Dragon Ball Z Uncensored

[Magic Juan]

Hahaha, McHarris is Jenova.

[Ryoko's Biatch]

I think I'm going to skip over the obligatory murdering and get to the important plot stuff in my next promo. I haven't really had the ENERGY to devote to writing lately.

Anyway, TO BE CONTINUED probably Sunday.

[Action Hank]

This round has been a struggle.

[Mautty]

I might kill of Harry because I am getting tired of writeing about him. I suck is what im getting at.

[Spamdini]

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MAUTTY!

[Ryoko's Biatch]

The Black Judge digs his fingers into the concrete to slow his momentum after a thunderous punch from the General. The General had injected himself with the McHarris Super Soldier Serum and grown to monstrous proportions. All around them the secret laboratory burns and crumbles while a feminine voice announces the countdown to self-destruction. Kutt, bleeding from his fight with the General, holds a badly beaten Hannibal Smith over his shoulder.

"You doomed yourself," the Black Judge says, breathing hard.

The General laughs a booming laugh. "Maybe so, the McHarris formula will probably kill me, but I'm taking you to Hell with me."

The Black Judge laughs back. "I wasn't talking about the formula."

"What?!"

"You willfully followed the orders of a corrupt and evil government. You tortured hundreds of good men and killed hundreds more. A murderer like you deserves a lot worse than what I'm going to do to you." The Black Judge smiles maniacally and pops his neck. "I have no choice but to declare you GUILTY!" Leaping, the Judge cocks his fist back and at the same moment his eyes turn white.

"M-murderfuck?" The General is shocked, but he regains his composure. He cocks his own fist back and they both throw their punches at the same time. The instant seems to last hours, Kutt, Hannibal and the dying soldiers, ripped to pieces by the might of the Blacklandians and the Judge, all stand in awe of what they're seeing.

"YOU'RE FINISHED, KID!" the General screams on impact. And then he feels his bones snap and howls in pain. The searing sensation spreads as the Black Judge hurls forward at incomprehensible speed, his fist leading his body through the General's arm until nothing is left. The Judge lands on his feet and the General falls over, his blood squirting as he rolls around.

The Black Judge looks over his shoulder, his eyes still completely white and his grin would make any on-looker shudder in fright. "Shitfuck your dick." He kicks the General, who flies through the air out of control before hitting a pillar that only crumbles after breaking the General's body in half at the waist.

"No! NO, IT'S NOT POSSIBLE!" the General screams, watching his entrails squirm out of his opened torso. "I CAN'T DIE LIKE THIS! NOT LIKE THIS!"

The Black Judge lifts the General's upper half by the throat and stares in its eyes. The General, his strength rapidly failing, weakly slaps with his only remaining arm at his murderer's body. It isn't useless yet, he tells himself as his vision starts to blur. And then he feels a hand plunge itself through the hole at his waist and start pulling. Suddenly his sight returns in time to see his heart in the Judge's hand.

"I guess you just didn't have the heart for it."

The heart explodes through the Judge's fingers and then he headbutts the General's face, which follows the heart's example. What's left of the brain continues to feel pain until the Judge's teeth dig into it and rip it apart, bite by bite.

And then the Black Judge falls unconscious.

[Ryoko's Biatch]

When the Black Judge awakens, he's in the back of a Humvee, stolen from the government lab. He looks around and sees Kutt driving while Hannibal smokes a cigar.

"My gavel ..."

Kutt looks back and says, "Man, that shit blew up before we were captured. Luckily, the old man sent a new one to Branson for you."

"A new gavel?"

Kutt shakes his head and turns back to the road. "Did going murderfuck fuck with your head that bad? Yeah, I said a new fuckin' gavel."

The Judge rubs his face and then looks at his palm, coated in blood. It's not his own and the memories return. "Why are you taking me to Branson?"

Hannibal, speaking with the cigar tightly gripped between his teeth, explains, "Our benefactor wants you to represent Blackland in the FTUW. von Toity brought it back the second Caligula died. As soon as we finish off the FTUW, we can turn the rest of America into the scientific meritocracy that Blackland is now. It's the only place worth living in this wasteland."

The blood is sticky between the Judge's fingers and he is mesmerized by the way it cracks along the joints when he flexes his fingers. It's a familiar feeling, but it's no less disgusting to him. But he can't control himself. It worries him sometimes, even though he believes what he's doing is necessary. That scientist made him wonder, was it in his own blood that he was meant to be violent? A murderer down to his very DNA?

No. Schmitt only saw what he wanted to see. McHarris was a monster, a sick, intolerant beast. A man's life isn't determined by his DNA, it's how he lives his life that defines him. Even if it was true, the Black Judge wasn't McHarris and he never would be. But there were others who craved with every cell of their being to be the next McHarris. And it was up to him to judge them.

"Prometheus, you never let me down when I needed you," the Black Judge thinks to himself, then pauses as he wipes the blood from his hands. "It's time for me to return the favor."

A trail of gunpowder runs behind the Humvee, watched as it lengthens by Hannibal Smith. Hannibal places a second cigar in his mouth and then lights it. He takes a quick puff from both cigars and then smiles. He removes the first cigar and flicks it onto the gunpowder, pleased by the sparking that speeds toward the secret lab. Within seconds tons of explosives detonate, erasing the lab from existence.

"I just love it when a plan comes together."

-------------------------------------------------

A weak hand somehow manages to push bits of rubble from the body attached to it. The form rises unsteadily before staring into the full moon. He realizes how beautiful it is to be alive. Or how beautiful it would be if he was whole. He doesn't even need to see his reflection to know that he'll never be the same man that he was, but it hardly mattered anymore. No time for looking back at what's done.

Still, the Black Judge had to suffer for what he had done. Everything was perfect before that man arrived. And it will all be perfect again when I control this shithole of a country.

No one else understood, but they would. Or they would die. He had bade his time, even after the apocalypse, patiently waiting for the time to come. And what had it led to? They were all crazy. They were all wrong. The Secret President was a sham. Roosevelt would have never let this happen. And it's all that man's fault that everything went so wrong.

But there was a chance to make it right, he just needed to get to Washington. That's where the truth is at. The mongrels who think they own America will die in the light of that truth.

The figure cups his face and starts to laugh. His eyes glow in the light of the full moon.

Those dogs will all die.