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Post by delta0zero2 on Sept 16, 2015 16:56:32 GMT -8
Welcome to Terror Station the sign wrote, it's customary to enjoy your stay. But we don't want that, now do we? As a rookie recruit, well I thought nothing of it. I was greeted by a clown, or something. I noted his appearance vaguely and realized he was suffering bilateral lacerations, his arms were completely torn from his torso. He gave me a sad expression and turned around, I reached for his horn, that was in his back pocket. I squeezed it. It was at this moment, I knew I'd signed up to the wrong station. He'd cleverly placed a banana peel, between me and the one thing that stands between me and the vacuum of space. He pushed me, I slipped. Only the echo of that silly bicycle horn rung in my ears as I feel the pressure from within me, bursting out in every direction. That last thing I remember, was a reassuring grab.
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