# Metal Snoot Solid 4 - Autism Of The Patriots

Title: Metal Snoot Solid 4 - Autism Of The Patriots
Status: Complete
Characters: Anon, Fang
Rating: SFW
Classification: One Shot
Author: Anonymous
​
The wind howled across the rooftop of Volcano High, empty except for two men, bathed in the rich glow of the setting sun. Bare to the wait, they faced each other across that hot tiled roof, their faces mirror images of each other. Despite their facial similarities, their bodies were different: One bore the heavy musculature of a man accustomed to combat, heavy white scars of battle crisscrossing his broad arms. The other man had honed his physique at his trusty neighborhood gym, the little time he could get access to the squat rack leaving him with plenty of functional strength. In another life, another time, they could be brothers: But now, they were enemies.
They stood several feet apart, neither having said a word since the other had shown up for their destined meeting. They knew that only one of them could be right, that there was only one correct answer to their question. Both were adamant that their way was correct, that the other couldn’t be more wrong, and each was ready to defend their beliefs to the death. As the sun set, they were going to settle things in a way only two men could.
Nether man made a move, each waiting for the other to show his hand first. They stared at each other, pointedly ignoring the large hole in the fence encircling the roof. To look at that would be to admit that one of their brothers had failed, that another one of these pale clones had done the unspeakable. No, to them, there were only two options, and only one way off the roof.
Another howling gale causes the men to grit their teeth, the sand scourging both sets of eyes, causing them to water slightly. No other explanation could be given for why their eyes were cloudy with tears, of course; at least, none that these two men would admit. As the wind died down, each sensed the time was neigh, and both began to move, a silent circle of testosterone.
“FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!” The battle-scarred man screamed, keeping his arms to his side as he squared his shoulders, blowing his chest out to emphasize his point.
“LUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCY!” The other cried, just as loud as his brother, his hands rising above his head, palms-first, his elbows close to his waist.
Suddenly the peace of the evening was shattered as the men flew at each other, landing blow after blow. Soon, the rooftop was stained with blood and sweat, each man fighting not just for his life, but what his life represented. It was a colossal battle of wills, two immovable objects coming face to face, neither one willing to yield, neither one willing to justify the other.
“My god, they are such dweebs,” Fang said, sitting on top of the rooftop that was raised above the rest, clad in her brown turtleneck and black jeans.
“Seriously,” said Lucy, her yellow sun dress and red ribbion fluttering in the errant breeze.
“Hey, play the song, guys.” One Anon had the other in a headlock, muffling cries of “splendid brother” still audible above the choking. They had stopped fighting, quickly realizing there was no music playing.
The ptero-wives rolled their eyes, Lucy dragging the portable boombox over to them as Fang pressed the “On” switch.
​
‘What a thrill…’