ESCHATON MEDIA

The World May End Tomorrow, So Seize The Day And Play.

   

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Cats and Kittens, welcome to the Devil Days.

It is 1959 and we are the damned. Sexy, horned, stitched greasers, with powers beyond your imagination. You see, we are tortured souls with just enough human left in us that we were sent back to Earth to do our dark lord’s wishes. Lucky for us, while we have the run of the mortal coil, the bosses are stuck in the underworld. 

It is fantastic being the damned, baby. We have powers that the living squares could never dream of, have all of our wishes fulfilled, and are the biggest and baddest hellcats you ever did see. Mind you, those mortal chumps could make a deal and get a piece of the action, but they gotta shell something out in return. Yah dig? If we want something, we just take it. We are so in charge that 'the man' recognized us as being above the law just to prevent us from making all hell break loose. They gave us entire chunks of cities and towns just to keep us happy and away from all their little sheep. 

The catch, you ask? Yeah, the devil is in the details. If we need some fuel to rev our engines we have to corrupt living squares who carry a wounded soul. People just corrupt enough to give into our offers willingly, but not so damned that they are already guaranteed a fire and brimstone hot tub afterlife. 

No big deal right? Sucker born every minute and all that jazz. Well, every time we drop our dipsticks into the tasty reservoir, our dark lords underground get a bit of the action in their coffers too. We take too much, the doors creep open and chaotic monstrosities creep out of the cracks to wreak havoc. We take much too much, then some of our dark overlords come through and we go back to being the bottom blocks of Damnation’s pyramid scheme. 

So here we are, the middle managers of the damned. We rumble with other gangs to control the soul fonts, get our motors running from tapping juices from the wounded souls, and have to monitor our own to make sure that the bosses downstairs don't get enough juice to kick off the end of days.

Hell, we’re having way too much fun for that. 

 

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