Death!

In a hail of debris just behind you. What can only be described as a walking banana with arms and legs decked out to the teeth in ammo and guns hops into view.

It has no face to speak of but its intentions are made clear once two of its brethren step in and begin to raise their over sized machine guns.

You say nothing. The realization of your predicament clear as the day you made your decision. You know why they have come.

You raise your hands desperate, "n-no, its not what it looks like guys! I'm still one of you! I'm still a Potassium Patriot on the inside, honest!"

Reluctantly they start to lower their weapons. Much to your relief. Before perhaps the biggest banana you have ever seen steps into view of the hole they had made. A flamethrower in its hands.

You try to scream, but your breath evaporates from your lungs as heat as intense as the sun engulfs you.

Written by Coca-Cola

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