A.S.S.L.O.R.D.

You are one of the most notable MEDIOCRE EMPLOYEES at the A.S.S.L.O.R.D. COMPOUND, your terrifying lack of skills is second only to that dickbag JHORMA, the BOX LABELLER GUY with literally no brain whatsoever. You like to blame this deficit on the buggy COMMAND IMPLANT embedded in your noggin, sometimes it keeps you brainwashed, but most of the time it just tells you to do weird shit like "RETRIEVE YOUR ARMS FROM SOMETHING" or "HARVEST A SINGLE PUMPKIN".

You've been working for minimum wage as a CORPSE CUSTODIAN for as far back as you can remember, everything before the EMPLOYEE RECONFIGURING PROCESS is a messy blur. You guess those things are just part of the job when you work for an EXTREMIST REBEL FACTION, oh well!

You have the feeling the implant's about to malfunction again for some reason. What will you do?

March into the nearest office and demand a raise. It doesn't matter whose office it is.

Start (another) plot to overthrow the company.

Rip that poster down and eat it!

Rip that establishment down and eat it!

Rip off your clothes and eat them!

Rip that poster down and eat it!

First this POSTER, then the WO-Wait... why the hell did you just eat a poster? God damn, you're one disgusting bastard!

> Aww yeah you like dem posters, now eat the door, too.

Weep into your mop.

> Aww yeah you like dem posters, now eat the door, too.

In the momentary yet maddening poster-fueled hunger, you chew your way into the NEAREST POSTER PRINTING PRESS, not realizing until two whole minutes afterwards that it is your own shithole of a JANITORIAL CLOSET, or for that matter, that there aren't even any printers within company grounds!

Inside are many CRATES OF CLEANING AGENTS, as well as the few VALUED POSSESSIONS your paltry pay of BITCOIN (Which is no pay at all) can afford you! Scattered messily around the room with these belongings are your COMPANY-PRESCRIBED ENDORPHINS, which you enjoy mixing with SHOTS OF WHISKEY until you just sort of pass out.

Mop floor.

Mop floor.

with endorphins

replace door with that Poster poster!

Mop floor.

with endorphins

In your first act of self-expression since about three years ago, you crush the DRUGS in the tangled mess that is your MOP, and make a COLOURFUL DISPLAY OF COLOURY COLOURS with them.

Some might call this a pointless mess, you however like to consider it some form of DADAIST ART, or maybe just an EXPERIMENTAL ABSTRACT PAINTING, with deep personal meaning and careful planning. In this complex harmony and rhythm lies a gleeful expression of just how much you like popping pills.



Perhaps you put a slight bit too much thought into it, in hindsight! In the process of painting, the RIGHT-SIDE OF YOUR TINY BRAIN kersplodoomed by being pushed beyond its limits! The implant does that when you think too much, which is why you never do it!

Freak out!

The brain is useless to you. It has become, but mutton-chop. So chop it off and EAT IT FOR YOUR SUSTENANCE.

You're not paid enough for Conventional sustenance anyway. This could be the big-time for you.

oh is that why you're head is so weirdly shaped is that entire thing the implant