Don't Zap to the Extreme - Campaign Synopsis

This is an Example of Play of Don't Zap to the Extreme.

Characters

Tavern Greil

• What Grinds Your Gears: Running around
• What Can You Do That You Can't Explain?: Parkay
• Why Does CWC Hate You?: He makes SLANDEROUS MOCKERIES of Mayor Chandler’s creations

Bob Fatmann, AKA Sammy

• What Grinds Your Gears: Large amounts of fat, including, curiously enough, his fists
• What Can You Do That You Can't Explain?: Transforming into a rotting fat version of Sonichu
• Why Does CWC Hate You?: For supposedly impersonating our autistic hero

Hank Venderson, AKA the Jerkhief

• What Grinds Your Gears: Ridiculous pain tolerance
• What Can You Do That You Can't Explain?: Police brutality; flies into a rage and can use all manner of weapons
• Why Does CWC Hate You?: He has a sweetheart and his name isn’t Chris, making him a JERK

Stan "The Pickleman" Bronswick

• What Grinds Your Gears: Ability to shit and piss himself on command
• What Can You Do That You Can't Explain?: Creates pickles
• Why Does CWC Hate You?: Creates pickles, which the Golden Mayor despises.

Pigeon Pijon

• What Grinds Your Gears: Looking good in any outfit
• What Can You Do That You Can't Explain?: Minor reality-warping magic
• Why Does CWC Hate You?: He just doesn’t like The Original Chris'tard Chandler very much

Chapter 1:Hank Venderson

It's a tough life being as handsome and good with the ladies as you, Hank, but someone's gotta do it. You've met with your current sweetheart on a lonely hilltop on the outskirts of CWCville - It's too dangerous to meet within the confines of the city. Somebody might find out, and the consequences would be...well, best not to think about it. As you sit, relaxed on the hilltop, a single leaf from the tree you're both sitting under spirals lazily to the ground. You feel a slight tremor from beneath you, but apart from that, everything is perfect. The city of CWCville is splayed out before you, and for a while, you can almost forget about the horrible, oppressive atmosphere that pervades the city.

The tremor becomes slightly stronger. The clouds above your head begin twisting into spiral patterns. Looking around you, you see the hilltop being...twisted. The land is almost folding into a different shape. A spiral shape, with you and your sweetheart at the centre. You hear an audible rumble as the tremor intensifies, and the sudden quake almost knocks you off your feet. Your sweetheart clings to you for stability, as great fountains of dirt are thrown in all directions around you.

Suddenly, without warning, your sweetheart is grabbed from below and pulled underground.

What do you do, Hank Venderson?

1-1: Player Reaction

Well, the ground just ate my gal pal, so I'm going to the cowardly but seemingly sane thing of running like hell. I've got three sanity, right? So, I'm going to add two madness, and one stress.

1-2: Campaign Response

If there's somewhere you want to be right now, it's anywhere but here! Abandoning your gal pal to her unknown fate - you've got plenty more, anyway - you try to make a break for it. At every turn, you're blocked by a sudden eruption of rock and dirt, the first of which almost knocks you to the ground as it erupts from the earth in front of you. You find yourself running in ever-smaller circles, as you're driven further and further back to the center of the spiral.

Whatever's there, you don't want any of it. Turning to face the oncoming avalanche, you run straight for it, hoping to punch through and make it out the other side.

What happens next is a blur of sound and pain. You hear what sounds like the whirring of a powerful drill behind you. You feel the impact of the stone on your body, as you crash through it. Barely conscious, you shakily run towards CWCville. The city may be bad, but you might be able to hide there...

Result: Player wins, Autism dominates. DM receives 1 coin in Pot of Fail.

Chapter 2:Pigeon Pijon

God damn that Chris. He's the one thing in your life you wish never happened, and you haven't even met the guy. Everything from your name to being stuck in this stupid, run-down excuse for a city is his fault. You can't even criticize him these days without being punished.

Still, there's one person who makes you feel better about the whole thing, and you're on your way to see him now! You feel like you can talk about anything with Jason. Jason "J-Twig" Twigganato is, on reflection, the only good thing about this city. If ever you need someone to talk to and vent your frustrations to, you can always count on J-Twig to listen.

You and J-Twig only ever talk about Chris, but it's so refreshing to be able to speak your mind about him to someone without fear of reprisal! You guess he must feel the same way about the guy, the way he goes on about him.

When you meet J-Twig today, however, something is different. You can't quite place it at first. Maybe it's something about the way he's standing with his back to you, he seems so...listless. So much less exuberant than the J-Twig you know. It's only when you get closer that you notice something really strange. He's standing in a puddle of water. When you approach him, he turns around, slowly. As he does so, a fly buzzes around his head and comes to rest on his arm. His blank, emotionless face stares at you, and a drop of water runs from his soaked hair down the side of his cheek.

"Hey...Pigeon. I've...been thinking...about the whole...Chris thing. We've had it...all...wrong..." he drones. "I've...met a really nice girl, who...showed me how...wrong I was. You should...come...meet her."

As he speaks, the fly on his arm alights on his ear, and crawls inside. He winces slightly as it does so, but it doesn't interrupt his speech.

He begins to reach out for you, to grab you forcefully by the arm. You begin to hear a buzzing sound, like a nest of angry wasps. You see rapid movement behind J-Twig's dead, cold eyes, as thousands of insects swarm inside his head.

What do you do, Pigeon Pijon?

2-1: Player Reaction

Meeting J-Twig was by pure luck; guy was new to town, or so he thought, the two of you meeting at some point in CWCville's high school - not that Pigeon wanted to think about it, considering the sheer amount of unpleasantness he had both witnessed or gone through during those nasty years. Not even a year and the two were practically best buds, hanging out after school and having what little fun could be found when you weren't a popular guy. Since, for some reason, his parents had made it clear to the rest of CWCville that they wanted a girl to begin with and their disappointment at not having one was amazing. J-Twig was smarter than any of these dumbasses, that was for sure.

Which was why seeing the guy like this was unnerving to begin with. But Pigeon was a calm guy. He knew not to mess with other people needlessly, so at first, he let J-Twig talk. The whole fly thing was weird, and it was weird that he was so wet, but holy crap did that fly just enter his ear

Eyes wide as the hand moved forward, Pigeon took a couple of steps back, keeping his distance and arms up. "Um, dude," he said, politely, "you know the local 'one girl per guy' policy, right? I mean, really, congrats! You found the girl for you and all!" At this point, the tone was a little too strong, as Pigeon struggled to smile. "I'd rather not get you in trouble by accident or anything!"

The redhead was already sweating. Bugs. His best friend was infested with bugs. It was all he could do to keep up the straight face and even then he already wanted to retch.

Horrible as it was, though, he was also terrified for himself. Pigeon didn't want to leave J-Twig to this horrible fate, he honestly would want to see his best friend again, but... right now? He was going to run. Fast.

2-3: Campaign Response

J-Twig moves forward slowly. "Not, it's...okay...she's not a...girl...exactly." As Pigeon turns to run, J-Twig's mouth opens wider than it should. A torrent of water spills out of it, and it's all Pigeon can do to keep standing against the current that starts sucking him backwards as he tries to run. He feels the sting of hundreds of tiny mandibles on his legs, and falters, losing his balance. In desperation, Pigeon grabs a drainage pipe hanging above him as he strains to keep himself from being sucked back towards the thing that used to be his best friend.

It's not enough. Pigeon feels his grip slipping, closes his eyes, and strains to hold on for his life. He feels a spark run down his fingers into the pipe, and suddenly the sucking pressure is gone. Opening his eyes, Pigeon sees the water around his feet, along with the thousands of small insects inside it, being sucked into the pipe faster than it was flowing from J-Twig. Eventually, J-Twig has no more left - His strength spent, the husk of what once was a proud man collapses to the ground, a tiny puddle of water pooling around his body and a solitary fly buzzing up into the sky, flying in a straight line as if it had a plan and purpose. Wanting to be anywhere but here right now, Pigeon runs as fast as he can away from the scene. Surely this wasn't real, right?

Result: Player wins, Autism dominates (+1 coin into Pot of Fail)

Chapter 3: Bob "Sammy" Fatman

There aren't many good places left in CWCville, but The Empty Fapcup Bar and Grill sure is one of them. The owner's a good sort - He knows what's up in this city, and knows how to fly just low enough under the radar for people like you to find him, but the authorities to miss him. Out front, it's all fine dining and country cookin', a perfect place for that first, second, or even third date (There's a room upstairs that can be rented by the hour)! A place where the Fanta flows freely, and the microwaves never stop turning out quality dining.

Of course, there's also the back room, for people like you. Smoking may be a "Dirty" habit, hell it may even be banned, but you've got a right to smoke yourself to death if you want to, right? Ever since the city's supply was sent to the moon, it's been hard for you to get hold of a decent amount of tobbacky at once, but your suppliers here keep you in pretty good shape, and they don't charge exorbitant amounts. The Empty Fapcup's back room caters to all vices that The Great Mayor has seen fit to outright ban, from alcohol to drugs. Nobody judges you here. It's a safe place.

That is, until today. You're sat in your favorite chair, enjoying your daily hit of nicotine, when your safe haven is violated in a blur of confusion and sound. It all happens so fast, you barely have time to register it happening

The window is smashed in with enough force to embed glass shards into the wall behind you, and a green blur flies through the place where the pane used to be. Wild Sonichu rolls across the floor, and in one fluid motion, grabs the throat of the man sitting next to you and slams him into a wall. Pressing his face up against the terrified man, he stares at him with his mad, bloodshot eyes.

"What's the matter?", Wild cackles. "DONTCHA WANT A BIT OF WEEEEEED?"

Wild throws his head back in uproarious laughter at his own hilarious joke, before holding the poor man's throat open with his hands and breathing a black, noxious substance down his gullet. He throws the poor man to the floor, who starts retching and coughing up thick, black bile.

Throwing his arms up above his head, Wild sends vines shooting out of his arms, attaching them to the ceiling and walls. With a final yell of "NO SMOKING, BITCHES!", and another blood-chilling cackle, Wild starts to pull. The walls crack, and the building begins to collapse in on itself.

What do you do, Bob Fatman?

Chapter 3-1: Player Reaction

Tossing his cuban cigar towards the green Pokemon, the morbidly obese Sammy covers his eyes and hopes for the best results from the action.

Chapter 3-2: Campaign Response

The building collapses directly on top of the stationary Sammy and the assembled patrons, none of which are fortunate enough to possess Sammy's robust nature. Sammy's large, rotund body is able to withstand the brunt of the collapsing building with less ease than would be comfortable. The crushing masonry almost chokes him, and Sammy is only able to survive by slowly and painfully assuming a kneeling position, where enough free space is cleared for his lungs to inflate normally.

From above him, Sammy hears the green Pokemon rambling to himself. "HAHAHA! Transformers! Buildings on your head!" The nonsensical attempt at humor is joined by another voice - a nasal, whiny voice, mercifully muffled by the masonry between Sammy and it's source.

"That's a good job, there, Wild Soni-Chu. We can't ha...we can't be having trolls like them around for the Sonichu Day celebrations. We'll be getting more loyal citizens to repluc...be getting more loyal citizens to replace them on that day, anyway."

"MMMMMHMHAHAHA, thank you, Father!", replies Wild Sonichu.

By the time Sammy has heaved his corpulent, yet surprisingly strong form out of the rubble of what once was a cool place to hang out at like a fat phoenix, Wild and his Father have long since departed.

Result: Tie (Player wins ties), Stress dominates (Stress increased by 1)

Chapter 4: Tavern Greil

Another day, another dollar. Not that you don't enjoy your work, of course, but being the original co-creator of an intellectual property as hot as Homochu is hard work. What started as a way to relieve stress turned into a cult hit overnight, and soon you had thousands of adoring fans metaphorically beating down your door for the latest issue. Not literally, of course - as soon as the Mayor caught wind of it, the publication was immediately outlawed. But there's something about Homochu's illicit appeal that makes it a hot product, one that people are very interested in purchasing under the counter.

As you climb the stairs to your office, you hear a sound from behind the door. A voice you don't recognize. It sounds female, but is just a little too deep, and slightly rough.

"So if you're not the creator, who is?"

You hear your co-creator, Mitch Anderson, respond. "I...look, he's some guy called Tavern Greil, I don't know where he is, just...AAAAAAGH!". The scream coincides with all of the lights in the building flickering on and off, rapidly.

Bursting through the door, you find Mitch face down in the middle of the room. There are scraps of pink and blue clothing strewn everywhere around him, the window is open, and the latest draft of Homochu #8 is missing from your desk.

Slowly, Mitch begins to stir. Your relief that your friend is okay is short-lived, as rising from the floor, he reveals a gaping hole in the middle of his face, electricity arcing between the widest parts. Slowly, he moves towards you, his arm outstretched and sparking.

What do you do, Tavern Greil?

Chapter 4-1: Player Reaction

"Oh, shit!"

Without hesitation Tavern turns a 360 and dashes for the door, trying to get down the stairs and out the building as fast as he can.

Chapter 4-2: Campaign Response

Turning around 360 degrees, Tavern finds himself once again facing the monstrosity that used to be his friend. Correcting his previous mathematics error, Tavern runs for the door, only to find his path blocked by electricity surging from the walls. With a wall of death in front of him that threatened to zap him to the extreme, and a nightmarish abomination bearing down on him from behind, there was only one option left to Tavern - The open window. As the body of Mitch Anderson made a clumsy, stumbling lunge forwards, Tavern vaulted out of the window, trying desperately to remember his elite Parkay methods.

After a terrifying moment of peril in which Tavern felt gravity exert it's cruel influence upon him, his feet mercifully found purchase on the vertical wall. Running down the wall as fast as he could Tavern dashed into the streets of CWCville, leaving his old life behind him.

Result: Tie (Player wins ties), Autism dominates (+1 coin to Pot of Fail)

Chapter 5: Stan "The Pickleman" Bronswick

Stan "The Pickleman" had, perhaps, one of the most dangerous and daring jobs in the whole of CWCville. He ran an illegal pickling business, an industry detested and banned by Mayor Chandler due to a pickle's apparent resemblance to ducks.

Stan had no idea how pickles are meant to resemble anatidae, but then again, Stan didn't understand a lot of CWCville's nonsensical "laws". One such law was the law about "Recycling" to prevent loss of "unborn children", a law that Stan had avoided following since the day he arrived in this strange, mad city.

Fortunately for Stan, he was not alone is his attempt to circumvent CWCville's most bizarre and quite frankly disgusting law. Within days of moving to the city, he'd found a friend in his best customer, Dave Dosh. Dave, too, found the law on "Recycling" objectionable. Every Friday, Stan and Dave would sit out in the sun after work and enjoy the cans of orange Fanta provided to every citizen, untainted by foul tastes. Flouting the laws in a place like CWCville could be daunting, but it was easier with company.

Stan always enjoyed Dave's company, but Dave often seemed distant and distracted. So, when Stan walked in on Dave seemingly involved in a passionate clinch with a strange, white-furred...erm...girl, he believed he may have found the reason for Dave's mind tending to wander. Stan wasn't one to judge - maybe Dave was just into anthropomorphic hedgehog-type women. With wings.

When Dave was released from the embrace, however, Stan wasn't so sure. There was a look of terror on his friend's face, seemingly frozen there. The mysterious hedgehog girl quickly took off into the sky leaving Dave to cough violently. As soon as he noticed Stan, Dave started trying to talk.

"Stan...Stan, don't come any closer." Dave could barely speak past his coughing fits.

"I can...I can feel them, Stan. She made me...Oh god, she made me..." Dave retched, clutching his stomach. "Stan, you need to run! Run now, or I'll...AAAAAAGH!"

As Stan watched helplessly, Dave's skin was pierced by hundreds, no, thousands of tiny white tendrils. His face twisted into a masque of pure agony, and he rose to his feet with a will that was not his own. Staggering towards Stan slowly, Dave was able to choke out a few last words. "Stan...go!".

Dave broke into a run, aiming straight for Stan, his arms outstretched.

What do you do, Stan the Pickle Man?

Chapter 5-1: Player Reaction

Stan is absolutely stunned and terrified by the display. He doesn't understand exactly what's going on but heeding his...transformed...friend's last words. Stan turns promptly around and bolts it.

(Adding one stress and one madness dice)

Chapter 5-2: Campaign Response

Stan freezes, not knowing what to do. For a good few seconds, he can do nothing but stare at Dave's transformed self in shocked disbelief. It's only when Dave is very close that Stan acts, on instinct more than reason.

Jumping backwards, Stan runs. He runs as fast as he can, in any direction he can find. He runs so fast, he loses himself in the maze of streets that is CWCville, and he does not stop running for anyone or anything. He doesn't even stop when he notices how he now has :briefs:.

Result: Player wins, Madness dominates (-1 reponse, Stan has 2 left)

Intermission One

As the 5 of you flee the nightmarish denizens of CWCville that have targeted you, you know it's not the end. The city of CWCville constantly shifts, it's streets twisting and turning to the most "Convenient" form at all times. That's why you always run into just the right person, that's why everything here is so damn contrived. The city itself twists to serve some unknown "plot", no doubt constructed by Mayor Chandler himself. As such, it can be completely expected that the next corner you turn could very well have you run straight into the waiting arms of the creatures you just fled from.

As the 5 of you round a corner, you run straight into 4 other terrified people, fleeing for their lives.

...fucking CWCville.

The game begins "properly" from this point, now I've done all your character intros! Introduce yourselves, talk, and decide your priorities! The night is drawing in, and CWCville is a hostile place, but you all know it's geography and the places you could go (Or at least, you hopefully do if you've read Sonichu). Good luck!

Tavern Greil

Tavern dodges back, trying to keep the four strangers in sight while looking for something to use as a weapon.

"Oh fuck! Don't you fucking get near me, you're not killing me too!"

Pigeon Pijon

Pigeon had never thought himself a good runner, seeing as how he had never needed it; his black suit was not exactly made for it, and besides, it was easier to lie and sneak around than it was to run. Better to just put on a new costume and make people think he was something else.

Which was why running through CWCville had been so surprising; he was still not quite out of breath, but he had definitely ran for longer than ever before, and at this point he was still able to run a little more... or maybe he hadn't run enough? The city was insane. And unfortunately, Pigeon was not paying enough attention to where he was going, just to get out of the way...

...which was why he collided right with a guy who, unbeknownst to him, had soiled his own pants. He fell to the ground, too dazed to get up at the moment.

Hank Venderson

Jerkheif looks around at the other's looks of distress. "What's got into all you mothafuckas? Oh, and did any of you see just see some really wierd shit, like the ground eating people?" He listens to their responses as he searches for something to use as a weapon.

Bob "Sammy" Fatman

Sammy takes a good look at his companions, sizing them up and determining their value as a meat shield.

"If you do please, would any of you happen to have firearms?"

The one in police attire was a keeper, for sure. Never sure when you need a bit of police brutality.

However, the other three were more useful as meat shields and distractions for the Chaotic Combo. Especially if they had to fight that green maniac again in close quarters.

Hank Venderson

The Jerkheif suddenly remembered that he had his service pistol. He reached for his holster to retrieve his M1911, only to find it empty. "Aw hell no!" He exclaimed aloud. "My pistol's gone!" Jerkheif frantically searched around, but found nothing. "Damn, I had a .45, but it must have fallen out when I was attacked." He felt around his belt for anything on him. He still had his nightstick and a pair of handcuffs. Like they'd be helpful against the horrors that dwelt in this accursed city.

Conclusion

Tavern, upon casting your gaze around for something to use as an offensive weapon, you see within easy reach:

A ridiculously large straw, thick and heavy enough to be swung with force. A strange lego-like creation in the shape of a torch, discarded in a bin. A HEXBOX controller in the same bin. Obviously someone threw it out before doing a 360 and walking away.

Jerkhief, you see within easy reach:

A plastic toy pistol with an intricate transforming mechanism. A plastic gitar. A belt with a ridiculous crayon-drawing-themed buckle.

Which do each of you take as your weapon of choice?

Chapter 6:The Streets Aren't Safe

As our shocked heroes take each other in, the sound of the loudspeakers all over CWCville that disseminate Mayor Chandler's divine edicts pierces the air. The heavenly voice of the Director is heard over the sudden silence:

"Attention all people in my command! It has come to...it has been brought to...it has come to my attention that there are trolls among us who are on the loose!"

The announcement continues to ramble on for about 15 minutes on various unrelated subjects, most notably how the Mayor is "Ever so lonesome". Finally:

"So, anyway, getting back to da main subject. Listen to me now, trolls. Just give yourselves up. You will be tried in court, and you WILL be found most guilty of...of heinous acts! If you don't give yourselves up within 10 minutes, I will...I will get everyone, at my command, to hunt you down MERCILESSLY! Patti will FEAST...on your SOUL....tonight!"

The Mayor proceeds to give your descriptions out over the loudspeakers. The streets are likely not safe for you any more - you'll need to find a place to hide. But of course, you'll need to agree where to go first.

Where are you going to attempt to hide?

Bob "Sammy" Fatman

"We need a vehicle, and fast."

Sammy searches around for any cars in the area, hoping that Jerkief and Tavern will hurry up from looking at all those cheap-ass dollar store toys. Hopefully, he can just kill anything resembling a Sonichu by running it over repeatedly it.

Of course, considering Wild brought down a entire building by himself, he will want to get something isn't a crappy Jalopy.

Stan "The Pickleman" Bronswick

'Ooof!' Stan's collision seems to have knocked him back into his senses, and now realizing the dirty crapped nature of his briefs mutters to himself "dammit, not again," before finally taking the situation in. 'Did they just describe us over the speakers?' He thinks to himself.

Shaking the cobwebs from his formerly madness-addled mind Stan speaks up, addressing everyone including the man he just collided with.

"We need a hide out where Mayor Chandler wouldn't think of looking for us, also..." Stan adjusts his pants. "...preferably somewhere we can obtain a change of clothes."

"Listen, I run an illegal pickling operation hidden in downtown CWCville and I don't believe it's been found out just yet, it may be our best bet to hide out there for now then figure out our next move for how the heck we're going to get out of this city."

Bob "Sammy" Fatman

"Sure, what the hell. Let's ditch these losers."

Following Stan, Sammy hopes he has made the right decisions.

Stan "The Pickleman" Bronswick

Stan, showing perhaps a bit more compassion than Sammy, stop and looks back towards the large African American and his two compatriots.

"You guys in?"

Taveren Greil

Tavern picks up the giant straw with a grimace. "We were going to put a joke about this in the next issue..." With a long stress sigh he starts to pace.

"Fuck, man, it's not like I have much else to do. I'm down for whatever you think's best, man, I just don't wanna end up like Mitch..."

Pigeon Pijon

Pigeon looked a little dazed as he was lying on the ground, the smell having been too much for the poor guy to take after that whole mess. After a few seconds clearing his throat, lungs, and whatever else it was of the smell, he pushed himself up, trying to use one of the walls to stand up properly.

He might've been dazed, but at least he heard enough to figure out the words 'hunt you down' and 'hideout'. The redhead coughed one last time, just to be sure, before speaking. "I might as well tag along... it's not like going home is worth shit to me anymore." Hell, for all he knew, his parents would gladly give him up to the Mayor for his 'oh so deserved punishment'. He was done with this place, that was for sure.

His eyes stopped on the many objects that were lying on the ground. He wasn't really sure how useful they were going to be, but he had always thought that if one gets a weird feeling about random shit lying on the ground, then either they had problems or the objects were legit useful. And honestly, he was pretty sure both cases would apply now.

Pigeon took the belt, figuring it was more his style, and checked it out. As it was, even if it was such a ridiculous buckle [so terrible he was considering calling it a buckley from how stupid it looked], his innately good clothes made it look good enough.

"Let's just hurry up before something else appears!"

Stan "The Pickleman" Bronswick

"Good, also if we smell a rat and my place has been found out I have a plan B." Stan looks around to his companions. "Remember those years back when BILLY MAYS managed to overthrow Mayor Chandler briefly then died under mysterious circumstances leading to Chandler retaking his Mayorship?"

Stan exhales deeply. "Well, in order to get the public on his side mayor Chandler had built the BILLY MAYS tower. What purpose the tower was supposed to serve is anyone's guess and once the public forgot about BILLY MAYS it was largely forgotten. It's likely abandoned. So if those freaks have taken my shop over we book it to BILLY MAYS Tower."

"Any objections?"

Hank Venderson

"No, I'm with you guys." Jerkheif replied. He picks up the toy pistol and slides it into his holster. It fits well. He takes it back out. So, this was it. He had a toy pistol, a nightstick, and a pair of handcuffs against god knows what. Jerkheif points the pistol at a trashcan and pulls the trigger.

Stan "The Pickleman" Bronswick

"Excellent, so we're in agreement. By the by mister, ermn, large African American fellow? I apologize but I didn't catch your name. Did you or your friend there with the large straw find anything else we might be able to use? I believe myself and this red haired fellow I collided with, sorry about that by the way, could use something to protect ourselves with and anything is better than naught I'd wager."

Hank Venderson

"Name's Hank Venderson, but around here I'm known as the Jerkheif. Glad to meet you. Now, I saw a plastic guitar, a HEXBOX controller, and a big chunk of Legos laying around in these bins if that's any help. As for me, I had a .45 earlier, but it must have fallen out of my holster when I got attacked by, well I don't know. I've currently got this toy pistol that doesn't seem to do anything, a pair of handcuffs, and a nightstick."

Stan "The Pickleman" Bronswick

"Thanks Hank, I'm Stan," grabs the plastic guitar controller from the bin. "I suppose it's worth a few good whacks. At any rate it's better than nothing. If anyone else wants anything I'd grab it now, we should be off soon."

Bob "Sammy" Fatman

Sammy, choosing the controller, wonders if it has any special powers of it's own.

Tavern Greil

Tavern shifts around some. "Shit, I guess I forgot to mention my name. I'm, uh, I'm Tavern. You know, like the comic guy?"

Hank Venderson

"Oh yeah, Homochu. I loved issue five!"

Chapter 7:The BILLY MAYS Tower

Moving as quickly as you dare through back alleys and people's gardens so as not to be spotted, you all make your way to Stan's pickle shop. What you see when you get there is not encouraging. The building is surrounded by listless-looking people in bright multicoloured uniforms, wearing faceless helmets that conceal their identities. As if that wasn't bad enough, a giant robot made almost entirely of go-karts looms over Stan's shop. The figures don't move, as if they're waiting for someone - or something.

There's also significant movement from within the shop itself, and you see Stan's entire supply of pickles being carried out of the shop and deposited into the foot compartments of the Kart Megazord. Clearly, this place is no longer safe, and so it's time for plan B - The BILLY MAYS memorial tower.

Slowly and carefully, you make your way there. The tower is in much worse state than it was upon it's grand opening. For a building so much fuss was made of at first, it's almost sad to see it in a state like this. The top floors have crumbled away in their entirety, leaving only the hollow shell of supporting cables and reinforced steel bar sticking forlornly out of the top of the remaining bottom 3 floors. This would most certainly be a good place to hide - But there's a more immediate problem.

Stationed directly between you and the tower are 6 men in tattered, faded uniforms. Their lapels read "PVCC", but the writing is almost unreadable with age. The six ex-Jerkops stand ramrod straight, occasionally turning to the left and right, no doubt on the lookout for "Trouble". Occasionally a fly buzzes around one of their heads only to disappear from sight suddenly, and as they walk they leave wet footprints behind.

You remember hearing that some of the surviving Jerkops were "Unbrainwashed" somehow. Is this what they meant? What did they do to these people? How did they do it?

And, perhaps more importantly in this situation, what do YOU do?

Tavern Greil

Tavern nudges Stan while eying the 6 men in front of the tower. "Those guys, you don't think they'd help us, do you? They look...weird."

The artist glances around the tower, trying to find some blind spot in the Jerkops' areas of patrol.

=Pigeon Pidjin

Pigeon didn't really share his name with the others as the group tagged along, mostly due to having stayed in the back. He hadn't exactly felt like speaking much, at the time, and the less he made himself seen the better. Besides, they needed someone to watch their back, and he honestly doubted the big guy - who smelled of tobacky, he was sure - was very good at that.

Although finding their way to the pickle shop had required Stan's leadership, there was less need for such when it came to the BILLY MAYS memorial tower. Everyone knew how to get there, and while the group stuck together up to that point, it was mostly for the sake of keeping each other safe. The state of the tower wasn't something Pigeon was unaware of, as he lived in a building with direct line of sight to the tower itself, but seeing it so close now just made its decrepit state look even worse.

He wasn't prepared to see the Jerkops in that state, however. J-Twig immediately came to mind, and again he saw his best friend turn into that monstrous water spout, a living hive...

"No... not again..." he groaned, eyes closed, shaking his head. "I can't believe it... not again! This can't be real!"

Hank Venderson

Jerkheif was relived to see the PVCC uniforms. His old comrades in arms! "Maybe they can help us" he thought to himself. Yet, there was something unnatural about them. They moved strangely, they dripped with water, the didn't talk. The hairs on the back of Hank's neck rose up. He didn't like this. Suddenly, the small man, J-Something or other, started convulsing and moaning "No, not again". Jerkheif turns to the man. "Yo, quite down, you'll blow our cover. What's wrong?"

Stan "The Pickleman" Bronswick

'...all those delicious pickles.' Stan thought to himself sadly at the sight of his beloved shop being looted by these fiends. But now was no time for such sentimentality, plan B it was, off to the BILLY MAYS memorial tower.

Once they arrived Stan was at first relieved to see the PVCC uniforms, being outlawed as trolls as he and his comrades now were perhaps they could find allies amongst them. The enemy of my enemy is a friend after all.

As he got a better look at them, however, his relief turned to dread. There was something off about them...something strange.

"Somehow, I don't believe they're going to be friendly." Stan replied grimly.

Pigeon Pidjin

Pigeon gasped. "Those guys... they're just like my best friend was when I found him..." he explained, shivering. "They're filled with bugs, man... and they're like, hoses for some reason. If they can, they'll open their mouths and..."

He wanted to puke. Oh how he wanted to puke after that. If only he *had* anything to puke out.

"Water comes out. Filled with their bugs. They're going to hit us and if they do it hurts and it's going to be bad." He shook his head. "We can't get hit. We... we can't stay here. We can't. We can't."

He wanted to run away. But run where? Their last hideout was screwed and so was this one. Was there anywhere to hide in?

Hank Venderson

Jerkheif shakes his head. "Damn man, hose people? Fuck." Jerkheif sits down on a nearby crate. "Earlier, the fucking ground opened up from underneath me and killed my girl. Just like that. I thought that was scary, but shit, I guess that's nothing compared to whatever the hell those...things are." Jerkheif stands up. "Alright, we need a plan C. What about the sewers? We could use them as a way to traverse the streets undetected. But then again, I don't know what's down there and I really don't want to find out without a flashlight and shotgun. We could try to put the poor bastards over there out of there misery, but they outnumber us and I really don't want to know what they can do. If we had some better weapons, we might be able to ambush them, but we've pretty much got nothing. Now, they do spray water, and I'd be interested to know if we could use that in combination with electricity to take them out. Like, tricking them into spraying a downed powerline or something." Jerkheif glances around the area. "We should probably look around for tools, weapons, anything that could be useful. Something like a crowbar would really be helpful. Anyway, back to our plan C. Now, who knows the area? I've been on a few patrols around here, but I don't know the area well. There's some sort of half abandoned motel a few blocks to the east. It's scuzzy, lawless, and inhabited by a whole shitload of shady types, but it's a place to hide. Prostitutes operate out of it, so members of Chandler's "inner circle" are frequent "visitors". However, they haven't cracked down on the place because it's where they're getting booty. I'd suggest the motel as a possibility, provided we can handle a few methheads and crooks."

Stan "The Pickleman" Bronswick

"Well, this is a fine pickle." Stan said. If it weren't for those things surrounding the tower it would be perfect. Always a monkey-wrench thrown into the plans it seems.

Stan groped his chin in thought. "Well, I hate to say it, but unless anybody has any bright ideas on how we can take care of those thing Hank's idea might be our best bet. While it may put us at some risk it's likely our safest option given the circumstances." Stan lets out a long stress sigh, "it's a pity too. I thought the BILLY MAYS Tower would be perfect."

Bob "Sammy" Fatman

"Let's move, before something jumps us. In addition, if we can find some items like boards and shit around your place...we can make much better shit than this trash."

Sammy thinks about improvised firearms, realizing that anything he could make would be of poor quality. Thus, it is a far better idea to exploit the disdain of Sonichus for pickles. Combining sheer bludgeoning force with the pickles that Stan had in ample supply ought to do the trick, especially if he had a large supply of jars to break and use for spikes.

Likewise, any form of steel water pipe could be used to make a variety of explosives for their five-man rebellion against the mayor. Hell, even sawdust was combustible. That is, if the same thing that had made the chief's pistol vanish didn't take effect.

Chapter 8: The Loneliest Road Motel

Coming momentarily