/tg/Station 13

Once, on a distant space station, chaos reigned supreme. The crew was in disarray, with
some shouting expletives and others checking under bandages. The odor in the air was foul,
and tensions between the crew and Maintainers were high.

Suddenly, the supermatter became sussy and irradiated, frying the eyes of some interns who
unfortunately did not survive. Amid the chaos, someone shouted about "ligma balls" and the
station was plunged into ruin.

Desperate for help, one crew member cried out for assistance from the Maints, but there
were only big, menacing men around. To make matters worse, they collided surreptitiously
with murderous intent, armed with girthy long clowns that honked on everyone in their way.

Even in the midst of such chaos, some found moments of absurd humor. One crew member
ingested their shoe expeditiously, for reasons unknown, and another exclaimed "owie my
nuts!" as they were shot in their most sensitive area.

But as the nightmare of the situation dragged on, there was little to find humorous. Hazard
lights blinked unnervingly, and the crew was left to grapple with the fallout of the tragedy.
Despite some attempts at order, counting was banned, and Marxists came to rule the station.

In the end, one word echoed through the halls: chaos. But even in the midst of it all, there
were whispers of the power of storytelling and the mountains that could be erected by it.

Once, on a distant space station, chaos reigned supreme. The crew was in disarray, with
some shouting expletives and others checking under bandages. The odor in the air was foul,
and tensions between the crew and Maintainers were high.

Suddenly, the supermatter became sussy and irradiated, frying the eyes of some interns who
unfortunately did not survive. Amid the chaos, someone shouted about "ligma balls" and the
station was plunged into ruin.

Desperate for help, one crew member cried out for assistance from the Maints, but there
were only big, menacing men around. To make matters worse, they collided surreptitiously
with murderous intent, armed with girthy long clowns that honked on everyone in their way.

Even in the midst of such chaos, some found moments of absurd humor. One crew member
ingested their shoe expeditiously, for reasons unknown, and another exclaimed "owie my
nuts!" as they were shot in their most sensitive area.

But as the nightmare of the situation dragged on, there was little to find humorous. Hazard
lights blinked unnervingly, and the crew was left to grapple with the fallout of the tragedy.
Despite some attempts at order, counting was banned, and Marxists came to rule the station.

In the end, one word echoed through the halls: chaos. But even in the midst of it all, there
were whispers of the power of storytelling and the mountains that could be erected by it.