Wattpad is wattching.
60 issues ago, we invented a brand-new sub-genre: WattPunk. Imagine, if you will, that Wattpad--and writing--rules the world. Now we're doin' it again!
Scary, huh?
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Prologue
i
They were doing it. They were getting away from tyranny. Free of the chains of corruption, they fled their Wattpad masters.
Coheed and Cambria, hit progressive-rock band, drove their beat-up green AMC Gremlin away from WattLand and towards the inhospitable salvation of the Canadian tundra. The car had once belonged to the grandma of Claudio Sanchez, the head squealer and guitarist for the band. But now it was his, the beauty, and as the frontman for the band he was, quite naturally, in the driver's seat. The bassist was fellating him from the passenger seat. The drummer rolled around the back, beating off with a drumstick up his butt to the same frenetic rhythm he used on all their songs. And the other guitarist—dead at last—was rotting away in his guitar cases, murdered and dismembered by Claudio before they'd left WattCapital. No more would Igor Sandusky upstage him.
And now they drove. The buildings thinned out the further they got, shrunk in size. The wilderness before them opened up with every kilometre they travelled.
To accompany the experience, the vehicle's customized stereo blasted their own music. Currently, "Apollo I: The Writing Writer"—which Claudio thought righteously fitting, given their present predicament.
"Woah oh oh oh!" Claudio squealed only slightly out of sync with the CD. "If my shame spills a word across this floor!" His caterpillar-shaped eyebrows arched up with some kind of emotional struggle, his nostrils flared with sorrow, and his curly-haired head bobbed with each following syllable: "Woah oh oh oh!" He took his hands from the wheel and played a few notes on his air guitar, inadvertently brushing them against the hair of the slurping head bobbing up and down in his lap. "And tonight"—he pumped his fist—"goodnight, I'm Burning Star IV!"
"Could you stop?" the drummer asked from the backseat, pausing his drumstick penetration. "Your terrible singing is ruining the moment."
"And I don't even think of you," Claudio continued, emphasizing the appropriate words to make a point. "No, I don't want to think of you anymore! Goodnight, tonight, goodbye!"
ii
Camouflaged in the snow-topped treeline, an Asian man watched the oncoming car, waiting for the right moment. He wore a white lab coat and a stethoscope hung around his neck, which led up to a larger-than-normal-sized head. Sunglasses straight out of The Matrix covered his eyes. His black hair was brushed down and off to the side, held in place with enough grease to make a colonoscopy fun. As previously mentioned, he was Asian. His name was Dr. Renneth Ree, and he specialized in leaky bowels. His hobbies included: leaky bowels, giving colonoscopies, receiving colonoscopies, and murder. In that order.
