Savior with Expiration Date

"Rule number 100." She bit through the baby's umbilical cord and inscribed the shelf with menstrual blood:

"When you become a mother, strangle your own divinity first."

Jax's mechanical prosthetic leg is impaled through a ventilation duct. The man whose half of his body has been replaced with a convenience store vending machine is at this moment more like the ultimate incarnation of patriarchy. His genital nozzle aimed at the baby, shooting out nerve agent mixed with semen:

"Dear sister, it's time to wean the baby."

In the melee, Luna knocked over an entire row of human fat cans. With rotting grease flooding her ankles, she takes the opportunity to stuff the baby into Cole's military helmet. When Jax's chain saw splits her left shoulder, she suddenly laughs-the wound spews not blood, but the clone nutrient solution the convenience store president injected into her as a fetus.

"Didn't Dad tell you?" She licked the wound, "I was dead a long time ago."

The bunker began to self-destruct. As the countdown sounds, Luna activates the final projector: an image of her mother pinned to a canning line covers the entire ceiling. As Jax is distracted looking at his mother's mutilated breast, Luna channels the baby's cries into a sonic weapon.

In a high-frequency scream, Jax's mechanical prosthetics begin to dissolve. The once-invincible tyrant falls to his knees as his electronic eyes erupt into a dying message from the convenience store's president:

"The business deadline has expired, all merchandise is to be destroyed immediately."

The baby's pupils suddenly turned into cash register sweepers. When the red light swept across Jax's forehead, his cerebral cortex was stamped "expired merchandise," and Luna raised the convenience store price tag gun and pressed the "final discount" steel seal into his temple.

"Good night, brother." She kissed Jax's cracked skull, "Your prostate is waiting for you in the specials section."

While traveling through the last blast door, the radiation baby began to grow exponentially. His fingers turned into a barcode scanner gun and his bellybutton protruded from a data cable that plugged into the bunker's mainframe. As Luna's menstrual blood drips into the console, the entire convenience store empire's database begins to crash:

File 47: her embryo is the product of a synthetic synthesis of the president's sperm with nuclear waste

Surveillance #666: the mother was humming a convenience store promotional song when her uterus was removed by vivisection

Bill No. 8888: Reward points for each brother killed can be exchanged for the title of "Best Store Manager".

The baby suddenly speaks, his voice a remix of the president's, "Now, you're going to inherit..."

Luna shoves the taser down the baby's throat. As the 100,000 volts run through the bunker's core, all the clones synchronize and spontaneously combust. She rushed to the ground with the baby in her arms, the blast of air behind her like the amniotic spray of God's labor.

The moonlight is purple.

In front of the warehouse ruins, Luna stacks the last of the cans into a nursing chair. She doesn't stop when the baby's teeth latch on to her festering nipple - a gesture identical to the pose the convenience store president took when he implanted her with a memory chip.

"Drink," she stroked the convenience store logo on the back of the baby's neck, "and when you're twelve, Mommy will teach you how to kill yourself."

As the morning light pierces the radiant clouds, Luna realizes that the baby's corneas are metallic. As he stares into the rising sun, a map of convenience stores across the North American continent emerges from his iris. The brightest red dot was moving - it was the President's consciousness uploading satellite, which was currently skimming over their heads.

"Rule number 101." She gave the satellite the middle finger:

"When God is a chain brand, all Deicide has to do is sweep up a bad review."

The baby suddenly vomited. What crawls out of his throat is not a radiation bug, but a miniature nuclear bomb initiator. When Luna's fingerprints hit the confirmation button, the entire sky begins to burn.

A second before the mushroom cloud engulfs the horizon, she counts the warehouse shelves one last time:

Left section shelves: Cole's spine, Jax's mechanical prosthetic eye, Father's virtual projector

Right section shelves: silicone models of her mother's breasts, 49 cans of her brother's ashes

Center altar: her own decaying uterus, soaking in the last can of green bean soup

The baby's crying suddenly stops. His skin begins to peel away, revealing a production slogan on his titanium skeleton:

"Best before use: before killing the creator."

As Luna's pistol is pressed against the back of the baby's head, she hears "The Birthday Song" coming from underground. Three thousand clones rose from the ashes, holding the same radiated baby as they recited in unison the first article of the Convenience Store Employee Code:

"All merchandise, will eventually become shelves."

The gun goes off.

Luna collapses over the top of her uterine can and watches the baby crawl out into the wilderness. Instead of a crying face, his tiny hands traced a perfect string of convenience store barcodes in the sand. As the red light of the scan swept across her dilated pupils, the world went "ding" - the cash register checkout prompt.

It was the beep of the checkout counter and the cry of a new era.