The morning was pitch black. Somewhere, deep in the heart of Siberia, a mountain of man stirs. It is morning, but the winter sun will not show itself for hours. Inside his shack, Zangief has awoken. He grumbled about his sheets being frozen solid. He killed a bear last night and slept in it, using its still warm insides like a sleeping bag. But now, 14 hours later it has lost its heat and the blood and guts have frozen solid around him. Still grumbling about the mild inconvenience, he flexed is pectorals, shattering the bear into a million pieces. Rummaging around the snow and bone covered floor of his shack, he finds his breakfast. Biting off the neck of the vodka bottle, he quickly downs the liquid…Deciding that a single bottle of vodka is inadequate for a man his size, he rummages some more and does it again. Satisfied with his blood alcohol level, he decides its time to wash. Heading over to the bathroom which is actually the corner of his shack with a wash basin, he begins to curse the metal pan for being full of ice. Standing before it, he begins to flex his absurdly large muscles as hard as he can, the sheer exertion of force and energy causes the air around him to heat up, melting the ice in his basin to just above freezing. Satisfied, he carefully takes off the only pair of underwear he has ever owned (stained red with the blood of bears and men alike)and squats over the basin. With a deep sigh he relaxes slightly and his massive, melon sized testicles drop from inside him into the water with a deep splash. He felt good as the ice water made its way into the steely forest of his pubic hair. As the flecks of caked on sweat, dirty and blood came free he notices a small white pebble…on closer inspection it was a tooth. He laughed as he remember the events of last night.
“You think you’ve beaten me?! Get ready for this!” Ken masters shouted. He knew he was close to defeat, but the rage burning inside him gave him confidence, he knew he had one last attack in him. Zangief smirked and began concentrating all of his power into a lariat. Ken seeing this opportunity dashed towards him. “SHINRYUKEN!!!” But almost immediately he knew something was wrong, he felt too light…he looked down and saw Zangief smiling. Somehow he had managed to dash in the opposite direction that he was focusing his attack. Ken, unable to influence himself directionally fell straight down to the Zangief waiting behind him. There was little he could do to stop the man from grabbing him from behind and suplexing him with all his might, sending hundreds of pounds of force into his skull. With uncharacteristic agility he flipped over in a single smooth motion and was standing above Ken’s head. “cheap bastard” Ken spat at him. Zangief did not like that. He was a skill character. Pulling his underwear to the side and relaxing slightly, he let his balls drop, Ken’s eyes went wide with fear. “No! I’m sorry! Anything but…” But it was too late. Zangief squatted with all of his might, sending the fleshy cannon balls into Ken’s face. Ripples of pleasure traveled through him as he felt his face buckle under the immense pressure of his sweaty ball sack. “no…more” Ken bubbled, his mouth full of blood. Zangief would have none of it and brought the twin hammers down again. Ken’s nose was now flat and his eyes deep red from the viscous pube scratching and burst blood cells. Zangief couldn’t help but laugh as he ravaged him again and again with his testicular assault. Eventually, Ken’s indistinct protests and feeble resistance stopped and he lay motionless. Zangief, satisfied with his days work said something in Russian about the power of his balls, donned his cape and left him there, laughing all the way home.
“Ah, good times” he thought to himself. Presently deciding that his balls felt minty enough, he gets dressed and heads into the woods.
The children of the Soviet Mercy Orphanage stood in the doorway, eagerly awaiting the return of their “papa”. Sure, he has a tendency to disappear for days at a time, usually reeks of alcohol and often threatens to crush their skulls with his testicles, they knew he loved them, and they loved him back and for most of them that was enough to ignore why all the beds were horribly stained and why nobody has ever been there for more than 3 months… The sun was getting low. He probably wasn’t coming today either…one by one the kids headed back inside with a dejected look on their face. Little Vladimir was about to give up hope when he felt the tiniest of vibrations coming from the ground. “Did you feel that?” He asked a girl standing next to him. She shook her head. Suddenly it happened again, this time with a barely audible thump. Both of them looked at each other and their eyes lit up. They quickly called everyone. By the time everyone had gathered back around the door the shakes rattled windows and the rhythmic pounding could be heard quick easily.
"…third wave, flying, repeater, ultra…“
The children strained their eyes towards the horizon. Little Vlad caught a glimpse first. “THERE HE IS! THERE HE IS!”
”…grand fission, nuclear punishment…“
The children’s clamor grew as they saw their hero suplexing his way across the tundra
”…black ice, spinning, wild, death bringing…“
The figure lept hundreds of feet into the air, spinning wildly, momentarily eclipsing the low lying arctic sun.
With an explosion that knocked many of them back and shattered what few remaining window were left in the orphanage, he landed before them. “Dinner is served!” he shouted. Before him lay what was a bear he caught in the forest by his shack. After suplexing it across hundreds of miles of tundra, the fur, teeth and claws had long fallen out, its bones liquidized and its muscles now soft and chewy. The children swarmed around it and pulled it apart with their hands and teeth, like a bear flavored string cheese. Zangief watched with great interest as the children gradually became covered in the bear’s blood and entrails. He did not realize it, but he was smiling ear to ear. “Yes…that’s right…grow big and strong…” He said, as a tiny ball of saliva fell from the corner of his mouth. “Oh papa Zangief! We’ve missed you so!” said little Vladimir, now glistening with blood. Zangief let out a hearty laugh and began to lead them inside. "I’ve missed you too"
They did not see him lick his lips as he barred the door shut.