They slit their wrists and let the blood drip into a groove beneath the Cross.
It was a tribute—the insurance premium they had to pay every month.
"What is this dark sorcery?" Lincoln said, angrily tightening his grip on the chains.
"This is Health Valley," Roosevelt said, taking a deep draw from his pipe. "It's overrun by a health insurance beast."
The words had barely left his lips when the green Cross began to tremble violently.
A colossal creature burst from the ground.
It was the Old Monster of Claim Denials.
It was a tentacled monstrosity pieced together from countless Excel spreadsheets, complex liability waivers, and the skeletons of hundreds of actuaries.
"Get off my turf, you obsolete relics!"
The Old Monster of Claim Denials shrieked.
It whipped a tentacle made of documents covered in pre-existing condition clauses, lashing viciously at the four men.
"Die!"
Lincoln roared and launched himself into the air.
