind him.

“Al Gore! You-you damn murderer! You’ve killed everyone I ever cared for! All of them! It’s all your fault, and now, oh now you’re gonna pay!”

Compton Man raised his gun, and pointed it at Al Gore. Al Gore just continued to stare at his work. Compton Man felt himself growing more nervous. He looked around the room cautiously, and his eyes caught a metal chest that seemed to be growing ice it was so cold. He quickly brought his attention back to Al Gore, and this time was in a scream.

“Are you even listening to me, you damn murderer! You’re gonna pay for all the people you killed! I will-”

“I am working now. This can wait.”

“Like hell it can, you murdering bastard! I’ll kill you-”

“I have not killed any of you of those you care for, those you waste the pathetic emotion of love on.”

“Lies! You’re a dirty liar!”

“No. Every death was actually your own fault, Compton Man. Blood Man died because you made him fail. You tried to return the emotion of love to him. It made him a failure. Marie McGee died because-”

“-STOP THIS YOU-”

“-you were unable to stop Blood Man. He was your best friend. You should have been able to stop him.”

“No! That’s not true! I couldn’t have done a thing.”

“You could have, but you did not. In fact, if I am not mistaken you just killed your own Prime Minister. That you cannot tell me is my fault, Compton Man. If you were to return to your precious Dirty South, they would hate you, and you know this to be true.”

“Shut the hell up you bastard! Your brain tricks won’t work on me! I cared about these people, and I would have never killed them! You can set it up to look like it was my fault all you want! I’m not that stupid!”

“Do not try to hide it from me. I see everything there is to see. There is great doubt in you. How can you be sure that killing me is right? You can’t even be sure about yourself. You are a disgrace to human existence.”

“NO!”

“You should just turn that gun around, and kill yourself. Join those who you ‘cared’ for.”

“I’ll kill you! I don’t know anymore, I don’t care! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”

“Then fire!”

“I will!”

“Fire the gun!”

“I’m going to!”

“Kill me, Compton Man!”

Compton Man fired the gun. The instant the bullet came out, a raisin seemed to fly out of Al Gore’s very body. The bullet hit the raisin, and it was as though it exploded with a blood that covered all the walls, becoming a swirling vortex. Compton Man felt trapped in it. He felt as though he were about to be pulled into the fold of the vortex itself, and be lost for all eternity. Al Gore just stood there calmly.

Compton Man felt himself being pulled down, but he fired at Al Gore. Every bullet just flew back, one even scratched the surface of his face. Every effort he made seemed to fail. Compton Man could not breathe. It was like his lungs were about to explode. It felt like he was going to melt.

And the raisin………he knew he could hear it talking in his mind. It was torturing him very slowly. He did feel unsure of himself before, but the raisin made him question his very purpose for existence. And then, Compton Man was pulled under the blood, within the swirling vortex, where Al Gore was sure he could never be heard from again. He gave a quick smirk, and put the raisin in his pocket.