I've taken a liking to the various Flood inspired fics roaming around. For something to do I wrote up a short little piece. Two posters sat in a nearly dark room, surrounded by complex machinery. The two were waiting for the right time. Their opening was going to be small. One turned to the other in the darkened room, as they patiently watched a single computer screen. "You really think it's worth it? I mean, do you really want to do this?" The other figure nodded. "Absolutely. It's our job to catalogue. He's the last of his kind. And it seems in this new age, he doesn't want to live. This is the last time we'll ever see something of his magnitude ever again." The other figure shook his head, scrolling through the most recent posts. "I don't get it. He was imprisoned for years right? Why would he waste his new freedom?" "We never really knew how John Cena's mind worked. But we know that this specimen had reasons for its actions. Maybe it wants to move on?" The figure at the keyboard nodded. "It is a new age after all. Sometimes people get left behind. Maybe he thinks he's a relic from another time?" "Please, don't humor me. It's John Cena. Although unique, he was never one for such things." The figure at the keyboard stirred. His eyes scanned the threads, when he found the telltale name. John Cena. He spoke in a hushed breath. "We got him." The other figure stirred, rising from his chair. He went into a darker part of the room to activate various machinery. He spoke as he frantically started flicking various switches and lights came on in response. "You have to time it right. You need his attention. But once he sees you, it's over. You'll have a limited window before he mutes you. We only have one shot at this. After he mutes you, we'll have no more accounts. He's a machine, muting alts practically as soon as they are made." "You think he can really do it? Can he mute the entire site?" "His only other interaction with anyone over all this time was swirling penises. Don't question his logic." With one last flick of a switch, all the appropriate machines began their work. The figure at the keyboard placed a small device around his head, letting out a sharp breath as it activated. "The machines are ready? They're recording everything right?" The other figure leaned over, looking at the posts in Cena's thread. "Everything is ready. When you post, the machines will pick up activity in the network when he goes to mute you. You'll link up with his mind. We'll finally know what's in there." The figure on the keyboard turned back and asked, "How do you know this will work?" The other figure chuckled. "I have a degree in troll physics. Trust me, I know what I'm doing. Through a very complex system of mirrors and the two computer screens, yours and Cena's, I'll project Cena's mind into your brain through your ears. It'll work." The other figure nodded. "Okay then, here we go." He typed a reply, carefully chosen, to lure Cena's gaze over to him. His account wasn't muted yet. He was sure it would work. He pressed enter on the keyboard. He watched in silence as he stared at the simple, yet provoking K he had posted. Lights started blinking on the machines. The other figure inspected them. "We got him! Activity on the network!, plugging you in!" There was a flash of light as the poster working the keyboard entered the inner workings of this old, devilish creature. ---------- He looked into a void of infinite space, and was suddenly aware of a faint music in the background. Was that spin me right round? And then, in a sudden explosion of dicks, the entire dick spectrum spun before his very eyes. The vastness of it all blinded him, as penises of every colour known to man flashed by like lightning bolts, spinning round and round in infinite loops. He stared into the eye of the storm, a truly massive shlong, spiraling round and round in some twisted, beautiful way, the heart and core of John Cena. He began crying from the sheer beauty of it as it transcended all barriers and feelings. And just as the gargantuous spinning, galaxy spanning dick came to a slow stop to face him and judge him with it's all seeing eye, everything vanished. --------- A voice called out to him. "Woah! You okay there? You had a lot of foam coming out of you! You even tried scribbling something on yourself." The keyboard operator gasped for air before calming down. "Did you get it?" The figure behind him nodded. "We got it. John Cena has been archived. Although you were muted. I think he's got almost everybody now. Did you see anything in there?" "I don't know what I saw. I couldn't make sense of it. But whatever it was, it'll be gone when he mutes every last poster. He'll transcend from this plane of existence." The figure behind him nodded. "Then it's a good thing we got this. I'm going to talk to the others and we'll see what we can do with all this information. The rest of the team is thinking of creating an archive to show what we once were. This will make a fine piece to that addition if it ever goes through." Silence filled the room as the other poster left. The keyboard operator sat in silence in his chair. Brief flashes crossed his eyes, and for a moment, he could see the spiraling eternity of man meat in his eyes. A compulsion overwhelmed him suddenly, as he frantically searched for something. He found a nearby pen, and without warning, began drawing on his arm. There were other half completed scribbles, but he knew how to finish it. In a trance-like state he drew, and he drew. And then, he stopped. He looked down to the odd writings scribbled onto his arm, and began laughing hysterically, as he took up the pen once more and added motion lines to the carefully inscripted penis. His laughter echoed in the room, turning maniacal as he began scribbling more and more dicks on any surface available. No. Not gone, or dead. John Cena would never die. Legends never die.