FYI, any use of “moderator,” “mod,” or similar forum-type terms in the following is just for story purposes. If you missed the AN on top, it's not satirically portraying the RRL mods either.

[center] Omake (Non-Canon): XxVoidCowboyxX (Moderator: Brockton Bay) [center]

Richard Greene woke to the strident blaring of his alarm and stumbled downstairs. His teenage son, Jon, was already dressed for school, tapping away at his cell-phone while waiting for his father to make breakfast. Richard believed in family time, especially after his wife passed (cancer), and made sure to wake up at the ungodly hour of seven AM each morning to make sure Jon got a good start to the day.

He blearily made his way to the fridge, opened, and still on autopilot tried to take out the package of bacon. But, strangely, he couldn’t move it. Focusing a bit more, he looked down at the bacon. Plastered over the sweet fat and salty goodness was a massive warning:

[Inappropriate Content - Gore]

“What the hell?” he asked himself aloud.

His son unexpectedly answered him. “Oh ya, the bacon,” Jon said. “That’s been banned by this new cape, Void-Cowboy.”

“What?” Richard asked, too tired to properly process this.

“This kid, Void-Cowboy, became a cape last night. Apparently he got dinged so many times on PHO he went nuts, and triggered with the powers of a moderator in real life.”

Richard took a moment to process that. “How does that translate to no bacon?”

“Apparently, it’s gore. Animal flesh. Moderator – that’s his cape name, by the way – banned all gore sometime around three AM according to some all-night convenience store workers.”

Richard sighed. “BLEEPING capes… it’s breakfast meat. Wait, what the BLEEP?”

“You can’t swear either,” his son said, mildly amused.

“Oh for BLEEP’s sake… BLEEPING capes, if it’s not one thing it’s another. I guess it’ll have to be an omelet this morning.” Richard reached for the eggs, cheese and milk, took them out and put them on the countertop. He then took out a metal mixing bowl, and tried to crack an egg on it’s side.

It didn’t crack.

He tried harder. It still didn’t crack.

He put the egg, back, took out another, and tried again. Still, no crack, not even when he was smashing the egg as hard as he could. The metal was clanging loudly, and even dented slightly.

“What the…?” he said softly, peering at the egg. Jon burst into laughter at the clownish scene.

After a few seconds, Jon was calm enough to speak. “I forgot,” he said, still gasping. “Eggs are unborn children, they’re considered gore too, so now you can’t break them open.”

Richard facepalmed. “Does this idiot even realize these eggs aren’t fertilized?”

“Apparently not!” Jon replied, still laughing a bit.

Richard sighed again, then put the eggs and milk back in the fridge, taking some bread out to make grilled cheese instead. “What are the heroes doing about this? Wait, don’t tell me. Nothing, as usual.”

“Pretty much. That cape, Badass, announced she was going to hunt him down and end his tyranny.”

“The one that killed all those Nazis?” Richard asked rhetorically. “Thank God. I don’t know that I could take much more of this.”

“Ya, well, don’t get excited too early. Apparently this morning Badass became a tank of all things, a Panther from WWII,” Jon said.

“Wait, wasn’t that a Nazi tank?”

“I know, ironic right? But Moderator declared her a bot, and froze her.”

“Of course he did,” Richard moaned, depressed at the thought of so much mod!cape inflicted misery. He took out a cast-iron pan, cut a piece of butter onto it, and placed it onto the stove. He turned the gas on, and heard the *tick tick tick* of the ignitor as it failed to light the gas.

“Jon, why isn’t the stove working?” Richard asked, his anger mounting.

“Moderator banned any flames,” his son replied. “I forgot to mention that, sorry. Also, the heat’s off.”

“BLEEP it,” Richard tried to swear. “I guess I’ll just make us some granola.”

He lovingly made two bowls up with toasted oats, some cracked rice, mixed nuts, dried raisins, cherries and blueberries, and sliced up half an apple and a banana into each. He put Jon’s bowl in front of him, sat down, and reached for the milk before pouring it over his bowl of granola.

[Inappropriate Content - Lewd]

“Let me guess,” he muttered. “Milk comes from BLEEPS,” he winced a bit at the reminder of oppression, “which are lewd?”

Jon nodded. “That’s my guess.”

Richard sighed once again. “BLEEPING BLEEPING BLEEP-hole. This, this is why we can’t have nice things. Pack a bag; I’ll call the school. We’re going to visit with Grandpa for a week or two.”

Jon winced. “That might be a bit difficult. Cars won’t start because of the “flaming” thing. And even if they could all the bridges are shut down.”

“What? Why did this idiot shut down the bridges!?”

“Best as the internet can tell, it’s because trolls live under bridges. And there’s no trolling. Same thing with underpasses and tunnels; they’re apparently considered anti-bridges, and so have anti-trolls, which includes the word “troll,” so…”

Richard grit his teeth. “Fine,” he hissed. “Pack light. We can walk. It’s only a couple miles to the city limits, and Anthony has that sailboat to get over the river. I’ll call Grandpa, he can pick us up. But we are getting out of this madhouse.”