Bojo The Mighty
Condor Squad
5361
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Posted - 2015.01.01 00:04:00 -
[1] - Quote
"God Damn it!" Jenkins yelled.
"****, ****, ****!" he again exclaimed, throwing his helmet down onto the ground. The MCC was leaving and he was not on it. What had happened was not quite clear, whether he was looking at **** on his neocom or taking a dump or salvaging too long too far away, whatever he was doing he missed his flight. And now his clone was doomed to walk the industrial complex-post battle.
That's when I saw him, so I approached. "Missed the MCC did ya?" I asked. He looked over at me with frustrated exhaustion.
"Yeah," he remarked, "You too."
Personally I missed it because I was enjoying a series of blunts ranging from AK-47 to Alaska Thunderfuck. Some were laced with a snake of oil, some were doused in keef, but boy that volcano in the background looked ******* awesome.
We began to walk together down to the center of the complex, hoping that some overseers would come out of the woodwork. When we arrived at the epicenter of the machines and buildings our hope began to diminish.
"Man we are ******." I said with confidence. "We are surely, truly, forever - ******." I sat down criss cross applesauce and so did Jenkins; recognizing the **** we were in.
We sat there for several minutes before we began to suffer from severe boredom. The existence of any workers began to seem very doubtful. Questions began whirring through my head.
Where are the workers? Do they even exist? What the **** does this factory even produce? Does it even produce? Is this a setup? Have the mercenaries been forever fighting on joke-battlefields?
I sighed and closed my eyes, "I need a joint right about now." From my satchel I pulled out the 4 remaining Jays. Jenkins' eyes glowed.
"Aww **** yeah!" he said, and he began to tap on his neocom.
When he was done, music began to play.
* * * * * Four Joints Later * * * * *
Jenkins and I were soooooo blunted. We had a dance off for about 15 minutes and general grooving. Jenkins managed to withdraw a flask of Everclear and it was painful but boy we were lit. After about a half hour of being faded, meaning an hour and and ten minutes had passed since the MCC marooned us, we were boogied out. We decided to roam the facility some more.
We were still high as kites and kept laughing at stupid jokes that we told each other. The facility was still empty, silent. Hours went by as we checked under every object and behind every door we could open. Nothing was to be found. Our frustrations grew as our high came down.
We grew tired of our search and the light was dimming. We crashed out on top of a building after climbing the ladder.
"Bojo," Jenkins peeped, "We're screwed buddy."
"I know," I affirmed.
But that's when we heard.......the music
Bojo For CPM
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