The moment of truth has
arrived. The crowd is anxiously waiting for you to declare the name of
your band. Some appear eager to learn it, but most of the assembled
masses appear more than a little annoyed by the fact that you're
preventing their favorite bands from performing. You wipe the sweat from
your brow and try not to start stuttering. Leaning up to the mic, you
speak the one and only name of your band:
"Wretched Goat Broth."
"..."
The crowd raises their
arms as one. You feel a dead weight in the pit of your stomach and
realize that you've made the wrong decision. You figure, "what the
hell," and are about to empty your bowels when suddenly, all in
attendance speak up, saying simply, "you have chosen wisely."
The action around you
comes to a stop, and a large coin materializes in front of you. Its
shininess compels you to touch it, and upon doing so, it disappears and
leaves you feeling relaxed. What's more, it appears that the red bar
hanging over you has refilled itself. Finally, some good news. You also
notice that next to that red bar is another red bar, and a picture of
Ruggy. Perhaps this means he'll be joining you. Then again, it could
just as easily mean that you and he are about to have a winner-take-all
battle to the death right on this stage in front of hundreds of
slavering metal fans. You slowly reach for the mic stand...
Whoa, that was weird.
Looks like you've got more work to do if you ever want to get back home
and clean your basement. All the more reason to cave in Ruggy's skull
while he's distracted by the towering font. You look back and see that
he's disappeared. You look around and spot him climbing into a dune
buggy.
What's that doing here,
you wonder. And why is Ruggy signaling for you to hop in the driver's
seat? Well, better the driver than the passenger, you always say...
You've said it before, I swear. You head over to the buggy.
