Editing Crusade for the Black Parade

<nowiki>[[This is a companion fluff story for the /tg/ homebrew game Server Crash.]]</nowiki>

A group of /b/arbarians are gathered around a fire, quiet in the wilderness, for they can not make too much nuisance of themselves lest those with infinitely greater power are tempted to smite these insects. As they sit, staring into the flicker of a fire.gif, one who has been watching his feet in their dead silence of nearly thirty minutes lets out a quiet chuckle, a sigh, and speaks, slowly, as if dragging words from a time lost, now but an ideal of a hope of a dream.
"When I was..." He peters out. He feels nothing anymore. But then another speaks, slowly at first, continuing in a quiet rasp.
"A young boy..." Another speaks.
"My father," And another-
"Took me into the city"
"To see a marching band."
Some look up, hollow eyes brightened with a grin, the newer recruits and slowly integrating captured wondering just what these men were doing, and some of the /b/arbarians starting to sniffle, to be comforted by their comrades.
They began to sing.
"He said, 'Son when, you grow up,
Would you be the savior of the broken,
The beaten and the damned?'
He said, 'Will you defeat them,
Your demons and all the non-believers,
The plans that they have made?'
'Because one day, I'll leave you,
A phantom to lead you in the summer,
To join the black parade!'"

The voices rang across the desolation, and was felt through links of links it was so loud. The hundreds, the tens of hundreds were all singing, those who knew crying out proudly, and those who didn't picking it up as they went along. The wastelanders were attracting attention, and the only kind of attention out here was the kind which left no corpses to be found, but they continued to sing on. Taking up their ax.pngs and claymore.jpgs and partyhard.exes, they began to march, continuing their song with each footstep. As beasts began to lumber from the depths, the /b/erserkers grinned wide, lowered their shields, and began with a five thousand cycle maelstrom of flying bits and broken viruses what would be called the Crusade of the Black Parade, searching for the mp3 that would become their warcry.