According to Nerdy's Blood, this show is extremely graphic and brutal, in NB, the characters are cute, but don't be fooled! They often get mutilated, and significantly more. By clicking the link below, you agree to our series: Update: We are planning on renaming the series Nerdy's Blood to "Funtime with Nerdy" because Nerdy's Blood was a spoiler for the anatomical that comes next, and we don't want spoilers. We want it to be deceptively childish, so the world is seemingly innocent. Also, the series is recommended for Mature Audiences (MA) because the series may be disturbing to younger or more sensitive viewers, and we cannot have a liability on that.
So the products we'll soon be selling is:⢠Water bottles⢠E-books⢠Comic (maybe)⢠Additional Images⢠And animation (Maybe. That's only if I get enough money to hire a freelance animator, voice actor, background designer, credit roller, storyboard artists, sound designers, etc.)Once you support me, I will release those things. Let us get to that point.We'll also release gifts containing a random prize in there.We'll release phone cases for iOS users and Android users We'll release T-shirts, jackets and cards and more! Subscribe to Chaos Fuel Productions and we will unleash more than we could ever do now.I'm a solo creator waiting for support to become a teammate in a crew. Look, I know I sound vague, but I will give you the link in a minute.
Yeah right, I opened up Udio, typed a prompt like "Make an R&B music track in A-flat Major", and it did. I expanded the music. You might be wondering how I got the audio file because Udio didn't allow people to download music anymore, look, I recorded it in Audacity, and I did it with my internal speaker instead of the microphone because if I did it with the microphone, you'd hear background noises in this audio, which you probably don't. So after I recorded the audio, I had to make quick edits, like cut out parts that I didn't want in there. I don't think I notice any clipping in here, because I cleverly blended it. Now that I've explained my process, how do you like this? Sounds great? I have listened to this audio while creating Images, it was relaxing, I craved it.
When I create images like these, I always listen to lofi music or instrumental R&B music because it helps me focus on my work.
I am standing in the shadows. The air smells of ozone, dust, and the cheap cologne of fear.
In front of me stands HOSTILE STICK. This twig-limbed, two-dimensional excuse for a sentient being thinks he has the testicular fortitude to swing at me. He winds up a punch that moves slower than tectonic drift.
ME
(Internal Monologue)
Oh, you absolute fucking mistake.
ACTION: THE SUBMISSION
I don't even block. I slip inside his guard. My arm snakes around his neck like a constrictor python made of depleted uranium.
LOCK.
I sink the Rear Naked Choke. My bicep clamps against his left carotid artery; my forearm crushes the right one. I squeeze.
ANATOMICAL DETAIL:
His trachea compresses slightly, but this isn't an air choke. This is a BLOOD CHOKE. I am cutting off the oxygenated blood supply to his cerebral cortex. His brain is starving.
HOSTILE STICK
(Gurgling)
Ghckâkkkâ
His eyes bug out. The panic lasts exactly 2.5 seconds. Then, his synaptic firing ceases. His body goes limp. The electrical signals from his brain to his muscles are cut. SYSTEM SHUTDOWN.
ACTION: THE DROP
I release the lock. Gravity takes over immediately.
He falls. Not like a movie faint. He falls like a sack of wet cement.
CRACK.
His skull bounces off the stained concrete floor.
THE AFTERMATH
I look down. A dark, viscous crimson pool begins to spread rapidly from his nose and the back of his head, mapping out the imperfections in the concrete. The lighting is low, casting long, dramatic shadows over his pathetic form.
ME
"Youâre in my way, you geometrical abortion."
ACTION: THE KICK
I step back. I wind up my boot.
THWACK!
My steel-toe connects with his ribcage. The kinetic energy transfers perfectly. His body FLIPS over onto its stomach with a wet flop.
THE DISPOSAL
I grab him by the back of his collar. I start walking.
AUDIO: The sound of his expensive shoes dragging uselessly against the floor. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
ME
(Mumbling violently)
"...fucking audacity... think you can step to the King? ...got stick-figure shit all over my aura... dumbass motherfucker... wasting my caloric energy..."
I reach the heavy metal fire exit door. I kick it open. CLANG.
The night air rushes in. I swing him once. Twice.
YEET.
He sails into the alleyway darkness, landing among the trash bags with a soft, final thump.
INT. MAIN STAGE - SECONDS LATER
I stand just behind the curtain.
ACTION: THE CLEANSE
I briskly brush my shoulders. Left. Right. Wiping off the imaginary dust of his incompetence. I fix my collar. I grab a steaming ceramic mug of black coffee from a terrified stagehand.
I step through the curtain.
LIGHTING SHIFT:
From the dingy gloom of backstage to BLINDING, HEAVENLY WHITE SPOTLIGHTS. The beams cut through the air, illuminating dust motes dancing like angels.
AUDIO SHIFT:
The grit of the alley vanishes. Instantly, a FULL CELESTIAL ORCHESTRA swells.
MUSIC CUE: Symphony in A-Flat Major. The "Heroic" key. Soaring strings. Triumphant brass. A choir of falsetto voices singing the song of pure victory.
THE POSE
I walk to center stage. The spatial acoustics are massive. The sound reverberates off the high ceiling.
I stop.
I raise my left hand, palm open, fingers splayed to the gods.
In my right hand, I hold the coffee mug near my chest.
I close my eyes. A look of serene, arrogant ecstasy washes over my face. I bow my head slightly, basking in the glory.
THE CROWD
ROAR.
Thousands of people. Screaming. Crying. Rending their garments. They didn't see the assault. They only see the Art.
I take a sip of coffee. It burns my tongue.
It tastes like VICTORY.
What do you think about these images along with the script?
I am standing in the shadows. The air smells of ozone, dust, and the cheap cologne of fear.
In front of me stands HOSTILE STICK. This twig-limbed, two-dimensional excuse for a sentient being thinks he has the testicular fortitude to swing at me. He winds up a punch that moves slower than tectonic drift.
ME
(Internal Monologue)
Oh, you absolute fucking mistake.
ACTION: THE SUBMISSION
I don't even block. I slip inside his guard. My arm snakes around his neck like a constrictor python made of depleted uranium.
LOCK.
I sink the Rear Naked Choke. My bicep clamps against his left carotid artery; my forearm crushes the right one. I squeeze.
ANATOMICAL DETAIL:
His trachea compresses slightly, but this isn't an air choke. This is a BLOOD CHOKE. I am cutting off the oxygenated blood supply to his cerebral cortex. His brain is starving.
HOSTILE STICK
(Gurgling)
Ghckâkkkâ
His eyes bug out. The panic lasts exactly 2.5 seconds. Then, his synaptic firing ceases. His body goes limp. The electrical signals from his brain to his muscles are cut. SYSTEM SHUTDOWN.
ACTION: THE DROP
I release the lock. Gravity takes over immediately.
He falls. Not like a movie faint. He falls like a sack of wet cement.
CRACK.
His skull bounces off the stained concrete floor.
THE AFTERMATH
I look down. A dark, viscous crimson pool begins to spread rapidly from his nose and the back of his head, mapping out the imperfections in the concrete. The lighting is low, casting long, dramatic shadows over his pathetic form.
ME
"Youâre in my way, you geometrical abortion."
ACTION: THE KICK
I step back. I wind up my boot.
THWACK!
My steel-toe connects with his ribcage. The kinetic energy transfers perfectly. His body FLIPS over onto its stomach with a wet flop.
THE DISPOSAL
I grab him by the back of his collar. I start walking.
AUDIO: The sound of his expensive shoes dragging uselessly against the floor. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
ME
(Mumbling violently)
"...fucking audacity... think you can step to the King? ...got stick-figure shit all over my aura... dumbass motherfucker... wasting my caloric energy..."
I reach the heavy metal fire exit door. I kick it open. CLANG.
The night air rushes in. I swing him once. Twice.
YEET.
He sails into the alleyway darkness, landing among the trash bags with a soft, final thump.
INT. MAIN STAGE - SECONDS LATER
I stand just behind the curtain.
ACTION: THE CLEANSE
I briskly brush my shoulders. Left. Right. Wiping off the imaginary dust of his incompetence. I fix my collar. I grab a steaming ceramic mug of black coffee from a terrified stagehand.
I step through the curtain.
LIGHTING SHIFT:
From the dingy gloom of backstage to BLINDING, HEAVENLY WHITE SPOTLIGHTS. The beams cut through the air, illuminating dust motes dancing like angels.
AUDIO SHIFT:
The grit of the alley vanishes. Instantly, a FULL CELESTIAL ORCHESTRA swells.
MUSIC CUE: Symphony in A-Flat Major. The "Heroic" key. Soaring strings. Triumphant brass. A choir of falsetto voices singing the song of pure victory.
THE POSE
I walk to center stage. The spatial acoustics are massive. The sound reverberates off the high ceiling.
I stop.
I raise my left hand, palm open, fingers splayed to the gods.
In my right hand, I hold the coffee mug near my chest.
I close my eyes. A look of serene, arrogant ecstasy washes over my face. I bow my head slightly, basking in the glory.
THE CROWD
ROAR.
Thousands of people. Screaming. Crying. Rending their garments. They didn't see the assault. They only see the Art.
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