Earth.
Yeah... this is fucking Earth.
The only planet where the dominant species invented Wi-Fi, nukes, and OnlyFans — all on the same timeline.
Where 70% of the surface is water, and yet, someone's still thirsty.
Where people kill for some green, lie for love, burn forests for burgers, and work ourselves into the grave.
This planet is a walking red flag.
But none of that matters to our protagonist.
Because this story? It starts in a forest.
Not just any forest — this is the Green End.
A place that, like its name, has brought many lives to their end.
But death isn't the only thing that goes down here.
Sometimes people do too.
We could also call this place Virgin End.
For runaway teens, homeless wanderers, or broke couples too cheap to get a motel, this forest is paradise.
Fresh air, the sound of a stream nearby… it's nature's budget bang spot.
But what's paradise for lovers... could be a graveyard if you're caught up in the wrong business.
People say, somewhere in this forest, the soul of the dead gets reborn in a young woman's womb.
Sounds like some reincarnation shit, huh?
Every crime leaves behind a trace.
Ropes, knives, bullets, plastic bags, used condoms, a lone sock, and if you're really lucky — wet underwear.
And let's not forget the poop.
Yes, actual poop.
This… is what our main character left behind.
Right now, he's squatting, munching on grass, mid-poop.
A reminder that all production processes start the same: input, process, output.
His name? Deeer.
Yep. With three E's.
The author got lazy naming him — probably never had a pet fly, let alone a deer.
Deeer lives a simple life: Eat. Poop. Repeat.
But recently, he's got a new goal.
He's got his eye on the doe hoe of Green End forest.
He wants to smash.
But also… he likes to watch.
Yeah, like a furry cuckold with antlers.
He can't jack off — not enough brain cells to figure it out.
Maybe he could try grinding his weiner between his legs…
But let's be honest — Deeer's IQ is somewhere between grass and mud.
Today, he's just watching her from a distance.
Maybe thinking, "Who's she gonna bang today?"
But he's not the only one watching.
Behind a tree, someone else is lurking.
A man.
Holding a Remington 700 rifle.
And while Deeer is thinking about fawns and fantasies…
BANG!
The doe hoe — brain-dead before her last moan.
Maybe she'll get reincarnated again in lady's womb… unless someone hits the abortion clinic first.
Deeer doesn't even realize she's dead.
Still staring, lost in his filthy fantasies.
Is he… a necrophiliac?
Possibly.
But his kink gets cut short.
Footsteps.
Crunching leaves.
The hunter approaches.
"Damn, nice catch. Wish it was a buck though — antlers sell better."
He hoists the body onto a cart and heads back to camp.
Deeer follows.
Not with grief, but with curiosity.
His eyes locked on the trail of blood like it's barbecue sauce. Maybe he licked it, who knows.
Back at the camp, the hunter starts prepping the corpse. The first thing that caught Deeer's eye wasn't the corpse of his beloved doe — it was a brown tent.
Deeer sneaks into the tent.
Finds a nude woman sleeping.
Licks her face. His tongue rolls out like a flag of surrender.
Then he pokes around her bag.
Gets his antlers tangled in a bra and a thong.
Fashion-forward and freaky.
Outside, Deeer spots a bag of chips.
Crunch. Munch. Delight.
Only problem? His tongue burns.
He's only ever licked salty deer cooch. This is new spice territory.
Panicked, he gulps down a cold beer from the cooler.
That's when everything changes.
Colors swirl.
Time slows.
A ghostly image of a twerking deer haunts his vision.
His muscles tighten.
Just as the hunter finishes his prep, he turns around —
Sees Deeer, drugged up and dancing like he's at Coachella.
"Damn, the prey came to me. What a lucky day."
He grabs his rifle and fires!
MISS!
Deeer vanishes.
Then —
"Yo, bitch. You missed."
Deeer appears behind him.
Punches him in the gut.
The hunter slams into a tree.
At that very moment, a massive, muscular deer was standing in front of the hunter. The hunter couldn't believe what he was seeing. A deer. A goddamn deer.
The strangest part?
The deer was talking.
And it had hands.
With four fingers.
"You really tried to shoot me? With a gun? That's not hunting, that's violence, you cross-eyed clown."
"If you really wanna hunt… let's go bare hands. Mono e mono. That's real shit. Huh?"
"I-I'm sorry. I need a doctor. Can I go?"
"Oh, what kind of reckless bastard talks like you?
You don't get off that easy, you motherf*ckin' murderer. You killed my girl."
"You get two choices. Pick one."
Hunter nods nervously.
"One — I slap you 10 times.
Hard.
You might not survive it from a half.
Or…
I whisper the second option into your ear."
Hunter gulps.
"Yeah, no way you're surviving after getting slapped by this bastard.
Guess I'll take the second one…"
Deeer leans in.
Whispers something unholy.
The hunter's face goes pale.
"Well? What's your choice?"
"…Fine. I'll take option two…"
Deeer grins.
Another beautiful day of Earth.
Somewhere in the Green End forest, a tree shakes. Birds perched on its branches scatter in panic. Maybe it's illegal loggers.
But instead of the sound of chainsaws or axes,
a different noise is heard.
You hear—
"Oh, oh, OH! Make some noise, bitch!"
"Okay! Ohh! OHHH!"
"Look at me, you cross-eyed bitch!"
"Alright!"
"Oh, oh, OH, AHH"
"AHHH! AAAA! MAMAA!!"
Somewhere in Green End Forest, a man lost his virginity.
His backdoor virginity, to be precise.