Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Eleven Moons: The Story of the FGA

This story is great. Made me pee my pants like three times in a row.

Right, right, do I get to kill anyone?

This story is great. Made me pee my pants like three times in a row.

@pangtongshu
"Oh, pang left? Let's come up with a new story, share shirtless pics, have more Skype calls, bring tupac back and play too much pokemon."
-the chat

YOU GUYS HAVE SEEN IT WHY IS EVERYTHING INTERESTING HAPPENING IN THE CHAT WHILE I'M GONE

Nurv! It's good to see yourself back in action, mate. Yarr.

Prologue: Part I

Hands moving fast as lightning, eyes darting from one page to another, he sifted frantically through the pile of documents, trying to find the one heâd seen before. His mandibles clicked together nervously as he reached the bottom of the stack; nothing. Looking back at the pile of papers heâd just thrown to the side, he took a quick inventory of the room but saw nothing else that could be looked through. Heâd been there for an hour already, and he knew they would find him eventually.
Nilo the ant looked over his shoulder, before adjusting his beret and beginning the search anew. It was here, he knew it, he just had to find it, and fast. Another trip through the offending pile yielded the same result, and Nilo pounded one of his six hands on the table in frustration. He hadnât expected the search to be easy, but then again he hadnât expected to have been here an hour.
Maybe they moved it Nilo thought as he let the pages flutter to the floor. That was definitely a possibility, but if it was the case, then the time spent here was wasted, and heâd have to start the search anew. Cursing, he turned to enter the staircase, only to be greeted by the sound of footsteps headed rapidly towards him.
Trying not to panic, Nilo looked around swiftly for a place to hide. Spotting a large oaken chest in the far corner of the room, he bolted over and slipped inside, closing the lid just as the shadows of the approaching figures touched the basementâs floor.
Sitting inside, cramped, Nilo peeked out the chestâs keyhole at the two people who made their way into the room. Both were dressed in generic guardâs gear; once was short, and the other was very tall and thin. They looked around for a few moments, and the shorter one bent down and began picking the papers off of the ground and stacking them back on the table.
âSomeone has been down here, and recently too.â The tall one said. His voice was high and thin, with a slight lilt that suggested he had been farther north than he was now. The shorter said nothing. âI just organized those papers this morning, and now here they are, all over the floor.â
âMaybe the wind blew them over.â The shorter one suggested.
âHow could the wind blow them over?â The thin one snapped. âThere are no windows or doors, you idiot.â The shorter one simply shrugged and continued picking up the papers. The thin one began scanning the room, his gaze lingering for a moment on the chest Nilo was hiding in. Once his companion had finished cleaning the room, the two of them looked about one more time before heading back up the stairs. As their footsteps receded, Nilo heard the voice of the tall one trailing off into the distance.
âKeep on your guard. I have a feeling there is an unwelcome guest here.â A few more moments passed, and finally Nilo exhaled. He had to get out, and without being noticed. From there, heâd have to retrace his steps and figure out where to look next.
But as he pushed casually at the top of the chest, he found with some surprise that it did not budge. Pushing again, this time using four hands, he found that the top would not move an inch, and that he had been locked inside the chest.
A bead of sweat ran down Niloâs neck as he looked out the keyhole. He couldnât call for help, for he was trespassing, but he saw no other way out of his current predicament. He was trapped.

Prologue: Part II


The sun had been up for a few hours, and there was no longer any trace of the previous nightâs rains. The city of Armor Games was resplendent, a portrait of perfection silhouetted against the greens of the wilderness, and the blue of the sky. Down below, within the walls, users teemed in the streets: buying, selling, arguing, and laughing. In the amphitheatre, a small band was playing a series of string instruments while a sparse crowd watched. There were few, but the few were happy.
A little ways off from index road, a small cottage rested in a quiet corner of the atrium, blocked off on three sides by small buildings established to explain why Dota was the greatest game ever. It had a straw thatched roof and open windows, nothing more than squares cut into the earthen walls.
There was little inside. It was separated into three rooms: a large living space complete with chairs and a sofa, a smaller kitchen with an oven, range, and refrigerator, and a bedroom. In the living area, a diminutive figure was sitting in a desk chair, looking out the only window without a concrete view. He was dressed in a full suit of shining armor, an orange plume flowing outwards from his silver helm. As he sat, the door to the cottage opened, and another user entered.
Taller than the knight, he wore silk robes and a flowing cloak, cinched to his waist with a medieval cummerbund. His lower face was swathed in white cloth, obscuring his mouth, and he wore a wide-brimmed hat on his head. He walked over to where the knight was sitting before taking his own seat in a chair lined with blue polystyrene.
âNice digs man.â pang said with a smile as he arranged his cloak around him.
âI donât need that from you.â Riptizoid said with a laugh. âBesides, this is temporary. I find it easier to work when people donât know where you are.â
âBut you chose to confide in me with that information?â pang asked. Rip shrugged. âSo, have you been here alone?â pang asked.
âWell, not exactly.â Rip said. Suddenly, pang felt a tickling on his neck, and a voice whispered menacingly in his ear.
âGotcha.â There was a breath of air in pangâs ear, then a flash as a tiny figure leapt off his shoulder and onto the table Rip was sitting at.
âHe had company, donât worry.â Salvidian the mininja said as he landed a perfect ten on the ashtray perched on the corner of the table. pang regarded him with a frown.
âSo, what exactly have you two been up to?â pang asked. It was high noon, and sunlight was pouring in the cottage windows. Dust motes were floating in the air, and Sal reached up and snatched one.
âNot a lot. Weâve been on a sort of holiday, as you would call it.â Rip said. âNot a lot has been happening in the city, and the FGA hasnât really been wanting for company.â
âThat almost seems like an oxymoron.â pang said.
âWhat about you, pang?â Sal piped up. âYouâve been gone for a month. Where have you been?â
âEast.â pang said curtly. âI had some business of my own, you know. Not like I missed anything.â
âFeminists?â Rip asked.
âNo. Yes.â
âWell, it doesnât matter.â Rip said. âWeâre glad youâre back.â

Prologue: Part III

Night had fallen over Armor Games, and the radiance of the sun was replaced by the luminance of the moon. Pools of water glistened in street corners, and small animals skittered around in the gutters. In a side alley on the outskirts of the Armusement Park, a user in a long black robe was attempting to mug a girl on the Internet. He grabbed at her arm aggressively, demanding she turn out her pockets, until suddenly a paw came to rest on his shoulder. And just like that, he was gone.
A few blocks away, in the slums between the construction site and profile lane, a decrepit restaurant sat brooding on its ancient supports. It was a Chinese restaurant, although the red neon letters on the front had long since faded and been removed. If one looked carefully at the whitewashed prints them left behind, they could just barely discern the letters âAâ, âFâ, and âKâ.
The interior of the restaurant could only be described as dingy. Oil lamps burned low light, and a short, homely waitress scurried around from table to table taking orders. Somewhere, a mandolin could be heard playing mournfully. Most patrons sat at tables near the bar, all save one girl, who was sitting alone at a booth in the corner. She was looking at a menu with some disinterest, before flagging down the waitress and mumbling something to her.
As the waitress walked away, another user passed by her, and slid into the booth across from the girl.
âFancy meeting you here.â Pickpocket said with a smile. He reached across the table and grabbed the girlâs menu. âSo, uh whatâs good here?â She just glared.
A few minutes later the waitress came around again to stand at the table, waiting patiently for Pickâs order.
âIâll have the⦠uhâ¦â
The girl reached across the table and snatched the menu out of Pickâs hands, handing it to the waitress with a smile. âHeâll have what Iâm having.â The waitress nodded.
âWhat are you having?â Pick asked.
âFood.â
âGood food?â The girl shrugged. âAh come on Storm. Itâs no fun agreeing to come for dinner if you arenât gonna talk to me.â
Stormwalker looked back without blinking. âHey, as long as youâre paying, Iâm game.â
âActually, thereâs another reason I invited you out tonight.â Pick said, flicking the end of his fork nervously.
âOh?â Storm asked.
âYeah. Itâs about Nilo.â
âNiloâs been gone before.â Storm said indifferently. âAnd heâll be gone again. Whatâs the point in worrying about it? He can handle himself.â
âI wouldnât be worried, if it werenât for Rip talking about it. He said he and Sal were going to talk to pang about it, once he got back-â
âSpeaking of which, where has that idiot been?â Storm interrupted.
âWho knows. But thatâs beside the point. The point is that I want to go look for him. And I was wondering if youâd come with me.â
At that moment, there was a low rumble, then another, then another. A shadow fell over the two, and a giant figure lumbered over to the table. It coughed politely.
âHey Mino.â Storm said.
âOh, Mino, you came.â Pick said. He slid over, and Mino squeezed in next to him in the booth.
âYou know, I donât bite.â Storm said. Pick and Mino looked at each other.
âIâve talked to Mino about it. Heâs in. It was actually him who suggested we bring someone else, and my first thought was of you.â
âWhy should I leave the city?â Storm asked. âNot that I donât care for Nilo, or the interests of the FGA even, but where are you two looking? How long are you going to be gone?â
âWhere weâre looking, you can find out if you decide to join us. As for how long, long enough. Youâve been in the city for a while Storm. You need some fresh air.â
Storm studied them for a moment. The waitress came, plates of food balanced on her arms, and laid them down on the table. Pick thanked her, and she left.
âAw, you guys ordered without me.â The bullman lamented. Storm pushed her plate across the table towards him.
âIâm not hungry.â
As Pick and Mino ate, Storm spun a chopstick between her fingers, staring off absent-mindedly at the other patrons. As the two finished their food, they looked up at her expectantly. She just shrugged again.
âIâm not going to try and be coy about this. The truth is, you two are right. I need to get out of the city. But Iâll need to talk to Rip about it first. Make sure this isnât some sort of intervention on the two of yours parts. The way I see it, if Nilo wants to be gone, we should let him be.â She stepped out of the booth, stretched, and turned to leave.
âSo, a maybe I suppose?â Pick asked.
âYes. Maybe.â
After Storm had left, and the waitress had taken up the plates and left the check, Mino elbowed Pick gently. âI never told you to bring a third person. That was your idea.â
âTrue.â Pick said. âBut I figured if she got angry, youâd be a bigger target than I.â Mino snorted in frustration.
Outside, the temperature was dropping as the moon rose. Some buildings were splashed with moonlight, while others gleamed under the glow of streetlights. But there were places where the light didnât touch.

Far away, an ant in a beret beat uselessly against the lid of a chest. In a small cottage, a knight was polishing his helm, far from the stray or prying eye. A mininja and a new man walked along index road, their breath a white cloud in the cold night air. A girl strode quickly down a dark alley, coat wrapped tight around her. A teenage boy and a giant Minotaur argued over who would bring the leftover dumplings home. And the moon saw it all. White and staring, beautiful to some and terrifying to others. The first of eleven.

Not bad, not bad. I think it's a little short, but whatever. It's good.

That's not the end, I hope. Can't wait to see what you come up with. Wish I could've gotten my description in on time. Forgot, though.

Can't wait for the robot to come in. His beauty will brighten the world.

P.S. Great story, now you're making me want more of it.

Where am I exactly?

And the moon saw it all. White and staring, beautiful to some and terrifying to others. The first of eleven.

Chapter One

âThatâs the jist of it. Of course, ideally everyone whoâs in on it would know itâs a joke, but with all the idiots wandering the wilds these days, you never can tell. After a while, either way, I think itâll end up being a success.â pang sat back and clasped his hands. âItâs a pretty out-there concept. But I think you guys might be game.â They were outside, at a small café on the outskirts of the courts. The sunlight was very bright, but there was a slight breeze, and as a result users were teeming in the street. In the shade of the café a short, black-haired girl was leaning against the wall, making eyes at Rip. She could only assume he was making them back, but she couldnât tell. Thatâs sort of how Rip liked it.
âRip.â pang said, lightly banging his hand on the table. The knight turned back to look at him, distracted.
âSo, itâs basically like a clan.â
âNo itâs a religion.â pang retorted.
âItâs just like a clan.â Ray said dryly. âItâs funny you should make one, pang. You like making fun of the users who do this sort of thing.â
âThatâs the point.â pang said. âItâs satire. Iâm going to be putting a lot of elements into it that are in some of the clans here. Some religious aspects too.â
âThatâs not going to make you many friends.â Ray said.
âI get it!â Sal said helpfully. He was standing on the table, but was still a few inches shorter than eye length with his companions. The plaza was crowded with users, but the four were the caféâs only current customers. A breeze blew past, ruffling the girl in the cornerâs parasol and flipping the pages of the large book propped up in front of Sal. He grunted and began the tedious task of finding where heâd left off.
âIt sounds like a group that would be in direct competition with the FGA.â Rip pointed out. âWhy would I want to get behind that?â
âNo, no, itâs not that at all.â pang said. âI already told you. Itâs just a joke.â
âThe cult of Trevor Newman.â Ray said, eyes narrowing. âI donât know about you, but my name is something very valuable to me here.â pang just shrugged.
âEveryone here already knows my name. Besides, those who donât probably wonât put two and two together anyway. Lord knows they have enough trouble with that stuff already.â
âYou mean, Trevor knows?â Sal said with a wink.
Ray convinced Sal to pay his tab and left. Shortly afterwards, the mininja closed his book, asked pang to drop it off at his house later that day, and went hopping over the nearest rooftop. It was just pang and Rip.
âSo what do you hope to accomplish with this âCult of Trevor Newmanâ?â Rip asked.
âWould you believe me if I said I didnât know?â pang asked. âI just think it would be kind of fun. A sort of humorous release, if you will. Weâll see where it goes. Thatâs what you said about the FGA, right?â
âNo. The FGA was formed to help the community. And it has.â Rip said.
âDude there are like twenty members.â pang said, smiling. âWeâre completely exclusionary.â
âWe are not!â Rip said indignantly. As he spoke, the girl in the corner, whoâd watched Ray walk off, approached the table cautiously. Without prompt, she grabbed a seat at their table and smiled shyly. pang blinked.
âUm, hey.â She said quietly. âMy nameâs Cattail.â
âHi Cattail.â Rip said flatly.
âI just couldnât help but notice, that youâre Riptizoid. You founded the FGA, right?â She bit her bottom lip.
âYes, I did.â Rip said proudly. He turned and looked at pang with what pang could only assume was a smug grin. âSo kind of you to notice.â
âWow, I just think the FGA is so cool.â Cattail said excitedly. She leaned over the table, her low-cut t-shirt hanging down around her shoulders. âI just couldnât help but come over and ask about, maybe, joining.â
âNo. Absolutely not.â Cattailâs mouth dropped open. âThe FGA has its own affairs to handle right now, and we just canât be bothered with new applicants.â
âBut I-â
âNo buts. Sorry, but we just donât have the resources to process applications right now. Thank you for your interest.â Rip then turned from Cattail, as if their conversation had never happened. She looked in complete befuddlement at pang. He shrugged. Call me.
After watching Cattail walk off in defeat, pang turned back to address Rip.
âAnyway, Sal and I are gonna do some brainstorming tonight and maybe this weekend. After that weâll start putting posters up.â
âThat has to get you in trouble with someone.â Rip said.
âNo way. I have Frank on my side!â pang exclaimed. Rip said nothing.
âYou know Iâm not your boss or anything pang, but everything you do reflects the FGA. Just remember that.â
pang saluted. âYou know me, Rip! If there was anyone within the FGA youâd trust to slander an entire school of thought, wouldnât it be me?â Rip just shuddered.

There was a rumor floating around the northwest district about a man with a pie for a head, who would feed the unicorns before disappearing mysteriously each night. Not much of a rumor, yes, but it was one none the less, and rumors make people curious. It became an interesting study in sociology, to see how this rumor spread. At first it was a sort of joke, one the children would tell each other at the academy. It went a little something like this: âMen with pies for heads feeding unicorns? Whatâs next?â Although it wasnât kids saying that, and it wasnât meant as a joke, it was still funny. Every once in a while, a brave adventurer would creep stealthily towards the unicorn stables in search of this mysterious âpie guyâ. The adventurers were the stable boys, and they did not creep, but it made for a great story anyway.
There was little else to be said about âpie guyâ. No one ever saw him, no one knew if he was real. He just was. But just being begs the question: can something that is, isnât? If you are, can you not? Many longed to answer this question. But no one ever saw the pie man.

Days in the Armor City are long, but not eternal. As the red haze of sunset broke over the walls, a horde of bloodsucking insects descended on the city, driving most of its inhabitants indoors. Around this time, denizens of users would flock to the Community Hall to drink alcohol, share poetry, and make out in abandoned staircases. After being forced into an uncomfortable day at the Imaginarium by Storm, Mino had made his way to the meeting area for some cool air before the trek home. The Hallâs proximity to the amphitheatre often made it uncomfortable this time of day, and after a few minutes amidst the noise, Mino decided to make the short walk to the archives. It was quieter there.
The massive beast drew nary an eye as he squeezed under the ancient buildingâs doorframe and went stomping into the reception area. An old, crone-eyed woman was sitting behind the desk, but she didnât bother looking up as he lumbered by.
It was often a challenge for the minotaur to find comfortable accommodations in this human-sized world, but he eventually found a giant, overstuffed easy chair in a dusty corner of the library, which when sat it was only found to be slightly too small for him. He noticed a weathered issue of Car and Driver on a side table next to him, and figured it was better than nothing. He snorted softly and began reading.
It had been a long day in the Imaginarium, and Mino eventually fell asleep in the chair. No one bothered to wake him; perhaps no one even noticed. Guitar picking could be heard softly from another corner of the library, and lights passed slowly over the library floor from the window outside.
The moon was high in the sky when Mino awoke. After regaining his senses, he was immediately annoyed at his falling asleep; now heâd be up all night and need a nap tomorrow. He was about to rise from the chair, when suddenly he heard hushed voices from behind a bookshelf to his left.
âWhat do you expect to find? You donât think theyâre looking for him here too? You tip off anyone heâs friends with, and youâre going to find yourself in a world of hurt, dig?â
âYeah, yeah, I dig. But without asking around, how are we supposed to find out where the ant is?â A second voice asked.
The ant? Mino perked up instantly. He strained his ears; trying to hear every word the two spoke,
âWeâre just going to have to find a spot in town where the FGA has no influence. If there is any.â
âHey wait a second. I think the big guy around the corner stopped snoring.â The other voice said.
After a moment of hushed silence, two figures stepped out from around the bookcase. One was tall and thin, and the other was short, by comparison. They were wearing street clothes, and yet they were very pale. The two stared blankly at Mino for a split second, before turning to leave, bumping awkwardly into each other in their haste. Mino watched them go.
Rip ought to know about this. Mino thought as he rose from his chair and walked towards the exit.
Stepping outside, he bumped into a man passing by the doors. Mino recognized him immediately.
âOh, hello Mino.â Gandalf the Grey said, doffing his hat politely. âOut so late?â
âUh, yeah.â The minotaur said absent-mindedly. âListen, did you see two people pass by here? A tall guy, and a shorter one?â
Gandalf scratched his beard. âI donât really pay attention to people passing by, especially at this time. But yeah, I think I do recall. Why?â
Mino ignored his question. âWhere were they headed?â
âSouth, I suppose.â The wizardâs brow furrowed.
âSouth? But thereâs only Profile Lane in that direction, thenâ¦â
âNothing.â Gandalf finished. âMino, is something wrong?â
âLet me walk you home. Iâll explain on the way.â

Across the city, by the east wall, a few newer, and nicer, apartment complexes had been built to accommodate tweener users who disliked the bureaucracy of oh-eight architecture but also shunned the somewhat shoddy residential district to the north. On the sixth floor of the western-most complex, in suite #008A, Pick was winding down with some late-night studying. Classes were out for the week, on account of exams coming up, and he was determined to really impress the instructors this time around. Heâd even kept some booze around since early spring, just for the occasion.
Some students complained about the idea of a summer semester, but Pick had never minded. Life in the city was like one big holiday for him anyway, and he enjoyed most of his classes. The way he saw things, education was pointless if you didnât enjoy it.
It was about three in the morning when Pick closed his stats book and backed his bag for the next day. He took a moment to look out his window, which had a great view of the castle to the west. The city was a warm glow against the black of the sky, people walking like ants across the soft, dirt-packed ranges of the Armusement Park. Ants.
Pick wasnât really in the business of sentiment, but he had a heart. Him and Mino had spent plenty of time the last week talking about Nilo, and about their plans for getting him back. They both knew this was half about helping him out of a potential situation, and half about getting his tell on the fold. Heâd become a distraction. Pick hoped Nilo would agree to stay, but doubted he would. Either way, heâd have to make his choice; the FGA, or the wilds.