YOUR NAME IS BUJRAHO
*and because i know your ass doesn't speak my made up language, that's pronounced boy-rah-oh. be sure to roll your r's too.

*i'd also like you to take note that the main character's name and faumcato are sourced from two different languages i made. yup

tw for random very graphic description of a murder scene lmao

will continue to be updated until the end of this story


*you are a survivor of the fall, you've managed to stay alive for the past 9 years without joining a wandergroup to aid yourself. you've also managed to avoid the company-turned-corporatocracy, FSM. no one knows what that stands for, but everyone knows some pretty shitty motherfuckers run that joint.

*this is you.

*bujraho is from the lerahzhlzha oligarchy. that is pronounced leh-rah-shul-sha by the way. the language they speak is shebueqenrahshezhaqen (seh-beh-ken-rah-seh-sha-ken,) but can be shortened to shebueqenrah. it moved from the requemiorahzhltio prefecture to faumcato in 2008, which was popular to go to because "oh, you're gonna have such a great chance of success there. it's the biggest place since heypsor umoshca!". that was because the biggest company on fahpsnoahuw (the continent) was located there, FSM.

*before the fall, FSM was actually not bad. the ceo, (unknown information,) was a pretty decent dude according to everyone who met him. it's why the area was so wealthy, he was very charitable. legend has it people back then actually knew what FSM stood for.

*however, some crazy shit happened, you know where this is going, people noticed a rotten smell from his house. unfortunately, he had been funky towned, cut up spread all around his room, and blood was everywhere but like the one image where the autism creature is sitting in a bloody corner. his skin was nailed to the wall, and his head was on his nightstand. his head had this big ass hole in the back of his skull and his thinker was no where in sight. neither were his vision balls

*so some weird ass fuckers took over. three headed doberman bitch, don't remember what those are called. when phazeco and kufanoze went into a pretty massive war, FSM under new management took advantage of that and attacked other places while their armies were basically in a world war. now, after the fall, they have shelters spread throughout fahpsnoahuw that gather information. according to them it's to reconstruct civilization. no. you know they want to stay a corporatocracy, control everything under one government, and make fahpsnoahuw a fascist state. they're already trying to go after lerahzhlzha.

-

*you snap out of your dissassosciation for a bit, something kicked a can and it caught your attention. the walking gets closer and closer, you step behind the wall by the doorless doorway. holding the most insane deadliest knife the lerahzhlzha could come up with by your chest.

*however, the fear is immediately squashed out once you see who has intruded on your super-deep-autistic-self-reflection. it's simply some horse in an office outfit. you wonder what such a well-dressed guy is doing out here.

*you look at the forest from inside the structure. thinking about it, you realized you may have treaded into land governed by FSM's fascism.

*it would be shitty to attack a civilian

*your grip on your Interesting Weapon loosens, your hand is tired and had a short period of letting loose of the senses. which results in your knife dropping on the cold cement.

*'shit..' you say under your breath.

*the horse spins around, his wavy tail almost tripping him. the expression on his face is that of pure paranoia, as if he's been this way for longer than just a panic.

*you bend over to grab your knife, but just before you snatch it you lock eyes with him. you are both autistic motherfuckers, so you just have an unpleasant rush of adrenaline from making eye contact. you don't want to move either, that would be awkward. but you're not leaving your only defense on the ground.

*'what are you doing here?' you say in the most chilling voice you can muster.

*the horse is silent for a few seconds. man what a fucking pussy

*a very shaky voice. 'who are you?'

*he's got nothing better to say.

*'before i tell you anything about myself, i need to know who you are. you could be some FSM spy. are you? huh?'

*his ears were against his neck. not in the angry way, but in the way that he's about to piss his pants. his eyes are very wide, and his hands are at is chest. they hold onto each other so tightly as if one is attempting to pull the other up. his legs are tight together, only his hooves stray from the formation the rest of his body took. he looked like he was begging. definetly for mercy. bujraho knew who it was dealing with, an absolute loser who would not put up much of a fight no matter how much he towered over it. please god do not interpret this in a kinky way i have a feeling some of you are gonna do that

*'well, i mean, i do work for a subsidiary of them...' the idiot trembled.

*you quit listening

*'i'm gonna stop you right there. i tell FSM assosciates nothing about myself. good day, dipshit.'

*the horse appears taken aback. confused, too. a combo!

*'excuse me?' he spoke, this time with what sounded without fear, and instead sounded absolutely flabberghasted, yet serious.

*you smile under your mask, you've pissed him off. exactly what you wanted, because you never got attention as a younger child and seek it by pissing strangers off.

*'you heard me, dispshit'

*the most dumbest mischief shall ensue

*'well, that's not very kind to say to a random stranger passing by in a forest.'

*you pretend to inspect your knife

*'if they work for shitty corporatocracies, then it's very justified to say such vulgar things to somebody.

*horseboy stood confused

*'what?'genuine curiosity in his voice.

you stand there surprised, the employee doesn't know about their crimes! how?

*'you don't know about the shit going on behind closed doors? like innocent wanderers being killed, their fascist plan to take over everything.... '

*you drone on and on. i also for some reason dispite knowing the atrocities committed, can't come up with anything else.