As Roquella asked this, the door to the changing room opened up, revealing it to be Ben Mason himself and a short, blonde woman (possibly Ben’s assistant, Beth Collins). “Hey there, Krockman!” Ben shouted loudly, trying to act friendly. “You ready for tonight’s conference?” Muttering a silent ‘fuck’ to himself, Krockman answered, “Hey Ben. Yeah, I’m getting ready for the thing. Don’t worry about it.” “That’s fantastic,” Ben said reply. “Hey listen, I’m gonna need you to come up with a few things to say about Ron’s new show. Doesn’t matter if you’ve heard anything about it. Just say something positive about it, okay?” Looking confused, Alucard chimed in, “Shouldn’t he actually hear about the show before forming an opinion?” When he heard this, Ben cast a dirty look towards the lost soul, asking, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you a writer? A producer? A member of the board?” “Uh, no, but...” Alucard began before being interrupted by Ben retorting, “Then why the hell are you talking?” 

“Look Ben, I’m not sure you should be depending on this ‘Ron’ guy’s idea,” Krockman said, a little offended by the man’s attitude. “I mean, I’ve read the synopsis for that Dark Vault episode he wrote for, and I gotta tell you, it left a lot to be desired.” Confused by this, Ben asked, “What was wrong with it? I thought it was pretty good.” “You’re kidding, right?” Krockman asked, sounding almost perplexed. “The whole episode was about a group of friends slowly getting killed off by a serial killer, only for the final girl to be revealed to be the killer’s girlfriend, but also having orchestrated the whole thing, and then the two just have sex right there amidst the bodies of her supposed friends.” “And your point is...?” Ben said in reply. “Look, it doesn’t matter if you like it. This proposal is going to save the studio. Besides, you owe it to me after your bitch ex-girlfriend ruined the company’s reputation. “With information that you told her while you two were boning,” Krockman retorted, glaring at the CEO. Ben only glared back at Krockman before saying, “Just do it, you asshole.” With that, Ben left, leaving Roquella and Alucard in shock (and Krockman thoroughly unsurprised). 

Finally finding her words, Roquella only said, “Oh... my... god.” “Yep, that’s Ben Mason in a nutshell,” Krockman said in reply. “I... I don’t even know what to say?” Roquella said, still in shock of Ben’s dickishness. “I do,” Alucard chimed in. “I’ve never wanted to brain someone with a tire iron more than that guy.” “Yeah, well the only bright side to Ben being here is that he’s basically on the chopping block like everyone else,” Krockman said as he reclined in his seat. “Though he doesn’t seem to be acting like someone who’s about to be fired.” “Yeah, that’s mainly because he doesn’t know he’s going to be fired,” Beth explained. “Are you serious?!” Krockman said, chuckling at this. “How’s that even possible?” Looking awkward, Beth explained, “It’s mainly because I made sure he didn’t know. It’s part of the deal I made with the higher ups.” Hearing this, Krockman’s expression grew more stern as he asked, “Deal? What deal?” “Well, as long as I keep the whole ‘sinking ship’ thing under wraps, the board will give me a bonus for every employee at the studio,” Beth continued, clearly uncomfortable. “That’s part of why I’m trying to cover this up...” “To protect your bonus,” Krockman added in a hollow tone. Feeling uneasy, Beth slowly backed out of the room, quickly saying, “Okay, you’ll be on in thirty minutes. See you there.” With that, Beth left the room, leaving Krockman to stew in his anger. 

Eyeing Krockman nervously, Alucard said, “Hey buddy, um, are you okay?” Krockman did not answer, simply glaring daggers at where Beth was standing. “Uh, well, the others are waiting for us in the audience, so if you need anything...” “Just... go,” Krockman growled. Taking their queue, Alucard and Roquella left the room, leaving Krockman alone. “Is there not one honest person in this goddamn studio?” he asked himself as he got up from his chair. “Fine then. If these bastards want a spectacle, I’ll goddamn give them one.” With that, Krockman left the room, plotting all the way. 

Thirty minutes later, the press conference was underway. Ben had delivered the usual arbitrary jargon to try and distract the crowd from the studio’s situation. The infamous Ron, a short, dumpy little man, with black hair, had given his proposal for a new show, a nebulous, violence and sex filled schlock that was standard for HBO. In the audience, the other Seven New Gods were nervously waiting for Krockman, while the group in Arlo’s apartment and Dr. Olan’s office, the two parties were watching the conference on the tv with bated breath. Suddenly, Ben stood up and announced in a loud voice, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to one of our talented writers (returning from a long leave of absence): Mr. Cooper Krockman!” Hearing this, Krockman made his way onto the stage and sat down at the desk with Ben, Beth, and Ron. 

As Krockman sat down, Ben asked, “Well Krockman, how are you doing today?” “I’m doing pretty good Ben,” Krockman said, trying to fake his enthusiasm. “I’m happy to be here.” “Well, we’re happy to have you, Krockman,” Ben said in reply. Smiling at this, Krockman thought to himself, “Oh, I bet you are, Ben.” “Anyway Krockman, earlier  you and I talked about the new show made by our own Ron Lannitz,” Ben said, smiling proudly while lying through his teeth. “Is there anything you’d like to say about it?” Glancing over at Ben, Krockman put on a forced smile and said, “Of course Ben, but first, I’d like to talk about a very serious matter: the war on drugs.” Understandably, everyone was confused. 

Eyeing the lost soul curiously, Ben leaned in and whispered, “Hey, uh, Coop, w-what are you doing? We’re talking about the show here.” “Why yes, Ben,” Krockman said, completely disregarding the manager. “I do believe it’s a waste of the taxpayers’ money. Imagine how much money we could save if we had a nationwide legalization of marijuana (not to mention how much the government can tax the crap out of it).” As Krockman was ranting, Ron finally spoke up, “Um, excuse me. Aren’t we supposed to be talking about my show?” Hearing this, Krockman stopped for a second, simply saying, “No. We’re never going to talk about your show. Please shut your stupid mouth.” “Hey, come on man, the focus group we showed it to thought it was good,” Ron protested impotently. “Oh sure, they liked it,” Krockman retorted sarcastically. “They also probably liked Keeping up with the Kardashians.” Looking shocked, Ron meekly said, “Woah, dude, that’s pretty low.” “Almost as low as the possibility of you actually being talented,” Krockman retorted through clenched teeth. “Hell yeah! Let’s hear it for Ron Lannitz: a man who’s entire career is due to the nepotism of a disgraced pedophile!” Hearing this, the entire audience burst out in fits of laughter. 

Unamused by this, Ben interjected, “Can we please stay on topic. This is a serious matter.” “Is it really?” Krockman asked sarcastically. “I mean we all know why we’re hear, right? The company’s business practices hit exposed, and your trying to do damage control. Honestly, this whole press conference is one big joke.” Reclining in his seat, Ben smirked as he said, “Really? Well if anyone knows a good joke, it’s you Krockman. Though, I’m curious what’s gonna happen when you run out of jokes.” Hearing this, Krockman’s smile faded away, replaced with a look of disgust as he asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Well, since you asked, let me spell it for you and everyone else here,” Ben said, folding his hands in anticipation. “Cooper Krockman is... well, he’s some nobody bumpkin from the south who puts on airs of sophistication and only got his job because of a mailing error. That last part isn’t hyperbole or me being rude, that’s literally what happened. He was mailing a manuscript to a publisher and somehow it ended up at HBO’s headquarters. Apparently, they liked it so much, they hired him (probably out of pity). He worked at the same studio I previously worked at, he never once showed me the respect I deserved, and when I made a few constructive changes to his show proposal, he freaked out and we had to fire him. After that, he just fell off the map. And now, after almost a year, he comes back, smugger than ever, toting along an entourage of idiots, and treats the whole press conference as a joke. So why then should we listen to the opinion of a guy who doesn’t care about the company. So Krockman, do you have anything to say for yourself?” When Ben had said this, the entire room fell silent, save for a strange, grinding sound that made Ben’s skin crawl. Looking towards Krockman, Ben noticed that he had been glaring daggers at him the whole time, his lips slightly parted to expose a set of sharp fangs grinding against each other. 

Unsettled by this, Ben nervously asked, “Uh, Cooper, we’re waiting for...” “You know what Ben, you can go fuck yourself,” Krockman snarled ferociously. “Oh, there it is! There’s that lack of respect I told you about,” Ben said triumphantly. “First of all, Ben, you called me here to get your ass out of the fire after you leaked the information to my girlfriend while you were sleeping with her,” Krockman retorted. “And as for why I don’t care about the company...” At that moment, Krockman took off his trench coat, followed by his shirt, revealing something horrifying to the crowd. In the center of his chest and straight through his back was a bullet hole surrounded by spatterings of gold. “This is from when I shot myself after you ruined my career,” Krockman explained in disgust. “I’ve been dead for close to a year. What’s your excuse for not caring about the company?” 

Horrified by this, Ben could only stammer, “I... I...” “I... I... What’s the matter? Is your teleprompter broken? I mean look at you sitting there, all stiff and rigid. You look more like a corpse than I do, and I’m the one with the fucking bullet hole in his chest,” Krockman retorted. “You know what you are Ben? You’re an old idea in a new suit. You think you’re my superior because you went to an Ivy League college, like I’m supposed to just automatically respect you for doing nothing?” Finally finding his voice, Ben responded, “W-well I think I deserve a little respect.” Unfazed by this, Krockman retorted, “Yeah, well I got news for you, buddy: nobody respects you, not even your bosses. That’s why you got put in charge of this sinking ship of a studio. That’s why you’re on the chopping block!” Looking surprised, Ben feebly stated, “Th-that’s not true.” “Yeah, it is,” Krockman snarked. “You think you have this cozy relationship with the higher ups, but the truth is, nobody working at HBO cares enough about each other to even deal with them.” “Now hold on a second,” Ben snapped. “I’ll have you know we here at HBO have a strong community with each other.” “Oh, you’re a community now, eh?” Krockman asked sarcastically. “What about the last manager? Y’know, the guy who jerked off to pictures of small children? He was working here for the past twenty years and none of you knew what he was doing in his private time? Your lives are such mysteries to each other, which is actually the opposite situation for all the shows you guys produce. Seriously, no matter what source material you use, you basically boil it down to the same plot over and over again. There is no mystery left in your shows anymore.” 

At this moment, Ron interjected, “Hey man, my writing’s pretty mysterious.” Having put up with so much crap, Krockman finally snapped. “Oh... my... god... will you shut up already!” he shouted furiously. “Seriously, dude, you want all this attention as if you actually cared. Like you really gave it your all with that Dark Vault episode. You know, what started off HBO was this sense of luxury, this sense of high end wonder, and what has thus far concluded it is this sense of forced obligation. You ask of us not of our ability to think deeply about something, but our ability to write a check, sit on our ass, push a few buttons, and stare at a screen for an hour. You ask us to sacrifice an hour out of our lives to try and form an emotional attachment to a group of the most vapid, vain idiots to ever foul a tv screen. You ask us to suspend our disbelief and believe that a woman would spend five years befriending a group of people just to take them to a motel in the middle of nowhere, just so her serial killer boyfriend can pick them off one by one. Fan-frickin-tastic! We got a instant classic right here! No awkwardly shoehorned sex scene at the end amongst the dead bodies that’ll totally alienate the audience. Oh wait, that’s exactly what happened! You know what you are Ron? You’re a spoiled rich kid who had everything bought for him, never had to work a day in his life, and the minute you go out into the real world, you can’t hack it! Why should you make an effort?! Why should you break the mold!? Everyone just agrees with your shitty ideas because your uncle talked you up like you’re the god of writing! But you’re not a writer. You’re a doughy, pampered snob who thinks he can coast through life scot-free because his uncle’s the manager. Fuck you, Ron! Fuck you!!!” Having heard all this, Ron stared at the lost soul in shock, visibly shaking before collapsing to the floor, bursting into tears and screaming, “Oh my god!”

 Finally having enough, Beth stated, “Alright, Mr. Krockman, I think we’ve heard enough. I’m going to have ask you to leave.” “Oh that’s rich coming from you,” Krockman snapped in annoyance. “You’re even worse than these idiots.” Looking shocked, Beth retorted, “Excuse me?” “Yeah, it’s true,” Krockman explained. “Why don’t you tell everyone what you told me, Beth. Y’know, about your little deal with the Board of Directors.” Stammering at this, Beth tried to defend herself by steering the conversation back to the show, only for Krockman to drown her out by screaming, “Tell them the truth,” over and over, growing louder with each repetition. Finally, Beth snapped, screaming, “Shut up! Just shut up!” Unfazed by this, Krockman stated, “She’s trying to cover up the whole incident because she’s going to get a bonus for every person that gets fired. Yeah, that’s fucked up. At least with Ben and Ron, they have to deal with the fallout, but Beth... she’s actually benefiting from it. She’s someone who gives less of a shit about the company than any of us combined!” Mortified, Beth simply hung her head in shame. “But do you all want to know who’s really responsible for the problems at HBO?” Krockman asked as he gathered up his shirt and his coat. “All of you!!! Yeah, that’s right! You watch the shows, you complain about the content, but what the hell do any of you do about it, hm!? You all want something different, something new, something to believe in, and that’s why I’m here. At the stroke of midnight, I’m going to make you all believe. And Ben, you asked me why I don’t care about the company. Well why should I?! Nobody cares!!! This has been Cooper Krockman, everyone!!! Have a good, fucking night!!!” With that, Krockman flipped everyone off and stormed off the stage, leaving everyone in an uproar. 

Backstage, Krockman and the other Seven New Gods were gathered together, discussing what had happened. “God, that felt great!” Krockman shouted ecstatically. “You guys have no idea how long I wanted to say that to Ben.” “Yeah, we’re happy for you, Krockman,” Alucard said in agreement, though his tone was less than amused. “But did it have to involve you exposing the existence of the afterlife on live television in the process?” Looking peeved, Krockman asked, “And when exactly did I do that?” “When you ripped of your shirt and showed everyone the bullet hole in your chest,” Alucard retorted. “Seriously, what’s your plan here?” “Hey, don’t sweat it. It’s all part of the master plan,” Krockman casually said in reply, only to be met with a chorus of groans. “Christ, Krockman, I’m gonna strangle you if you say ‘master plan’ one more time,” Z-Wrap interjected in exasperation. “Seriously, what the hell are you even going to do here?” 

Before Krockman could answer, Beth showed up, looking absolutely furious. “Uh, can we help you?” Krockman asked in a confused tone. All Beth did in response was run up to the lost soul and slug him in the face. Clutching his face, Krockman shouted, “Ahh god! What did you do that for?!” “You ruined everything, you freaking idiot!” Beth shouted wrathfully. “Now I’m never going to get those bonuses!” “Well boo-frickin-hoo,” Krockman retorted, recovering from his punched face. “As if I’m supposed to care about the opinion of some social parasite. You’re the one who’s trying profit off your coworkers losing their jobs. I mean seriously, why would you tell me that and not expect me to throw it back in your face?” “You don’t understand. I was trying to get the money for the others,” Beth explained. “I was going to wiretap it to them after the studio went under. Everyone except Ben.” Looking surprised, Krockman sheepishly said, “Oh... you were actually helping the others... and screwing over Ben.” “Yeah, no shit genius!” Beth shouted furiously. “Do you really think you’re the only person that Ben ever screwed over? I mean you killed yourself, yes, and I’m sorry about that, but at least you didn’t have to deal with him anymore. Ever since he tricked me into sleeping with him, I had to go into work everyday, knowing that he’s watching me and imagining me naked.” Hearing this, Krockman could only respond with a disgusted look, saying, “I’m... sorry to hear that. Although, I do know a guy who’d make a pretty good boyfriend for you.”

At that moment, Ben burst into the room, equally furious looking as Beth was. “You son of a bitch!” he roared. “You ruined me! You ruined my career!” “First off, go blow a goat, you dipshit,” Krockman snarked in reply. “Second of all, as I’ve told you before, you ruined yourself with your own wandering dick. Finally, even if i did play along, you still wouldn’t have been able to get Ron’s show on the air because you both were about to get axed.” Looking awkward, Ben sheepishly said, “Well... yeah, whatever.” “Y’know, it’s funny,” Krockman said as he slowly approached Ben. “This whole time, I thought I was the only one you ever screwed over, but Beth here pointed out that you’ve been doing this kind of stuff to everyone working here. You can only imagine how that makes me feel.” Feeling nervous, Ben slowly backed away, noticing how monstrous Krockman looked all of a sudden, with his sharp fangs, claw-like fingers and glowing green eyes. Krockman only smiled at this, saying, “Oh the things I’m gonna do to you.” 

Suddenly, the lights went out, leaving the only the soft glow of the Seven New Gods’ eyes to illuminate the room. Looking surprised, Krockman only smiled as he said, “It’s time.” With that, Krockman and the other Seven New Gods vanished in thin air, leaving Ben and Beth in darkness. “Hey! We’re not done talking!” Beth shouted, running out of the room and out of the building, dragging Ben along for the ride. Outside, they were met with an unsettling sight. Not only was the entire city blacked out, but it was also it was also deathly quiet, save for a low, distant rumbling sound. Something was very wrong. 

Meanwhile, over at Arlo’s apartment, Arlo was busy looking for flashlights. Chelsea and Lana were sitting on the couch, talking about what just happened. At that moment, Chad came into the apartment, saying, “Well, it’s official. The whole city’s gone out. Also, there’s an older, Latina woman saying praying to a picture of the Virgin Mary. Should we be concerned?” “Oh yeah, that’s just the landlady, Ms. Salazar,” Arlo explained. “She’s a little religious and got freaked out by Krockman’s whole ‘coming back from the dead’ thing.” Looking at Arlo for a minute, Chad said in reply, “You know, a few months ago, I totally would’ve been weirded out by what you said, but after spending time with Krockman, it’s not that surprising anymore.”

Suddenly, Lana gasped, clutching her chest in pain. “Lana?!” Chelsea said in shock, realizing what was happening. “Oh my god! Lana! Guy’s! Lana’s having a heart attack!” “What!? Oh my god!!!” Arlo shouted as he and Chad rushed over to help. “Oh god, oh god, oh god! How did this happen?!” “She has a heart condition!” Chelsea explained frantically. “She usually takes medication for it, but Krockman’s been keeping it under control... until now. Just go find some aspirin, now!!! Chad, call 911!” As Arlo and Chad were looking for aspirin, Chelsea was trying comfort the young fairy, saying, “It’s gonna be okay Lana. We’re gonna get you help, and you’re gonna be alright.” As Lana lay there, sweating profusely as he chest tightened, her eyes grew wide as a thought occurred to her. “I finally get it,” she said weakly. “I finally get what Krockman was doing.” “What are you talking about?” Chelsea asked in confusion. Looking at the troll, Lana answered, “He was keeping all four of us alive this whole time. We should’ve been dead months ago. That’s what my soul told me.” With that, Lana closed her eyes one last time, and breathed her last breath. 

As Chelsea stared on in horror, Chad and Arlo came back with the aspirin in hand. “Alright, we couldn’t get 911 (disturbingly enough), but we did find the aspirin,” Chad said, only to notice Lana’s body. “Is... is she...?” Looking up at Chad with a doleful look on her face, Chelsea answered, “We’re too late.” “She... she died?!” Arlo said in shock. “Oh god, not again.” Noticing the disapproving glares that his guests were giving him, he quickly added, “Sorry, that was insensitive.” Suddenly, to everyone’s surprise, Lana’s body glowed brightly before vanishing, leaving behind a large, shimmering orb. It did not take long for anyone to realize what they were looking at: it was Lana’s soul. The soul floated a foot into the air from where it formed and as quickly as it appeared, it bolted out of the apartment, startling Mrs. Salazar even more than she already was. “Lana! Wait! Don’t leave us!” Chelsea screamed as she got up and chased after the soul orb. Turning back to the others, she shouted, “Don’t just stand there! We have to catch her!” With that, the little group ran out of the apartment and chased Lana’s soul down the street, ignoring the strange rumbling sound that was emanating from the city itself. 

Over at Dr. Olan’s office, the trio had taken notice of the unusual outage. Looking concerned, Misfit asked, “Is it normal for the entire town to go out like this? I haven’t been in New York in a long time, and I’m not sure how much has changed since.” “No, it’s not,” Calhoun answered in an annoyed tone. “It’s normal for a building, maybe a block, but not for the entire city.” “I’m assuming this is Krockman’s work,” Olan said in a nonchalant tone. “That’d be a fair guess,” Misfit stated as he looked out the window. “You two stay here. I’ll go see this for myself.” “Woah, hold it there pal,” Calhoun retorted. “I’m a sergeant of the NYPD. I’m not just gonna sit in this office while some whack job’s running around out there doing god knows what to the city.” Staring at the policeman for a second, Misfit sighed as he said in reply, “Fine. Just don’t get hurt out there, alright?” With that, the trio made their way out of the building. 

As they walked out of the building, they saw something in the distance. At the far end of the street was a large structure, almost like a large doorframe with a few pieces of wood serving as internal support at the top. Staring at the structure in confusion, Calhoun asked, “What the hell is that?” “It’s a torii gate,” Olan answered, just as confused as his friend. “It’s a structure normally associated with Shintoism and Buddhism over in Japan. Although, I’m not entirely sure where this one came from.” “It was Krockman,” Misfit interjected, his eyes narrowing to a glare at the gate. “Back in Limbo, torii gates serve as teleportation devices. I’ve seen him building a new gate just outside of our home city, yet I never saw the gate that it connected to... until now.” Looking shocked, Calhoun asked, “So what you’re saying is this thing leads to the afterlife?” Misfit only nodded in grim agreement. 

Suddenly, the streetlights leading towards the gate began to flicker as a strange, rhythmic clanging began to fill the air. As the clanging grew louder, the lights dimmed a bit, filling the various onlookers with a strange combination of dread and wonder. A drumroll joined the cacophony as golden energy gathered in the gate, swirling and spiraling to form a vortex. As suddenly as the production began, the streetlights flashed back on, revealing a large parade coming forth from the torii gate. The Thousand Scrap Night Parade had arrived. 

The parade was a strange and amazing sight to behold. It was mostly made up of scraps, with Teddi and Ningyo leading the way. Large numbers of mice and rat-like people were playing musical instruments as several insectoid women danced in time with the music. In the air, countless shards of broken souls sparked and crackled in loops and spirals, occasionally floating to ground and entering into various objects, creating new scraps in the process. Riding on a large float was a large werewolf, a nine tailed fox monster, and a large cat monster with an anglerfish lure sitting on a throne and dressed in a cape and crown. Following close by was a small group of pig people dressed in fanciful chef’s uniforms, lead by a large scowling pig man riding on the back of a taxidermied ostrich while wielding a large spatula as a scepter. 

The strangest feature of the parade was a bank of golden fog rolling along the ground, bewitching everyone and everything that was caught in it. For example, a group of business men caught in the fog slowly sway from side to side as they stagger into the parade, slowly morphing into totem businessmen as they chanted in unison, “Everything’s dreamy when your living in a dream. No more anger, no more pain when we’re so happy and mundane!” Meanwhile, a flock of pigeons end up joining the parade, turning into fine madams and dapper gentlemen, chanting, “Working up from bread crumbs to fancy French baguettes, we live our lives so poshly with very few regrets.” From a clothing store, the mannequins jitter to life, strutting out onto the streets and lifting their skirts a bit as they sang out, “If a picture’s worth a thousand words, then an album’s worth a lifetime.” Immediately, a swarm of smartphones with limbs flopped underneath the mannequins, screaming “Money shot!” as they took pictures of their nonexistent privates. Amongst the crowd, a congregation of church goers were striding through, wearing robes of money that covered gold skin as they chanted, “All these crazy people forgot what religion’s all about. If God and Buddha changed religions, what will happen to the devout.” Up on a balcony, a strange looking scrap resembling a fat, little politician with elephant ears and a donkey tail was sloganeering to the crowd, his head flying off his body as he shouted, “If your unhappy with your government and feeling kind of blue, don’t serve the politicians, let them serve you!” On one of the floats, a group of scraps lead by Milbert and Wrappa were clambering on board as they were reaching for a strange scrap resembling a small mall cop with wheels instead of legs. Frantically swinging around a nightstick, the scrap shouted, “I am the authoritah appointed by the gods!” “Yeah, but who’s gods?” Wrappa retorted sarcastically. “Your gods? They’re not our gods.” With that, the group of scraps dog piled onto the segway scrap as they chanted, “We didn’t choose you. We didn’t choose you.” 

Staring at the surreal sight, Calhoun asked, “What the hell are we looking at?” “This is the Thousand Scrap Night Parade,” Misfit explained, sounding annoyed. “This is only the most recent incarnation of various ‘spiriting away’ festivals. The Wild Hunt, the Hundred Demon Night Parade, all of them exist, simply and solely, for one purpose: to expose the true nature of reality.” “Funny, I could’ve sworn Krockman already accomplished that when he announced it on live television,” Olan interjected. “True, but that was only his word against all of existence,” Misfit answered in reply. “Here, he’s exposing it for all that it’s worth.” Looking worried, Misfit continued, “Come, we have to get out of here. It’s not safe in this place anymore.” With that, the group of old men ran off, trying their best to stay as far ahead of the parade as possible. 

Meanwhile, up the road, Beth and Ben were busy scouring the street for Krockman. “Krockman! Where are you!?” Beth shouted furiously. “We need to talk!” “Uh, Beth, is this really worth it?” Ben asked nervously. “I mean, Krockman’s not exactly human at this point anymore, is he? Do you really want to piss him off at this point?” Glaring at her boss, Beth retorted, “First of all, this isn’t the workplace. I’m not taking orders from you anymore. Second of all, Krockman’s capable of reasoning, and he has a lot to answer for.” Before Ben could say anything, the two heard a loud ruckus off in the distance. Turning around, they saw a large parade making its way up the street, most revelers being monsters of some sort. “What the hell is that?” Beth asked in a confused tone. “We should probably get out of here.”

As she was turning, she noticed that Ben had a weird look on his face, staring off in a trance. “Ben? Didn’t you here what I said?” she asked in an annoyed tone. “We have to get out of...” Suddenly, Ben grabbed Beth by the wrists and pinned her to the side of a nearby car, staring at her with a lustful look in his eyes. “Ben!? What are you doing!?” Beth asked, completely horrified. “Come on Beth,” Ben said in a salacious tone. “We’ve been doing this dance ever since we slept together. Don’t know what’s going on down the street, but it’s pretty obvious things are going to shit. Why not consummate this bad boy and have the thrill of the lifetime. Come on Beth, let’s do this! On your mark, get set, live baby!” Utterly disgusted by this, Beth kicked Ben in the crotch, screaming, “Oh my god! What the hell is wrong with you!?” However, the minute her foot connected, Ben’s crotch crumpled like a bunch of paper, which only made her even more terrified. Staggering back a bit, Ben began to change. His face lowered down to his chest, becoming a mask as his suit slowly transformed into paper. From where his head used to be, a bouquet of wilted flowers sprouted forth as his arms became a pair of ribbons. As the strange monster tottered off into the parade, he sang out in a garbled tone, “Love and Karma Sutras will always takes root, if there’s no flowers, there’ll never be fruit.” 

As she stared on in horror, Beth felt something pinch her butt, causing her to yelp. Turning around, she was shocked by the appearance of her assailant: a tween-sized, grey weasel wearing tattered, orange shorts and a red sash staring up at her with two small sparks floating in hollow eye sockets. Chuckling a bit, the weasel said, “Nice ass.” “W-what? Who are you?” Beth asked nervously. “What happened to Ben?” “Oh, Ben’s not going to be bothering anyone again for quite awhile,” the weasel said in reply. “Consider it part one of a favor Krockman’s doing for you.” Looking confused, Beth asked, “Um, okay. What exactly is part two then?” At that moment, she felt multiple, nubby hands grab onto her and lift her up into the air. Looking down, she saw that it was a trio of ball-shaped monkeys, one wearing a black eye mask with red X’s, one wearing ear muffs with green X’s, and one wearing a surgical mask with a blue X. Carrying Beth to the back of the car, the monkeys waited patiently as the weasel opened up the trunk before tossing her in. “Don’t worry, lady. Everything’s gonna be fine,” the weasel said in a condescending tone. “You’ll be out in no time. Until then, try not to breathe too deeply.” With that, the weasel closed the trunk, trapping Beth in darkness. 

Later down the street, Chad, Chelsea, and Arlo were chasing after Lana’s soul when they saw the parade. “What the hell is going on over there?” Chad asked, momentarily thrown off by the strange display. “Is this what Krockman was planning this whole time?” Looking at the parade, Chelsea only shrugged her shoulders, saying, “Weird monsters, painfully attention grabbing as possible, surreal shit going down... yeah, that seems about right.” As they were staring at the parade, Lana’s soul sparked a bit as it floated over towards a large caravan, a door opening up in the roof to allow it inside. “What the... hey! Lana just went into that caravan!” Arlo said, alerting the others. Seeing this, Chelsea lead the way as she shouted, “Come on! We need to catch up with it!” With that, the trio made their way into the parade and tried to work their way towards the caravan. 

The parade traveled throughout the city, slowly gathering more participants along its meandering course. After what felt like an hour, the parade stopped, gathering in front of a large stage in Central Park. As the scraps and various transformed residents and animals waited fervently around the stage, a balcony slowly extended forth from the top of the stage, revealing Krockman and the other Seven New Gods. Taking a moment to admire his handy work, Krockman smiled as he pulled out a large handbell and rang it. As if on cue, the crowd parted, allowing the caravan to pull forward and open up. Out from the caravan came a troupe of mysterious robed figures, slowly making their way up to the stage as strange, synth chanting played in the background. Leading the figures was a shrouded woman with long insect wings. 

When the robed figures walked up onto the stage, they took their places, making strange motions as if they were tuning instruments. Just then, the lights went out and the chanting ceased, casting an eerie silence over the crowd. As soon as the silence came, it was immediately broken by a loud guitar riff, causing the lights to come back on and revealing the now unrobed figures. Among them was Poe, Tom, Terry, Foxy K, and the enlightened scraps, all of whom were standing near the shrouded woman while wielding microphones. However, the most interesting sight was that of a few familiar performers: a tanned guitarist with a mohawk wearing a red letterman jacket, a broad, black bassist with dreadlocks, a fashionable looking keyboardist wearing a scarf, sunglasses and a pompadour, a heavyset drummer with his eyes obscured by his baseball hat, a violinist wearing a brown and red dress and her hair in a loose bun, and a chubby, middle aged man with a little mustache and an accordion. It was the Urban Gods, back for one last live performance. 

Taking in the crowds applause, Jimmy smiled at this before shredding on his guitar, starting the show with “The Real Me” by The Who. The crowd was whipped into an uproar as they jammed out to the rocking ballad of one man’s lifelong struggle with schizophrenia. As the show went on, Chelsea simply stared on, dumbfounded. “This was Krockman’s big plan?” she said in a confused tone. “A parade and a concert?” “You have to admit, it’s a pretty good selection so far,” Chad said, shimmying his shoulders in time with the music. “Right, well anyway, we really need to find Lana,” Arlo interjected. “Do you think she’s still in that caravan?” Looking up on stage, Chelsea squinted at the shrouded woman as she said, “Actually, I think I might know where she is.” Waving the others on, the trio made their way through the crowd towards the stage. 

As the first song finished up, the Urban Gods began playing the next song, “I am the Walrus” by the Beatles. As the band played, a giant screen on the backdrop flickered on, showing a strange film. In it, four nomads, a man and three women, were wandering through an inky black desert, blissfully unaware of the world around them. Suddenly, up from the sand rose seven wizards, each armed with a staff crackling with energy. The lead wizard, clad in a green and brown robe raised his staff in the air, summoning an entire hoard of puppets to his side. With the hoard gathered, the head wizard lead them in a strange, ritualistic dance, much to the amazement of the nomads. Seeing the nomads, the wizards waved them on, inviting them to join the dance. Accepting the offer, the nomads took their place amongst the puppets, dancing in time with the wizards. As the ball progressed, the nomads’ clothes began to change, becoming more regal as energy filled their bodies. When the dance was the done, the puppets disbanded and the wizards vanished back to whence they came, taking the newly initiated wizards with them. 

The next song the band played was “Rhinestone Eyes” by the Gorillaz. On the screen, a new film began to play. It started with a zoom in on a large fortress, stopping at the gates. Suddenly, the gates exploded, revealing a silver demon running from a hail of bullets. Walking out after it was a queen, a berserker woman, and another woman armed with a machine gun. Once the demon was far enough away from the fortress, it turned around to face the queen, glaring hatefully at her and pointing accusingly. The film then cut to a flashback, showing the silver demon as a mere imp. Suddenly, a woman (presumably the queen) walked up to him, offering her hand to the imp in friendship. Initially wary, the imp took the hand, only for the woman to squeeze it intensely, suggesting a more sinister intent. The film cut back to the present, the silver demon scowling as he opened up a portal, summoning a massive hoard of demons to attack the fortress. While the berserker did manage to take out the silver demon, the film does end abruptly at the moment the other demons reach the queen and her consort, implying their tragic end. 

After “Rhinestone Eyes”, the band played another Gorillaz song, “Momentz”. Here, Kama and the other enlightened scraps filled the role of De La Soul, dropping the phatest, sickest beats imaginable. It was truly a rocking performance. As the song ended, the bombastic beats slowly faded to a softer, more somber tune, transitioning to “Empire Ants”. Walking forward, Tom began to sing, his voice practically angelic. As the cait sith sang, the shrouded woman slowly made her way center stage, gingerly removing her shroud. When the spotlight focused on her, she was revealed to be Lana, resembling her human self but with her new insect wings. 

As Lana sang, Lamar stared on in shock. “Lana!?” he said in disbelief. “What is she doing here!? Why is she a lost soul!?” Looking on in shock, Krockman stammered, “I... I... I don’t know.” “What do you mean you don’t know!?” Lamar shouted furiously. “You said you had a good grip on dis!” Glancing around worriedly, Krockman nervously said in reply, “I, uh, I suppose with everything going on, I... lost focus.” Looking furious, Lamar snarled as he raised his fist as if to hit Krockman, only to stop momentarily to look back down at Lana before climbing out of the balcony and down the scaffolding to the stage below. Running towards the new lost soul as she finished singing, Lamar called out in a worried tone, “Lana!” Looking up, Lana saw Lamar running towards her, only to be taken by surprise when the larger lost soul embraced her. She was confused by it, but she accepted it all the same, nestling her head into Lamar’s chest as she felt teardrops fall on the naps of her neck. 

As the two were hugging, they noticed that the music began to change, sounding more like carnival music than anything else. Looking around in confusion, Lamar and Lana saw Poe making his way center stage, smiling smugly as he shouted, “Step right up! Step right up! Try your luck! Five into ten, ten into twenty, twenty into more and even more! Fantastic games to be played and fantastic prizes to be claimed! Sweepstakes, right here in the city of Babel: the universe’s number one disaster getaway!” With that, the music transitioned to a more industrial tune, signaling the start of the next song, “Sweepstakes” by the Gorillaz. The song began slowly as Poe rapped out mad rhymes about mankind’s wanton greed and hubris. As the song progressed, Poe underwent some strange changes. It was subtle at first, his clothes changing into that of a carnival barker or a ringmaster when he finished the first verse. After the second verse, Poe’s body stretched out, taking on more humanoid proportions. By the end of the third verse, he was fully human, spitting out phat beats with the force of a whirlwind of garbage and excess. All the while, the audience became progressively frenzied, growing more mad and wild as the song went on. Overwhelmed by the uproar, Lamar and Lana were separated from each other, with the bigger lost soul being tossed back onto the balcony by the crowd. 

As the song finished, Lana recovered from the frenzy, eyeing the crowd with a curious eye. Standing back up, she tapped on her microphone to get everyone’s attention, clearing her throat as she said, “Excuse me everyone. This next song is more of a personal favorite of mine. It’s the song I listen to whenever I feel down about life, and honestly, if I had any song on stage, it has to be this one. So please, enjoy.” Taking a moment to whisper into Jimmy’s ear, the lead scrap looked shocked for a moment before grinning and nodding in agreement. After giving a cue to the others, Jimmy strummed his guitar somberly as the band began to play “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots” by the Flaming Lips. Hearing this, Krockman grew annoyed, saying, “What the hell? What is she doing? This is my concert, not a karaoke bar. Why I ought to...” Before he could finish, Krockman felt a tight grip on his shoulder, wincing as he felt sharp claws dig into the flesh. Turning around, he saw that it was Lamar, glaring daggers at the king of lost souls. Shaking his head in disagreement, Lamar simply stated, “Let. Her. Sing.” Scared shitless, Krockman simply sat back down and listened to the show. 

As Lana sang, Krockman could not help but be filled with a strong sense of melancholy. Watching the show, he saw Chelsea, Chad, and Arlo join the new lost soul on stage and joining in on the song. As the air filled with the serene dulcet tones, Krockman looked over towards the audience, then towards the entirety of New York as the sun began to rise in the distance. Having taken it all in, he couldn’t help but feel like everything he had done had been completely pointless. As the sun rose, the stage faded away, as the Krockman, the performers, and most of the audience began to vanish. All that remained were several members of the audience, Arlo, Dr. Olan, and Sergeant Calhoun, all staring in disbelief as the sun shined over Central Park.