For what felt like an eternity, Boom had been cooking up a plan in the darkest corners of his broken mind. He wasn’t alone in this twisted plot—he had Mainlining and, more importantly, Mainlining’s "Mahchine." The Mahchine was a chaotic masterpiece, part real, part figment of Boom’s dementia, conjured from the depths of XO insanity. It was gonna change reality—at least in Boom’s head, that’s what it would do.

Boom embarked on his journey to Chicago in his “pimped out” van, a machine as deranged as he was. The van, a battered 1995 Dodge Caravan, was tricked out with all sorts of questionable upgrades. The outside was spray-painted neon green, the word "REVENGE" scrawled across the hood in shaky white letters. On the roof was a plastic flamingo tied down with rusty chains, for reasons only Boom understood. The wheels were equipped with cheap LED lights that blinked and flashed in garish colors as he drove, like some poor schmuck who thought his ride was hot just because it lit up. Inside, the dashboard was cluttered with old pizza boxes and tangled wires, and a karaoke machine sat in the corner, permanently stuck playing 90s power ballads.

As he sped toward his destination, Boom’s mind wandered to XO. "What would the board say about this?" he mused. He could already imagine the threads. RSF would probably post some condescending take, accusing him of being soft for not going harder at ADM. And Evan39, well, he’d probably just mutter something like "hdy" or "How dare you!" in that grocery manager tone of his. Boom cackled as he envisioned the inevitable blank bumps, the endless CR reactions that would validate his chaotic mission. Mainlining would probably even throw in some bear facts for good measure. XO loved a spectacle, and Boom was about to give them one for the ages.

His stops along the way at Kum & Go and Casey’s felt like pit stops on the road to Hell. At one Casey’s, he grabbed a slice of greasy pizza that could’ve doubled as a biohazard and chugged down a Mountain Dew—his veins surged with the radioactive pep he needed to keep rolling. The Chicago skyline loomed ahead like some hellish beacon, calling him to his final act of vengeance.

But of course, the road wasn’t without detours. Boom’s pimped-out van finally gave up the ghost just outside Chicago. The fraud tow truck driver showed up—a ratty-looking guy, probably one of those who’d sell you out for a $20 bill and a Mountain Dew of his own. Boom immediately recognized him as part of the rigged $ystem, another cog in the big machine that kept him down. But Boom played it cool, grinning like a demented clown, knowing he could use the driver to haul him and his Mahchine closer to his target. As the van disappeared into the void, Boom muttered under his breath, "Gotta love the free markeTTT. You fagfraud..."

At long last, Boom rolled up to ADM’s towering headquarters, the oppressive building casting a shadow over the city like some corporate monolith of doom. Boom wheeled himself into the lobby, ignoring the wide-eyed stares and whispers of the corporate drones scattered around. He was focused, his bat and Mahchine at the ready. The gears of the Mahchine started grinding as Boom activated it, lights flashing wildly. This was it—the culmination of years of delusion and rage.

Then it hit. ADM’s stock price dropped faster than Mainlining on a nightly bender, their corn syrup factories exploded in a sticky, syrupy disaster, and executives began bursting into flames like the overinflated egos they were. Boom’s demented grin grew wider as the Mahchine’s chaos unfolded. He reveled in it. He’d waited for this moment—he was finally winning.

Triumphant, Boom rolled onto a hastily constructed news stage outside, where some mindless fluff piece about corporate sustainability had been in progress. Clutching a baseball bat in his trembling, twisted hands, Boom raised it high over his head, his face contorted into a maniacal smile.

“ADM, you wronged me! Now, I wrong YOU! Baseball BEATTY, live TV time!” he screamed into the camera, his words slurred with a shit-eating grin.

Without a second thought, Boom swung the bat with all his strength, connecting with a sickening crack against his own skull. His lifeless body slumped forward in the wheelchair as the Mahchine sputtered to a halt beside him, the chaotic power drained. It was over. Boom, at long last, had exacted his final revenge.

The newscaster, speechless and visibly sweating through his cheap suit, blinked at the camera. "Uh... anyway, back to our segment on sustainable farming and the benefits of using organic compost. Stay tuned!"

Boom's final act became an instant legend on AutoAdmit, cementing him as a twisted hero hierarchies above even to the infamous LOLsuit. His story was retold in whispered threads, a warning to those who held on to grudges too long. It wasn’t revenge served cold—it was revenge fueled by pep, brain damage, and justified retribution that only XO could understand.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5601239&forum_id=2...id#48130134)