Everyone has a novel inside them—this one came out with a spray of blood and screams from the helpless onlookers before scurrying into the ductwork. We suggest hunting it down with fire before it kills again.

Hey, just kidding—it’s a story, not a xenobiotic parasite using your own body against itself in a remote and hostile environment. Probably.

We don’t truly know the origin of Magnificent Bastards of the Apocalypse, as it has come to be known. The manuscript showed up in our inbox one day, and while there is ample evidence that this was written by a seventh-grader with a personality disorder and heavy metal poisoning, we figure it was sent backwards through time or another dimension or something. Which makes sense if you really think about it.

We had made it our sole endeavor to comb through this bizarre text and find a pattern to the madness, to make some sense of it all. We failed. It’s an infuriating stew of plotless despair and body-horror. But we remain hopeful that the creator of this trans-temporal message has a point to make, and we’ll keep digging until we either find it or manufacture one to our satisfaction.

Until then, we’ll post its most helpful and curious tidbits while hoping not to cause a paradox or blow up the space-time continuum, which we have been made to understand would be bad.

The Proprietors