Meanwhile, several years before the fortunate incident of Disguise’s death, Stuart and Unigma were talking about their future careers, their hatred of the Maskers that burned like one third of a supernova and, this was a favourite, their personal interests and hobbies. This was, above all, a unique opportunity for both friends to have a conversation because life in the masking factory was usually very quiet. (They had invented silent modems in J2C).
‘It’s going to be pretty hard for me to find another masking job now that my reputation is in tatters,’ said Stuart. ‘But you, you’re fortunate. A couple of upgrades, some new wiring, and you can continue sending and receiving the wrong data, like you did before.’
Unigma looked sad. ‘Nah, absolutely not. The mayor of the city has decided that Lag is Deth. He’s even made a tileset about it. I don’t think this city is small enough for both of us, Stuart.’
‘So, in your view, there are really no second chances for us?’ sighed Stuart. Suddenly, he spilled his tea all over the floor. But before that, he came up with a brilliant idea.
‘I heard that they are opening up all of these new towns and cities! It’s part of some sort of…er…government expansion plan. There’s Universal Jazz, the Unofficial Daily Carrot and Jazz2Stuff! And, and, I heard about the newest one, which, if rumours are true, must be perfect for us: Jazz2Online.’ Stuart’s mind was not used to this much thinking and his head crinkled like paper every time he said a two-syllable word.
‘Wow! Not only have you given us hope, but you have also proved to me that the data I receive and send are definitely wrong, because I haven’t heard a peep from anyone about this!’ said Unigma enthusiastically.
Later on in the evening, Stuart was trying to explain to Unigma why he thought cactuses were so irritating. Unigma, being a modem, couldn’t really fathom Stuart’s arguments, but it had something to do with the cactuses’ spikes, and that they had a tendency to hurt people when they were touched.

‘You’re what?!’ said a voice in a tone similar to the tone a bride would use when she replied to her husband after he told her about the second time he accidentally had sex with someone else’
‘I’m going to J2o’, answered Stuart. Standing in front of him was his fridge.
‘But what about meeeEEE?’ whined the fridge in that pathetic fridgey way only fridges can master. Stuart’s “intelligent” fridge was yet another ghastly invention of ML, inc (Mystic Legends). ‘I hope they all get eaten…or at least be slapped by trout indefinitely’, muttered Stuart just before he was going to humour his fridge and tell him that he was going straight back to the ML main office building and that he, Stuart, was going to J2o to preach for the fridges of ML.
‘…and that’s why I must leave,’ concluded Stuart. ‘Have a fun time getting melted and turning into a tileset masker’s toothbrush,’ Stuart secretly added.
The fridge, satisfied by Stuart’s excuse, went back to cooling food using quasi-frozen lava straight from the room named ‘Toilets’ in the ML headquarters.
‘Ok,’ said Stuart as he looked at his list of people to tell about his move to J2o, ‘only two people left…and I’m lucky because they happen to live together.’

‘Oh great! Sounds fabulous, that place!’ said a voice in a tone similar to the tone a stone would use when it replied to the stone next to it that it was very interested indeed in finding out about the latest tax reduction in the country of Lower Honduras.
‘Well, see you later then?’ said Stuart and started all of a sudden to become very, very wary. He didn’t quite realize that his parents cared so little about him. He had spent a lot of time away from his parents. Masking school, tileset college, Battle 1 university (Stuart was among the last few hundred scholars of that university before the government shut it down, on the grounds that Battle2 and Battle 3 were being neglected) had all taken heavy tolls on his parents. In the end, they just decided to stop caring. And, later on, they decided to not care. Even later on, they decided to continue not caring. So, here they were, in their relaxing countryside cottage (which was engulfed by J2C two weeks ago, which was an event that led not only to the loss of regional wildlife but also of a very, very angry phone-call to the J2C council hall about the unscheduled, unexplained, impromptu swallowing of the previously mentioned cottage. You can guess who the callers were) not caring at all.
‘Yeah, yeah, see you later,’ Stuart’s dad said.
‘And don’t forget to not come back,’ added Stuart’s mom.
As Stuart walked out of the cottage into the newly ruined countryside, he was not only saddened at his parent’s neglect of him, but also of the fact that he simply was not smart enough to call everyone instead of visiting them personally. With a shrug, he walked home and started packing.

Stuart and his modem left town a few weeks later, which was really good luck because 12 seconds after they lost sight of J2C on the long road to J2o, events of cataclysmically small consequences that would have made cowardly rabbits brave happened. And it happened even before lunchtime. What happened? J2C disappeared. It got pre-maturely eaten by a giant white rabbit.

Chapter 3

All authors know that all events that have ‘cataclysmically’ in front of them deserve special detail and a whole truckload of honouring. The author of this story, however, is pretty darned angry at this so-called “tradition” and has decided not to give any details at all.
On second thoughts, the thoughts having been catalysed into the author’s head thanks to several machineguns wielded by other outraged authors in the same room and pointed at very much the wrong direction (in other words, at THIS author’s hapless head), a detailed (summary!) will be given after all.
As the giant white rabbit approached the highly elite, highly trained, highly mobile, and all sorts of ‘highly’ military stuff one can think of, army of J2C, it paused. The army waited patiently. It was led by Field marshal Shadow of the GpW clan. He was widely regarded as the best economist the JJ2 world had to offer and he, above all things, knew that declaring war on giant white rabbits was not only annoyingly cheap (and therefore irritatingly expensive) but that the paperwork involved would be so easy and so light that every single secretary in J2C would die of laughter and relief the moment their work was carried in by their already dead under-secretaries, who, undoubtedly, would have been supported by hospital staff. This was the reason the army was waiting patiently.
The eerie morning mist drifted across the silent, black asphalt plains of Jazz2City. The two formidable forces faced each other eyeball to eyeball. The less formidable of the two began to speak.
‘Er…I think I got the wrong address. Sorry to bother you guys. I’ll be on my way now, so…so long,’ said the giant white rabbit. The whole army was startled but, for the most part, also extremely relieved.
Nevertheless, some of the more trigger-happy soldiers were NOT happy. They weren’t contented, not even satisfied, and definitely not happy. All that time running around in Battle 1 seemed to be worth it when they were called in to fight a giant rabbit, but now that it seems as if their honour and glory would be gone, that their chests would remain un-blood-spattered and that not a single person here would die of asphyxiation from inhaling all the smoke coming from the nastier weapons employed by the nastier soldiers, those trigger-happy foos were deeply disappointed. Two of the most trigger-happy foos were the little, grey-red dizzy rabbit and, er, his trigger-happy foo-pal Syntax. Together, these two had stirred up quite a lot of trouble, mostly due to their strange CoC 3 tournament, but that’s not of importance in this story. The dizzy rabbit was also known as Bobby, but we’ll call him ‘Bob’ just to show our informality and that he shouldn’t take any of this seriously.
‘If I shoot now, before that fat thing shows us its butt, I can hit it in the eye and knock it down,’ bragged the dizzy rabbit.
‘And, I,’ said Syntax, ‘will hop on top of it while it’s confused and finish the job by pretending to have finger cramp and empty my magazines into its brain.’ The dizzy one nodded, in a rather dizzying sort of way, appreciatively.
‘Boy, are we subtle! We’ll get the ‘Can’t-Leave-Community and Be-Forced-to-stay-Perpetually Medal‘ for sure!’ Bob was obviously referring to the highest award the J2C army, or any JJ2 army for that matter, could reward because the community liked keeping the best of the best part of itself whether those involved liked it or not.