The Rise and Fall of PBP Chapter 4: PBP's Legacy

By far, one of the worst things about working on PBP during “the Dark Ages” was that Arthur almost eliminated any creative control Seanathan and I had. In late 2014, Arthur wrote out concepts for 50 seasons, with five or six episodes in each season (we divided the seasons based on what they were about). In total, Arthur planned 209 episodes of PBP.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, he then decided that PBP needed not one, but two spinoff series.

One was called PBP: Future, which had no difference from the original PBP, so it was pretty pointless. The other was known as Varilum. Varilum took a more “fantasy” approach to PBP. It had some pretty decent concepts. In total, there were 70 five-to-six episode seasons of PBP and PBP-related stuff. And as if THAT wasn’t enough, Arthur came up with ideas for PBP merchandise. Even though he had some cool ideas for merch (which he called “morch” for some reason), Seanathan and I were burned out on PBP.

In February of 2015, Arthur began a short story blog. You’ve probably seen it if you’re reading this blog, but just in case, click here (link). In its early days, the blog was far removed from what it is now. It was mostly LEGO fan fiction stories, along with some old Electroshock stories. In a February 10, 2016 blog post, shortly before the blog’s one-year anniversary, Arthur described his blog in its early days as “a simple thing with (an) atrocious orange background”

However, this is a story about PBP, not Abe’s blog. In March 2015, Arthur decided to chronicle the events of PBP in a short story format, with the first story debuting on March 4, 2015. We found it recently, and it’s pretty cringe-worthy. Who knows, maybe I’ll post it someday.

I should probably point out at this point, PBP had become a convoluted mess. We didn’t really have much knowledge of the Half-Life/Portal universe when we started PBP, but Arthur wanted it to remain part of the universe, and constantly came up with ridiculous and stupid ideas to keep PBP in the games’ canon. At one point, he declared that the universe “reset” in the 2020s, because Arthur built a “Reset Bomb”, whatever that was.

Arthur’s 7th grade year ended in June 2015. He quickly became a much less awful person, and, for the first time in a long time, I was actually enjoying doing PBP.

In the Summer of 2015, the vestiges of the Dark Ages quickly vanished. Our obsession with PBP soon followed. The last episode we played out was the Final Battle: Part 1. It was the penultimate episode of Season 11, where an evil scientist reanimated dinosaurs, because. . . I guess he was EVIL. The last PBP-related thing we did was a play-out of PBP Season 1.5, a shameless X-Files ripoff that he had written for his blog in late 2015. The main reason for PBPs neglect was because Arthur was busy creating a roleplaying game by the name of Zephyrquest II. I’m sure Arthur has posted quite a bit about ZQ’s origins, but to make a long story short, the original Zephyrquest was a LARP that Abe and his friends had played in Summer 2014, shortly before PBP took over everything.

The PBP stories continued on Arthur’s blog until finally, even he became fed up with the series. He attempted to reinvent the series in July 2016, with no success. In the end, he fully vanquished the series from his blog on October 3, 2016. The almost-three year saga had ended. None of us even wanted to think about PBP, as it was associated with so many bad memories.

Until October 2016. I rediscovered the old PBP stories around then, and happily classified them as “so bad they’re good” At my request, Arthur shared the document that he had put the episode descriptions so long ago, and he, Seanathan, and I had a good laugh over them. As we read, we discovered a few diamonds in the rough, and realized that pouring our hearts into PBP over the course of two years had made some amazing concepts, such as the Lonely Ones.

Thus, we decided to make PBP as it should have been, a goofy, creative series of stories. Today, this is known as the New Adventures of Arthur Borglestein.

So there you have it. The entire history of PBP. Hopefully, Arthur can write a conclusion. Also, Seanathan and I are writing a script of PBP. We’re currently debating how to adapt this script, I’m thinking of drawing a comic about it.

~Astatinius

It's been a long time. . .

So, its been a while. I took a break from writing in May so I could finish up school projects, and I got out of the habit of writing. Also, I had a bad case of writer's block. Let's just say that sticking to only two main series was getting to be problematic.

The next post will likely be TRAFOPBP, and after that I'll probably be looking for new ideas for series.

So, I hope to have at least one new post by the end of this week

-Astatanius

Cow Chronicles Part 9: Squids. In. Space

(Note: This story might not be as good as you think. It had a very troubled production, with me having a ton of work to do outside of my blog, along with rampant computer trouble.

Farmer Bob’s voice came from behind a stacked pile of tables. Farmer Joe watched in shock as Farmer Joe emerged. His face was twisted into a maniacal grin. The only times a person would make that face were if they were about to destroy their opponent in a game, or if they were a mad scientist bent on destroying the world.

“I’ve done my end of the bargain. Now you fulfill yours”, Bob Jenkins told Farmer Bob.

“What was it?”, Farmer Bob asked, producing a handgun from under his hat.

“You agreed that in turn for me bringing Farmer Joe here, you would have to eat nothing but Bob’s Pizza for the rest of your life”, Bob Jenkins told Farmer Joe.

“What?! Absolutely not!”, Farmer Bob shouted. “I hate pizza! Gimme something else to do!”

Bob Jenkin’s screen switched over to a loading bar. After several minutes of the same noises the computer had made when it had been turned on, the screen displayed a crude, pixelated bar graph.

“Sales have been in decline lately”, Bob Jenkins explained. “We tried to force our employees to eat nothing but Bob’s Pizza, but they went on strike”

“Can we go now?”, Inspector Zachary asked Farmer Bob, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “If you and that computer can’t agree on anything, I’m flying back to-”

Zach was interrupted by a gunshot slicing through the air. Everyone turned to Farmer Bob, calmly putting the handgun under his hat. On the ground next to him, Bob Jenkins’ monitor lay, a heap of wires, plastic, and glass.

The butler was horrified. “You killed our leader!”, he shouted at Farmer Bob. “I shall inform the police of this, and you will be put to death!”

“I killed his monitor”, Farmer Bob told the butler. “You can just hook up another one”

“No we can’t!”, the butler told Farmer Bob. “The computer he’s in only works with that particular type of monitor. And it was the last of it’s model, so we can’t just buy a new computer”, he said as he pressed a button on the computer. A floppy disk slid out of a slot, labeled “B.J.” He slid the disk into his pocket.

Zach pulled a combat knife from one of the pockets in his trench coat, and held it to Farmer Joe’s neck. “I saw a pizza delivery ship parked in one of the rooms here. Let’s just go”

Zach and Farmer Joe walked through a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. It was a large garage, holding three small space capsules bedecked in neon-orange paint. BOB’S PIZZA: DELIVERY FROM SPACE was stenciled on the sides of each capsule.

“I found a ring of keys on Jenkins’ desk”, Zach explained. “That computer’s not right in the CPU, or whatever, and I wanted a way to escape”, he said as he unlocked the capsule and helped Farmer Joe into it.

The capsule was small and cramped, with a single seat taking up two-thirds of the tiny cockpit. The other third was taken up by a fold-out table, covered with old newspapers and magazines. Zach brushed these off, and folded away the table.

“You’ll have to sit in there”, Zach said, pointing to the space behind the pilot’s seat.

Farmer Joe begrudgingly took a seat in that tiny crevasse. The space was so small that he had to rest his legs on the wall. It was going to be a long trip.

“Would you like to hear about the workings of this capsule?”, Zach asked Farmer Joe.

“No”, Farmer Joe grumbled as he tried to find the most comfortable space to sit.

“Well, too bad”, Zach said. “You’re my prisoner, and you have the right to remain silent while I tell my story. You see, this capsule was originally developed by NASA in 1996. The Poseidon-2 Space Capsule was designed for short travels between low Earth orbit, and the planet itself. You put in coordinates, and the Poseidon-2 uses its thrusters to put itself into an orbit that will eventually bring it over your desired location, and send you down. The genius behind such a marvelous innovation was-”

Whenever Farmer Joe was bored of hearing a person talk, he imagined himself tuning a dial, as if his mind was an old TV, and simply sifted through his thoughts.
He did this now, as Zach worked the capsule, while going into excruciating detail about how NASA had been divided over how many cupholders the Poseidon-2 should have.

“WHAT THE @*#$?!”, Zach suddenly exclaimed. Farmer Joe, who had been trying to get to sleep on a makeshift bed of newspapers and magazines, jumped awake.

Farmer Joe looked out of the canopy. What he saw made his blood run cold.

The spaceship had positioned itself over the International Space Station, dwarfing it like a condor next to a fly. The ship was a deep, gunmetal shade of orange, with ports glowing a brilliant white. At the end of the streamlined body were eight monstrous, mechanical tentacles, each of them flailing through space, making the squid-shaped spaceship look like it was swimming through the cosmos.

On the deck of the U.S.S. Squid, Squid Guy Bob gazed out over the murky, blue sphere that he had been told by Farmer Bob was Farmer Joe’s home planet.

“Such pathetic defenses”, he murmured as his crew members typed away at a large computer bank on a deck below him. The Squid was armed with a massive laser cannon, which could shoot to any interstellar coordinate in a 100 light-year radius. It was the first and only of its kind, and Squid Guy Bob’s prize possession. As of now, it was being used to destroy the tiny, bird-like spaceship below them. Squid Guy Bob ran to an orange, tram-like vehicle that he used to travel back and forth between the sections of the ship.

The tram quietly hummed along down the length of the ship. Inside the gunmetal orange hull was a seemingly endless row of massive grey domes. Inside each dome was a particular squad of employees, each squad with a purpose to keep the ship running. For example, the dome Squid Guy Bob’s tram was just passing was Molecular Formation, who was assigned with converting the ship’s hydrogen and oxygen reserves into the water and air needed to survive, and the one ahead was DNA Manipulation, where people who had a natural tendency towards dissent and rebellion had their DNA modified to remove those traits.
Squid Guy Bob kept all squads completely separate from each other, as he felt it improved worker morale. If the charts coming out of Statistics were correct, it did.

The tram slowed to a stop outside Dome 46: Camera Surveillance. Squid Guy Bob walked up to a metal door barring people from the domes contents. He rummaged through a satchel, and pulled out a disembodied squid tentacle. He pressed it into a scanner, which scanned every last atom of the tentacle, checking if it was indeed, a squid tentacle. It was.

The Camera Surveillance area was one of the strangest sights on the Squid. The members of the staff stood on platforms, surrounded by a rotating globe of screens suspended off the ground by antigrav projectors, each displaying a view from one of the hundreds of cameras placed throughout the ship. Observing it all was one of the most revolting creatures in the universe.

The mottled squid-skin was sloppily stretched across the humanoid figure, being stretched so thin in some areas that it was almost transparent, while in some areas there was so much of it that it hung limp in baggy folds. Where the arms should have been, long, slimy tentacle-arms hung to the floor, covering the floor in pools of slimy goop that smelled like a mixture of Sharpie and roadkill. The thing had no real legs, only shriveled stumps that ended in skeletal, titanium legs that looked like they had been taken from a metal dinosaur skeleton. Strapped to a lump on the top of the creature’s torso which appeared to be a head was a pair of binoculars, behind which were two camera lenses, which penetrated Squid Guy Bob with their soulless, unblinking stare.

A chill ran down Squid Guy Bob’s spine. The real reason he kept the teams of his crewmembers separate was that looking at just one of them made him scared.

“So. . .”, he stuttered, trying to find something to look at other than the monstrous squid-thing who seemed to fill his field of vision wherever he looked. “. . .would you mind if. . .uh, you could switch on that. . .that...thing that, uh, can make you see stuff that isn’t there. . .a camera! Yeah, could you switch on the camera that shows the laser?”

The squid-thing lurched over to a terminal, which had a screensaver that showed live feeds of the squid-things who watched the cameras. As horrendous as the squid-things looked alone, their scariness was increased tenfold when they moved. Their choppy, stuttery stumble, during which their tentacles flopped around, dribbling slime everywhere, made bile rise in Squid Guy Bob’s throat. He looked over at a beautifully painted picture of abstract art. He kept paintings in every room of the ship, as to give his eyes a rest from looking at his henchsquids.
The tentacle skittered around the keyboard, somehow inputting the correct serial number of the camera. A monitor floated out of a slot in the ceiling, descending down to Squid Guy Bob’s eye level. The monitor jumped to life, showing a view of the Earth space station that Squid Guy Bob guessed was the command center of the planets space army, as it was the largest object they had seen orbiting the planet.

“What are you waiting for?!”, he suddenly barked into his clip-on microphone. “Fire the thing already!” He couldn’t wait to step onto Earth. After ages spent with nobody but his henchsquids, a tax had been placed on Squid Guy Bob’s sanity.

So great was the power of the Squids laser, and so puny and pathetic was the space station, that not even any wreckage was seen. Squid Guy Bob thumbed away on a terminal below the screen. The terminals tiny screen showed a tracker of metals orbiting the planet. As he fine-tuned the lense, he saw a stream of titanium and steel particles slowly forming an all-but invisible ring around the planet.

“There. They’re dead. Can we go get the cows now?”, he mumbled into his mike.

A few miles away, a seventeen-year old pizza delivery spaceship was having its course changed.

Keep the Internet free!

On May 18, the U.S. Federal Communications Commission will hold a vote on whether or not to preserve net neutrality.

If the Commission votes to no longer preserve net neutrality, ISPs will be allowed to tier Internet access in a similar way to television, with people being forced to pay extra in order to access certain websites. This will limit the ways people like you and me can use the Web. In addition, ISPs will be allowed to speed up connections to services that are provided by companies owned by them. For example, if net neutrality were repealed, AT&T would likely provide people a fast connection to DirecTV, which they own, while slowing connections to Netflix, which they don't.

Although this only sounds like an annoyance, ditching net neutrality would have far more serious consequences than people being forced to pay extra to access their favorite websites. Tiering the Internet and making people pay extra to access certain websites would bar poor people from all but the most basic Internet access. In schools, where the majority of learning is now digitized, the effects would be even worse. With the absence of net neutrality, schools would be forced to pay extravagant amounts of money to ISPs for the simple task of teaching kids.

Although ISPs say that abolishing net neutrality would allow them to speed up internet connections, this would only give faster connections to people who pay the most, and only to sites run by the ISP's subsidiaries. Watch this video for more information on net neutrality. Although some would argue that allowing ISPs to profit more would help the economy, abolishing net neutrality would make it much harder for people to start Internet-based services, suppressing innovation.

This is indefensible. When the Internet caught on in the 1990s, some described it as "the world at the click of a mouse". With no net neutrality, this would be "the world at the click of a mouse and the opening of your wallet". 

If you read this, write the FCC and ask them not to eliminate net neutrality. 

~Astatinius

Sources:
https://www.cnet.com/news/net-neutrality-redux-the-battle-for-an-open-net-continues/
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtt2aSV8wdw

Yes, I know I need to get back to writing stories, but I've been extremely busy lately. I just couldn't stay silent on this issue. Sorry about these constant delays.

I'm back!

And boy, was that a rotten eleven days. Sorry about that absence. I had a big project outside of this blog that demanded my attention. I should be able to get back to regular posts now.

~Astatinius

The Cow Chronicles Part 8: Bob's Pizza

Farmer Joe ran for the police van, but stopped dead in his tracks as he opened the door. Someone else was already sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Hello”, the government agent who had been sitting in the back of the police van the whole time said. “I’m glad I can finally arrest you. You have no idea how boring it is, sitting in the back of a van for nine hours”, he said as he drove away from the Majestic Mesa.

“Wait a minute. Bovine County is back that way. Why are we going into Plugerville?”, Farmer Joe asked.

“None of your business”, said the agent.

Plugerville housed the global headquarters of Bob’s Pizza, Inc., the world’s largest chain of pizza parlors. The CEO, Bob Jenkins, was the third richest person in the world, and it showed in the streets leading to the skyscraper that dominated the Plugerville skyline. They teemed with armored cars, and soldiers holding assault rifles stood guard at every street corner. Military helicopters flew above the streets, and the buildings nearby were adorned with floodlights.

The police van arrived at the parking garage near the skyscraper. The agent guided it into an airlock, and two soldiers walked out. While one inspected the car for bombs, the other led them to a room, where the agent was given fingerprint and retinal scans.

“My friend out there will park your vehicle. We’ll take you to it when you leave”, the soldier gruffly muttered to Farmer Joe and the agent.

People were only allowed to enter the Bob’s Pizza headquarters by invitation. Facial recognition scanners controlled every door in the buildings, from the restrooms to Bob Jenkins’ personal chambers.

Metal detectors were placed every ten feet in the hallways, and surveillance drones flew overhead. All people in the building were required to wear microphones, which transmitted every spoken word to robots scanning for trigger words. There were floor-to-ceiling windows everywhere (Farmer Joe was unsure if the windows were for providing light or an area for the military helicopters circling the building to monitor the people inside), and neon strips ran down the wall, glowing in bright, vibrant colors. The headquarters of Bob’s Pizza may have been Orwellian, but it was colorfully Orwellian.

Farmer Joe stepped into Elevator 103. At least now they were in the upper fifth of the building, where the most prestigious executive of the company worked and lived, which meant that there was seating in the elevator.

The final 25 floors of the 196 story skyscraper surrounded a massive rotunda and plaza. It was ringed with Bob’s Pizza outlets, and massive glass plates that allowed workers to gaze out into the plaza. In the center of it all was a massive fountain, ringed by seven stone pillars, each of which had a previous owner of the company on it.

Sitting on the fountain’s rim was a man wearing a crisp, red tuxedo. Farmer Joe and the agent walked up to him.

“I expect you are the ones Mr. Jenkins requested?”, the man asked the agent.

“Indeed. My name is Inspector Zachary Sanford of the United States Central Intelligence Agency. I am escorting Farmer Joe to the chambers of Bob Jenkins, as he requested”, the agent replied.

“Wait, I’m seeing Bob Jenkins?!”, Farmer Joe half-shouted in surprise.

“Yes. Come with me”, the tuxedo man said. “I’m his butler, by the way”

The butler led him to a massive glass tube that stretched up out of the rotunda. He pressed a button, and a large glass capsule rose up. A small section of the tube opened up, allowing Farmer Joe and the agent to step in.

“Wait, we don’t need more security checkups?”, Farmer Joe asked in surprise.

“Nope. If anyone wanted to hurt Mr. Jenkins, they would have been caught by now”, the butler replied.

Farmer Joe, Zach, and the butler stepped into the capsule, and sat down in upholstered chairs. “Fasten your seatbelts”, the butler told them. At first, Farmer Joe and Inspector Zachary had no idea why. Then, the capsule began to accelerate.

Farmer Joe felt like he was being crushed, then stretched, then crushed again. It was unpleasant, but he got used to it.
The rotunda fell away in an instant. Suddenly, they were looking over the lights of Plugerville. In the distance, Farmer Joe thought he could just make out his home town. Lights slowly meandered down straight lines: cars on highways. In the distance, the flickering lights of planes shone. Suddenly, Plugerville only appeared to be a tiny, yellow dot, and even that disappeared. Before Farmer Joe knew it, he was looking at the whole of the United States.

They were in orbit.

Farmer Joe and Zach were too stunned and shocked to even speak. The capsule glided past a few old satellites, going towards what appeared to be a massive hunk of rusty metal. Suddenly, bright purple lettering flickered on. BOB’S PIZZA, SPACE STYLE, they read.

“I thought they shut this thing down ages ago”, Farmer Joe murmured in amazement.

Slowly, the capsule docked with an airlock stretching into the spherical pizza parlor. The butler led Farmer Joe and Zach through the airlock.

“You see, we thought that Mr. Jenkins would be too easy of a target on Earth”, the butler said. “He commands the company from here”

Unlike the exterior and airlock, which were filthy and deteriorating, the interior of the space pizza parlor was very clean. It was a fairly large, wood-paneled dome. A circular desk sat in the center, surrounded by holographic screens. Strangely, there was no chair at the desk.

“Where’s Mr. Jenkins?”, Zach asked.

“That would be me. . .”, a disembodied, sexless voice said. One of those boxy computer monitors people used in the 1980s and 90s rose from the floor. A hydraulic arm carefully moved the monitor onto the desk. The monitor displayed a bright green, pixelated image of an older version of the Bob’s pizza logo, the one the company had used from 1979 to 1997.

“I have much to tell you, Farmer Joe”, the computer said.

“I want to speak to Bob Jenkins. Also, how did you know my name?”, Farmer Joe replied.

“I-”, the computer began to speak, but was cut short as the screen glitched. The computer began making strange electronic noises, similar to the noises a computer made when using dial-up internet.

The butler looked horrified. He jumped over the desk, and plugged in a cable that had gotten loose. The moment he did, the screen displayed the text REBOOTING. . .
“This takes awhile”, the butler groaned.

54 minutes later, the screen switched back to the Bob’s Pizza logo.

“Sorry about that”, the computer said. “I need to find away to keep these cables from slipping out. As I was saying to Farmer Joe; I am Bob Jenkins, CEO of Bob’s Pizza, Inc.”

“You’re a computer screen showing an old Bob’s Pizza logo that takes forever to reboot”, Zach said, a hint of annoyance in his voice”

“No. You likely know that the head of Bob’s Pizza has always been called “Bob Jenkins”, ever since our 1906 founding”, the computer said.

“Yeah, but aren’t they just different generations in a family?”, Farmer Joe asked.

“No. As a human, I died in 1985. My mind was transferred into a computer, so that I may govern my company forever”

“That makes no sense! Then again, I’m talking to a pizza chef inside an 80s at an abandoned pizza parlor in space”, Zach said.

“Seen stranger”, Farmer Joe said. “Why did you want me here, anyway?”

“I didn’t summon you. Someone else wanted to see you, and at this particular location”, Bob Jenkins said.

“Who?”, Farmer Joe asked.

“Hello, Farmer Joe”, said Farmer Bob.

ZQ Retold Part 9: (Whatever the male equivalent of "damsel" is) in distress

Abe walked through the kitchen, looking through the room. He was trying to find something he and Abe could eat for supper.

The only food the Goblins hadn’t taken was what they didn’t consider food. In other words, Abe and Caleb were living on junk food, the type where the ingredient list covers half the box.

The pantry was completely empty. Abe cursed under his breath. It seemed that the Goblins were trying to starve them. The one thing still in the pantry was a dusty can of tuna. Abe sighed, pulling it out.

EXPIRES: 9/17/12, the date read.

Abe angrily threw down the can, and stormed back to the garage.

“The Goblins stole all our food!”, Abe spat.

“Calm down. I’m sure your cousin has some food. Why don’t you ask him?”

“I suppose”, Abe muttered to himself. “Even if he doesn’t have any food, maybe he knows where some is”

“Guess we have no choice”, Caleb replied, picking up his revolver from its place in a dish rack, which Caleb had brought to the garage.

The first thing Abe and Caleb noticed when they walked onto Affadax Avenue, was that the street was eerily void of Goblins. Scanning the area, Abe saw only a black speck in the sky, probably a zeppelin.

“This street was teeming with Goblins last time”, Caleb muttered. “Why would they suddenly be gone?”

“Maybe they’re planning a surprise attack. Or. . .OH MY GOSH!”, Abe shouted.

Caleb flinched in surprise. “What was that for?”, he asked.

“They probably want to concentrate on a specific target! And unless there’s some other guy in the area who’s selling weapons. . .”, Without finishing the sentence, Abe ran off in the direction of Tony’s house.

Tony ran through his backyard, mowing down Goblin after Goblin with his machine gun.

He ran to a corner, where the old, red picket fence met the wall of his house. Suddenly, a massive gust of wind swept the yard, sending dead skunks sailing through the air. Tony looked up in horror. A dragon was landing in the vacant lot next to his house. Karab stepped down from it.

“Raktalo hek dilwar!”, Karab shouted to a second Goblin, who clutched the dragons’ reins. The Goblin cracked the reins, and the dragon roared out a fireball. In an instant, the fence was ablaze. The ancient posts quickly disintegrated into flaming ashes as if they were made of dust. Karab walked through the fires. It seemed that his white robe was protecting him from the fire.

“How I love dramatic entries”, Karab hissed at Tony.

“You said our deal was done”, Tony growled at him, jumping away from the fence. He aimed the barrel of his machine gun into Karab’s heartless, red eyes.

Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick, the gun said.

Karab began to laugh. “As the aliens in those old movies of yours say, ‘DIE PUNY HUMAN SCUM!’” He pulled a crossbow from a strap from his back, and reached into a quiver hanging from a belt. The quiver was situated where most people with guns kept their holsters. He reached in, and produced. . .nothing.

Surprise crossed the Goblin’s face, which quickly morphed into rage. He began shouting words that Tony guessed were Goblin curse words.

“Well, then nevermind”, Karab snarled. “I can ask one of my soldiers to kill you later. Most of your weapons will be nothing but ash”

“So will your troops”, Tony replied. “I think they’re looting my house, which you just set on fire”

A range of emotions crossed Karab’s face. First shock, then sadness, and then anger”

“They’re expendable!”, Karab barked. “I can ask my leader to make a whole new batch! If their brains are fine, I can even give them the same personalities and memories!”

By now, all of Tony’s fence and about a fifth of his house had been reduced to burnt husks. A Goblin knight, like the one who Abe and Caleb had fought walked up to Karab. The two quickly talked to each other in their native tongue.

Before Tony could react, the knight kneed him, and he crumpled to the ground. He felt rusty metal pressing against his neck, but then heard Karab shout something in Goblin. Pain stabbed through his head as the knight did what he presumed was kicking him in the face. Suddenly, Karab let out a bloodcurdling scream.

As the world faded away from Tony, he thought he saw Abe coming to his rescue.

Tony’s parents were deeply religious. Sort of. They had written their own Bible, and had taught Tony from birth that even worse than the Seven Deadly Sins were the Three Even Deadlier Sins. They were: refusal to eat vegetables, refusal to go to bed before 6 PM, and refusal to clean your room. In any case, he was constantly told that one toe out of line, and he would go straight to hell.

As he had become a dealer in illegal weapons, illegal drugs, and worst of all, illegal dead skunks, Tony figured that, if his parents were to be believed, he would be in Satan’s kingdom. It sure seemed like hell, since the first thing he saw was fire. As he looked around, he noticed that there was far less fire than he had thought. The only fire he could see was only the size of a campfire. Also, hell was very small, and looked like a garage.

Tony sprang to his feet.

“Uh, hi”, Caleb said, as he scanned the area for his machine gun.

“Don’t bother looking for the gun”, Abe told Tony. “It’s toast. Literally”

Caleb groaned. “It’s the apocalypse, and you still can’t refrain from awful puns?”

“Nope”, Abe said, chuckling.

Abe had built a campfire in the garage, keeping the door open to provide an escape for the smoke. In addition, Caleb had found an electric fan, and would occasionally switch it on to blow out the smoke at a quicker rate.

“What is this?”, Tony asked as Abe handed him a skewer with a small, green piece of what appeared to be meat. “Don’t tell me this is roast Goblin”

“It is roast Goblin”, Abe said. “Frank saw the fire and came over. He helped us take out the Goblins. Then he showed us how to cook them. Apparently, he lives on the stuff”

“It’s like eating bugs”, Caleb explained. “Innovative and a way to save food, yet also absolutely revolting”

“Better put out the fire”, Tony told Abe and Tyler after dinner. “Don’t want to give the Goblins a huge signal that shows where some humans are. Humans who just killed one of their highest-ranking”

As Tyler whacked the fire with a piece of the Goblin knight’s armor, attempting to smother it, it became apparent that they were too late.