Vorelando 3.0+1.0: Bye-bye, all of New Zealand

Back in his hotel room, Vorelando was not fazed.

Jones vores second woman in a matter of months, pattern emerging?

The headlines were all some variation of that. He blocked out all that noise though. He was solely concentrated on winning his semi final matchup this evening.

He had solved ethics after all, he knew that he was mathematically correct in every decision he made. It was only his fallible brain that made him think otherwise, his mind was sound.

He had been doing nothing but cardio since the chicken sandwich incident yesterday. He still hadn’t felt the need to sleep, he doubted he ever would again.

It was time for him to head to the voratorium. He had texted Kobe to tell him he’d see him after their respective matches.

He jumped off his bed and marched towards the door, swinging it open. But he was not met with the subpar wallpaper of the hotel halls, he was instead greeted by 3 men in suits and black glasses. They screamed intelligence service like nothing else.

“Mr. Jones, the president would like to speak to you.” One of the men said.

“About what?”

“That info is classified, I am not permitted to know. Please come with us.”

“I have a match to go to.”

“Do not worry, that has been dealt with, you’ve been handed a walkover.”

“How?”

The men ushered Vorelando out of his room and towards the staircase.

“Don’t sweat the details Jones, just know that your opponent is out of the equation. We don’t have time to chit chat, we must get to the chopper.”

The raced up the stairs to the roof of the hotel, and indeed there was a helicopter waiting.

“This will take you to the president.” The leader of the detail said.

Suddenly the door to the roof burst open and several crazed looking people ran through.

“Where the hell did they come from??” Vorelando asked.

“Get on! There’s no time to explain! We’ll hold them off!”

As Vorelando got on, the service members drew their weapons. They shot into the crowd of onrushing people, picking off the ones that initially threatened to board the helicopter.

As the blades rotated, lifting Vorelando and the pilot into the air, the crowd overwhelmed the service members and started voring them.

“Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Oh god!” One of them shouted.

“Frimbo!” The pilot shouted into his comms.

“Get away from here Johnson! I’m pulling the plug!”

With his teeth, Frimbo pulled on his suit tie and he exploded, the mass of attackers going up in flames with him. The helicopter barely managed to avoid the blast.

As they got higher into the sky, Vorelando could see below that the situation was dire. Hundreds of people just like the ones who had bumrushed them were roaming the streets, eating anyone they saw. They were like zombies, except they seemed intelligent. They coordinated with each other as they attacked.

Some of the competitors from the Jose Wombo memorial classic were out in the streets, fighting back against the ravenous invaders. They weren’t doing so well.

Suddenly, Kobe rand Vorelando’s phone.

“Vorelando! Where the hell are you?” he shouted down the phone.

“I’m not at liberty to say right now, but I’m safe. What about you?”

“I’m fine, luckily the rest of us were getting a bite to eat at Father Francis’. With One here, we’re holding down the food court but we can’t get out without risking the lives of everyone else here. We’re trapped for now.”

“Oh thank god you’re at Father Francis’, if anything happened to those fries, I don’t know what I’d do."

“I know Vorelando, I know, that’s why we’re going to defend it to the last man. When you can tell us more, let me know.”

Kobe hung up, leaving Vorelando to ponder how true his words had been. One was good, sure but could he hold off this army after they’d picked off everyone else in the city? He wasn’t so sure.

After a quarter of an hour, an airfield came into view. It was surrounded by a wall of SUVs with mounted machine guns, holding off an oncoming horde which must’ve number in the thousands.

The helicopter landed on a runway beside a most iconic aircraft, Air Vorce One.

One of the staircases was down, and the president was at the bottom, waiting with his security detail.

“Vorelando Jones, a pleasure to finally meet you.”

President Ribrack Vorebama offered Vorelando a handshake which was duly reciprocated.

Vorelando knew Vorebama was an absolute beast. He was the long reining American vore champion, which of course meant he was also the president and had been for a couple of decades.

“Mr. President, it’s an honour.”

“We’ve got a breach!” one of the soldiers manning the machine guns screamed.

In moments he and the SUV were gone, swallowed figuratively and literally by the oncoming horde.

“Shit, get on boys!” Vorebama shouted.

No sooner were up the staircase did the first of the horde reach the bottom of the steps.

“Get this plane in the air!” Vorebama shouted as he whipped out his glock, spraying down the staircase and covering it in blood.

The plane started moving but the staircase wouldn’t retract.

“Someone get those stairs up!” Vorebama commanded.

“We can’t sir, they’re weighing it down!”

As Air Vorce One reached V1 and took off into the air, the horde started clinging to each other, as if to make a rope out of their bodies in an attempt to anchor the plane down.

Vorebama kept spraying his glock but they were too fast, crawling up the corpses of their deceased comrades to retain grip on the plane as it climbed higher and higher. Vorebama’s glock ran out of ammo and he checked it at the head of one of the assaulters.

“Oh my god, this is it.” Vorebama cried.

“No it’s not, mister president.” One of the security detail roared.

“Francois, no!”

The agent know as Francois sprinted towards the door and jumped onto the stairs like a slide. He screamed in pain as the bumps shattered his spine but he moved at such a speed that he crashed into the horde like bowling pins, knocking them clean off the staircase.

As he feel back down to earth from thousands of feet while being eaten, he spoke one final time over his comms.

“God bless America.”

The staircase closed before they saw him hit the ground.

“What a man, he’ll never be forgotten.” Vorebama said. “Now, Vorelando, can we get you anything to drink?”

“Yeah, I’ll take some scotch.”

The walked into the control room aboard the plane and were brought in some scotch by a flight attendant.

“You like yours with ice?” Vorebama asked.

“Yeah.”

Vorebama took some ice out of his jacket pocket and plopped it into Vorelando’s glass before pouring the scotch in on top.

“I prefer mine straight, but I always keep some ice handy just in case.” He said as he poured his own glass.

“Mr. President, can I ask you a question?”

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, ask away.”

“What the hell are those things?”

The presidents darkened. He clenched his fist so hard that cracks started forming in the glass of the scotch bottle.

“Those were New Zealanders…”

“New Zealanders???? As in people from New Zealand????” Vorelando exclaimed.

“The very same.”

The president flicked a switch underneath his desk and a holographic display showing footage of New Zealanders emerging from the sea onto a beach and slaughtering.

“At approximately 0700 hours this morning, the kiwis launched a surprise attack on American soil. They hit in Florida and rolled through the state in less than an hour.”

He switched the display to a map of the continental United States. The states of Florida, Alabama, Georgia and South Carolina were completly red, with exception of the city of Atlanta, which was blue like the rest of the country.

“The areas in red constitute what the New Zealanders currently hold, everything else is us, for now. We’re holding them off but they’re going to break our defensive line before the day is out.”

“But they don’t even have guns.”

“And we don’t have enough ammo.”

“How many New Zealanders are in this invading force???”

“Hundreds of, uh, millions Vorelando, possible reaching into the billions.”

“How?????”

“50 years ago, the Vore Champion of New Zealand, Kiwi Carter, began distributing kiwi’s farmed at his personal kiwi farm to the public. His power is to control absolutely those who consume his kiwis, once he had enough people trapped under his kiwi scheme, he used them to force feed the rest of his kiwis to anyone who had managed to avoid them.”

“My god, that’s horrible.” Vorlando said, thoroughly shook.

“And it gets worse, he’s been having his people breed like rabbits, expanding the amount of kiwi zombies at his disposal exponentially.”

“Wait a minute, aren’t New Zealanders called kiwis because of the bird, not the fruit?”

“Don’t focus on the details Vorelando, focus on the kiwi bastards currently eating everything you know and love.”

“Good point, Mr. President. I do have another question though, if you knew all this, why was it a surprise.”

Vorebama sighed. “We knew an attack was coming but we thought it wouldn’t be for another 10 years at least. It was a risky move, if we’d seen it coming, we could’ve repelled it.”

“So why did they decide to attack now?”

“To kill you Vorelando.”

“Me?”

The hologram changed to the profile the government had on Vorelando.

“We’ve been trying to come up with some sort of way to counter the inevitable kiwi attack on US soil but we never found one. We wallowed on despair as every idea our best men could come up with were analysed only to be assigned a potential success rate of less than zero. Until we found you.”

“How do I fit into this? Respectfully.”

“We’ve been keeping tabs on you since Crackremento, you’re our only shot at victory. Tell em something, what is your signature move?”

Vorelando paused. He didn’t quite now how to describe it, he didn’t even know the extents to which his powers reached. He had never wanted to test it out, for fear that the core would consume him.

“It’s… I suppose it’s like a reverse vore?”

“Yes, that’s how it’s been described… but we think there’s more to it than that.”

“What makes you say that?”

“This was kept top secret but after you defeated the Eaton boy in Crackremento, his DNA sequence vanished from the big computer that handles all the money. We’d never seen anything quite like it. It was the same for one of the scorpion boys. It goes beyond that though, think about Eaton’s first name.”

Vorelando searched the depths of his mind but came up blank.

“I don’t remember it, but how can that be?”

“No one remembers it anymore, it’s disappeared from all records. So has any image of him. Most have forgotten about him entirely, only those with a vested interested in the cunt can recall that he existed but even that is fading away.”

“What does any of this mean?”

“Our theory, crazy as it might sound, is that you have developed not just reverse vore but the technique of conceptual vore. By becoming one with them, you are close to their soul, which allows you the vore the very idea of them.”

Vorelando considered it for a moment. Perhaps this was the case. It was true that his memories of the match in Crackremento were faint. He remembered that there were 11 scorpion boys, but he could only name 10 of them.

“Even if this is true.” Vorelando flexed. “How does that translate to me stopping the invasion of the Kiwis?”

A sinister laugh surged up from Vorebama’s belly.

“What is a nation state but a concept?! An idea! There is not a single country on this planet that was meant to be. Nationality is a construct, borders only become real with the might to enforce them. We cannot hope to match the New Zealanders man for man. But luckily, we don’t need to.”

Vorebama whipped out two glocks from underneath his desk and started strapping them to his person.

“We’re going to have you vore the concept of New Zealand!”

“But how???”

“We’re going to drop you directly into the mouth of an active volcano. It’s our only hope.”

“That’s batshit insane Mr. President. But it’s so batshit insane, that it might just work!”

“That’s the American spirit! Let’s give em hell!”

The flight attendant from earlier entered the room.

“Sir, we’re approaching Ngauruhoe rapidly.”

“Already?!” Vorlando exclaimed.

“You’d be surprised how fast this thing can go when I sign an executive order telling it to. Now follow me.”

Vorelando followed the president down some stairs to a part lower in the plane.

“Mr. President, if we’re dropping me into a volcano, then what are the guns for?”

As they reached their destination, Vorelando was met with the stern faces of dozens of marines, all armed to the teeth.

“You think they aren’t expecting this? Of course they are.” Vorebama replied. “They’re kiwi bastards but they’re smart kiwi bastards.”

The President turned towards the men as a hatch at the back of the plane began to open.

“Soldiers! We are the last hope for humanity in the fight against the kiwi menace! If we don’t succeed today, then get used to deepthroating kiwis or being dead! Those will be the only options for every man, woman and child if we fail today.

“But we won’t fail! We are Americans! The leaders of the free world! And we have the power to protect that world, to keep it free! Kill everything you see, kill those hivemind bastards in the name of freedom!

“Proclaim, in a united voice!

"We will not go quietly into the night!

We will not vanish without a fight!

We're going to live on!

We're going to survive!"

Today, we celebrate the total eradication of New Zealand!”

With a furious roar, the marines charged directly out the hatch. Vorelando noticed that none of them were wearing parachutes. He felt Vorebama’s hand fall on his shoulder.

“Shouldn’t we get some parachutes?” Vorelando asked.

“Where we’re going, we don’t need parachutes.”

With that, Vorebama pushed Vorelando out of the plane.

Outside in the air, it was a monsoon of red rain. Beneath him, he could barely see the volcano amidst all the limbs and blood.

The marines were fighting with New Zealanders mid air. The kiwis were being launched from the volcano by catapult like contraptions to meet the taskforce.

The ones that were shot to pieces initially obscured the sight of the marines, masking the trajectory their kiwi brothers were coming from. In a matter of seconds the marines were culled down to single digits, but at terminal velocity, seconds were all they needed.

The volcano was fast approaching, they were nearly there.

“For New Zealand!”

With only a few hundred feet to go, the New Zealanders launched a last ditch attack. Hundreds of them were coming at Vorelando, not from below but from the sides. They had been launched hundreds, in some cases thousands of miles from pacific islands, their velocity angle timed perfectly to meet Vorelando in the air.

As he saw the last of the marines below him be vored, Vorelando thought it was the end. But then he felt a pair of presidential Js land on his back.

“Mr. President, it’s you!”

“You’re damn right it is Now, lets eat some kiwis!”

The president whipped out both of his glocks and started rotating at mach speed on Vorelando’s back while shooting. It created a tornado of bullets, eviscerating every New Zealander around them.

While this was happening Vorelando fist fought the few remaining kiwis being launched from the volcano.

Only a hundred feet above the mouth of the volcano, a primal scream was let out above them.

“I won’t let you do this Ribrack!”

It was New Zealand prime minister, Kiwi Carter, hurtling towards them.

“Good luck, comrade Jones.”

Vorebama kicked off Vorelando’s back, sending the young vorer rocketing down into the lava while propelling himself back up to meet his mortal enemy.

All Vorelando heard was a split second of gunfire before he was burnt to a crisp by the volcano. He remained conscious though, he knew he had to act quick.

“For America!” He screamed mentally.

And in an instant, the north and south islands vanished. Every single New Zealander around the world disappeared. The very concept of New Zealand went up in flames.

Vorelando Jones had done it. He had stopped the kiwi menace.