Actual Cannibal Justin Trudeau and the Weed Games

Ebola's Return

*Ash's POV*

I watch the screen of my laptop in my dark room, studying Trudeau's door and creepily zooming in and out. I may or may not have inserted a small surveillance camera into the depths of the wall.

I'm startled when the door suddenly flies open and Ebola comes crashing out, followed by a trail of loud silver tableware. She jumps around the hallway for a minute, wearing leotards on her head. I watch with a look of disgust.

"YEEEE! YEE! YEE!" She screams, her teeth clenched as she slowly turns to the camera.

"No," I breathe. She charges. "No! No, no, n-"

She smashes into the wall, cutting off my signal. I huff and close my laptop, hopping from my bed and running out into the hallway. I wind down the many corridors leading to Trudeau's overly huge room. I've never understood why it's so big...and we live in, like, bunkers. Anyways...

"Ebola! How could you break the wall with the sheer force of your golden haired skull?!" Trudeau shrieks as I approach. My eyes emotionlessly flicker from one to the other as I stand there silently.

"MMMM! MMMmMMM!" Ebola yells, her voice muffled as she tries to yank her head from inside the wall.

"You broke my surveillance camera," I utter. Both Trudeau and Ebola jump. He sighs upon realizing its just me.

"Don't sneak up like that, fluffy bump."

The gun slowly rises before he swoops in and takes it again.

"How did you get that I confiscated it," he mutters before chucking it over his shoulder into the messy room. He glances at Ebola, who is still struggling to get her head out of the wall. "Ehhhhhhhh I don't have time for this," he whines. "I should be sleeping or assaulting Ophelia. What is this foolishness, eh?"

"Pa-lease stop saying 'eh'."

"Look, Ebola. I will let you die in that wall."

"Pull her out, you mort!"

I lift my gaze to the roof where Ophelia, Rachel and Ginger are looking down. I guess they slipped through the tiles again.

"How are you in the roof?!" Trudeau screams, his hair shifting to...I can't even...imperfection. "And why did you call me a mort? What's a mort?"

"A mortician," I suggest.

"It's the note sounded on a horn when the quarry is killed," Ebola answers, still struggling with the wall.

Trudeau rolls his eyes.

"I don't care. Just get out of the roof and...drink coffee or somethi-"

"COFFEE?!" Rachel smashes through the ceiling tile, flopping onto the ground before dashing off for the kitchen.

"I'm in," I say with a shrug. I look up to see an empty black hole where Ophelia and Ginger just were. I hurry over to Ebola and yank her from the wall. "Let's go. Coffee for all. On me."

"On me...actually," Trudeau corrects.

"Whatever, let's go."

We head off down the hall in search of late night coffee.