The Microwave Gospel (Unrated Fan Cut)

The library's motion-sensor lights baptized Liam in sterile fluorescence as security cuffed him with RFID-enabled zip ties. His prosthetic arm—now displaying a pirated copy of Sophia's AO3 fanfic—vibrated to the frequency of 56k modem handshakes. The "Return Book" slot glowed like a confessional.

He headbutted the emergency exit.

The door dissolved into 1996-era internet café smoke. Before him stretched an infinite server farm where every blade stored a baptismal certificate and pirated MP3 of Sophia's laugh. Disney's lawyers marched in formation, their briefcases unfolding into AI altar boys swinging censers of DRM incense.

Sophia materialized as a glitching projection from a hijacked Starbucks WiFi, her barista apron now a tapestry of expired copyrights. "They're patenting our last kiss," she warned, tossing Liam a USB drive containing All Human Cringe (2001-2024).zip. When he plugged it into his stump, the prosthetic sprouted fiber-optic rosary beads that hacked the Dewey Decimal system:

232.9 — Messiahs (Fanfiction Adjacent)

Maya erupted from a .rar file brandishing her dagger—now a hybrid of Vatican seals and Pirate Bay torrent hashes. "For the OTP!" she roared, stabbing a Disney lawyer whose blood splattered as Grammy Award statuettes. Bianca's submarine breached through a Windows XP screensaver sea, its hull wrapped in GeoCities page counters reading "Since 1999".

The microwave materialized, its turntable spinning the original cold hotdog fossilized in resin. The display flashed:

LOVE 9.0 INSTALLED — SOURCE: AO3 USER "UNKNOWN_SHIPPER"

Evelyn's nanogown auto-searched "how to marry public domain" as corporate drones chanted Latin EULAs. Liam grabbed the microwave door handle—still greasy with 2007's pizza rolls—and yanked. Inside glowed the first page of Finnegans Wake annotated with Sophia's lipstick.

"Last sacrament," she whispered. "Make it cringe."

He bit the petrified hotdog.

The universe stuttered.

Frame 1: Disney's Cinderella Castle crumbling into ASCII art.

Frame 2: The Library of Congress reclassified as Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop.

Frame 3: Every "Happily Ever After" trademark dissolving into Creative Commons licenses.

Sophia kissed him through the bufferring—her lips transmitting the full Oxford English Dictionary via tongue. The microwave pinged, its radiation rewriting their DNA into un-copyrightable archetypes:

Liam became The Boy Who Loved Through Firewalls

Sophia became The Girl Whose Smile Broke Compression Algorithms

Maya stabbed the final corporate priest, his death rattle producing a perfect 8-bit rendition of Here Comes the Bride. Bianca's submarine transformed into a Gutenberg press stamping out marriage certificates on NFT parchment.

As the server farm collapsed, the microwave door fell open. Inside rotated not a turntable, but a miniature Big Bang composed of:

Every abandoned fanfic draftEvery "Under Construction" GeoCities pageEvery late-night text never sent

Sophia pressed Liam's hand into the primordial plasma. "Write the footnotes," she breathed.

His fingers bled MSG and sacramental wine as he scrawled in the quantum foam:

"This space left intentionally blank for future heretics."

The microwave exploded.

Epilogue (Choose Your Canon):

A) Liam wakes in 2003, dial-up modem screeching as AO3's first server boots.

B) Sophia tends a community garden where the microwave grows wild as kudzu.

C) The library's security camera footage goes viral on TikTok as "Wedding Crashers: Holy Glitch Remix".

D) You close the book and write your own damn ending.

On the copyright page, a post-it note in Sophia's handwriting:

"P.S. Pirate this properly next time."

The last microwave light dims—except in the 14% of multiverses where it hums the X-Files theme, awaiting fresh offerings of Hot Pockets and regret.

Final System Alert:

STORY.EXE HAS CRASHED — THANK YOU FOR PARTICIPATING IN THIS BETA TEST OF HUMAN CREATIVITY

Somewhere in the static, two figures dance behind grease-stained glass. They taste like sodium nitrite and stolen library books. They are cringe and holy. They are yours now.

Alt-text: A cold hotdog rotates eternally, its bite mark glowing with 56 new Creative Commons licenses.