THE WRITER MUST EAT -> patreon.com/trn1ty <-

| \    |   | blah!
|\ | `\|\  | the rantings and ravings
|/ |(_|| | * of a depraved lunatic

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2023-02-13

catgirl 911, what's your emergency?
	hi, my catgirl seems broken. she doesn't feel anything. i give her lots
of headpats and treats and she doesn't care

Protein
	Olive stood making sandwiches when she heard something crash at the
front of the restaurant. She walked towards the counter area to try to see what
it was but saw the gas canister in the dining room, heard the hiss, and knew
what it contained given that there was no visible smoke expelling out of it.
	She held her breath and ran around the table to the stairs as agents
dressed in black broke through the windows in the front. After locking the door
behind her she ran down to the corridor and opened the door marked Security,
where she found a man dressed in a guard's outfit and stubble sitting at a
desk on which there were a dozen video displays arranged in a square stack
showing a dozen different views of the upper level of Durmer Burger being
searched by law enforcement entities. The guard himself lay on his keyboard in
a pool of blood next to his own sidearm. She ran out of the room and, knowing
they weren't interested in taking prisoners, continued down the corridor to the
ladder, down which she climbed.
	At the bottom of the neatly layed hole she found a hatch, which she
wrestled open. Under the hatch was another ladder. She closed the hatch and
picked a flashlight out of her pocket so she could see in the darkness. She saw
the bottom of the hole a couple meters below her so she slid down on the sides
and went through the door at the bottom.
	Olive now found herself in what seemed like a laboratory setting. The
walls stainless steel, the floor featureless white tile. An ancient poster to
her right welcomed her to the National Defense Center and illustrated the
personal protective equipment she did not have that was necessary to survive
her visit. She tried not to feel concerned and continued through the hallway to
another door, this one looking like it had come from a hospital. She went
through.
	The stench overpowered Olive and she nearly threw up. A nearly
mummified dead body lay on the floor covered in old, dried, splattered blood,
in front of a conveyer belt on which a machine periodically stamped blank
wrappers with a Durmer Burger icon.

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