#post-apocalyptic comedy

[abnormalpublishing]

Episode 39: Diablow Me, Hellspawn

Photo: @paultorrres0

The Hellspawn surveyed the wasteland, hands on its hips. “Well,” it rumbled, “this place is a bit rundown. But I suppose it will have to do.”

Its glowing eyes scanned the horizon before settling on the ground below. “Little fleshling, come out. Come out so that I may thank you for a job well done.”

Hidden with his cloaking device, Dante frowned. “I released you by accident. Had I known you were the result, I would never have performed the ritual. I thought it would help me find my mother.”

The Hellspawn laughed a deep, booming laugh that shook loose dust and rubble. “Ah! The oldest trick in existence. How fortunate for me—and how unfortunate for you.”

The creature knelt, bringing its massive face closer to the invisible Dante. “Reveal yourself, child. Tell me your name. Let me reward you for your service.” Its grin widened. “I could make you powerful, give you a seat at my side when I rule this pathetic world.”

Dante tightened his grip on his pistols. “You already know my answer, demon.”

“Oh?”

“You can go back to Hell.”

The Hellspawn burst into laughter once more.

Before it could respond, a familiar voice thundered from above. “Don’t do it, kid. She’s bad news.”

The Hellspawn blinked.

“She?” There was a pause. “He?” Another pause. “Whatever. It’s bad news making deals with devils.”

The Hellspawn looked skyward. “Ah. The Maker. Still sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

“At least I make an effort to help my creations.”

The demon snorted. “Help? Is that what we’re calling turning the world into a radioactive landfill now?”

“I went on a cosmic cruise for a thousand years and came back to this mess, it’s not exactly my fault!” The Maker paused. “Besides, nice deflection. Dante’s smarter than that. So is his father.”

Dante immediately stiffened. “I told you not to talk about my father!”

“Oh, right. Daddy issues.”

A gust of wind swept through the area.

The Maker had sighed. Again. “Look, kid, your dad isn’t a bad guy. Annoying? Absolutely. Makes me want to throw things? Frequently. But he’s not the monster you think he is.”

Dante looked down, then back up at the demon. “Hellspawn.”

The creature smiled. “Yes?”

“I accept your deal.”

There was silence. Not even the wind blew this time.

“What the hell?!” the Maker shouted.

The Hellspawn grinned. “Excellent choice.”

Dante shifted uneasily. He had a plan. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

“So what happens now?” Dante asked. “A Handshake? Hug? Blood oath? Consummation? What’s the procedure?”

The demon laughed. “Oh no.” Its smile widened. “I simply kill you.”

Dante sighed. “Yeah, I probably should’ve seen that coming.”

“I told you.”

“Shut up.”

The demon’s claws flexed. “You mortals always think you’re special.”

“Funny,” Dante replied. “I was planning to use you, too.” His cloaking vanished, guns drawn, bullets zipped.

Diablo laughed. “Pathetic fool! You think you can challenge the Lord of Hell?” The earth trembled beneath its voice.

Dante sprinted, flipped, rolled, and dodged between massive strikes that shattered the ground.

“Your attacks are like fleas biting my ankles!” Diablo roared.

“Oh yeah? Wait until this flea punches you in the nutbag!”

The Maker cleared his throat. “Uh... about that.”

“What?”

“Yeah, they don’t have one.”

Dante blinked. “What?”

“Technically, Diablo is kind of... gender-indifferent.”

Dante stared, Diablo stared, followed by an awkward silence.

“Did you make them?” Dante asked.

“Me? God, no.” The Maker sounded offended. “Some other cosmic entity. There was a whole speech about how light doesn’t exist without darkness, destiny, and all that nonsense. I stopped listening.”

Diablo slammed both fists into the ground. “I WILL CRUSH YOU!” The impact sent Dante flying. “THE HEAVENS SHALL TREMBLE! THE EARTH SHALL BURN! ALL WILL FALL BEFORE MY REIGN!”

Dante hit the ground hard. Then sighed. “I’m not hurting it at all.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” There was a pause. “Here.”

“What?”

“It’s dangerous to fight alone.” A silver streak suddenly cut across the sky.

Dante looked up. “What the hell is that?”

“A gift.” The Maker paused. “You’d better jump, white man.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Dante leaped into the air, and the object slammed into his waiting hands—a sword—an enormous sword forged from bone, muscle, blood, and sinew, with small glowing orbs pulsing within its frame. Yes, it was dark, demonic, powerful, and somehow...

“Perfect.”

Dante grinned. “Oh yeah.” He swung it experimentally. “Now we’re talking.”

Diablo cackled. “You think some oversized twig will save you?”

Dante spun the blade around his body, showing off far more than necessary. Then, he pointed it at the Lord of Hell. “You’re about to be bent over and grabbing your ankles real soon, Diana.”

Diablo’s eye twitched. “My name is Diablo.” A vein bulged. “DIABLO.” Another twitch. “GET IT RIGHT, YOU INSUFFERABLE GNAT!”

Dante charged forward. “Yeah? Well, DIABLOW ME!” He swung his sword overhead. “Ha! Cheek clapper!”

The battle for the wasteland had officially become stupid, more than it already was.

[abnormalpublishing]

Episode 33: Evil May Be Able to Evolve, But So Can I

As Ben unleashed his fury upon Wesker—the Crimson Tyrant—he was so blinded by rage that he failed to notice he was bleeding out from within. He was dying, yes, kept upright only by the anger that burned inside him.

Suspended in the air, Ben clawed at the storm itself, commanding wind, thunder, and lightning as if they were extensions of his own will.

The Wasteland Bear God watched grimly. His Mirelurk companion was failing—and fast. Stepping in now, however, would almost certainly piss the Lord Mirelurk off beyond reason.

The thought made him grin.

“Alright, Ben. Playtime’s over,” the Bear God called out. “My turn!”

The winds screamed in protest, shoving both the Bear God and Rubricon toward the edge of the rooftop.

“I said he’s MINE!” Ben roared.

The sky answered him.

Thunder cracked. A colossal bolt of lightning speared down, striking the Crimson Tyrant dead center.

Between the wind, rain, and flying debris, it was impossible to see what was happening inside the storm’s eye—except that, hopefully, Wesker would be dead soon and they could… maybe… move on to bigger things.

That hope was short-lived.

Wesker burst upward through the chaos, launching himself toward Ben. Fresh scars crisscrossed his massive frame.

Albrecht threw his head back and laughed. “This has all been very cute, my little lobster friend. However, this is your end!”

His backhand connected.

Ben was sent crashing through the rooftop, smashing through steel and concrete before slamming into the lobby far below. He lay motionless. Wesker had knocked the rest of his life clean out of him.

Wesker smacked his lips. “I will rather enjoy devouring him. No pot required.”

“We’re still here, you know,” the Bear God said dryly.

“Oh! Yes, of course. Where are my manners?” Wesker replied, straightening up. “My apologies, gentlemen. I got lost in the moment. You understand, I’m sure.”

He gestured toward the hole in the roof. “Your friend tried so hard… what a shame. Well, no sense mourning. You’ll be joining him shortly.”

The remaining duo readied themselves.

“I wouldn’t count on us being pushovers just yet,” Rubricon said.

Wesker grinned. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. I expect a proper beatdown.”

“Let’s hurry this along,” the Bear God added. “I’ve got a laundry list of shit to do.”

“Eager to die,” Wesker mused. “Very well. You may go first—but before that… let me show you what’s in store.”

The Crimson Tyrant hunched forward, clutching his sides.

Thick, leathery wings tore free from his back. Horns erupted from his forehead—longer, sharper, more ridiculous by the second.

“Please don’t say ‘me so horny,’” Sin muttered.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Wesker replied casually. “I’m not finished.”

A long, spiked tail burst free behind him.

“Now?” Sin asked.

“Not yet.”

“How long is this gonna take?” Sin sighed. “Please don’t say several episodes.”

After several uncomfortable moments of changes, the Crimson Tyrant stood complete. He had grown several feet taller. Additional razor-sharp claws jutted from his elbows, and his feet now resembled those of a Deathclaw.

“I gotta say,” Sin said, unimpressed, “that was the most boring transformation I’ve ever seen. Wouldn’t you agree, Rubricon?”

“I would,” Rubricon nodded. “I mean, that one time we fought? Way better.”

“That one time, right?”

“The very one!”

Sin scratched his chin. “Uh… which one?”

“One of those times,” Rubricon shrugged.

Wesker’s expression darkened. “Enough! I will kill you both, devour you and your pathetic crab friend, then feast upon the rest of the Wasteland.”

“Uh oh,” the Bear God smirked. “Looks like Al here’s upset. Listen, pal, if you’re having issues getting it up—”

“I am not your pal.”

“Well, I ain’t your bud, bro.”

“I’m not your bro, friend.”

“I’m not your friend, Steve.”

“MY NAME IS ALBRECHT!” Wesker bellowed.

“Ooooh,” the Bear God chuckled. “We hit a nerve, Rubricon. Careful—badass incoming.”

Far below them, something else was happening.

Ben was changing.

A sharp whistling cut through the air—fast. Violent.

“I SAID THAT ASSHOLE WAS MINE!”

Ben slammed into Wesker with an uppercut that snapped the Crimson Tyrant’s head back.

“Holy shit,” the Bear God stared. “Ben… what happened to you?”

Ben stood before them—no longer the Mirelurk he once was.

He was something new.

A hybrid of Ghoul and Mirelurk. His right arm had become a massive claw. He stood taller than any man, though smaller than his former Mirelurk form. His back was encased in a blackened shell that wrapped around his head like armor. His eyes—no longer crustacean—were the dead black of a Ghoul.

To everyone on the rooftop… he was fuck ugly.

Almost as ugly as Wesker had been at first.

“I’ve evolved,” Ben said.

“The fuck is this?” Sin asked. “Pokémon?”

“Nope,” Ben replied. “This is just how I work. You’ll see more in time.”

He turned his gaze to Wesker.

“As for you… I told you I was gonna tear your soul out. I intend to see it through.”

Wesker grinned. “I can’t wait to see you try, small fry.”

“Will the Crimson Tyrant, Albrecht Wesker, defeat the Ultimate Lifeform that is Ben? Aren’t you super stoked that we did a power-up scene and didn’t take three or more episodes? What the hell is going to happen?

TUNE IN NEXT TIME… ON DIARY OF THE WASTELAND BEAR GOD BALLS DEEP!”

“CUT! It’s not balls deep.”

“Wait, it’s not balls deep? I think it goes a long way, more girth for the readers to enjoy.”

“Right, just end it with the ‘Bear God.’”

“So, are we gonna start from the tip and work our way down the shaft or—”

“You know what? I think we’re going to go in a different direction.”

“I’m not much of an ass-man, but that’s OK.”

“SECURITY!”

“But—I hadn’t finished yet.”

[abnormalpublishing]

Episode 21: Bad News, Bear God

It’s day 48 . . . or something. Honestly, everything’s a blur now.

They say someone’s looking for me. When I ask who, I get the usual garbage—“you’ll see,” or “you already know them.”

I have my suspicions. We go way back. Once, we were even friends. But I turned him into a rabbit, and he’s probably still mad about it. In my defense, he shouldn’t have stuck his nose where it didn’t belong.

The spellbook wasn’t for me—it was to save my wife. She was with child, and I was over the moon. But a Warlock loving a Druid? Forbidden. It meant doom for us both and our child.

So I broke into the Black Council’s hideaway, stole the tome, cast the spells, and warped us far away. We’d live in peace, raise our child, but that dream died quickly.

The Council found us. Rubricon tried to warn me, but I didn’t want him involved—my burden, not his. Instead, I cursed him—eternal life as a ridiculous rabbit-humanoid. I thought he’d take the hint and run. Instead, he stewed in fury.

I was captured, stripped of power, and left as a beast—frozen in time, until the Fallout. I don’t know what happened to them. It hurts to care. I can’t change the past, even blessed by The Maker.

Still . . . whatever he holds against me, he deserves to speak his piece.

[Begin holotape playback.]

“I’ve found you, at last.” The voice was familiar.

“Took you long enough. Here to finish our bout, Rubricon?”

Rubricon sighed. “No. I’ve given up on that.” His eyes were hollow. “I came to tell you about Helk . . . and Dante.”

The Mighty Bear God’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“Dante… is your son, Sin. He lives. As does Helk.”

“I . . . have a son? They’re alive?” The Bear God sat, trying to make sense of it.

“There’s more . . . Dante is rumored to be the Anti–Bear God.”

Sin froze. Maybe The Maker was wrong?

Then—faster than sight—black and blue light swirled. Rubricon felt a crushing blow to the side of his head and went tumbling across the Wasteland. Bones shattered.

“I don’t need your mind games!” Sin roared. “They’re gone. They died in the past—where they’ll stay!”

Rubricon tried to rise, but his back was broken in several places. His breath came in wet gasps. He heard the Bear God’s stomping—his end was near.

“You came looking for me? For your end? Well, old friend, you’ve found it!”

“Sin . . .” Rubricon coughed, choking on blood. “I’m not lying. You call me ‘friend,’ and this is what you do? If anyone should be angry—it’s me. She was my sister. How do you think I feel?”

Sin grabbed him by the ears, the crunch loud in his paw. Reason was gone—only rage remained. Sin pulled the battered rabbit close, his breath hot, eyes burning with hellish fire.

“Die.”

Drool spattered Rubricon’s face. He clenched his eyes shut. Sin hurled him skyward, extended his paw, and focused all his energy—then clenched it into a fist.

Rubricon made a sound—half gasp, half scream—before bursting into a cloud of ash. The wind carried him away.

Sin dropped to his knees. Tears streaked his fur as he slammed his paws into the ground, over and over. The earth trembled. Buildings crumbled. Fissures split the streets.

“I’ll destroy this world! I’ll give it the mercy it needs!”

A voice spoke behind him. “Or . . . you could listen to me, instead of being an emo fur baby.”

Sin turned.

Rubricon floated before him, whole again.

“How? I killed you!”

Rubricon smirked. “You’re not the only one with plot armor—or The Maker’s favor. Try being the messenger who gets his ass kicked every time.”

[abnormalpublishing]

Episode 16: The End of One Legend, The Beginning of Another

[Now playing Side B]

The Mighty Bear God stepped forth to challenge the Dancemancer, Jahn Trabolta.

“Well, I guess I will then . . .”

Trabolta grinned. “I hope you brought a change of underwear, kid. You’re gonna be shitting yourself real soon.”

[click-click clack CLACK] Ben scuttled in front of the Bear God, insistent.

Sin knelt beside his Mirelurk companion. “Uh, I dunno, little guy. Are you really sure you want to go through with this? I could just smite him and be done with it.”

[clackkitty click-click] The hatchling fiercely snapped his pincers.

“Alright then. Go get ’em, Ben.” Sin patted the spunky, tiny crustacean and sent him off.

“Oh . . . uh . . . okay? So . . . you’re really letting the crab take me on?” Trabolta asked.

The Bear God shrugged. “He insists. Who am I to deny destiny?”

The Dancemancer clasped his hands together. “Very well! But know this—I will not go easy. You’re about to face the living legend!”

[Click clack]

“What was that?” Trabolta asked.

“‘Fuck off,’ I think,” the Bear God said flatly.

“Hmph.” Trabolta raised his arms to signal the disco ball, which began to rotate. Lights flashed. The music hit.

It was on.

Round 1: Dancemancer’s Groove

Trabolta took the floor first, all glitz and precision—pure charisma. He popped, he locked, he funked.

Round 2: Ben’s Revenge

Ben scuttled up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, and snapped his pincers like a crustaceous castanet. Then—he began to glow. A golden shimmer gave way to a full-on kaleidoscope of light. He spun, flipped, then—oh god—shook his crab ass and grinded against Trabolta’s leg.

Trabolta winced. “What the hell is wrong with this crab?!”

He held back a retaliatory kick.

Ben spun wildly on his back, finishing with a dramatic side-pose.

The crowd exploded in cheers.

Even the Bear God wiped a tear. “So proud . . .”

Round 3: Walk It Out

Trabolta clapped at his opponent’s display of power. “Impressive. Most impressive. However, you haven’t seen my walk. . .” Trabolta clapped, a thunder rolled throughout the cavern, and then he strutted across the floor like he’d just invented concrete.

Ben wasn’t fazed. He walked right up and matched him, step for step.

By the end, Trabolta was sweating bullets and gasping for air.

“Final round!” he bellowed. “Sudden DEATH!”

The music turned savage and fast, like “Endymion” from DDR.

A disembodied voice boomed: “FIGHT!”

Trabolta lunged. “Take this, you glowstick reject!”

Ben stood firm.

“Go for the eyes, Ben! THE EYES!” Sin screamed from the sidelines.

In a blur, Trabolta kicked Ben, sending him flying into the glowing green vat of acid.

“Noooo! BEN!” the Bear God roared.

[bloop]

Silence. Trabolta moonwalked to center stage, grabbed his crotch, and shouted, “ALWAYS a winner! You can’t touch this!”

But then . . . the acid glowed.

Ben rose.

Bathed in golden light, he hovered. His gaze locked on Trabolta. A pipsqueak voice echoed through the cavern: “I’m going to fuck you up.”

The booming voice returned: “FINISH HIM.”

Ben struck. Trabolta went flying—straight into the vat of acid.

“Flawless victory. Fatality. Ben wins!”

Ben stood alone on the platform, pincers snapping in triumph.

Then, a strange light emerged from the vat. It flowed into him—swirling, shimmering—changing him.

Where once stood a hatchling now stood a towering Mirelurk [think Hunter-class], exuding raw, radiant power.

“Such . . . delicious power,” Ben said with a dark little grin.

Sin hurried over, stunned. “Ben . . . that was amazing! Where did you learn that? And you can talk now!?”

Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. It just kind of . . . came naturally. I guess now everyone can understand me, huh?”

“Well, whatever it is—you’re now the Dancemancer. Didn’t think you had it in ya, little buddy.”

Sin paused, then added, “Well, guess you’re not so little anymore.”

Ben rubbed the back of his armored head awkwardly. “Ah, well, shucks… thanks, Dad.”

“Yeah—no,” Sin said, turning. “You can stop that. I am not having bastard children. I’m not paying child support. Nope. Nope. Nope.”

He disappeared down the corridor.

Ben watched him go. Then . . . his expression darkened.

“Don’t you worry . . . Once I have enough power . . . I will wreck you. I will wreck this land—no, this world! ALL WILL BOW BEFORE THE MIGHT THAT IS C’TH—”

“BEN! SHUT UP AND LET’S GO!”

“Coming!”

[End Holotape]

[abnormalpublishing]

Episode 13: To the Beach

“It's not easy being The Mighty Bear God. In fact, it's usually quite taxing. You get Raiders, Deathclaws, Radscorpions, Mirelurks, rabid dogs, Ghouls, fan girls, fan boys, and those annoying Atom folks . . . I swear those are probably the worst of them. They sit there and throw shit at you, yell 'PRAISE ATOM!' and then shoot their green shit all over your face! It smells like five-day-old splooge.”

[The Mighty Bear God then thinks about it.]

“It probably is splooge.”

—The Mighty Bear God on Vacation, Mighty Bear Weekly, pg. 32

Day 44.

After being . . . blessed . . . by The Maker and having a chat about things, I was gifted something I haven’t had in a long time. Well, I should clarify—I’ve had plenty of it: time, at least time off from things. I’m not chasing down some existential horror, or someone hellbent on getting my asshole plugged by ghoulish fingers, or a Radscorpion trying to give me a colonoscopy.

I thought to myself that a small vacation would be ideal. Take a break. Get away from it all. Even though that wasn’t entirely true, since The Wasteland was still here, and there was still filth, pollution, and radiation everywhere.

But I had decided, and once I decide, I decide! So I took my flock, and we ventured to the beach. Play in the water. Soak up some sun. Get each other wet . . . yeah . . . you know.

Ooh, my loins are aching in anticipation!

***

We arrived on the shore near the old lighthouse that we purged some days ago. It seems some folks had taken a liking to it and tried to claim it. Well, let’s just say . . . I persuaded them.

[Scribe’s Note: The Almighty Bear God fornicated and plugged all their holes and spared no one. Not even the goat. At least, I think it was a goat. No one’s really sure. Still, it was a fun day in the sun.]

After making the new settlers . . . sing praise . . . to me, and forcing them to shower, we went to the beach and began our fun.

So as I ready my spread and the flock prepares our picnic, I shall enjoy this time and halt my writing, for now.

***

[An audio/video holotape is enclosed.]

[Begin playback.]

“Scribe Tartar reporting. What was supposed to be a fun day has now turned into a day of bloodshed. We—we were attacked, unawares, and without a moment to prepare a counterattack. However, the Mighty Bear God—He protected us with His righteous nuts of fury! A few of the new settlers were slain, but He suggests that they died for the greater good. The greater good.”

A monstrous Mirelurk Queen snapped her pincers, attempting to communicate with the Mighty Bear God.

[click-click-clickitty-click-clack]

“Yeah, I have no fucking idea what in the hell that is supposed to mean,” The Mighty Bear God said, shaking his head.

Mirelurks ran amok on the beach, chasing down settlers and members of his flock. He surveyed the area, noting the precise spot the Mirelurks had emerged from.

“OK, lemme see if I’m right here. That area over there is your nesting ground, right?” The Bear God pointed at a shallow shoreline littered with eggshells.

[click-click-clack-clack-clickitty-clack-clack]

He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to assume that was a yes.”

[click-click-clack]

He sighed. “Yeah, OK, look. Call your . . . children . . . off my people, and we’ll disperse with no problems. You kill one of mine, I kill one of yours. You piss me off, I kill all of you. Deal?”

The Mirelurk Queen seemed to nod . . . or something.

[CLACK CLACK]

Most of the Mirelurks backed off. Most.

But as the parties negotiated the terms, the unexpected happened. A rogue Mirelurk Hunter had gotten hold of one of the new settlers and was forcing itself on them.

“Queenie . . . I thought we had a deal,” the Bear God growled, motioning with his head at the rogue.

[CLACK CLACK! CLICK CLACK CLACK! CLICKITTY—CLACK—CLICK!]

The Queen furiously snapped her pincers, but the rogue was too far gone.

It slaughtered the settler, digging in and ripping through their insides. First the intestines, then the rib cage—snapping through to get at the lungs and heart. The other Mirelurks clacked in approval.

The flock and settlers wore expressions of disgust. The Bear God’s faithful canine companion rampaged, targeting limbs and throats.

“Well, you know the rules.” The Bear God sighed.

In a remarkable display of newly acquired finesse, vigor, and fury, The Mighty Bear God charged through the Mirelurks in pursuit of the rogue.

“You done gone and fucked up!” he roared.

[CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!] The Mirelurks seemed to chant, while the Queen appeared—possibly—distressed.

The Bear God raised his holy paw. It ignited with blinding white light. He struck. The Mirelurk Hunter exploded into water, sludge, and gods-know-what.

The other Mirelurks stirred in a frenzy.

[CLACK! CLACK! CLICKITTY CLACK! CLICKITTY CLACK! CLACK!] The Queen clattered—either attempting to calm them or provoking them.

“Well, my children . . . I guess we’re having crab for dinner!” The Bear God let out a mighty roar that staggered the amassing horde. “ULTIMATE CRAB BATTLE!”

He tore through their hardened carapaces. One by one. Two by two. Again and again. Until only one remained—The Queen. She lingered—distraught, heartbroken.

[C . . . click . . . click . . . clack . . . clack.]

“I told you, Queenie. Them’s the rules of the land.”

He motioned to his followers. “Gather them up. Tonight, we feast!”

Cheers erupted. The Queen turned to leave.

“Look, Queenie, you can stay. I doubt you’d join us, but as long as there’s no more trouble, we’ll be fine.”

She tilted her head and motioned for him to follow.

She led him to the nest. There sat a single pristine Mirelurk egg. She pointed at it, then at him.

“You . . . want me to take it?”

She nodded and clacked softly.

“OK then. I’ll take good care of it.” He reached out and picked it up.

And then, he could’ve sworn he heard her say, clear as day: “Kill me.”

“Wait, what? You want me to kill you?”

She nodded, lowering her pincers.

“Well . . . I don’t usually do requests, but if you insist . . . and to honor the deal.” He sighed, raising his paw. “I’ll be merciful. I’ll grant you a swift death. Don’t worry. I’ll raise them right. They’ll grow up big and strong.”

With one swift strike, the Mirelurk Queen collapsed atop the eggshells.

Never before had he met such a personable creature . . . at least not in the Wasteland. As he wandered back to camp—where crabs were plentiful—he looked at the egg in his paw.

“I know just what to name you when you hatch,” he said with a smile.

Tucking the egg under his arm, he stepped toward the platter of steaming crab.

“LET’S FEAST!”

[End holotape]

[abnormalpublishing]

Episode 11 – Get F**ked

Day 43.

I sent a few of my flock to check out the crater where Rubricon fell. They haven’t returned yet. It’s been a while . . . and I’m starting to worry that son of a bitch didn’t stay down. Maybe I should’ve hit him harder, or played a different song. Hmm. I wonder if I could have gotten away with MC Hammer’s “You Can’t Touch This”?

Either way, if they don’t show up soon, I’ll be forced to leave them behind. Waiting makes my loins quiver with unease.

Update:

Ricky, Dicky, and Flub finally made it back.

According to their report, the crater is empty—no sign of Rubricon. I suppose that was to be expected. He is a rabbit, after all. And when rabbits fuck, they’re just like cockroaches . . . they spread. Fast. And everywhere.

Wait.

What’s that?

There’s a fiery ball . . . orange, bright—Ah, shit.

[Holotape: Scribe Tetanus Recording]

Ahem. Scribe Tetanus here.

It seems that a massive fireball has just crash-landed on top of The Mighty Bear God. Upon closer inspection, it’s a round, metallic capsule—some pod. There's a window, but it’s too dark to make out anything inside.

Wait! It’s moving—yes, yes! The capsule is moving! The Mighty Bear God . . . He has risen!

[Chanting breaks out in the background]

“What . . . the . . . hell?” the Bear God muttered, brushing dirt off his fur and shoving the capsule off his chest. He rolled it away and gave it a suspicious glare.

The capsule hissed—pressurized air hissing out alongside a puff of ozone and smoke.

Two massive black eyes appeared in the dark. A gray, smooth-skinned alien poked its head out, blinking slowly as it looked around the Wasteland.

“Greetings, Earthlings. I am Captain Ack—” it began in a raspy fish-lipped voice.

“NOPE! NOPE! NOPE!”

With zero hesitation, the Mighty Bear God dropkicked the alien back into the capsule, lifted it over his head, and launched it toward the sky.

Somewhere in the distance—perhaps space, perhaps just a nearby desert hill—the alien’s voice faded over a loudspeaker: “It was a traaaap—”

Then silence.

The flock stared at their Almighty Bear God, stunned. He spat into the dirt.

“I’m not doing that. Aliens exist. Great. Message received. But I am not including them. Not now. Not ever. YOU HEAR ME?! DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

[Elsewhere, Beyond Time]

Far beyond the world, across dimensions, the Maker watched with His divine all-seeing eyes.

He sighed and rolled His eyes. Still, He continued creating, destroying, and shitposting the fabric of reality as He pleased.

Then, in response to one of His creations, He wrote a message. Folded it into a paper airplane.

With a single breath, He sent it to its intended target.

***

Back in the Wasteland, out of the sky, a gleaming, glowing piece of paper descended.

It defied logic. Gravity. Reason. Everything.

It landed softly in the Bear God’s paws.

He unfolded it and read it aloud:

“If I want aliens, I’ll fucking put aliens in.

If I want you dead, I’ll make you dead.

Remember . . . you’re my bitch, bitch.

Go fuck yourself.

With Love,

The Maker”

The Bear God’s lip curled. A scowl overtook his face.

“What a cunt.”

Suddenly, another white sheet of paper dropped—no, blasted—from the sky, striking the Bear God like a missile and leveling the surrounding area.

On the utterly pristine page, the Maker wrote the following words:

F-Bomb. I win.

:)

[abnormalpublishing]

Episode 10: Crash! Wham! Alakazam!

"Some say that from the ashes will rise an ally—and that ally will be a kind of key . . . a key to the Gatekeeper. Where there are no ghouls, only Dana Fembots. Pray, friends, for if they are released upon the world . . . feminism will have us all by the jollies."

— Bhal Aundy, Children of the Lost Marriage 1:03

[The scribe was kind enough to enclose an audio holotape for your eargasmic pleasure.]

Day 42

Since my last battle with Rubricon, the crater has remained untouched. From where we've traveled—up north—we can still see it smoldering, its gray puffs curling lazily into the sky.

As promised, I took my flock to the Lakeshore Creamery for ice cream. Each was ordered to choose their own and to have as many scoops as they desired. They seemed pretty content.

Tara, Shana, Tama, and Tata grew . . . aroused by their frozen treats. One moment they were licking, biting, and sucking with the zeal of true devotees—and the next, they had stripped bare, continuing their actions with each other and their desserts. It devolved into a frenzy. Some even began to defecate—[the remainder of this passage is indecipherable].

After their performance, they bathed. I executed the creamery staff responsible for tainting the confections with a concoction of Buffout, Psycho, Mentats, Jet, Deathclaw blood, Mirelurk eggs, RadAway, and Mutfruit. The locals called it a "Pudding Pop"—a euphoric drug cocktail. Whatever it was, it was unacceptable.

NONE MAY TAINT THE BITCHES OF THE MIGHTY BEAR GOD, LET ALONE MY FLOCK!

I have ordered my minions to ransack the facility. We shall make camp here for the night. The 'shrooms—or whatever was slipped into my sundae—have left me with a wretched stomachache. Maker above, I will be squirting this unholy sludge out for hours.

At least this time, there is toilet paper. Though . . . I suspect my flock took great pleasure in cleansing their Mighty Bear God. Probably too much. I will have to reaffirm boundaries.

Later, perhaps.

[abnormalpublishing]

Wasteland Bear God Commentary – Episode 6: "A Challenger Appears"

This episode marks a turning point. Up until now, Bear God’s been wrecking everything in sight with unstoppable momentum (and increasingly ridiculous firepower). But A Challenger Appears introduces the idea that he might no longer be alone at the top of the food chain.

The “prophecy” at the start, courtesy of Prophet Cunnilingus Maximus (yes, I had a stupid grin when I wrote that name), sets the tone: there’s an Anti-Bear God out there. Some rival. Some mirror image. Maybe something worse. Gotta tease the future some way.

Of course, the Bear God, being the Bear God, immediately brushes off the whole thing. (“Who even IS Zodiac? Pig face? Rat suit? Satyr? Please. I’m stacked.") His confidence is so absurd it borders on satire—and that’s precisely the point. This world is loud, violent, and a little unhinged . . . just like its self-proclaimed deity . . . and our reality.

Another major theme here is evolution. The Bear God reflects on his lost ability to shapeshift—something that once made him even more mighty—and how, instead of mourning it forever, he adapted, improvised, and overcame (emphasis on the “came”) the skill issue. He got stronger in his bear form. He upgraded with technology. He embraced change and made it his.

And yeah . . . who doesn’t love a good Dragon Ball Z reference to Vegeta telling Nappa . . . well, c’mon, you should know. If not, here’s a great video of different English dubs (I grew up with the Oceanic dub). You’re welcome.

Around this time, I was putting on the jetpack module for my power armor and doing the Last Voyage of the U.S.S. Constitution. It seemed fitting. As such, I made it meld with this episode as the Bear God goes full Super Mecha Bear Mode. And yes, if any other person who played and used the jetpacks module, played (honestly, any Star Wars game or the original trilogy) Star Wars Galaxies, and is a fan of MC Chris, that’s my nod to the one and only, and the infamous hit “Fett’s Vette.” Love the guy and his music.

So, we got jetpacks? Nukes? Lasers? A god damn aerial strike? Absolutely.

It’s ridiculous. It’s over the top. It’s the Wasteland Bear God, baby.

Still, even after victory, when he wrecks the Ark, we get the first real cracks in the Bear God’s invincible image.

He’s shot down. He crashes. Something tiny (a rabbit?!) laughs at him. The ground opens up. And suddenly, Bear God isn’t towering above everything anymore. He’s looking up. The rabbit bit is a call to the great Monty Python and the Holy Grail. This rabbit is about to make things weirder—and much more dangerous.

Catch you soon for the next episode!

Until next time,

RJM