Clyve's Important Mission (Part 1)

The man whimpered pathetically as he tripped down the steps in front of the plain looking building. He dropped his bag, which was an old dirty paper sack from Gurche’s Grocery. It ripped open as it tumbled down the steps, sending the contents spilling all over the dirty bricks. As he crouched over to gather his excessive collection of the book “Don't Forget to Breath: A Collection of Useless Life Reminders That You Already Know”, of which he had at least 6 battered copies of that he carried around daily, his nemesis Stive Krillson happened to walk out of the building.

“Nice work, CLYVE. You better hurry home before I burn your house down! HA!”

“Leave me alone, Stive! I'm only trying to make a buck for good fortune!” Clyde pleaded. But it was too late, the damage had been done. Clyde's feelings had been crushed. He carried his books in his arms, dropping them every few steps and picking them up again. He also kept losing his glasses, which only had one earpiece left, as the other side had melted in a fire, the fuel for which was his former cat Roxy.

The night came on quickly, as the smog in the sky covers up Celari, the dim blue sun that provides most of the daylight. This left Clyve stumbling home in the dark along unlit alleys and shit-covered sidewalks. He cried in dry sobs the whole way there.

When he finally reached his house, he reached in his pocket for his keys. However, he failed to remember that his only pair of pants, which were stitched together out of uncountable types of fabric, had a large hole in the pocket. He always put his house key in that pocket, but as he reached for the key his eyes widened as he realized for the 30th day in a row that it was not there. Damn! He would have to stay up all night sculpting another one out of scrap metal.

Clyve's Pants

Clyve closed his eyes and pathetically punched at the glass in the front door, which he had to keep replacing because he always broke it to get into his house. Glass was expensive around these parts; he had to hop the fence to get into the Black market down at the pier and buy it from Gretta, the only glass dealer he knew of. He generally spent his entire paycheck from the check firm, where he worked 4 days a week from 3-3:30pm, on replacing the glass to his front door. It would probably be more cost effective to just buy a new pair of pants with a quality pocket, but he just never got around to it.

As he walked over the pile of broken glass in the doorway, which consisted of 30 days of glass that he had not yet cleaned up,his mother yelled from the other room.

“Who’s there! I have a police!” she threatened.

“It’s just me, mother!” Clyve said. There was a pause for a moment.

“I don’t know any me! You got 6 seconds to get the hell outta here!” she shouted. Clyve ignored her and walked into the sofa room, where his mother sat stationary on the dirty sofa. She said nothing as she stared blankly at the dark wall. Large flies with human faces buzzed around the ceiling.

In the kitchen, Clyve searched for some food. He opened the stained cold box that had long ago lost its function to keep anything cold. A large insect with a shriveled human head growing on its back ran out from inside and under the counter.

The only scrap of food he could find was an old army ration cracker on the floor. He wondered how many soldiers’ pockets it had gone through to get here as he nearly broke his teeth trying to chew it. After he had finished his meal, he curled up on the kitchen table and cried himself to sleep.

He woke up 3 hours later to the daylight pouring in through the windows, despite being covered in newspaper. (It is important to note that Clyve’s watch has never functioned properly so this is only an estimate of time. It might have been less than 3 hours.)

He didn’t have to go into the check firm today to work, so he just walked outside. The heat was already visibly radiating off of the cracked pavement with weed showing out of it. Clyve groaned dramatically. Even though this was the typical weather around these parts, he acted like it was the worst thing ever. He turned around and went back inside the doorway to grab his radiation goggles. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the shards of broken glass that littered the ground.

“Lookin’ sharp, Clyve!” he said aloud, to no one in particular.

Outside, a place filled with corpses and radiation

Clyve walked down the street. He passed by many abandoned houses with holes in the roofs and boarded up windows. Nobody else lived on this street. He didn’t blame them, it wasn’t a very pleasant place to live.

At the end of the street, Clyve took a left. He didn’t know what the name of this street was, as the sign had been beaten to the ground and painted over many times. He stopped for a moment on the corner to admire the view. There wasn’t much to see except for some burnt down houses and dead plants. The air smelled strangely like rotting meat. It was a completely normal day.

As he stood on the sizzling pavement, Clyve noticed an unpleasant sizzling sensation in his feet. He lifted his foot to take a look, and observed that the ground had burnt right through his shoe! Angrily, he ran to a nearby house that looked like it hadn't been completely destroyed yet. The way he ran was similar to that of a one legged kangaroo on steroids.

The door was boarded shut, so Clyve took a few steps backwards and stomped his foot in the dirt a few times like an angry bull. Then, he ran full speed towards the door.

A house, in relatively good condition as far as the standards go in these parts

It didn't work out like he had planned in his head. He made contact with the door and bounced backwards 15 feet like a chunk of brain hitting an electric fan, landing in the dirt. As he tried to catch his breath, he heard the door creak open.

“Who there” said a creepy voice. Clyve looked up suddenly, startled as he was used to being alone all the time. He said nothing as he stared open-mouthed up towards the dark figure that peered out of the cracked doorway. As he lay there, the door opened a bit wider and four tiny figures scurried out. They ran over to him, each one lifting a corner of his body to carry him inside the house. He squirmed around as he realized what was happening, but was unable to escape. This was likely due to his lack of any muscular mass and years of malnutrition.

The tiny figures, dressed in dark robes without any obvious facial features, carried Clyve into the doorway then dropped him suddenly on the hard wooden floor. They ran in a single line into a small hole in one of the walls, disappearing from view.

“Well then, what do we have here?” said the same raspy voice he had heard before. Glass crunched as the hooded figure stepped into view above Clyve, who was still lying on the ground. This person looked exactly the same as the little things that had carried him in here, only in regular person size.

The figure before him wore a baggy black robe with an oversized hood that concealed his entire face. He stood above Clyve motionless without saying a word.

“Greetings” muttered Clyve, it seemed like the appropriate thing to say in this particular situation. The hooded menace still said nothing. He reached into a pocket on his robe, fumbled around for a bit, then whipped out a small vial filled with some sort of concoction. He slowly screwed open the vial without diverting his gaze away from Clyve, then dumped the contents directly into Clyde's mouth. It tasted horribly bitter for several moments until he felt very relaxed and fell into a deep coma-like slumber.

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Clyve was woken by a tingling sensation on the tip of his nose. It was horribly unpleasant, sort of like an extendable hairbrush tickling his nose. He opened his eyes groggily to find the hooded menace from before tickling his nose with an extendable hairbrush.

     “Would you please stop tickling my nose with that extendable hairbrush?” pleaded Clyve. He tried to raise his hands to deflect the unpleasant tickling, but realized that his arms were tied to a chair. They weren't even in a comfortable position to be tied in, his left arm was tied facing upright to the the opposite handle on the chair and his right arm was tightly secured to the back of the chair.

The man continued to tickle his nose for a few moments as if he was gaining some sort of demented pleasure out of the task. Then, he dropped the extendable hairbrush and in one motion dropped his hood to reveal his face.

The man beneath the hood was not at all what Clyve was expecting. He usually tries not to build up expectations about new people so as not to feel disappointed at any point, but he couldn't help but imagine an image of the face of his mysterious dark hooded abductor beforehand.

The man was small, much smaller than his oversized robe originally made him appear. His skin was pale, nearly transparent. His head was void of any hair, save for one uncomfortably long strand of wirey silver growing off of the right half of his face. His nose was a perfectly pointed triangle shape.

“My name”, he grumbled in a gargled tone, “is Boozok”. He followed this with an awkward bow as if Clyve was supposed to be impressed or something. Clyve stared at the strange man in silence. After a moment, Boozok cleared his throat.

“Why have you disturbed my secret lair, young heathen?” he asked.

“Uh. . . the ground was hot” Clyve answered. Boozok considered this for a moment, then:

“Unacceptable!” he shouted, growing suddenly angry. He walked to a nearby table, picked up a small plastic cup, and threw it on the floor as hard as he could. It was admittedly not very intimidating at all.

“Wha.. what are you gonna do to me?” Clyve whimpered.

“I will have to consult my wife on this matter” replied Boozok. “Shelly, what do you propose?” Clyve craned his neck as far as he was able in his uncomfortable position, but failed to spot anyone else in the room. In fact, the only other visible living creature was a potted plant with brown leaves in the corner.

“Hmm, interesting thought, my dear.” Boozok said. It was clear now that he was addressing the plant. He looked back at Clyve, then back at the plant.

“Oh, how rude of me! Prisoner, this is Shelly, my beautiful wife” Bookzok gestured to the plant in the corner. Clyve did not know how to respond, so he just stayed silent.

“How dare you disrespect my wife!” shouted Boozok. He reached for the extendable hairbrush.

“Oh, I uh, It’s a pleasure to meet you, plant!”

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO MY WIFE IN THAT TONE!” Boozok was furious. He kicked the wall, but yelped in pain and grabbed his foot.

"Shelly"

After a sorry moment, Boozok collected himself and addressed Clyve.

“How would you like to be in charge of an important- mission?” he asked.

Clyve’s face lit up.

“What kind of important mission?”
"A VERY important mission, one that only someone such as yourself can complete"
"How important is the mission?"
"Very VERY important" said Boozok, beginning to sound frustrated.
"Yes, but how-"
"Shut up!" Boozok exclaimed, then cleared his throat. It sounded like a broken garbage disposal. "Will you accept this very important mission?"
"Well, let me think. . ." Clyve proceeded to zone out for about 10 minutes as he thought.

"I've decided that I have nothing more important to do, so I will accept your very important mission!" said Clyve.
"Very excellent. . " Boozok said in a devious sort of tone, "First, you must deliver this important message” Boozok said as he reached into his robe and held out a yellowed envelope. It was dripping some sort of sticky looking liquid onto the floor. He held it out towards Clyve with a smug grin on his face.

“TAKE IT!” Boozok demanded. Clyve attempted to take the disgusting message, but his arms were still tied to the chair. “Oh, right, sorry” he said as he untied Clyve and handed him the envelope.

“Where do I take it to?” asked Clyve.

“Travel to the west outskirts of the abandoned waterfront. From there, you will receive further instructions.” at the conclusion of this sentence, Boozok pulled a small brown sack out of his pocket and poured some sort of powder into his hand. He threw the powder on the ground, creating a small cloud of dust. The cloud settled in seconds as Boozok ran into the other room. The cloud was probably supposed to conceal his movement, but it was admittedly not very mysterious at all.

Clyve still stood in place with the envelope in his hand. Boozok peered out from around the corner.

“I’m counting on you, young apprentice, do not fail me!” Boozok said. Clyve felt invigorated for the first time in his life with a sense of purpose.

“And do not, I say, DO NOT, look at the contents of the message!” he said. “Now GO!”

Clyve slowly turned around and walked out of the door.

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The abandoned waterfront, contrary to its name, was nowhere near any sort of water. There may have once been some sort of small pond, but these days water came only from brief rainstorms that lasted up to a minute at a time. Clyve trotted along the cracked road in the general direction of the waterfront, hopping around as the scalding dirt continued to burn his exposed foot.

Clyve wondered excitedly what sort of mission he had gotten himself wrapped up in. The hooded menace, Boozok, was clearly some sort of elemental mastermind with spells and chemicals and other things of the sort. He’d heard of this sort of thing by overhearing conversations at Turche’s Tavern, a small decaying shack that served as a drink place. Supposedly, there were mysterious men that spent their lives hiding in the dark and practicing strange ceremonies in solitude.

He looked a the strange letter he was carrying. It was shrouded in mystery, and Clyve wanted very badly to open it. He knew this would be a very terrible idea, so he dismissed it immediately, carefully sliding the letter into his pocket.

Once he reached the waterfront, he looked around for.. well, anything. He was supposed to receive “further instructions”, whatever that meant. All around him were the hollow shells of tall buildings, once busy centers for all kinds of activity like fraudulent schemes and excessive eating. Now they were home only to terrifying creatures with human faces that should not have human faces. He shifted around uncomfortably as the scalding ground sizzled beneath his feet.

Very tall buildings of a once thriving civilization, former centers of fraudulent schemes and excessive eating

Suddenly Clyve could hear some kind of distant high pitched whistling noise over the sound of his skin sizzling from the heat. He looked around, but saw no sign of any other living creature. The noise continued to grow louder every second.

The noise became clearer as some sort of deranged scream. Clyve looked up towards one of the buildings, shielding his eyes from the scorching blue sun. A small black speck was rapidly falling towards the ground.

Within seconds, the black speck had reached the ground level, hitting the ground with a loud crunch. It left a smoldering crater in the dry dirt.

Clyve walked over to the crater and peered down into it. To his bewilderment, there was nothing at the bottom. He felt a tug on his pants at the ankle. He looked down to see one of Boozok’s tiny hooded minions gazing up at him. It offered him a small envelope.

He reached down to take the envelope. As he took it the minion scurried away quickly. He watched the small hooded minion run away, noting that the strange little creature could move surprisingly swift for a small hooded minion. He looked at the envelope he had received. Written in bold red letters on the front was some strange word he had never heard of before. He stared at it in bewilderment for a good couple minutes before realizing that it was upside down. He flipped it over and sounded out the word “OPEN”.

He tore the envelope in half. Inside was a crumpled up slice of paper with a message written in cut out magazine letters glued to the page.

“CLyVE,” it read, “congratulations on making it this far. Yet this is only the first of your many tests. You must now travel to floor 178 of this very tall building. Good luck.”

Then, at the bottom of the sheet, “Love, Boozok” followed by some very unevenly drawn little hearts. Clyve shuddered at this.

Clyve looked up towards the very tall building. He had heard stories of men that had gone into those very tall buildings, never to be seen again. They had presumably been destroyed or decapitated by the strange creatures with human faces that should not have human faces. He walked towards the front door of the very tall building. He had no idea what to expect, or if he would even be alive at the conclusion of this very important mission.

To be continued. . . 

Ghumada Satellite Destroyed by Aggressive Space Race

The Ghumada Panel of Foreign Affairs (GPF-Affairs) is on high alert as the capital has been sealed to complete lockdown this week. Of course, no one usually tries to get in or out of the walls, due to the dense and deadly jungle outside the walls with many roaming beasts, but the newly formed panel has felt it necessary to post several informative brochures on various poles and dead trees around the slums. No live trees were utilized to display brochures, as that would be considered animal cruelty.

Last month, the GOSA launched the first atmospheric satellite into orbit. The project was a complete success ;the team of scientists in charge of the project (consisting of two of Gordon Gordon’s inexperienced apprentices) reported that they were able to view several images beamed down from the satellite using an apparatus of a complex series of mirrors aimed at the sky. This allowed them to see, for the first time in Ghumada History since the explosion of 33 that wiped out 98% of civilization on Ghumada, a rough image of the orbital sphere that the country is located on. The image surprised them, revealing that the continent containing Ghumada and Gordhongho is not the only land mass on the planet. Through grainy pencil sketches, they were able to see a large land mass to the north, previously undiscovered.

They would have been able to collect more data, but the satellite suddenly went offline in an unexpected incident. The last image the scientists recall is a strange humanoid space explorer hurtling towards the satellite. The chilling image has been shared below, view at your own risk:

An advanced race, previously unknown to Ghumada experts, has been living undetected on the same planet and has apparently been inhabiting space. Lead scientist Gordon Gordon has been consulted to discuss this problem with the GPF-Affairs, but he is nowhere to be found. It is believed that he has wandered off into the jungle again, according to his research and lab assistant Orkle Albana.

Just 25 minutes after the discovery of the startling image, a mysterious parachute floated down from the sky, landing directly in front of the dirty shack that the GPF-Affairs has chosen to occupy for secret meetings and stuff. The message contained a threatening message written in a complex unknown format. Nobody was able to decipher the message, as it was printed in an unknown language consisting of several hundred characters made up of weird lines and dots, but the general consensus among officials was that the message was a proposal for war.

The newly discovered continent seemingly occupied by a superior race with strange head projections has been named Crombolia until further data is gathered. It was pointed out that the strange calcified appendages beaming out from the helmet in the mysterious space image resemble those of Carver Kerver, the former presidential candidate that tried to take over Ghumada. The observation was dismissed, as nobody listens to anything Bronson Swanlick the janitor says.

Carver Kerver, apparently resembling the image of humanoid space explorer taken by Ghumada Satellite 

Ghumada Launches First Satellite

The GOSA (Ghumada Otherworldly Space Affairs) is proud to announce that it has launched its first orbital satellite into the atmosphere. The sophisticated device consists of a heavy duty balloon with a long piece of reinforced string with a small mirror-like device tied to it.

"The idea here is that, this small mirror-like device will capture an image of the planet, which we will somehow be able to see when we retrieve the satellite after it has fallen out of orbit", said GOSA scientist Bill Knavers.

The GOSA orbital satellite team is still working on a way to effectively locate the satellite after it has left orbit, as well as work out the exact logistics of viewing the image in the mirror-like device.

Ghumada Satellite approaching space (Photo captured by Meat Drone™)

The Mystery of the Vodoo Showcase

It was a chilling winter night, snow shooting out of the sky like sharp projectiles of frozen water at horrifying speeds and hitting people who weren't smart enough to bring their snow goggles outside with them in the eyes. One of the tiny cold menaces bounced off of my leather shoulder pad harmlessly, as I'm always prepared for this sort of thing.

One time, in the summer of 4444, Old Woman Crockers decided to go crazy with her woodchipper and turn it on to the busy street in the middle of walking hour (When all citizens are required to go outside and walk for 30 seconds before returning to their regular lethargic activities) causing a general hysteria among the bewildered pedestrians. Not me. I never leave home without three basic essentials: a glass of water (quarter way filled), my faithful dingo skin hat, and a reinforced woodchipper deflecting shield. 

They call me The Groff. That's short for Groffif. Which is short for Groffifif. I was born under the alias Groffifif Fiffrig Jr III. I make my living around these parts as a self proclaimed private detective. You may have heard of me after my involvement in the big Butterknife Casino Scandal case last September. No big deal, just some undercover sleuthing that led to the arrests of 3 individual criminals. I guess you could say I'm a bit of a legend around these parts as self proclaimed private detective.

They call me.. The Groff

Anyhow, it's still a cold winter night, and destructive icy missiles are raining down from the sky quicker than you could throw a hunk of metal into a blazing furnace. All these frozen menaces have knocked out the street lamps, so it's pretty dark and eerie on this dirty little street. I hear some sort of deity scurry off into the shadows, so I reflexively swing around towards the signal of danger, simultaneously whipping out my infamous signature weapon, a small concealed harpoon that fires ink tipped darts (to mark the target with sticky ink when they get away). That's when I first saw him. The best description I could give in that eery gloom would be a man with a sack on his head. I suppose that's a fairly accurate description now that I think about it. Even in that low lit unkept alley, I could tell with a shiver down my spine that this creature/ man was gonna cause me trouble from the very beginning.

I tried to shoot the dang thing, but he jumped straight up so fast that I couldn't get a mark on him. I could hear a loud crunch accompanied by an annoyed grunt as he hit his head (?) on the metal staircase above, followed by the satisfying noise of flesh hitting brick paved street as the thing came down on the other side of the alley. It lay there for a second as I stood there staring, too stunned to even let out an arrogant chuckle at the sorry mess. But after several seconds (about 6) it got up and ran away in a way similar to a wild goose running from an angry wolverine. After that strange encounter, I decided it was time to head back to my office to reflect on the experience, and also decide if it actually happened or if the spicy chemicals in the air were getting to me again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was at least 3 weeks later when I received a chilling piece of mail. I was sitting in my living quarters, which is just a modest apartment located in the gutters of terminal 7, containing just a table and a bathroom. The basics. Suddenly, the mail bell started to ring and my precious table (the only furniture I own) started to shake violently. I braced myself for the worst possible scenario, rapidly pulling out my trusty double edged machete from inside my leather robe, ground down to a safe and legal blunt edge. I squatted down into my war stance, preparing for an all out assault attack.

After several seconds of grueling anticipation, the hole in the ceiling popped open and a single tattered envelope fell through. I waited there for a little while longer to make sure no fiery imps or something of the sort weren't about to come busting through, then I aggressively swiped for the mysterious parcel that I had received. I was hoping it was my yearly allowance from my mother, but I was disappointed to find that it was just another death threat, written on suspicious brown paper in messy unprofessional handwriting. The classic signature of a true evil deity.

It was clear that I had a case on my hands. Evil deties such as this one are not to be dealt with lightly, and there's only one person I trust enough to gather some information about situations such as this one, my buddy Porpice Grapple over at Station 9.

"Porpice Grapple"

I slammed open the thin cardboard door leading to the inside of Station 9 open, setting off a chain reaction of barking cats, smoke grenades, and sprinkler systems.
"Porpice you fat goof where the hell you are hiding!" I shouted into the back room, where I know Porpice likes to take his daily 40 hour naps at.  Within minutes, the floor started to tremble under the tremendous weight of the gargantuan man as he waddled out of the storage room that he utilizes as his living quarters.

"Station 9", the shop/living quarters of Porpice Grapple

"Whooo the hell is out there and what the hell d'ya want!" the large man bellowed angrily, as Porpice does not appreciate being woken from his 40 hour naps.
"It's me, old buddy, 'The Groff'!" I politely informed him.

"I ain't never heard of no'one with that name, so get the hell out of my shop/living quarters you dirty sloth!"

It was clear that my approach wasn't working. Luckily, I had a plan C (talking nicely was plan B, plan A was just standing there hoping he could read my mind). From within my spacious leather robe, I whipped out a small pack of delicious crusty noodle crumbs.

Within seconds, Porpice stiffened up his stature and sniffed the air inquisitively. I took a step closer to him then awkwardly pursed open his clammy lips and placed some of the delicious snack into his mouth. He took several minutes to process this new information, then started to chew audibly. After a couple of seconds of chewing, his eyes widened dramatically and he suddenly opened his mouth to scream in pleasure. Half salivated crunchy noodles flew freely out of his mouth in every direction, with several chunks of warm half-chewed food finding their way into my mouth. It didn't matter though, because I had clearly won over Porpice's trust.

"What brings you to old Porpice's shop/living quarters noodle man?" Porpice asked. I grimly handed him the letter I had received earlier in the mail. He took about 20 minutes to read the whole thing, tediously looking up every word in a tattered dictionary that appeared to have all but one of the pages torn out.

"Great smokin' hell!" he spontaneously remarked,"What're you gon' do 'bout this here evil deity?!"

"That is why I have come to seek your help, old friend" I explained. Porpice stared at me for a moment as if he had no idea how to help me. Then, he pivoted around suddenly as if he had remembered the location of something that could be useful. In his sudden movement, he tripped over some junk that was laying on the floor of his shop/ living quarters. He flailed desperately to try and save his balance, knocking down miscellaneous knick-knacks and garbage off of various shelves around the room and on the walls. He landed on the floor with a painful sounding thud, creating a large crater of broken tile beneath him as he hit the floor.

Porpice lay still in his crater for a while as I stood there watching bemusedly. Then, he spontaneously started rolling across the dirty floor until he reached a rusty old filing cabinet in the corner that I hadn't noticed before. He slid open the bottom drawer, presumably so he wouldn't have to expend the extra effort to pick himself up off of the floor. He reached up one of his hands and rustled around in the drawer for a few minutes before realizing that it was completely empty.

With a sudden burst of strength, he forcefully tugged on the cabinet until it began to slowly topple over, junk spilling out of the drawers all over the place. The heavy looking cabinet landed right on top of poor Porpice, and he let out a distressed grunt underneath the weight. This did not deter him from his mission however, as he reached his arm into one of the drawers and once again began to search around for something.

Porpice let out a muffled yet excited sounding squeel as he pulled his arm out of the drawer and held up a disgusting looking jar filled with some sort of bubbling brown liquid.

"Porpice, I don't think a jar filled with your old toilet water is going to help me destroy evil deities" I told him.

"No, no, NO!" he exclaimed, his voice muffled from beneath the filing cabinet that was holding him hostage, "this here's a real potent mix of chemicals, oh YES! Brewed by Gordon Gordon HIMSELF! It'll do the trick alright, just pour it all o'er that evil deity and it'll be BYE-BYE, see-ya! for that ol' sucker!"

I cautiously stepped over various piles of debris and hesitantly took the grimy jar from out of Porpice's outstretched hand. I walked out the door of Station 9 (Porpices shop/living quarters) without another word.

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It was starting to get awfully dark in the streets of Ghumada, so I decided that I should start heading back towards my apartment. Believe me, you do NOT want to get stuck in the streets of Ghumada in the dark. Something about angry weasels with sharp teeth attacking bystanders. So, I began walking down the street in the direction opposite of my apartment for some reason. Nothing seemed out of place on this particular night: the sunset was covered up by a thick layer of dark smog, an innocent old man was being slapped arund by a bunch of mean looking thugs, there was even a gnarly looking dog eating the face off of an old corpse that someone had dropped on the side of the street.

I walked around the corner of Glambroke and Porkson. I was startled to notice something extremely out of place in downtown Ghumada: bright lights and people yelling in joy. Looking down the street, I saw a large orange tent set up in the middle of the street with a line of people standing in front of it. It appeared to be some sort of carnival or something. There were even several children about, lined up in front of a snack shop that looked like it had been closed for at least 6 years, evident by the large "CLOSED FOREVER" sign pinned to the front. This was clearly something that required my best investigational skills.

I eagerly pulled off my regular gloves, then from within my ever expanding leather robe, I whipped out my flamboyant investigating gloves.

"Investigating gloves"

I was now fully prepared to begin my investigation. I crept towards the strange carnival type thing with extreme caution, moving while crouching low to the ground, and diving behind bushes whenever possible to avoid detection. After 15 minutes of this foolish behavior, I looked back and discovered that I was actually further away from the target than I had began with. I decided to take the quick route instead. I whipped out my loudest dong bell from out of my leather robe and started ringing it loudly as I sprinted full speed towards the spectacle.

 I was about 100 yards from reaching the place when I tripped over some sort of tree root or alien and painfully landed face down in the street. I eventually skidded to a stop right in front of the large tent. I lifted my head off the ground and was horrified to discover that the world had somehow been converted to all black and white. The sky was gray, the large tent was gray, even my formerly flamboyant investigating gloves had been mysteriously converted to a depressing grayscale layout. Oh hell!

Oh hell!

I stood up and did a quick scan of my surroundings. I was now close enough to notice the conspicuous sign on top of the immense tent. The sign read "VOODOO SHOWCASE".

I needed to get inside. Logically, my first instinct was to try and enter through the opening labeled "ENTRANCE".  As I was about to enter however, several large folks were hurled out of the opening, landing face down in a pit of foul smelling mud. They made no attempt to move.

Clearly, this was some sort of elaborate test. Luckily, my quick wits and highly developed critical thinking skills led me to deduct that the correct entrance was somewhere else. I started to walk around the outside of the tent to try and find another way in.

Suddenly there was a powerful sounding ripping noise as the fabric of the tent tore open. A hefty man with large forehead muscles leapt out of the opening that he had apparently just created to come out and greet me through. He sized me up for a second, then started to scream unnecessarily loud in my face.

"HEEEEEYYYYYY!!" he yelled, "My name's STRONG LARRY! But you can call me STRONG LARRY!!" (Note that the second vocalization of "Strong Larry" was no different than the first)

"Strong Larry"

I stood there dumfounded at the spectacle of "Strong Larry". To break the silence, Strong Larry moved even closer towards me and screamed in my face again, sending spicules of warm saliva sliding down my throat. I let out a pathetic moan.

"Welcome" he continued "To the VOODOO SHOWCASE!" He held out the syllable on the last word, continuing to scream unpleasantly in my saliva coated face. 

After he had finished his despicable introduction, Strong Larry skillfully jumped backwards back into the opening in the tent that he had created earlier. He didn't even look backwards to see where he was going as he did so, almost like he was moving in reverse. After the robust man had disappeared within the tent, a team of small men scuttled up to the hole in the tent, simultaneously whipping out their needles and thread to begin repairing the tear. These nifty gnome-like men had completed their repairs in less than a minute, and hurriedly scattered away after their work was completed.  I wasn't quite sure how to process this.

After several minutes of scouring the perimeter of the tent trying to find a way in, I came to a door with a sign over it labeled "EXIT ONLY NO ENTRANCE". Logically, I figured that this would make a suitable entrance, and I casually stepped inside.

I immediately noticed a strange odor staining the air inside the tent, like a combination of melted plastic and ripe citrus. There was also a visible cloud of thick fog gathered at the ceiling, swirling around ominously in the dim light. Strange pulsing music with weird whining buzzes recurring intermittently could be heard distantly. I took a step forward, broken glass and other painful debris crunching beneath my bare feet.  There was a large crowd of around 20 or so people gathered around a large stage in the center of the space. There attention was focused on a strange man standing on the stage speaking. As he turned towards me, I recognized him immediately!

The evil deity with a sack on his head was running this frightening hell show! He appeared to divert his gaze directly toward me for a few terrible moments with an unblinking and honestly horrifying open-mouthed gaze. My evasive measures training promptly kicked in as I stealthily collapsed to the floor, ignoring the painful shards of glass and other pointed projectiles scattering the floor piercing my various extremities. 

The man with a sack on his head let out a terrible piercing screech that left the audience members groaning in pain with their chubby hands over their ears. Suddenly, the evil deity on the stage turned around and ran behind a thick black curtain. Several seconds later, he returned to the stage, dragging a large gray hose behind him. He took a moment to take in the audience's expressions, then calmly turned the hose on, pointed directly at the audience.

A horrible clear liquid drenched the very souls (and coincidently their socks) of all the innocent citizens gathered inside the area. They did not try to run away, rather they just groaned uncomfortably as they stood there being tortured by the evil deity. He cackled deviously as he watched them moan in pain. 

It was time for me to take action. I tried to crawl up to the stage without being seen by the evil man with the sack on his head. I had to squeeze through the fat legs of a few miserable spectators, but they did not seems to care or notice.  Finally, I reached the platform that my long-time enemy stood upon. 

I jumped up onto the stage, attempting a cool looking backflip but landing on my side with an audible crunch. Damn, this was going to be much harder than I originally anticipated. I stood up slowly, ignoring my several cracked ribs and blood pooling on the stage beneath me. 

The man with a sack on his head was still busy torturing those innocent people below him, cackling madly as he enjoyed his favorite hobby. He was so caught up in being evil that he didn't even notice me walk up right in front of him with a dirty looking vile containing a potent foul smelling liquid. 

However, I did not anticipate the effect of the hose he was holding as I stepped in front of him. As I heroically confronted him, I was blasted backwards off of the stage, slapping the wall like a slippery ham and crumpling uselessly to the floor. 

Oh hell! I would have to find a way back up to the stage to finish the job by destroying this evil deity once and for all with the strange blend of chemicals I was equipped with. However, when I looked into the palm of my hand where I clasped the small glass vile, I noticed with a start that I had somehow come to hold it upside down. The liquid sizzled down my leg for a moment, before I suddenly vanished with a puff of brown smoke. 

Life of a Ghumada Factory Employee

1:00 AM in the morning 

Roy Gibson is a typical Ghumada Factory employee. He wakes up at 1:00 AM in the morning already dressed in his factory employee clothes ready to go to his factory job. He tries to carefully roll out of bed to not disturb his wife Rita, who is not a factory employee and does not have to wake up at 1:00 AM in the morning in order to go work in the factory. However, he is unsuccessful as he tries to climb over her instead of just casually rolling off his side of the bed. Roy excitedly runs out the door to begin his long journey to the factory, where he is employed as a factory employee.

Roy in bed with all his bed friends

2:00 AM in the morning

Roy is still walking to work. It is a very long walk (about 30 miles). Roy sometimes wishes he had some sort of machine to help him move faster such as a lawn mower or a cow. His factory employee friend George always ties his cow outside the factory because he rides his cow to work. It must be exciting, having that kind of luxury.

Roy walks to work through the suburbs of Ghumada

3:00 AM

Still walking.

3:25 AM
Roy arrives at his favorite scenic trail on the way to the factory.

5:00 AM

Roy has finally arrived. However, his factory employee job does not begin until around 10:00 AM in the morning so he will have to wait outside for a little bit. Roy has now begun to question why he follows this silly routine. However, questioning his silly routine is a part of his silly routine that he experiences every day so he moves on without any further questions.

The factory where Roy is employed as a factory employee. He is not quite sure what the purpose of the factory is, he just shows up every day because he is paid a very fair 4 cents an hour, which he uses to support his family. 

6:25 AM

Roy's factory employee friend Bobby arrives at this time. He has never actually heard Bobby speak, but he is always the first one to arrive after Roy at precisely 6:25 AM every day. He's not completely positive, but Roy is pretty sure 6:25 has some sort of significance to Bobby like it's his favorite color or something. Bobby just stares at Roy uncomfortably for 4 hours until the factory work begins.

Roy's friend Bobby

8:00 AM

Roy sees a strange figure approaching from the distance. He can tell it is the boss man approaching. The boss man doesn't have any name, he just tells everyone to call him boss man. Even his name tag on his freshly pressed suit just says 'boss man'. Boss man is a strange yet efficient man, which is probably why he is the boss. As the boss man approaches the factory entrance, he notices Roy and suddenly he is extremely angry.
"Roy! My office! Now!" He screams, streams of dirty saliva flying all around everywhere. Bobby just chuckles and scurries off into the forest, running by crawling using his arms and legs like a wild animal. Roy slowly rises to a standing position, his legs shaking uncontrollably. When the boss man is angry, nothing good ever happens. Last time the boss man got angry, Old Lady Greta walked into that office and was never seen again.

The boss man, a strange looking yet efficient man 

8:30 AM

Roy ducks under the low door that leads into the boss man's office. The office is actually just a repurposed cardboard box with smaller cardboard box inside that serves as a desk. Boss man is facing away from Roy, staring out the window, which is actually just a square drawn into the side of the the office with a picture of a bird drawn on a piece of paper.
"Roy, do you understand why I have called you into my cool office?" asks the boss man.
"Not really" replies Roy, for he is as honest as he is dedicated to his factory job.
"Me either, get out" the boss man tells Roy. Roy leaves the office without any further questions.

Boss man's office

9:00 AM

Roy is getting noticeably more excited as the time for the factory work to commence grows ever nearer. The doors to the factory open at precisely 9:01 AM, and he is about to piss his pants with anticipation. He stares eagerly at his watch, which is just a square drawn onto his arm with a marker. He updates it every minute by glancing at the watch on his other wrist that he wears to keep track of the minutes. As the tiny bar spins towards the top of the watch, he holds the marker steady in his other hand to record the changing minute. After several more agonizing seconds, it is finally time to begin the factory work. A rudely loud siren begins to blare for 2 seconds as the time turns to 9:01 AM. This is the signal that the factory is opening now. The tall doors to the factory begin to slide open on their own, with a loud screeching noise accompanying the action as if the doors are in need of a nice lubrication. Roy eagerly darts inside before the doors are even finished opening.

9:02 AM

Roy enters the decontamination room, the place where he must take 3-5 showers before beginning his work so as not to contaminate the delicate products with his bodily wastes. He steps under an unoccupied shower faucet still fully clothed in his factory uniform. He begins to scream nervously as the faucet sprays out scalding hot liquid that jets out more steam than actual water.  It usually takes him around 2-3 hours to complete this process, but today he is especially eager to begin his work so it only takes him 4 hours. By the time he is done, his skin is red and blistering, but he is enthusiastic about beginning his important factory job.

1:00 PM
It is finally time to begin the factory work. Roy proudly steps out of the decontamination room and into the large open warehouse where the work is done. There is nothing in the expansive space except for a small wooden table in the very center of the room, beneath a small flashing light bulb that swings back and forth on the long cord it is attached to on the cathedral like ceiling. Roy begins to realize with horror that this is not the factory he works at. This is some kind of trick. He quickly turns around and runs back the way that he came from, all the way out the large doors until he is outside again. He keeps running all the way back to his simple apartment, where he can finally spend some time with his family after another tough day at work.

The Mystery of the Expanisve Grass Field

The Ghumada wilderness is one of the most unrelenting and dangerous places in existence. Beyond the safety of the walls which enclose the 3  actualcities in Ghumada, one will face extremely dangerous environments including sections of desert, Arctic tundra just to the north of the desert, and beyond that one will have to face the truly unstoppable forces of the Ghumada Jungle. 

No one has ever explored the Ghumada Jungle and returned in one piece. One time, legendary explorer Human Hoffman managed to reach the city after a thorough exploration, however he was reportedly carrying at least 4 severed body parts (we do not have full details on which body parts). All the information that we know of the Ghumada Jungle was the verbal account of Human Hoffman on his death bed, because for some reason he didn't think to  keep a journal or something to record his findings. 

The extent of Hoffman's injuries were so severe that not even the top Ghumada surgeon knew what to do. He only had around 7 minutes to recount the tales of his experience in the Ghumada Jungle. In this time, he tells the tale of an amazingly beautiful land hidden within the relentless jungles. He claims that in this land there is no violence, war, or unhappy feelings. Apparently there are not even any buildings or sidewalks. Instead, there are thriving fields of grass for as far as it is possible to see. The people that inhabit this land are reportedly simple, kind, and carefree. 

As one could expect, this theory has been the root of much speculation and debate among top Ghumada theorists. Here's what top Ghumada theorist Kwola Frankton had to say about the rumored mythical land:

"I do not believe in many things. This thing would be included because as far as I have seen, I have not seen it."

Kwola Frankton

In order to settle this debate once and for all, the Ghumada government has decided to partner with Ghumada News to launch a full expedition into the Ghumada wilderness. The best living explorers in Ghumada are being drafted to be a part of an elite exploration team. There is also an explorer who does not live in Ghumada but we are including him anyway. Most of the government's funds are being invested into this exploration. This is somewhat strange considering all the cities in Ghumada are experiencing a shortage of all materials including food, water, and furniture polish. However, the board has agreed that this takes priority because they are "bored of doing all the same stuff all the time".