“LIAR!” screams Bauer, as he grabs the GM and hurls him out the window. “I don’t know…” the GM weeps, “it’s not up to me. “I’LL FEED YOU TO THEM!” Jack screams, pointing at the fanbase, which has somehow slowed down yet gotten closer. When the GM doesn’t answer right away, Jack has to use a little persuasion… Gun in hand, he screams, “WHO IS IT?!”, ‘WHO MADE THE CALL?!”, and “WHERE’S MENDOZA?!!”, because even in dreams Jack Bauer is always on the hunt. Just when he turns a corner and thinks he’s safe – there’s Jack. Always running heart racing never out of range. He runs as fast as he can, barely staying ahead of the slavering mob. They hunger, be it for championships or mediocrity, but they are always demanding and pressing for more. The whole while, a rabid fanbase is getting ever closer, screaming for blood and demanding that all the franchise’s historic wrongs be righted on this one day. It is a nightmare, naturally, as the GM slogs through the dank, polluted streets of their town, running uphill through mud, having to take the stairs since the elevators just don’t work, trying to beat the clock and get their pick in to a cackling ginger demon. I assume the face most GMs see in their dreams the night before the draft is Jack Bauer.
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