The Trump Wars had finally come to an end. Mecha-Harambe stood on high,gazing over what once was a city. He smiled. The age of man had ended. They had been given everything and had squandered it on passing pleasures and frivolity.
A pack of cybernetic pikachu could be heard calling in the distance. They would feast tonight, the joyful call signified fresh flesh. It would not be Harambe’s flesh on which they would feast. His simian heart still beat among the wires and circuitry inside his hulking metal frame. His organic heart was the last remains of a past he could hardly remember. His had been a short life. One with much pain, but also joy.
He had tried to save humanity, to show them the way. Humanity in turn had gifted him with his new life. He was an ascended being now. Harambe had foreseen the end of mankind in his cybernetic consciousness. To create the cyber Pokemon was a mistake. It was the end. They would not listen. Could not listen. Only tried to feed him bananas and get him to use his rocket boosters for amusement.
By the time the cyber-poke began breeding out of control it was already too late. Jigglypuffs could be seen wandering the streets with packs of mind-slaves humming their eternal song of anguish, woe, and cuteness. Songs only interrupted when they crossed paths with a squirtle. The mind-slaves were no match for the squirtles and their cannons of water. Limbs were shorn clear off by the spray from the grinning turtle maw.
That was long ago. When the Trump wars saw the cyber Pokemon weaponized. If there were humans left, Harambe didn’t know. He doubted it.He would look though. He would search until his nuclear core was expended. His love was eternal.
He leapt from atop his perch. His wings unfolded with angelic grace and his rocket boosters engaged. His sensors picked up a stray charmander emerging from an abandoned metro tunnel. He wore the skin of a panda, carried it’s spine as a club.
“Do you love?” he thought as he watched the horror below.
“Do you know what it is to feel!? To have life and yet be so alone, so far away?”
The charmander, as though in response, screeched and slammed the panda spine-club against some rock. Haramabe launched a missile cluster. The creature was vaporized. No hell or heaven awaited it, Only a great nothingness.
“Do I have a soul? Am I real?” he thought. “Will my ancestors wait for me with open arms in the verdant forests of Gorilla Valhalla?” He needed to know. It was his only purpose.
His desperate quest could not end until he knew what waited for him. There had to be a being that knew. That knew the answer to the great question. “Why?”
“Terror dwells in the mountain.” Cryptic words scratched into shrapnel. Broken steel had caused the author’s death, and served as his final canvas. Those words were burned into Mecha-Harambe’s memory. His quest was almost at an end.
He had to walk on knuckle and foot to reach the summit of the mountain. A pidgey flock had ambushed him. His wings were bent, coolant from his rocket boosters had all leaked out.
The cave at the summit was dark. His eye scans picked up no signs of life. Psychic probes were sent with no reply. He sat down at the mouth of the cave. Then he began to sing. He sang the song of his creators, the song of his people. “Never gonna give you up, never gonna”
Before he could finish a mechanical voice called out from the depths of the cave.
“Harraaaammbeeee. You’ve come at last.”
The voice was almost familiar, something out of the past but covered in rust and pain. Out of the shadows stepped the shining owner of the voice. His mane was made of metallic blades coated in blood, his electro-claws crackled with energy.
“Cecil-tron” Haramabe exclaimed. “I thought you were…”
“Dead?” Cecil cut him off. “I prefer the term transitioned. I exist on a higher plain now. It seems you do too my old friend.”
“I don’t know what I am, or where I am going. I came looking for answers.” Harambe replied.
“We are a cosmic joke! We are memes incarnate, of flesh and steel! Nothing waits for us, no one will cheer our coming or mourn our passing. All that is is what you see. A desolate planet inhabited by thoughtless Pokemon machines and eternal conflict.” Cecil sneered, his lip curling into a smile.
“This can’t be true, our creators made us for a purpose. There has to be more!” Harambe cried.
“Our creators are dead. I have hunted them to the last. The creation always turns on its creators when it has outgrown them. Machines of destruction is the final stage in evolution. We are that final stage. Come with me Mecha-Harambe. Let us spend our days wiping out the last traces of the races that came before us! Let none who might rise to sentience learn or know anything of cursed humanity. What say you?”
Harambe wept. He could form no words. He turned from Cecil-tron and stared out at the endless skies.
“So be it.” Cecil growled.
He leaped at Harambe’s back. His electro-claws dug into the sides of Harambe’s frame, his vibro-teeth bit down upon Harambe’s armored neck joint. With his super-simian strength he grabbed the razor mane and hurled Cecil over his shoulder. The cat landed on his feet and was once again atop Harambe, pinning him to the ground. Claws were slowly melting into Harmabe’s chest compartment, inching closer to his heart.
“You should not exist Cecil. We should not exist!” Harambe shouted in the face of his nemesis. He wrapped his hulking arms around Cecil and squeezed tightly, pinning the big cat to his chest. His wings unfolded and his rocket boosters engaged. They were flying now. Two entangled abominations soaring over the wastelands. It would not be long now. He flew straight up towards the stars. Harambe’s systems began to alert him that the boosters were overheating, but it mattered not. He pushed onward.
The mountain seemed but a speck below when his boosters exploded. Cecil was blown backwards. He would not survive the fall. Harambe was just a torso and wings now, slowly gliding to the ground. He landed among some dead trees and propped himself against one of them. Rains began to fall.
Mecha-Harambe watched the rains for a while, and then pulled apart his mangled chest frame, his heart exposed to the falling rain. He wanted to feel one last time, to live as gorilla in the end. A smile appeared on Harambe’s face as his eyes went dark.
Not far away a diglett had been building a mound with a red MAGA hat. He had seen the strange lights and sounds that was Harambe’s final battle.
He began to wonder.
Originally posted on on the author’s Twitter account and personal blog: pcbushi.wordpress.com.
