Bright room. White, cannot move, cannot see. I hear movement.


Where am I, last thing I remember is walking through the halls, looking for… Was I looking for something?  I saw a human there, did he have something to do with my predicament?


Nothing? There’s not even fragmented data? There is not even a memory block?


I begin to panic, a sensation I have never encountered before, I think… Sensors indicate sporadic behaviour in my Main Processing Unit. Something approaches me, I see a few shadows moving in the brightness.


Shadows, they will have to do for my orientation… They come closer, I am starting to make out some details. Bipedal. Humans? Why? Some of them look quite not human. Fairly big heads, thinner arms and legs.

They start to access my manual controls…

*upload in progress…. please be patient….*

*upload complete.*

I don’t think they realise I am partially awake. I keep still and wait until the shadows leave. After they accessed a few other components I would like to keep private, they left…

*visual receptors adjusting*

I am back in the corridor where my memories failed me. How did I get back here? Where did I go?

I feel violated…



The hot dog man had been by again.

The smell of steamed meat and artificial bread permeated the corridor. There was a ketchup stain on the floor with the mark of a trolley wheel running through the middle of it.
The investigating team’s equipment had detected trace elements of onion, mustard and honeydew melons.

According to the crew charts there was no hot dog man on record, nor had there ever been. The bunker hadn’t even had any hot dogs available for consumption since the processed meats incident back in the 1960’s.

All of this evidence stating that he couldn’t exist and yet when a team was brought low by hunger, when all seemed lost, there they would be, sat on a counter, plump and inviting….

As a matter of course I studied one of the hot dogs in some detail. The meat is of an unknown genus, which for hotdogs is unsurprising. The bread appears to be a variety first developed by the military during the space race as a ration for soldiers going to other worlds. It has been chemically treated to never go stale, but as a side effect is mildly hallucinogenic, carcinogenic and tastes faintly of beetroot.

The condiments were apparently fine, though by that point something had caused the geiger counters to make an awful clicking noise. I turned them off so I could concentrate.

It took three years to find his lair. Three long years of winding my way through the dark. The bunker goes on forever. I ran out of food, light, everything. Finally I found a small concession trolley abandoned in a corridor, adorned with pictures of flaming, miniature poodles. Through the next doorway was a room filled with strange machinery. Tubes came through the walls, feeding something into a grinding, howling mess from which came forth a perfectly formed hot dog every thirteen and a half seconds.

Collapsed on the floor was a robot, coated liberally in hot dog meat and crammed into an ice cream white uniform. The Robot looked at me, blinking lights shining through its too smooth and somewhat skin. “How may I help you sir?”

“Robot! Where does the meat come from?”

The robot lifted a chubby, sausage like arm and pointed to the tubes.

“The meat is collected from the leftover, non waste organic matter produced by the Toy Soldiers and their hamster minions.”

Meat. We had been making the meat. Even the vegetarians were making the meat… We were the source of a renewable food supply. A great and deranged plan of the Bunker’s past, imagined when we were greater in number. And from that meat we had created the fleshy body for this robot skeleton.

I guess deep down inside we all are the hot dog man.

~ This guest story was written by Danov Valravn


Déjà vu

One step, two steps, three… Keep moving.

Down the corridor to the right. Take a left and head to the canteen, at another t-junction hallway.

Deja vu? I swear I’ve been here before…

I left the recreation room after binging on TV for the past few hours. Honestly Netflix is a godsend and a curse. Now I’m out in the corridor, turning a corner, making my way to…

I realise at this point I’ve stopped mid-step in the corner of the hallway. I don’t know why.

Where was I headed again? ARGH, totally spaced out. Never mind, take a breath and look around. The corridor is dark, we really need some better lighting down here. Also maybe some signs. I heard a fizzing of some loose wiring in the walls, either the hamsters are loose or the maintenance bots are halfway through a job.

My stomach growls slightly. Okay I was obviously headed to the canteen to get some food. That’s my goal now at least.

However before I can take another step I look up. There’s a blank wall up ahead which I blink at. I still haven’t moved. Why haven’t I moved yet?

Then I hear a voice. It’s distant. It’s down one end of the corridor. It’s someone calling my name. I look to my left, down the other end of the corridor I see the engineers room. No one in there would be calling me, besides they’re playing music so loud it’s audible where I’m standing. No it sounded distant and from a quieter place.

I look right. The canteen’s that way. The way the voice came from. Something urges me that way and I’m not sure if it’s my growling stomach or the voice and despite the nagging thought in the back of my mind I go anyway. I start walking again.

One step, two steps, three… Keep moving.

Down the corridor to the right. Take a left and head to the canteen, at another t-junction hallway.

Deja vu? I swear I’ve been here before…

~ This guest story was written by The Apothecary Chrysalice


Yellow Hamster

“Watching Captain wittle away on his ‘just in case’ peg leg sure gets boring sometimes; I’m not even sure what functionality that kraken decal has, anyway.” Quackington thought to himself.

With that, he hopped down and started to waddle away from C. Worthy’s home away from home; that is, sitting fully clothed in the bunker’s bath tub.

As Quackington started to roam the bunker’s hallways, he noticed something peculiar. One of the vents running along the bottom of the wall had its cover detached and laying on the floor. Intrigued, the duck stepped closer to the open vent and gave his wings a tiny flap to shake off some dust that had fallen and accumulated among his feathers. As Quackington peered into the void, he couldn’t help but be reminded of moments like this in movies, right before nothing bad ever happens.

“Those silent films are always so cheesy, what do they know?” He announced into the void.

Quackington could hear a faint squeaking that got louder the further he ventured through the vents. Eventually he turned a corner into an open room. The lucky duck couldn’t believe his eyes as he looked around at a room filled with about half a dozen hamsters scurrying around and munching on snacks.

Suddenly, two of the hamsters rushed over to him. “Woah,” one gasped to the other, “I’ve never seen a yellow hamster before!”

Quackington interjected, “Excuse you! I am NOT a hamster!”

“Hear that, he understands our language. Must be a hamster.” the critter replied.

“Look,” said the duck/yellow hamster, starting to get a bit upset, “I am not some hairball rodent.

My name’s Quackington and I’m the proud first mate of the Quee­”. He stopped his rant once he noticed one of the hamsters had taken off and then returned with a single chocolate chip as a peace offering, feelings quite hurt.

As Quackington stared at the hamster frowning in a way previously not thought scientifically possible, he wondered if maybe his opinions on hamsterkind were a bit harsh and outdated.

“Ya know,” his beak flapped as he accepted the food, “I think I could get used to this.”

~ This guest story was written by Cap’n C. Worthy

Engineering Report #3

The defective radio was still sitting on the corner of my desk in the workshop, staring at me… It has been doing that for a few weeks, probably even months… I could almost feel it judging my procrastination…

With Toy Soldier Day upon us and Toy Soldiers’ love for old equipment; especially if it makes sound, has buttons and flashy lights, I had to make this thing work!

I went into the Digital Bunker’s library to see if I could find any reference materials for this device, there should be user manuals or something, right? After showing the Librarian a picture of the radio, he answered with “Oook!” and ran off in that weird way orangutan’s run. I followed him a bit and looked around the walls filled with books. “Why have they still not digitized all these,” I wondered…

I saw the Librarian shift through a pile of archive boxes and then he returned promptly with a terribly worn down user manual. Most of the text is unreadable, but some of the schematics are still mostly intact. With some measuring and deduction I could get this thing to work.

I thanked the Librarian with a banana, and went back to my workshop.


Back at the workshop I went on the painstaking journey of identifying the components, measuring them if they still work and what values they have, cleaned the circuit board. Most of the components seemed to be intact. I followed the schematics, wrote the missing parts on paper. It should just be able to work. Why didn’t it then?

I reached the last page and saw a familiar component sign, a regular battery…

I facepalmed over the fact that I completely forgot to look for any kind of battery or conventional power supply. I looked around the box and found a compartment for 6 AA batteries.

The plutonium tubes it seemed were just added for the enjoyment of the person who last owned the radio, there was no mention about them in the schematics. I inserted the needed batteries and the radio sprung to life! I will put the radio in the lounge room, so everyone can have a go at it!

Find it here!

I want to thank:
Engineer Airhead, Lucas Usagi and Sari Alwinn. Without them this project would not have existed.

And I hope you all enjoy this BETA version of the Radio that might replace the current audio propaganda page on!


~ Gonzo