I should have known that Chad Thundercock wouldn't stay down for long. After that cringe-worthy flex reversal, I thought I had bought myself some time, maybe even a little peace in Ohio's never-ending meme war. But, as usual, Ohio had other plans.
It started out almost too quiet. The calm after my victory against Chad had settled over the cornfields like a heavy fog. My TikTok zombie army, still riding the high of defeating Chad's gym bro legion, were back to their usual antics, dabbing, flossing, and reenacting viral challenges like nothing had happened.
I should've felt victorious. I did beat Chad, after all. But something in the air felt wrong. It was like a storm was brewing, but instead of thunder, I could hear faint echoes of gym equipment clanging in the distance. It wasn't long before I heard the sound of heavy footfalls in the distance, pounding in perfect rhythm, like some kind of war drum.
I turned toward the horizon. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the fields, but I could see it, something big was coming.
"Crap," I muttered, already reaching for my phone. I knew what was coming before I even saw them.
Sure enough, emerging from the horizon in a haze of protein powder and testosterone, was Chad Thundercock, and he wasn't alone this time.
He hadn't just come back with his army of Chads. He'd brought an entirely new squad with him, the Stacys.
My heart sank as I watched them march toward me. The Stacys were everything you'd imagine: tall, blonde, and dressed like they had just walked out of a Forever 21 sale. Each one of them had that impossibly perfect Instagram-filtered look, their yoga pants practically glowing in the fading sunlight. And they weren't just walking. They were strutting, their confidence palpable, radiating an energy that said they knew they were better than everyone else.
At the head of the army, Chad Thundercock led the charge, his muscles back to full flex mode, his jawline somehow even sharper than before. He wasn't just back, he was angrier, more determined, and clearly ready for round two.
He stopped a few yards away from me, his massive arms crossed over his chest, glaring at me like I was the final boss in his gym bro quest.
"Yo, Overlord!" he called out, his voice booming like an air horn at a frat party. "You thought you could humiliate me and get away with it? Nah, bro. Chad's always got a comeback. And this time, I brought the Stacys."
I took a deep breath, glancing at my TikTok zombies, who had paused their dances and were watching the approaching army with wide, brain-rotted eyes. I had defeated Chad once before, but this was different. He had backup now, and something told me that the Stacys were just as dangerous as Chad's army of Chads.
I tried to keep my voice steady as I called back to him. "What, you couldn't handle losing on your own, so you brought your girlfriends?"
Chad's grin widened, but there was no humor in it. "You think this is a joke? The Stacys are here to show you how real power works, bro. You got lucky last time, but today? We're taking you down."
The Stacys stepped forward, their movements synchronized like they were walking the runway of an apocalyptic fashion show. Their leader, a tall blonde with piercing blue eyes and an Instagram smile, locked eyes with me. "Hope you're ready, Overlord," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because no filter's gonna save you from what's coming."
I felt a cold sweat forming at the back of my neck. Chad had been bad enough on his own, but now I was up against a coordinated force of meme-gods, each one wielding the terrifying power of Instagram influencer culture.
I scrolled through my TikTok app, desperately searching for the right filter or meme power to even the odds. I still had the "Mega Meme Fusion" option, but using it again could backfire if I wasn't careful. I needed something specific, something to counter the raw, polished power of the Stacys.
And that's when I saw it: "Basic Bitch Energy Counterattack".
It was perfect.
The filter promised to neutralize influencer energy by tapping into the basic side of social media culture, flipping their carefully curated perfection into the most mundane, cringeworthy content possible. I hovered over the option, ready to activate it.
But just as I was about to tap the filter, Chad's voice boomed across the cornfield again. "Yo, Overlord! You ready for this?"
I looked up, and what I saw nearly made my brain short-circuit.
Chad was flexing, again, but this time, something was different. His muscles were literally glowing, like they'd been charged with pure alpha energy. And then, as if that wasn't enough, he grabbed the barbell he'd been carrying over his shoulder and threw it into the air.
It spun above him, catching the last rays of sunlight as it hovered there, suspended in the sky like some kind of alpha halo. And then, with a flick of his wrist, Chad called it back down, straight into his hands. He didn't just catch it, though. He spun it like it weighed nothing, then slammed it into the ground, creating a shockwave that sent dirt and corn flying in all directions.
"Flex Wave, bro," Chad said, his grin widening. "Try to beat that."
I staggered back, nearly losing my balance. That wasn't just a flex. That was some next-level meme magic, and I had no idea how I was going to counter it.
But I couldn't back down now. I was the Brain Rot Overlord. I had taken down the Skibidi King, and I had already beaten Chad once before. I could do this.
"Alright, Chad," I called back, activating the Basic Bitch Energy Counterattack filter. "You want to flex? Let's see how your Stacys handle this."
The moment the filter activated, the world around me shimmered with a dull, beige glow. The Stacys, who had been strutting toward me with all the confidence of a sorority at brunch, suddenly froze in place.
Their perfectly styled hair frizzed out. Their carefully applied makeup smudged. Their designer clothes? Reduced to knock-off fast fashion that looked like it came from the clearance rack at Walmart.
And the worst part? Their Instagram feeds, glorious, perfectly curated Instagram feeds, were instantly replaced with basic, cringeworthy posts. Pumpkin spice lattes. #MondayMotivation selfies. Duck face pictures from 2014.
The Stacys' eyes widened in horror as they looked down at their phones, realizing that their social media influence had been reduced to a sea of basic clichés. One by one, they screamed, clutching their phones as their perfect online personas were destroyed in real time.
"Nooooo!" the Stacy leader wailed, frantically trying to fix her now-frizzy hair. "My influence! It's gone!"
Chad's grin faltered as he watched his backup crumble. "Stacys! Get it together!"
But it was too late. The Stacys were already retreating, defeated by the one thing they couldn't handle: being basic.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. It worked. The Stacys were down. Now I just had to deal with Chad, and his glowing, flex-powered barbell.
But as I turned to face Chad, I realized something else. The glow around him was fading, his alpha energy flickering like a dying lightbulb. He was getting weaker. The Stacys had been feeding his power, and now that they were down, Chad was vulnerable.
This was my chance.
I swiped through TikTok, my fingers trembling with adrenaline. I needed one final meme to finish this. Something that would take Chad down once and for all.
And then I saw it: "Cancel Culture Finale."
It was brutal, risky, and potentially game-breaking, but if I could pull it off, it would completely cancel Chad's alpha energy, forever.
I tapped the filter, feeling the raw power surge through my phone as the world around me darkened. Chad's eyes widened as he realized what was coming.
"No way, bro," he said, backing up. "You wouldn't dare, "
"Sorry, Chad," I said, raising my phone. "Time to get canceled."
Chad's swagger crumbled the moment I activated the Cancel Culture Finale filter. The air around me crackled with meme energy, and a dark, ominous cloud of hashtags and outrage descended over the cornfield. Chad took a step back, his glowing alpha energy flickering out completely as he realized what was happening.
"No, bro," Chad stammered, his barbell suddenly feeling too heavy to hold. "You don't get it. You can't just cancel me!"
But it was too late. The power of the Cancel Culture filter was unstoppable. All around us, invisible notifications began to pop up, filling the air with accusations and hashtags: #ChadExposed, #AlphaNoMore, #CringeFlex. It was like the entire internet had descended on Chad in an instant, tearing apart his alpha image and replacing it with a tidal wave of social media outrage.
The once-mighty Chad Thundercock, who had flexed his way into dominance, was now at the mercy of the most dreaded force in the meme universe: public opinion.
He stumbled back, trying to regain his footing, but the weight of the hashtags was too much. His muscles, once bulging with gym-bro energy, seemed to deflate under the pressure of the internet's wrath. His perfect jawline softened, his barbell dropped to the ground with a heavy thud, and his eyes widened in sheer panic.
"Wait, no!" Chad shouted, desperately waving his arms as if he could swat away the digital storm. "You don't understand! I'm the alpha! I'm the freakin' Chad! You can't cancel me, I'm too swole!"
But the Cancel Culture filter was relentless. More hashtags appeared, swarming around him like angry bees. His followers, his loyal army of Chads and Stacys, were already gone, their influence shattered by the Basic Bitch Energy Counterattack. Chad was all alone, facing the full force of the meme apocalypse.
I stepped forward, my phone still raised, watching as Chad's entire image crumbled before me. "Sorry, Chad. But it looks like your reign is over."
Chad dropped to his knees, his eyes wide with disbelief. His alpha energy had completely evaporated, leaving him looking like just another wannabe gym bro, stripped of his power. "This can't be happening…" he muttered, staring down at his hands as if they no longer belonged to him. "I'm the Chad… I'm supposed to win…"
I almost felt bad for him. Almost. But this was Ohio, and there was no room for mercy in a world where meme gods ruled with absurd power.
The final hashtag appeared above Chad's head: #ChadCanceled. And with that, the last of his strength faded. His body flickered, pixelating as the Cancel Culture filter finished its work. With one final, desperate grunt, Chad Thundercock vanished into a cloud of glitchy pixels, canceled out of existence.
Silence fell over the cornfield.
I lowered my phone, letting out a long breath. It was over. Chad was gone. The Stacys were defeated. And I was still the Brain Rot Overlord.
My TikTok zombie army, which had been watching the entire battle with wide-eyed awe, broke into a chaotic round of Fortnite dances and dabbing, celebrating the defeat of Chad with their usual meme-fueled enthusiasm. Even the corn stalks seemed to sway in approval, like Ohio itself was acknowledging my victory.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead, feeling the exhaustion hit me all at once. That battle had taken everything I had. But I had won. Chad was gone, and Ohio was, at least for now, safe.
But as I stood there, watching my zombies celebrate, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. Chad had been a powerful meme god, but Bigfoot's warning echoed in my mind: Ohio was crawling with meme gods, each one more dangerous than the last.
And now, I had made myself a target.
I glanced down at my phone, scrolling through the filters and meme powers I still had left. I had won this battle, but there would be more to come. Ohio wasn't going to let me rest for long. There was always another challenge lurking just around the corner.
I turned, looking out at the horizon, where the glitchy sky flickered ominously in the distance. Somewhere out there, more meme gods were waiting. More chaos. More madness. And I was the only one standing between them and the complete takeover of Ohio.
"Well," I muttered to myself, slipping my phone into my pocket. "Guess it's time to see what else Ohio's got."
But before I could take another step, a low rumble echoed from deep within the cornfield. I froze, my heart skipping a beat.
Out of the shadows, emerging from the corn like some kind of cryptid nightmare, was a figure I hadn't seen in what felt like ages.
It was Bigfoot.
But this time, he wasn't alone.
Behind him, a shadowy army of cryptids, Mothman, the Loveland Frogmen, and even the Flatwoods Monster, stood at attention, their eyes glowing with a strange, otherworldly power.
Bigfoot grinned at me, that same lazy grin I had come to know too well. "Yo, Overlord. Heard you took down Chad. Nice job, bro. But now? Now things are gonna get real interesting."
My stomach dropped. Bigfoot wasn't here to congratulate me. He was here for something bigger, something that made even Chad Thundercock look like a minor annoyance.
"Welcome to the next level, dude," Bigfoot said, his voice dripping with cryptid confidence. "Ohio's just getting started."