Discovery Gaming Community

*A bored Garrett Jax turns on the television to see what's on.*

Peter: Sirius Sports Network brings you--The Liberty Dodgeball Championship. Sit back and watch the greatest dodgeball athletes this side of the Borderworlds as they compete for the coveted Dodgeball Trophy.

On the right side of the court, we have the Ellesmere Elites, second runner up in last years tournament. On the left, The Rochester Rebels--Champions five years running.

The Ellesmere Elite would like nothing more than to knock the Rebels off their lofty perch, but they have a tough road ahead of them. The Rochester Rebels have been known to play some dirty tricks in the past.

Hello folks, my name is Peter Le Fleur, and my friend, sitting beside me and doing color commentary is, White Goodman. White, what are the Ellesmere Elite going to have to do to break this unprecedented win streak of the Rochester Rebels?

White: Well Peter, there are three keys for the Elite to focus on, if they wish to dethrone the Champions. First, be prepared for anything. The Rebels do whatever it takes to win, even if they have to bend a few rules to do it. Remember the Cardamine scandal a couple months ago, when LSF agents discovered several Rebel players were doping?

Peter: I sure do. Interestingly, charges were filed, but never brought to resolution, due the loud cries of bi[A]s and conspir[A]cy on the part of the Rebel team. What else does the Ellesmere Elite team need to do in order to win?

White: The second key, Peter, is communication. The Ellesmere Elite players need to communicate well in order to beat the Rebels. Skype chat is not good enough. They need TeamSpeak. They have to get all their friends together and practically bully this team into submission. They may even want to grab star players from other teams in order to beat the Rebels.

Peter: That's a great point, Chris. Right now is not the time to worry about allies and enemies. The Elite need everyone they can get if they want to have a chance of beating the 5 time champions.

White: Yep. And that brings me to my last key, Peter--Accountability. The Elite need to force the Rebels into making mistakes and then capitalize when they do so. The Rebels have a habit of making foolish mistakes during the game, but have the uncanny ability to avoid having to pay for those errors. For the Elite to have any chance, they have to score points off of Rebel mistakes.

Peter: Thanks White. The Three Keys to the Game has been brought to you by, Sunbucks Coffee. Waiting for your ship to be repaired at Norfolk? Stop by Fort Bush for some delicious Sunbucks Coffee. So good, it keeps the Police off the lanes.

*Both Chuckle*

Peter: Well, White, I just heard the whistle and that mean this championship is underway. Both teams make a mad rush toward the balls sitting at the centerline. The Ellesmere Elite team reaches the line first and takes control. A strong throw by an Elite player tags a Rebel player right on the face.

White: That had to hurt, Peter. I heard that smack all the way up here in the booth.

Peter: It looks like the game has stopped White. What's going on?

White: I think the Rebels called a timeout. I think they are...yes, they are indeed filing a Rules Violation report for OORP hatred.

Peter: Wow. Can they do that?

White: Hey, if the Referee buys it, why not?

Peter: Well it looks like the Ref isn't buying it, and he tells both teams to play on.

White: The Rebel players are really annoyed right now. There is a lot of whining going on from the players from Rochester. Apparently, the crowd doesn't appreciate their attitude and are giving them a few boos.

Peter: Nobody likes a whiner, White. Anyways, the game is underway once again, and the Ellesmere Elite team are really on a tear. They are throwing hard, and with accuracy. But, what is this?!?

White: Oh man, that is really clever. The Rebel players have installed personal jumpdrives, and they are jumping across the court to avoid the Ellesmere Elite throws coming their way.

Peter: Jumping to avoid interaction? Is that legal?

White: The Rules are strangely silent on the matter. We will have to get a decision from the Referees.

Peter: Play stops while the referees deliberate. After a brief huddle, they say that jumping IS allowed, but you can only jump four inches now.

White: Oh my. That makes those jumpdrive devices practically worthless. The Rochester Rebels are livid. They are demanding the score to be altered in their favor as compensation. The Refs refuse, and tell them to play on. The boos are really pouring from the crowd at the strange tactics from the Rochester Rebels.

Peter: You got that right. Even the Elite players are getting upset. Hey, wait a minute. Some of the players on the Elite team look unfamiliar. Are some of those players from Gallia?

White: Yes they are, Peter. Apparently, Ellesmere has listened to one of my Keys to the Game, and brought on some players from the Gallia squad to help beat the Rochester Rebels. However, the Refs have spotted this and are kicking the Gallia players out. The Ellesmere Elite squad are getting scolded by the refs and have been issued a warning.

Peter: Okay, after all the hullabaloo, the game once again continues. Oh my goodness! What are the Rebel players doing now, White?

White: I can't tell, Peter, but it appears that they are wheeling out a ten ft armed battledroid onto the court. This doesn't look good.

Peter: I'm starting to worry about the sanity of the Rebel players, White. Maybe there is some truth to those Cardamine doping charges after all? You would have to be on a Cardi high to behave like this.

White: I think you are right. The crowd is really hostile now. They are letting the Rochester team have it. I can barely hear myself talk.

Peter: Hold up. What's going on now? The Rebel players are talking to the Refs again? What for?

White: Peter, I think they are getting tired of all the negative feedback from the crowd. They are asking the Refs to lock out all those in attendance so they can play the game in peace and quiet.

Peter: This is unprecedented.

White: Not really. This actually happens more often than you think.

Peter: Well, it appears that not only have the crowds been locked out of the auditorium, but the Refs have decided to call the game a draw. That means, for this year, we have no champion.

White: That's disappointing, Peter. Both sides could have played clean and fair, and now nobody is a winner.

*CLICK*

Garrett Jax pushes the "OFF" button on his remote.

"What a stupid game," he mutters.

Garrett Jax finally arrived at the Room of Horrors, located in a sound proof room at the Temple of the Damned. Of course, it wasn't officially called the Room of Horrors. That was just the nickname given to it by the Admins that served there. The real name was something far more innocuous--Admin Quality Control and Quality Assurance Room.

Garrett's hand trembled as he opened the heavy steel door, revealing a cramped white room, with padded walls. Along the back side of the room, sat a chair bolted to the floor, with mechanical constraints on the arms and legs. A shiver ran down his spine as he observed long thick wires with self adhesive pads, winding out from the floor in the center of the room and lying in a tangle in front of the chair. They reminded him of coiled snakes, patiently waiting for their prey to approach, eager to strike with a bitter bite.

On the wall opposite the chair, stood a black monitor stretching from floor to ceiling. The monitor displayed the face of an artificial construct, it's appearance resembling a human female. Upon entering, the eyes of the artificial intelligence opened and followed Garrett as he walked forward.

It spoke to him a warm tone, uncharacteristic of an artificial intelligence. *Welcome to the Admin Quality Control and Quality Assurance Room, Garrett Jax. It has been...two days...since your last visit. I am surprised to see you here so soon.*

Garrett sighed. "If feels like I just left this room a couple hours ago."

The female construct's face displayed a look of concern. *Are you medically cleared to undergo this process so soon after your last visit?*

"Yes," lied Garrett. Normally an Admin had to wait a week or so before reentering the Room of Horrors, but the Admins had finished the voting early and the announcement had to be made.

A small tray emerged from the side of the display. *Please insert the disc into the tray located at the side of the monitor and sit down on the chair, Garrett Jax.*

Garrett's hands shook as he placed the small silver disc into the tray. The tray quickly closed and he could hear the information on the disc being read from inside the monitor. With another heavy sigh, he turned, almost tripping over the wires. Fortunately, he managed to stumble his way past the wires and landed safely into the solid oak chair.

The artificial construct smiled, seemingly unaware of his clumsiness. *Garrett Jax, this is your...thirty-seventh...appearance to the Admin Quality Control and Quality Assurance Room. Would you like to bypass the instruction phase?*

"Yes, please."

*Very well, then. Please place the electric diodes on the appropriate places of your body and we shall begin.*

Garrett hesitated, trying to muster up the courage needed for this stage of the process. He looked at the coiled mass of wires and willed himself to pick each one up and place the self-adhesive pads on various parts of his body. He placed one each on his face, chest, stomach, arms and legs. He took the last one and hid it under his leg.

He looked up at the female construct and said, "I am ready."

The face on the monitor frowned. *Garrett Jax, we cannot proceed with this process until ALL the diodes have been properly placed.*

A tear formed in the corner of Garrett's eye as he grabbed the hidden diode and placed it on his groin area.

With a whimper he said, "I am ready."

*Excellent. Prepare to be restrained.*

Within seconds, the mechanical constraints locked Garrett's arms and legs onto the chair, keeping him immobilized. Garrett took a deep breath, bracing himself for what was about to occur.

The female construct continued. *We shall submit the announcement to the Community. Please be patient and wait for the Community's response.*

Garrett waited for what felt like an eternity for the first responses. The Community was like a wild beast, skittish, difficult to befriend and ready to pounce on anyone at the slightest provocation. Finally, the first response arrived.

*First response...neutral* The female voice stated calmly.

*Second response...positive*

Garrett breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe this would be one of those rare, pleasant visits to the Room of Horrors.

*Third response...negative*

Garrett read the comment and winced. Immediately, the electic diode emitted an electronic impulse that simulated a punch, this time to his arm. Not too bad, he thought. Of course, the more negative the comment, the stronger the 'punch'. There were always negative comments to even the most positive of decisions, but those punches were relatively light and shortlived. Garrett had a strong feeling that the announcement to change the House Lawful IDs was not going to be one of those experiences.

The next three responses were negative. Three separate punches occurred to his chest, leg and stomach. Garrett absorbed the punches courageously. He tried to breathe regularly in between hits, so as to manage the pain better.

The next several responses ranged from positive to lightly negative. But it quickly changed, and not for the better. The Community launched scathing responses stating that they would ignore this Admin decision.

Punch to the groin.

They said the Admins were driving this place to the ground.

Punch to the face.

They asked who thought this was a good idea?

Punch to the stomach.

"A terrible decision."

Bruising punch.

They even accused him of rushing out this rule change, without thought, to alleviate Congress of RP consequences, demanding proof that Garrett wasn't lying when he denied those accusations.

Debilitating punch to the nuts.

169 responses later, Garrett lay slumped unconscious in the chair. The female construct called out to him calmly, repeating his name over and over. Finally, he awoke, every inch of his face and body bruised and bloodied beyond recognition.

*Garrett Jax, it appears that the Admin Quality Control and Quality Assurance process is completed. I will now release your restraints.*

Upon their release, Garrett fell to the floor, sharp pain flaring up on several areas of his body. The steel door opened and a couple Mods, carrying a gurney, approached. They carefully picked up his body and carried him to medical.

He overheard one Moderator asking the other a question.

"They do this every week?" one of the newer Mods asked.

The older Mod nodded. "Yes they do."

"Why would they even submit themselves to this?"

The older Mod looked down at Garrett, pity in his eyes and said, "For the love of the game."

Admin Mwerte looked up from the piles and piles of paper in his office. One whole wall was stacked floor to ceiling with paper, each one marked 'Urgent'.

Mwerte appeared from behind his desk, his hair askew, dark bags under his eyes, but a triumphant smile on his face.

He tosses another red box onto a dolly full of red boxes and starts to wheel it down to cold storage (the incinerator).

"Sanctions are caught up, onto better work, getting some PoB Core upgrades done" he mutters, glancing over at the wall and its subsection of blue sheets of paper.

As he's wheeling his dolly down the hallway he passes two moderators, each with their own dolly filled with red boxes. Trembling, Mwerte stops the moderators. "Where do you think you're taking those sanction reports?" he demanded.

The moderators swallow and look at each other, trying to not be the first one to speak. Finally the younger one manages to squeak out "to your office sir".

"NOPE!" Mwerte growls, "take them to or at once!"

"Sorry sir, orders from Garret Jax" the other moderator manages to draw some strength from mentioning his orders.

With a glare Mwerte .beams the moderator into the Black Hole hidden in Outcast space and turns to the remaining minion.

"Which sun would you like to be beamed into?"

"Uh, none sir?"

Mwerte smiles with a Cheshire grin as he punches buttons on his A.D.M.I.N.pad

"Ok, the neutron star in Omega 41 it is"

"Wait! N---" and the moderator disappeared

Satisfied, Mwerte resumes his trip to the incinerator only to run into Admin Holliday at the end of the hallway.

"Mwerte, you need to learn to control your anger, that behavior is unacceptable and a little concerning."

"Relax Doc, I equipped them with A.D.M.I.N. shields before I beamed them, they're fine. It will just take them a few days to drift into safer space so a passing ship can pick them up."

With an eye roll Doc Holliday .pulled both unlucky moderators, now looking a little distressed and damaged, back to the hallway and shooed them on their way.

"That isn't the point Mwerte, you lashed out in anger at innocent targets. You know better."

With the smile firmly erased from his face Mwerte turned and continued his trudge back to the incinerator.

Garrett Jax was bored. The list of rule violators were dealt with in rapid succession by Admin Mwerte and the Staff. Now, it was time to celebrate. But what to do?

He spotted a shaking moderator, his arms wrapped about himself, mumbling incoherently and sitting precariously on one of the Temple's cafeteria chairs.

Garrett, realizing the poor guy was already suffering, decided against kicking him...this time. "What's the matter with you?" he asked.

The Moderator looked up at Garrett and jumped in fright.

Garrett tried to calm him. "Take it easy, bud. Just tell me what happened?"

"Mwerte...he uh, well...he beamed a couple of us into space for following your orders. He beamed me right next to the sun."

"Wow," Garrett said. "I was wondering why you looked so tan." He changed the subject. "Anyways, I want to know what you Moderators do for fun. I'm bored."

The Mod perked up, appearing to momentarily forget his discomfort, "For fun? Have you been to the Fights?"

"The Fights?" asked Garrett. "I can't say I have."

The Mod's eyes lit up. "Oh yeah, the Fights are awesome. Everybody, who's anybody, goes there. The action is nonstop and intense."

Garrett learned from the Moderator where the Fights were located. Apparently, it was an invite only, exclusive club where each member was actually a participant in various forms of combat. Thankfully, the Moderator gave him a pass to enter into the coliseum where the fights took place. Garrett .beamed himself over to the location, observing the sign above the door, which said,

Official Faction Leader Skype Chat.

What a strange title, he thought.

The first thing Garrett noticed was dark patches of blood spattered all over the walls, floor and ceiling of the foyer. Don't they keep this place clean? He wondered if this was what the foyer looked like, how bad must the coliseum itself be? Ahead of him were a set of large heavy doors that led to the main arena. Before he could go through them, however, the doors slammed open, nearly knocking him over. He dodged to the side as a pair of Mortals rushed a brutally disfigured man out of the arena. The moans and cries from the injured participant were drowned out by laughter and jeering from inside.

This is what they do for fun? Garrett silently questioned the sanity of these Mortals.

He entered the arena and quietly took a seat away from the crowds, in order to observe the melee that was playing out before him. There was a man, a Faction leader, that stood in the center of the arena. All around him, were other Faction leaders yelling and screaming at him. Soon enough, some of them started throwing punches. The Faction leader in the center threw punches back. Eventually, the number of punches became too much for him and he succumbed to the pummeling. Once he stopped fighting, the rest of the Faction leaders backed off, laughing and insulting him.

Soon, another Faction leader was chosen, seemingly by random, and the whole process began again. He was surrounded by his peers and the screams and taunts started flowing, followed by punches and kicks. Even the first Faction leader, who was already beaten, joined in the fight. This process played out over and over again.

Garrett found it quite interesting to watch. Each participant had his own style of fighting. No matter how good they were though, they all succumbed to the might of the rest. He wondered when they would tire of it and quit, but they never did.

After several rounds of fighting, a loud bell sounded and they all backed off into their own section of the arena. A large drum, the kind used for transporting oil, appeared from the top of the arena. It was slowly lowered down by a crane. It stopped about two meters above the arena floor and turned over, spilling out the worst substance Garrett had ever smelled.

Was that human excrement?

One of the Faction leaders ran up to it, grabbed a large handful and threw it at one of his peers, nailing him in the face. In turn, that Faction leader took a handful himself and returned the favor. It wasn't long before all the Faction leaders were hurling handfuls of crap at each other. The smell was horrific. Why were they doing this, he wondered. Some delighted in the crap slinging. Others were miserable. Yet, they all kept it up. When the final bell rang, they all stopped and immediately returned to their homes. They didn't even shower before they left.

This is what Mortals do for fun? Garrett asked himself. He recalled the Moderator that suggested he attend this awful place. He began planning horrible things for him. He wiped some residue excrement off his shoulder. Yep, Getting .beamed to the sun was going to be a picnic compared to what he had in store for him.

The littlest mod was kinda bored on The Temple of... "Why is it called like that? And why, why are we here? What's the purpose of my existence?"

The littlest mod had to think about these questions, but not for so long..

"Hey, you! Pssst! Come closer!" said strange voice comming from the darkness of weird and scary corner.

"Who are you? What do you want? Mommy told me I should keep a distance from foreign people!"

"Mommy, mommy, mommy! And what about a cookie in exchange?"

The littlest mod looks around carefuly and decides to step forward. After all, cookies are her weakness.

"Well done, well done! Keep going closer to me." strange voice said and as The littlest mod moves closer, strange signature appears.

"Nuuuuu!! Evil coffee machine!!!"

Coffee machine shrughs. It is really weird and The littlest mod is kinda surprised. 3 sticks? The littlest mod leans closer and reads strange words above them.

"Zoner, Junker and Laté Dramamiatto."

"Tell me, why are you calling me? Do you need me to refill your tanks?"

"One green is in need of coffee and your task is to choose a flavor and deliver this mug in one piece"

The littlest mod rubs backsise of her head, thinking for few seconds.

"Okay Okay!! One Laté Dramamiatto please."

"As you wish!" Coffee machine said and slowly filled mug by coffee. "And one special drop of random tears"

The littlest mod had to take on her sunglasses, because this drop of pure sadness, madness, QQness was too bright and light comming from this awesome tear could make her blind. She took this mug full of pure and hot liquid and slowly walks to the door on the right. The littlest mod sighs and slowly walks in.

Another Moderator was standing in the middle of the room, lifting a huge thingy. It looked like a really hard job so The littlest mod came closer to him and gave him amused look. He was lifting a weight so she asked him:

"How much does it weight?"

Moderator just gave her a look and she with loud sigh looked at it. But instead of "weight" there was just one simple word.

"THREAD"

The littlest mod gave him a look as well and quickly disappeared from the room. She decided to continue and slowly reached another room. Inside were two Mods and few Greens. She happily walked in still holding her mug of coffee, but they all gave her a weird look. She carefully looked what's on the floor between them. A female? They were talking about sizes apparently and about tastes? One opened mouth and her rack got bigger or smaller... Uuuuhhh, weird place.


The littlest mod continued slowly again, not sure what's going to happen in next room.

It was cold around and kinda weird lights were glowing from the room. Different colors as well. The littlest mod slowly put a mirror on the floor and set it in perfect position so she could see what's going on in the room.

Ghosts? Flying around like a mad? Silly stuff really. Probably a Ghost party?
"Heyuuuuuu!!!! Where is His Majesty Booooooo?" Ghosts gave her angry look and The littlest mod quickly disappeared.


The littlest mod was following a weird smell in the corridor now, but suddenly she heard... Screaming? One mod appeared from nowhere, crashing into the corridor walls, bouncing like a ball untill he disappeared on the opposite side of corridor

The littlest mod reached another door and smell was kinda stronger, beating her nose. A Xenomorph called Garrett Jax was inside, getting rid of some brown stuff from his shoulder. The littlest mod knew what is that brown stuff and slowly but carefuly came closer, holding her nose.

"Gooood... Morning? I have to bring you a mug of delicious Laté Dramamiatto, dear Garrett. I guess it was something special if Zoners and Junkies weren't involved huh? Well I guess you won't talk because of that <REDACTED> on your body huh? I would suggest a shower and healthcare from Miss Xenomorph"

The littlest mod bowed and kept going to next room through dark corridor. But... Is that a sound of engine? Tractor appears there with another Green sitting on top of him and observing... A melon?

The littlest mod doesn't get it at all, this bunch of people, tractors, monsters, weird creatures and... Zoners.

In the end The littlest mod got robbed by a silly mod... He called himself Evil Coffee Thief. Well, whatever. I guess it's time to slay some huge Signatures... Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge stuff, the best stuff. But what's small that's cute!!

I need a vacation, Garrett complained, as the never ending stacks of Admin paperwork stretched higher and higher upon his desk. He felt a subtle pull compelling him toward Central Command, the hub between realities.

This reality, where he served as an Admin, was only one of an almost endless stream of realities that any person could venture into. There were more sophisticated and more popular realities in the multiverse, but this reality was, by far, Garrett's favorite.

All realities were connected to the main reality, called Real Life--A frightening place that many people eagerly sought to avoid. Inevitably, every single person, without exception, was forced to reconnect with this main reality for at least a short time if they wished to survive. Some would spend the barest amount of time in Real Life, before flittering off to another reality. others would spend most of their time in Real Life and only embark on a brief jaunt into a different reality they found more entertaining.

Garrett had been one of the former, but he sensed that the time was coming for a change. This reality, although fun at first, was becoming more work and less enjoyment. Now, with all the responsibilities he had, it was tough to determine whether this was more work than Real Life or not. His realities were getting mixed up. Real Life was now the vacation and this reality was the work. How did that happen, he wondered.

It was time for a vacation to Real Life, he decided. He found his way to Central Command, punched a few buttons on the console and eventually hundreds of door icons flashed up on the monitor, each one taking him to a different reality. There was a door marked DOTA, a very popular reality destination for many. There was another reality named WoW, where only the nerdiest and saddest people dwelt.

Garrett scrolled through the doors until he found the one that was labeled Real Life. He pressed the icon and instantly a door materialized before him that would take him away from this reality and back home where the inhabitants knew nothing of Garrett Jax, the Admin. In Real Life, he was simply known as Bob, husband and father.

He stared at the door for a time, having second thoughts. Did he really want to go back to Real Life. He thought of all the work he would have to do, comparing it with the work load he had here. Home repairs, time with kids and a new job awaited him on the other side of the door. He'd grown too accustomed to this reality. Despite its problems, there was much to enjoy here. He discovered that it was nearly impossible for him to leave now.

A voice from behind him broke him out of his thoughts. It was King Boo.

"Open the door, Garrett," the ghostly Admin whispered. "Take your vacation."

Garret smiled. "I know I need to. It's just hard to leave."

Aerelm appeared out of thin air. He pointed at the Real Life door and said, "Get out of here and enjoy your vacation, Garrett."

Garrett hesitated. Soon, Farmerbrad, Tunicle, Hawk and Blodo joined the group. They all, in one chorus, urged him to leave. Alley appeared and even opened the door for him, revealing to Garrett his house with the kids playing in the living room and his wife preparing dinner. The food smelled wonderful. Still, he stopped himself from walking through the door. What about Disco, he asked?

The admins didn't listen to him. Farmerbrad pressed a few buttons on his Server Control Arm Band, and all the mods were beamed behind him, armed with steel toed boots.

"Oh no," Garrett cried.

"Oh yes," they responded.

Each of the mods took turns kicking Garrett, joy on their faces for the opportunity for payback. Garrett held tightly to the door frame, desperately trying to stay away from Real Life. Pain from the kicks took their toll on him and weakened his grip. From the other side of the doorway, his son and daughter approached him and asked him to spend time with them, weakening his resolve even more. Finally, his wife called out from the kitchen, telling him dinner was ready. She made his favorite--spaghetti.

He couldn't take anymore. The lure of Real Life was too strong. He had to go. He turned around and bowed to the entire Staff.

"See you all when I get back," he exclaimed. "Thanks for the push out the door. I needed it."

The Staff bowed in return.

With that, he crossed the threshold into Real Life and into the arms of his happy children. The door to Disco dissolved behind him leaving him feeling somewhat empty, but with a considerable amount of free time on his hands. As he sat down to dinner, he observed the happy faces around him. He wasn't going to have any trouble figuring out how to fill all that extra time.

A cheeky Lady Mod was lurking around the Temple again, with two red bows fixed to hair, red top and red skirt. Soon, something or someone hidden in the shadow poked her side, softly though. A cheeky Lady Mod jumped up and let out loud "eep", however nobody was there at all. Two more steps and something poked her back once again, but again nobody was there as she turned around to see who or what is trying to scare and annoy her.

"Stop playing with me... Now."

"Hey there!"

"Ahaaaaa, only one person can ghost around and turn invisible while looking at."

A cheeky Lady Mod recognized and his typical voice. Rolling her eyes she sighed and slowly relocated herself to strange room, where is growing stuff, preferably melons. Not only green kind.

"Welcome to my little Farmville! Are you going to help me with melon research?"

"A melon research? What are you researching? Their shape? Color?"

"Long story, ready for wedding? I should be a member of your security banning cheaters and may officiate stuff"

"I see, wait what?! A wedding?"

"Yes, we must breed our Moddess and our Conrads, make a new generation of supermods"

"Uhhhh, nononono! What are you trying to do?! W-Well, they need me in... In the community service!"

A cheeky Lady Mod gave him a weak smile and slowly walked away from the research room full of shady stuff. Few minutes later she bumped into huge suitcase

"The hell? What is it doing in the corridor?!"

A cheeky Lady Mod noticed some names on the right side of the suitcase. Vacation?

" , , , and , ohhh."

A cheeky Lady Mod sighed loudly and lowered her head. With closed eyes she took off her bows and let out another sigh.

"Rest in Reality. And now? TIME FOR ORANGE REVOLUTION!"

Jansen was sitting in his office, there were only a few more hours left before he would leave the Sirius sector for a whole week, he already had packed all his things into his tractor shaped space ship, things like coffee, coffee mugs, unhealthy food, a space suit that looked quite similar to what people used for diving back in the old days and equipment that looked just as oldfashined, he also had coffee in there.
He already had checked the ship at least 100 times, when he left the office for a 101st time, he really was cautious when he went on longer trips with this ship, it was leaking oil and loosing air pressure sometimes, so he had to assure that it was going to survive the trip he had planned.

Just when he was about to leave the office to head over to his ship to check it once again, he heard a sound, burried somewhere under the sanction reports of the last week. He decided to check that out, he really didnt like sounds from somewhere under the sanction reports, those were usually voice messages of people complaining about not being allowed to complain, so he grabbed his pitchfork and started to move the huge amount of sanction reports.
To his surprise he did not spot a voice recorder, but a small cat, that made the sound.
"Annoying Moderators, playing tricks on me, making me think that someone complained, making me waste time I dont have. Annoying. Annoying. Annoying..." These were his only words, when he grabbed the cat and threw it out into the endless floors of the temple, it would surely find the way back to the Moderator that placed it in Jansens office.
With the cat-problem dealt with, Jansen checked his Admin-nuclear powered pocked sundial just to realize that he really had to leave now, he looked into his office one last time, seeing the sanction reports lying all over the place and muttered "Some Moderator is going to have to do some cleaning duty". With a slight smirk he ran to his ship, jumped in and started the enignes. He checked the instruments and everything seemed to be in order, he undocked from the temple and activated the tractors teleport function, the instruments flickered and the ship was gone, far away from Sirius.

Jansen was close to his destination, when he heard a sound from the back of his ship, he knew the sound, he left the cockpit and checked the cargo hold, all his coffee was gone and instead of the ingredients for a hot and revitalizing brew, there was the small cat, though, it wasnt as small as just a few hours ago, it seemed to have grown from eating the coffee beans.
Jansen wasnt even angry at the cat, this seemed to be a rather random thing, even for a cat. He picked the cat up and brought it with him into the cockpit, apparently he wouldnt be all alone on his vacation, but he would have to buy coffee for two now.

The Temple of the Damned had been progressively invaded by curious blocks for the past few days. Chickens and cows were now populating the moderation control room, and the administrators office was now home to some curious four-legged green guy with no arms.

One thing was sure. Something really odd was going on.

From the reality known as Real Life:

Bob, otherwise known as Garrett Jax in the Disco dimension, tore himself away from Fallout Shelter, and tried to peer into the Disco realm to check how the Community was faring. It was difficult staying away completely from this reality due to the heroin gas the Admins pumped into the Server air daily. Even the Admins themselves were not immune.

He had to wait an extra five seconds for the Disco realm to come into focus. Another DDoS attack?

Who got banned this time?

He searched through the Wall of Shame, looking at the names on the list of recent rule violators. Maybe one of these individuals were responsible for the attack. He scanned each violation report carefully, looking for anyone whose name might pop up as a suspect, but not one of them seemed likely.

Then, he remembered the two banned brothers who tried to Skype call him at 2:00 in the morning the last couple nights. What were their names again? Mildhammer and Wort? Something close to that.

According to them, they were not going to be his friend anymore unless he unbanned them. Bob couldn't recall a time when he laughed so loud. After sharing this gem with his wife and kids, drawing mocking laughter from them as well, he promptly blocked the two from his Skype and immediately forgot about them.

Maybe they took offense. He shrugged, not bothering to drum up the effort to care.

Then he started thinking about what type of sad individual it took to actually DDoS attack a ten year old game. Who do you brag to about that? He wondered if that was a real achievement in hacking circles. Bob guessed that if the guy ever mentioned it to some real hackers, they would immediately begin a round of vicious female-dog-slapping until he came up with a real accomplishment. The saddest part was the attack was hardly noticeable and easily circumvented.

As his thoughts continued, he started to feel sorry for the poor hacker wannabe. He likely just wanted to be successful in life and couldn't bother putting forth the effort, or was too diminished intellectually to be capable of meeting the simplest of goals. He imagined the poor sod got put down a lot by his peers who had become more accomplished in life and finally turned to the more accepting culture of hackers and cheats. But, this failed attempt to disrupt a ten year old, minimally protected game, would only bring him scorn and ridicule amongst these low level citizens he desperately wanted to impress.

Bob was legitimately worried for the poor guy. But what could he do to help? Maybe start up a Hug a Hacker campaign? Maybe collect some funds to provide the guy with some real hacker training? Do they even have universities for that? He found himself wanting to reach out and give the guy some real assistance, but after a few seconds the feeling passed and he went back to playing Fallout Shelter.