I Can Fix This

"You can't fix this, you fucking moron!"

Rigby looks up at the camera, his eyes large and watering. "S-sorry... I was just tryi-"

SMACK! Mordecai's fist slams into the side of his face. Rigby drops to the ground, a bloody tooth falling from his mouth. He tries to crawl away, terror all over his face, and is pulled back by the leg. Mordecai's foot connects with his side. Hard.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"Mordecai, no please! Agh!" Fists are on all sides of him. I eventually lose count of how much blood is on the ground. Eventually, a blue hand tightens around his neck, lifting him up.

"No, please, no. No, don't no-no-no."

His gargling attempts of communication through broken teeth are cut off as his face is slammed into the glass panel on the vent. He is pulled out, then slammed back in. Again and again. Mordecai is screaming. Rigby is screaming. Pleas for mercy intertwined with cries of unspeakable rage.

The pipes are dented, covered with blood, teeth implanted into the metal. Rigby is thrown onto the ground. I can hear his leg breaking. His snout is pushed in by around five inches. His eyes are blackened to the point of them actually breaking and forming over themselves. At least, one is. The other eye is dangling in the gore-filled hole in what used to be his mouth. I recognize him only by his blood-soaked tail, his facial features are so horribly beaten as to be unrecognizable.

It seems like a long time before anyone speaks. Until then, the only sound was Rigby attempting to wheeze with a throat full of blood. He gradually turns himself over, making horrible noises the entire time. He attempts to put his eyeball back in, eventually getting it into an acceptable position of instability.

A horrible croaking noise comes from his throat, vocal cords fruitlessly working, the body utilizing one of the least important systems at this moment of mostly irreparable damage. When the word finally comes, it is short and to the point.

"Why?"

Mordecai does not say anything for a very long time. His back is turned, his arms crossed and shivering. "Why?" he eventually says, still not facing Rigby. He turns on his heels. And stares into his eye. Directly into his fucking eye. Neither of them are faring better than the other. The heating was destroyed. They will soon freeze to death if action is not soon taken. Mordecai lurches over to him and kicks him in the face.

"Why?" he shrieks. I don't know how Quintel made that voice. I remember thinking the same thing when that first punch was thrown, the realistic sound of Rigby's teeth clattering on the ground, the "drip-drip-drip" of blood dripping on the icy floor.

"I don't know if you realized this, but I never liked you, Rigby." He is crouched over him now, whispering in his ear. "To be honest, I never minded your constant idiocy. Like breaking the wall, for example. That was something that could go along with all your other incidents. But then, you thought it was fine to involve me in your little adventures. Did you think I wouldn't notice? I did, and I enjoyed you not knowing that I knew. I could get my licks in, occasionally.

"Whenever it got too bad, I'd just think of how it felt when I slammed my fist into your face. Remember, Super Dig Brothers? Seeing your body sprawled up against the side of the couch was so satisfying..." His voice trails off, his arms slowly moving lower and lower. "Mhhh," he moans, his voice taking on a husky attribute as his hands begin to unconsciously massage his stomach. "Your soft, furry little body..." he says, licking his lips.

It's almost funny how fast the hands depart as he starts to slowly stroll around the room. "I could exist happily, you being a pathetic little moron, and me giving you a well-deserved beating occasionally. And, I'm sorry to say, this is how it went for quite some time. You, thinking there was ever some kind of real friendship, like I ever even cared about you in the slightest."

I can't see him, but I can hear him. Rigby, whimpering as everything he ever knew is torn to shreds by the only person that could have ever truly known. "But it just wasn't enough. I would have thought that, like me, as you grew older, you would have gotten more mature. However, you seem to have progressed in the opposite direction. Your little schemes have gotten more and more damaging, and I'm afraid this was the last proverbial straw. I will die in here, and so will you. I can just imagine throttling you for eternity. Not like anyone's going to stop me," he chuckles.

Rigby tries to speak. "N-no... I won't die."

"You will."

"No!"

A kick to the face. "Yes!"

"No!"

Another kick.

"Yes!"

"No!"

Another kick.

"Yes!"

"No!"

It continues on in this fashion for how long, I do not know. Kick. Yes. No. Kick. Yes. No. Kick. Yes. No. Kick. Yes. No. Kick.

By this time, Rigby is curled up in a ball as Mordecai assaults him with fists and feet. I can barely hear him whimpering, "Yes, yes," over the sounds of the fleshy thwacks.

"What?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes!"

A look of smug satisfaction slowly overcomes Mordecai's face. "See, that's better. You never liked admitting things," he says, distaste filling his words. They are both brutally shaking at this point.

"It won't be long now. You smashing the other panel with that drumstick might have been the best thing you have ever done." I can hear Rigby crying now.

"See. You know it to be true. You can't hide it," he stammers as the cold overtakes him. I can see Rigby shaking now too.

He gets something out, "I-i-it's going... t-to be the l-last t-th-th-thing I do b-but... I'll k-k-kill you... Mordec-cai..."

"Too... late..."

Mordecai falls to the floor, a smile on his face.

"So," J.G. says, smiling. "What'd you think of the new episode?"

My mouth doesn't work. It's as if it has forgotten how to function, of course, in this of all times, when I need it most. I eventually find it, and after some stammering, I finally manage to get out:

"That was incredible."

"Really?" he says, some mild surprise accompanying his face. "I dunno, some of the guys up top didn't like it so much. Got pretty vocal with their opinions, you could say."

"Yes, that often happens to artists of your caliber," I reply. "Did you have to dispose of any?"

"No, just one. She's still down in the cellar," he chuckles, "Well, thanks a lot for the screening, can't wait to see it on the air."

He laughs. "Yeah, neither can I!"

Credited to Gjester