Miss Pack-Stuffer ~ATH

Years in the future, years that may, perhaps, seem many to you but are actually not that many on a cosmic scale, a Haggard Pilgrim has found herself exiled to a lonely life in an alien land. Each day is a struggle against the elements, a war against the dead planet over what little means of survival there are to go around. The surest bet is always in the vestiges of her homeland, the sand-yellowed spheres that dominate the wind-torn wasteland skyline. She doesn't like going there. It reminds her too much of home.

Unfortunately, she has found herself deep within the bowels of exactly such a place. The emergency lights barely have enough power to guide her through the winding inner hallways, but she makes do. Still, it's dim and disorienting, and always there is the sound of the Ghasts, moaning softly in an endless agony and shuffling ever nearer.

Along her circuitous route, she's gathered a few packages of standard Nutrient Cubes – clear plastic packets stuffed with yellow marshmallow pucks – but a girl can't subsist on marshmallows alone. She's looking for a real score: fresh fruits and vegetables preserved in a Quantum Hypothermalizer Cabinet. She spirals her way inwards toward the center, the core of the facility, where such important things might be found. That is, if the Hypothermalizers haven't given out and spoiled all the food.

She arrives in a command center with two large computer consoles taking up one wall. The opposite wall is a mess of tubes, cables, and, fortunately, operational cabinets. She hurries to the far corner, smashes the release button on one of the Hypothermalizers, and catches a veritable fruit basket in her burlap sack as the brightly colored food comes tumbling out in a cloud of frosty mist. Apples, oranges, pears, cherries, and even strawberries – she's going to eat well tonight. The only problem is making sure they won't spoil in the hot sun.

As she's about to leave with her haul, the lights suddenly come back on in the chamber. Apparently, the Hypothermalizer was using a lot of power – with all of that diverted back to the main systems, the lights and computers have powered back on, along with the emergency alert system. The heavy metal security door slams down, sealing the Haggard Pilgrim in the room. Outside, the Ghasts begin to shamble their way toward the source of the loud sound.

For now, she's trapped here. Exasperated, but feeling it's time she had a rest anyways, she sits down on the tile floor and takes a deep breath. On the computer monitors in front of her, she spots something she never thought she'd see again – a fellow countryman, wrapped in similarly ragged garments and poking his way around a facility much like the one she's in. She hops up and rushes to the keyboard, searching for a way to communicate with him. That's when the other monitor catches her eye. It's something just as unexpected, but much less desireable.

It's that girl. The one who started this whole mess with her troublesome friends. The girl sits in her room sewing, blissfully unaware of the tragedy about to unfold. The Pilgrim had been exiled for predicting this misfortune, but now it was time to live up to her end of it. She began to type.

Kappa Beach .pce

By the time the shore was in view, Iggy's arms and legs burned. He had scoped out his escape route to this remote and uninhabited island, but he hadn't realized the Boondollars these invaders use as currency would have been so damn heavy! The loot sack tied around his waist felt like a rock trying to drag him down to his death. He was so close now… He just had to take a deep breath and push through.

As he got nearer, he saw a boon far greater than the one he had stolen: there were rocks poking out of the water, something he could cling to and catch his breath! There must have been a shoal or lagoon wall of some sort that he hadn't noticed earlier. He paddled forward energetically, his head bobbing above the water.

If he had looked down, he would have noticed that this rock was not what it seemed.

That didn't happen, however, and he scrambled up onto the slick, grey rock. It twitched beneath him. He felt the Killer Intent.

Hopping up at just the last lightning flash of a moment, he narrowly avoided a pair of swiping claws. He landed on the rock next to it. Iggy looked back and saw a hideous creature glaring at him, its face slick and green like the other Amphibioid races of Skaia's domain, but it looked nothing like any Frog or Newt that Iggy had seen. It sported a yellow, birdlike beak and a tonsure of oily, seaweedy hair around its bald, false-stone dome. Its yellow eyes flashed with a malevolent intelligence, despite the animality of it slavering over Iggy as its next meal.

The stone he was standing on began to sink. He leapt as best he could, considering how far beneath the water he'd almost gone. There was nowhere else to jump, so he bounded back toward the staring creature, though he made this jump an attack. He brought his foot down on the mutant creature's bald head, making a thick, hollow sound.

It didn't seem to faze the creature, but it pushed it under the water, just long enough for Iggy to bound off of it, far enough to start swimming. He was sure these creatures would be strong swimmers, but he was willing to bet on beating them. He felt rejuvenated by the encounter, and adrenaline surged as he began to paddle again.

He afforded himself only a few looks back, but after a while, it seemed they were losing interest in chasing this troublesome prey. His muscles began to ache again as he neared the end of his long swim, and by the time he finally trudged onto shore, he was exhausted enough to collapse on the beach, not even completely clear of the waves' wash.

As his mind spiraled toward darkness, he drew up old memories, monster stories his grandfather would tell him as a child. "If you go off meddling where it's not safe, you could be the next victim of the underlings of evil. Beware them, and beware the ones they serve."

Freak Attack .pce

acidReaction began pestering tuneHarmonic at 1:07 PM

Ryui puts his phone back in his pocket, his ominous pleas unheeded. Though, If Kato responded, he'd probably just try to convince Ryui that he's overreacting, anyway. Ryui knows that's just Kato's way of avoiding responsibility. One of these days, though, he's going to be right, and then Kato and their Okasa will eat their words.

He returns to looking at the mysterious trail of ash wisping its way across his kitchen floor, stirred by the warm, gentle breeze coming in through the open window. It's funny, Ryui doesn't remember opening that window, and he certainly doesn't remember wrenching the screen off and tossing it into the yard. It's definitely a sign of an intruder, one who was sly enough to sneak in only when Ryui left his Shootaman marathon in the adjacent living room to take a bathroom break. The ash (and he's sure that's what it is; he's smoked enough weed in his life to recognize the telltale salt-and-pepper smears) is the strangest part. He's been hearing sirens all day; perhaps it was blown in from one of the house fires that suddenly seem to be springing up around this sleepy suburb every seven seconds.

Thoughts now cross his mind of a serial arsonist. It's extreme, but it's better to be safe than sorry, in his opinion. He dashes into the dining room, where his paintball gun, related accessories, and spare parts are spread out on half of Okasan's antique dining table like it's his personal gunsmith workbench (the other half is, of course, covered by stacks and stacks of Magic cards). He grabs his trusty Tippman A5, which automatically allocates his Strife Specibus to Markerkind. He's not sure what that means; it must be from some game, but not one that he remembers installing. There seems to be a lot he doesn't remember today, no doubt thanks to all the weed.

Quietly, he creeps up the stairs, following the black ash stains on the carpet. He knows his paintball marker won't be enough to stop a crazed arsonist, but it should stun the invader enough for him to get close and finish the job with close-quarters combat techniques. He's played through this scenario a hundred times in his head; finally getting to put it into practice has given him a divine sense of clarity. His soldierly focus crumbles to pieces when he sees who's actually responsible for the break-in.

A little grey man, no more than two feet tall, bedecked in colorful plastic armor over some kind of purple uniform, trounces about on Ryui's bed, a lit Molotov cocktail in his hand. He appears to be looking around for the best place to throw it when he spots Ryui, gun at the ready. Ryui's trigger finger itches. Before he can assess any further, he fires a rapid burst of paintballs, which splatter his walls and bedsheets with streaks of yellow. The ASHEN IMP, as identified as such by the gaming abstractions now populating Ryui's field of vision, goes flying out the open window, bounces off the deck railing, and is vaporized on the rocks below, leaving behind nothing but some weird polygons that look kind of like Gushers. The Molotov cocktail bursts open on said rocks, burning nothing but a few stray sprouts of grass.

Nonetheless, Ryui rushes downstairs to get a bucket of water and put the fire out before it catches on the wooden deck supports. In the kitchen, however, he happens upon two more Ashen Imps raiding the drawers and cabinets, looking for materials to start another fire. Ryui takes no satisfaction in being right; it's going to be a long day.

acidReaction began pestering tortugaTerran at 1:23 PM

AR: so whats that game u guys are playing

TT: Oh, the one I sent this morning?
TT: It's called SBURB.
TT: I say "Ess Burb" but I think you can also say "S'burb" like suburb but abbreviated.
TT: lol

AR: yeah but like… whats up with it

TT: Oh, we're not playing until later, I think.

AR: nvm
AR: i don't think ur getting the question

TT: Did your bro tell you anything about it?
TT: You can play it with us, if you want.

AR: well i didnt really want to
AR: but i think he kinda roped me in

TT: Oh cool!
TT: Well, I can talk about it tonight when I'm off work.

AR: great

Dig Drudge ~ATH

The scorpions had always hated others. They don't even like their own scorpion neighbors, much less visitors from other planets. When the settlers came from Derse, they were instantly disliked. Some observers may have seen similarities in their chitinous, black exterior, a sort of common ground, but not the scorpions. All they saw was "too smooth," "not enough segments," "how can they carry on with no tail to speak of," and so on. They were like a dumbed-down version of the scorpions, like a doll a baby scorpion might carry around if they did such silly, sentimental things like that. It was a shock to them all when the Dersite invaders proved to be stronger and enslaved scorpionkind.

Now, deep in the tunnels below the surface of their desert home planet, the scorpions mined endlessly for the hexagonal rocks that the invaders used to power their war machines. One of these scorpions was named Stinger. It was a name he gave himself, as all scorpions do. He named himself after his deadly, venomous stinger, his favorite of his physical features. Right now, he was loaded down with a heavy rig of mining equipment, consisting of a massive mechanical drill and a tank of breathable air in case there was a cave-in or he broke open some sort of fissure filled with noxious gases. Stinger was surprised that the invaders wasted resources on implements to save their slaves' lives, but it went along with their insistence that the conquered scorpions be treated as assimilated citizens, that they live according to the Dersite laws when their day's labor was done. Stinger decided he would rather die than live in a society.

Mining was quite dull work – each new tunnel of rock looked the same as the others, save for the occasional random root vegetable growing out of the dirt. Stinger passed the time by imagining all the things he would do to his oppressors if he got the chance. When the invasion first started, the scorpions found that their stingers were useless against the hard carapaces of the tall aliens. Stinger gazed at the rapidly-spinning steel corkscrew of his drill and imagined it could actually do some damage to them… The only problem was pushing it – it was very slow work; the soldiers who ran the mines would see it coming from a mile away.

Presently, a stray Imp tumbled into the tunnel from a passage above – Stinger had cut out the floor from beneath it, it seemed. The Underlings were no problem to the scorpions. One jab of venom through their gooey flesh was enough to inflict a slow and painful death. Stinger was feeling extra violent at this moment, however.

He snatched the Imp by its dirty purple shirt and unwound the breathing tube from the air tank on his back. Stuffing the mouthpiece into the squirming Imp's gob, Stinger turned the pressure valve up, well beyond the safe limit. The Imp's beady white eyes flicked back and forth frantically as the air first filled up its cheeks, then its chest. It appeared at first to be taking a deep breath, but it didn't stop. The Imp inflated, ripping out of its shirt and expanding into a grotesque flesh balloon with tiny hands and feet writhing uselessly. Finally, it popped, coating Stinger and the walls of the tunnel in its black, ichorous innards.

Stinger felt good for the first time in a long while. He knew what he was going to do when he got back topside.

Gas Crisis .pce

tortugaTerran began pestering pastelPerfect at 12:40 PM

TT: Man, what is wrong with people?
TT: This guy at the gas station is whacked out for sure.

PP: uh huh
PP: totally whacked man

TT: Uh idk lol maybe this guy's on heroin or pills or something
TT: The way he's stumbling around
TT: Like do u know how to tell?

PP: how to tell if a person is on drugs?

TT: Yeah or like what kind

PP: i have no idea dude
PP: i am proud to say i have never seen a person on heroin lol

TT: Oh
TT: Sorry idk why i thought… idk

PP: haha ok

TT: Anyway, stay safe out there cuz it looks like he's not the only one.

PP: word

Well that was fucking embarrassing. Theo quickly finishes pumping gas into his run-down Geo Tracker and slaps the nozzle back onto the pump. The guy in question is currently vomiting black bile down the side of his own car.

A ghastly face pops into Theo's business. Its skin is pale, its eyes bulge with silent horror, and charcoal grey slobber drips from its lips. Theo is so repulsed, he doesn't even noticing he's referring to this wretched person as an "it". How monstrous they have become in their suffering.

They don't seem to be asking Theo for any help or spare change or whatever. They seem to be possessed by a singular desire to barf on Theo's work shirt. He doesn't have the patience to be polite to this whackjob.

"Out of the way, junkie!" he shouts, giving the pale, haggard urchin a good shove. They vomit instead into the bucket of windshield washer fluid attached to a nearby pillar. Theo quickly hops in his car and drives off, glad to be safely away from that horrendous display. He thought this was supposed to be one of those rich, upscale neighborhoods, but it seems everything is going to shit lately.

Dumpy Oaf 2 ~ATH

[I]

Frogbert set out into the swamp, crossing pools of shallow, muddy water, ascending the vines that draped down from the trees and cliffsides. His hands began to secrete sticky mucus, the perfect thing to assist his grip while climbing. As he hopped deftly across the branches, birds alighted from the trees, squawking off into the dense canopy of the forest planet.

It wasn't long before Frogbert began to hear the mournful cries floating through the woods.

Over the next stony ridge, Frogbert spotted a small group of the white people who had come roaring in on their machines and taken his family, his entire village, away to some unknown fate. There were two of the white soldiers, and they were on either side of some sort of giant, brown-skinned creature. Frogbert had never seen anything like it in these woods, though it seemed many such things were popping up today. The giant creature stumbled around on two legs, grasping at its neck with its hands. Frogbert looked closer and saw that the soldiers had poles, each with a rope on its end that had been looped around the bellowing oaf's neck.

Frogbert's cold blood began to boil with rage. He leaped to the next tree, working his way across the vines, until he was above one of the unsuspecting soldiers. He dropped down on top of the soldier, knocking him face-first into the mud. The pole slipped out of his hands, giving the creature room to move. The oaf pulled its body hard in one direction, and the other soldier lost his grip on his pole, as well, as he was tossed into the bushes at the far side of the clearing.

The oaf crashed off into the undergrowth, returning to the forest to which Frogbert believed it belonged. He was done letting these strangers storm into his swamp and impose their own forceful authority on Mother Nature's creatures. He was going to fight back.

Super Pack-Stuffer ~ATH

The Man in Pink fled across the desert, and the Exiles followed. The impeccably-dressed royal was in charge of their destinies in more ways than any of them knew.

While the exiles struggled to hold on to their meager resources, pacing themselves to reach the next outpost before their food and water ran out, the Man in Pink had no such difficulty. Everything in his life had come easily, and this was no exception. He sauntered up to the long-abandoned lab facility, its door conveniently located at ground level, and strolled into the dark, dusty interior.

Even the scientists who worked in these facilities used to have trouble finding their way around these labyrinthine complexes, but in his former life as the King of Prospit, the Man in Pink had seen countless blueprints of such facilities. Viewed in such volume, one started to see the patterns forming. If one wanted to find the mess hall and the freeze-dried rations sealed within, one had only to take the right passage after the hyperhibernation pods and then take every third left thereafter, except when a stairway is part of the second junction. Child's play, really.

Now down in the food storage facility, the Man in Pink delighted in his finds. It was a shame that there were no more servants around to dangle grapes into his mouth, but sometimes, a king must get his hands dirty. Reclining on a bench in the dining hall, the Man in Pink ate his fill, then stuffed the rest into his royal bindle, which he had handcrafted from a velvet curtain and brass curtain rod that he had ordered the servants to bring along when he was forced to evacuate the castle. It was beginning to tear and grow rather ratty. He would have to see about getting some fresh water on this barren planet so he could give his clothes a proper washing.

Now came the inevitable approach of the Ghasts. These horrible creatures lurked in the darkness in every facility the Man in Pink had visited so far, but he always had a solution. He had been saving them up, in fact. He fumbled around in his bindle and pulled out a large, bullet-shaped pill. Loosening his pantaloons, he inserted the suppository into his little pinched anus and immediately felt its effects beginning to take hold of his body.

With the strength of one hundred Chessmen, the Man in Pink began to slap holes in the swarming legions, their vacant faces and tattered clothes exploding to pieces with each strike like a balloon struck with a bullet. When his wrists grew tired of this boorish business, he crossed to the other side of the mess hall and flicked the wall. It exploded outwards, ripping through the walls of several other chambers before collapsing out onto the hot sand.

As the Man in Pink crossed through the opening he had created, leaving the Ghasts to shrink back into the shadows, he spotted a hidden vault that had incidentally been blown open. It spilled forth with an assortment of gizmos and treasures and valuables. Let the next forsaken soul to cross through take these, the Man in Pink thought. Sometimes, his magnanimity surprised even himself.

Dumpy Oaf 2 ~ATH

[II]

Not too far from the site of his first confrontation, Frogbert heard voices, speaking in a strange, rapidfire tongue. There were more bellows, accompanied by the clink of metal. Frogbert ascended a nearby tree to get a better vantage.

A much larger team of the white soldiers were leading a mob of creatures – fat beasts like the one he just freed, and smaller, devilish looking guys – all of them chained together in a great procession. The soldiers marched their line of prisoners into the back of some great vessel, made of some manner of shiny shell, but painted in eye-watering shades of yellow and pale blue. Where the prisoners were headed, Frogbert knew not.

Recklessly, he leapt from a branch above the procession, knocking down the last soldier in the column. The creatures turned as much as they could in their chains to see what the sudden commotion was about. The other soldiers began to shout at Frogbert in their strange language, brandishing their spears and small clubs.

Frogbert realized he was biting off a bit more than he could chew. He forced himself to turn and retreat, dashing back into the woods. The prisoners, emboldened by the sudden distraction, began to thrash against their restraints. Frogbert heard the commotion over the crash of the foliage as he raced through it, though he could only hope they had the power to break free on their own.

As the oaf tore into the soldier's carapace, crunching and squelching in a horrible way, Frogbert slipped out the door, too squeamish to listen to the gory sounds of revenge. He scarcely had time to wonder if he had made a mistake as he leapt the fence and darted back into the woods. The sounds of crashes and booms and metallic screeches filled the air as the freed oaf set about its single-minded business. Frogbert pressed on, not allowing himself to rest until he found the missing members of his vanished village.

Xerious ~ATH

From his cockpit high above the Skaian battlefield, the Enigmatic Harrier thought that, in spite of the fact that they were in the middle of an all-out war, the planet below looked quite peaceful. Fighter jets flew by in formations that resembled flocks of birds. A column of tanks thundering down the road could have been a caravan of farmers' trucks taking their produce to market. It wasn't serving him well to have these fantasies in the middle of battle, but wasn't that what they were fighting for? The dream that peace would return? If he wasn't able to dream of such things, then, as far as he was concerned, there was nothing worth fighting for.

He let loose a series of bombs onto the line of tanks below, blowing them to pieces.

And so the war continued. The Harrier concentrated on his training, and even in the heat of battle, everything went as smoothly as clockwork. He was meant to be a cog in the great war machine; that's simply what he was born to do, he never had any pretenses about this. But whether he fated to become an enigma, or if it was just the coincidence of events of this day that led to his strange destiny, he would never know.

The clouds above Skaia were always beautiful, fluffy, and white, but that's not all. They had a prophetic shine to them – that was part of Skaia's power, part of the reason Derse sought to claim it, no doubt. However, it was well known that these prophetic visions hardly ever appeared to common folks like the Harrier, and even when they did, it was customary to have an oracle of the Bishop's Diocese interpret the vision for them. It was quite a shock, then, when such a vision presented itself to the Enigmatic Harrier, played across the broad, white face of a slow-moving cloud like a projection on a movie theater screen.

At first, he thought the cloud had parted to reveal an approaching fleet of Dersite Battleships, but this was only part of the vision. It expanded, spreading across the cloud, to reveal a blood-soaked checkerboard battlefield, black and white and red all over. In this vision of the future, the war had completely ravaged Skaia. Buildings and trees lie in shattered ruins. Banners hung with ragged scraps of cloth. Great husks of Battleships smoldered away, turning the sky a burning orange with their pillars of smoke. Clouds of massive locusts swarmed like birds. And the bodies. Oh, the bodies. So many casualties on both sides, it was like seeing the crowded market promenade on a busy Saturday afternoon, only everyone was dead.

Not all appeared to be lost, it seemed. The bodies began to stir, rising slowly from among their fallen brethren. Prospitan and Dersite alike were caked in mounds of black sludge that dripped down from their heads and shoulders like thick mud. Their eyes, devoid of any sort of comprehension, burned with a white-hot hatred. They shuffled about, teeth gnashing, as they sought to continue their eternal goal of bloodshed.

The battle on the ground below was forgotten to the Harrier, transfixed by the detailed scene unfolding before him. Other clouds moved in to surround him, shielding him from the viewfinders of the other combatants until Skaia was done delivering its message unto him.

The cloud went black, making the Harrier believe it had suddenly become night. Stars sparkled on the backdrop as a golden streak cut across the vision of the empty Medium. It was a ship – a Prospitan Pawnfighter – his? The ship approached an asteroid belt: The Veil, the meteor belt that provided a natural defense for Derse. Would the Harrier be forced to bring the fight to Derse alone? No, something else began to unfold. The spaceship in the vision approached one of the meteors. Its image grew bigger, and the Harrier saw that it was dotted with white structures that seemed to be emerging from inside the meteor. He had never heard of such a thing – buildings inside meteors? The Veil, populated? – but it made more sense the more he thought about it. To believe Derse wouldn't capitalize on such prime real estate was naïve thinking.

The image swirled, and suddenly, the Harrier saw himself inside this meteor facility, at the helm of a large computer console. On the screen of the computer was another planet, seen from afar. It was a lovely mixture of blue and green, though it was not either of the blue-and-green planets in his own solar system – it was neither as green as the one nor as blue as the other. The Harrier in the vision typed something into the computer, and the viewport began to zoom in. In the center of one of the green landmasses, in a massive silver city, in a run-down house, an alien creature with soft flesh and a furry head tended to some potted plants. On these plants, strange insects crawled and fed.

Things began to click into place in the Harrier's head. These insects had to be the same ones he saw swarming the bloody battlefield, and surely, they must be somehow responsible for the strange transformation his fallen comrades had undertaken. It was more of a gut feeling than any sort of logical inference, but this seemed to be one of those moments when trusting one's gut was the way to go. Skaia did not show such images lightly. It told a story only when it had something to say. The second half of the vision was a message to the Harrier – it was up to him to prevent this tragedy, and the key to doing so was this alien boy from a far-off planet.

There was only one thing to do: the Harrier had to find the computer inside the meteor and contact this alien. He listed hard to starboard and swirled out through the clouds.

He was greeted by the broad, metallic side of a flying warship.

He yanked back as hard a she could on the throttle, sending him spiraling upside down in a mad arc to avoid the side of the ship. As he spun above it, he realized it only seemed taller than it was – in reality, it was a saucer-type ship, spread in a broad circle. Turret hatches along the outer ring began to pop open, firing a flurry of red-hot plasma orbs his way. However, from his overhead position, he was also able to see the bridge of the ship – a little glass dome smack in the center. He couldn't have designed a better weak point himself.

He flattened his trajectory as he rose over the center of the saucer. With the flick of a button, a bomb was released from the undercarriage of the Pawnship, careening into the exposed bridge and knocking out the entire saucer in a single strike. The darkened disc began to drift lazily towards the ground, spinning faster and faster as it descended.

The Harrier thought about the aftermath of the great warship's impact with the ground. The crash could probably wipe out an entire farmstead, not to mention the shockwave or the fires or the radiation from the broken machines… The surrounding area would hardly look different from the bloody battlefield he had seen in the vision from Skaia. He felt the rumble reverberate through the air as the building-sized warship smashed into the ground.

He couldn't stay here and continue to be a part of this violent bloodshed any longer. He had chosen to trust his gut, so trust it he would. He kept his ship pointed upwards, and soon the clouds grew sparse and fell behind him. The dark grey void of the Medium took over, and the stars of distant galaxies twinkled beyond. He made for the Veil, for the laboratory, for the boy who could save their universe from certain destruction.

Dumpy Oaf 2 ~ATH

[III]

Frogbert peered down at the white people's village from his perch on an ivy-draped tree branch. It was amazing how quickly their villages spring up. Frogbert had seen some frogs throw together a mean high-ground shelter when flooding season came, but their stick-and-twine huts were nothing compared to the shiny shells of the invaders' smallish oblong homes. They had even already begun construction on a fortress of stonemasonry, the bricks the same off-golden color that they seemed to emblazon all their gear with.

Frogbert had yet to see any of his fellow frogs among these various encampments, though he was sure that if these invaders were cruel enough to treat one such species the way they have, they wouldn't hesitate to treat the kind and peaceful frogs with just as much contempt.

He approached the settlement from the backside. A large silver cube structure stood in the middle of a square yard, marked off by a fence of some kind of metal lattice. Frogbert approached, hoping to hop the fence in a few quick bounds, but he stopped short. His slimy green skin began to tingle as he approached the fence – something powerful was in the air. The fence seemed to emit a low hum, punctuated every now and then by a harsh but quiet pop. Frogbert had a bad feeling.

He circled the fence more, looking for some kind of weakness. Some sort of box was mounted on the fence on the other side, so Frogbert began to examine it. It swung open easily, though inside was something Frogbert found entirely undecipherable. It was riddled with strange little bumps and nubs and blinking lights. Frobgert touched them carefully at first, then recklessly as he realized the box would not hurt him. One of the strange bumps moved, and all the lights stopped shining.

The feeling was gone from the air now, as well. Frogbert picked up a stick from the ground and cautiously tapped the fence. Nothing happened. Satisfied that he had somehow nullified whatever evil power was surging through the fence, Frogbert hopped onto the lattice and began to climb.

E.T.A. ~ATH

- Data Log Created at -0012:47 -
STINGER PARSONEL LOG

Es kayped from minnes. Mishun suck sess. Stoale datta pad frum gards. Will use to re coard prog rest. 2 freedumb!

NECKST DAY

Feading on Goshores candie like they fead us in mine. Taiste!

NAITE TAIM

Fell in too hoale. Stuk! Trapt like wrom! Eksept werm can dig freey…..

MOARNEEN

Caim two black Chest Man camp sit. Sauw him talken on Ray Deeyo. Then a spase ship came! Half to get Ray Deeyo.

LAITAR 2 DAY

May bee its hard to tipe with pincher claw hannds, but I am not so badd with masheenes. I snuckt in too Chest Man camp, i stoale the spair partes, i bilt my one Ray Deeyo. I scent a signole, and the drawp shippe is in bowned. I am on my waye too the Chest Man hoam plannit to dafete this evol armey of inn vayders! I leaf this reckerd bee haind so other skower peons may be inn spiyered to rize up! The pauwer of the ravalushen is in ower clawws!

Fienal sine off
~Stinger

Dumpy Oaf 2 ~ATH

[IV]

Frogbert made his way into the steel cube through a front door. The white soldiers had been so busy around their village, they hadn't noticed the little green Frogbert climbing the fence or crossing the short yard to the building. He was noticed, however, by the white guy standing guard inside the building.

They both jumped when they spotted each other. The white man drew his sword, but Frogbert was quicker. He jumped above the soldier's head (one of the things that made being a frog so great) and grabbed some sort of cord hanging from the wall. He wrapped it around the soldier's neck, just as they had done to their own prisoners, and tied it quickly with a snare knot. The soldier dropped his sword in his panic, fumbling at the rope that kept him pinned to the wall and threatened to choke him. Frogbert slipped easily under his flailing arms, snatching a large, jingling key ring off the soldier's belt as he passed.

Frogbert moved to the end of the building, where the largest creature he had seen yet was seated inside some sort of cage built into the very structure of the building. The hulking figure sat cross-legged on the floor, its thick arms draped lazily in its lap, its head hanging in defeat. It looked up as Frogbert approached.

Looking into its face, Frogbert could see there was some intelligence, though perhaps not a lot. It may have been more animal than person, but that didn't mean it deserved to be treated in such a way. Frogbert was no stranger to hunting – it was a way of life in the forest – but this was something different, something perverse. These white people were up to something sinister, Frogbert knew it deep in his vocal sac. He knew little about these strange giants that had seemingly appeared in the forest this day, but he felt no reason to distrust them. Looking into the oaf's pathetic, drooping eyes, Frogbert felt more of a bond with this creature than he did with the imposing invaders.

Frogbert slipped the key into the lock and swung the barred door open. The oaf stood, not gaining much height by way of its stubby legs, though it still barely fit through the cage door. It glanced at Frogbert with the slightest look of gratitude as it stomped its way to the other end of the building, where the idiotic soldier had nearly choked himself unconscious trying to rip himself free of the rope. He froze in paralyzed horror as the oaf came toe-to-toe with him, blocking his frail, cowering form from Frogbert's view.

Grassroots .pce

Nico stands on the front porch of the run-down party house on Shelby Avenue that he and his friends creatively refer to as "The Shelby House". Sun-and-rain-warped floorboards creak as Nico shifts uncomfortably, deciding what to make of the measly shrubs before him.

What before were tall, blossoming marijuana plants, the pride of Nico's neophytic gardening ability, are now naught but wiry, gnarled stems, the leaves and buds picked clean by a colony of roach-like insects currently swarming in and out of the clay pots the plants once called home. It's disgusting, but at the same time fascinating.

Nico leans in closer and examines the BLUNT-ENDED ROACHES. He doesn't care if that's the real name or not, as he's already started calling them that in his head, and it seems quite definitive to him. They're a bit square-ish, with black heads and brown bodies that fade to a creamy yellow on the back edge. They're neat, but they totally ruined the crop he was growing for 4/20… Nico's not sure he can forgive them.

pastelPerfect began pestering tuneHarmonic at 1:24 PM

Nico lets Kato in on the sad news. Kato's fighting some guys again… what else is new? He supposes he'll have to tell Theo and Ryui, as well, but there's time for that later. Right now, these fiends must be punished for their transgressions.

Nico rushes inside and grabs the can of Raid from under the kitchen sink, then switches his STRIFE SPECIBUS from Stickkind to Spraykind so he can WIELD the Raid. It's time to show these bugs who they're messing with.

Nico rushes forth in a cloud of chemical spray. A foul-smelling fog descends on the withered garden, lacing the Roaches with poison. When he considers it for a moment, he's probably doing more harm to the environment with these sprays than he is by removing this pest. Nico doesn't care. He takes a "scorched herb" approach when it comes to his weed.

His act of xenocide shamefully finished, Nico sits and ponders the future of his high hopes.

pastelPerfect began pestering untoDeliverance at 1:30 PM

PP: man… are you done yet?
PP: havin a rough time of it out here

UD: Huh? What's the problem?

PP: my weed bro!
PP: all gone :'(

UD: Oh, shit, what do you mean? Are the cops here?

PP: no… nvm man
PP: i just want to move on
PP: let's go check out the underground
PP: come on
PP: ;)

UD: Well, ok.
UD: The internet has actually been off again for a while now. I've just been working on what I can without it...
UD: But sure, I'll take a break.
UD: Meet you downstairs.

PP: :D