Clint Eastwood watched the world from his high-rise. He slowly laughed, remembering when the world was in good shape. Now it was a desolate waste land, fires burning in the streets, charred houses, knocked down buildings, and it was all because of him.

Feel Good Incorporated was started as a small business, but quickly grew into an enormous corporation. Where it stood, on Melancholy Hill, was the one place of the world that was in decent condition. The corporation was started by Clint, as he planned for the destruction of the world.

Empire Ants, were the first terror that he struck, killing off many, and knocking down buildings. No one could stop him, and they bowed down to their ruler, but he didn't stop there. The only other place that rivaled him was Plastic Beach, a Kingdom in the far south, ruled by the Baby Queen. Clint himself made sure of no rivals, he personally traveled to Plastic Beach, disguised as El Manana, a traveling merchant. Late at night, he sneaked into the capitol of Plastic Beach, and disposed of the Baby Queen.

After he was done with that, another force grew, in the east on Cracker Island. It was led by a gangster named Dirty Harry, and if the citizens Clint ruled over thought their world was bad, they were very wrong. Cracker Island was full of mobs, the streets lined with them at night, the sun rarely ever rose there, and the Island was always in darkness. No buildings remained, and the people who lived there dwelled under broken walls, and smashed ceilings. Clint made sure that Dirty Harry wouldn't outdo him, and set fire to the horrible island, burning it out of existence. Now the whole world belonged to Clint, and he would do with it what he wanted. No one was in his way, and no one would stop him.

2D stepped into the driver's seat carefully as Murdoc and Noodle leapt inside. Russel lumbered in, which set the shocks groaning as the car swayed with his weight.

"The world is spinnin' too fast," 2D muttered.

"Not fast enough, I say!" Murdoc grinned.

"There are endless days ahead," Noodle muttered.

"Only one way to go." Russel looked over the desolate landscape of burnt-out buildings and scattered scrub-brush.

Hesitantly, 2D fired up the jeep and it roared to life with a series of clunks and sputterings.

The road ahead was battered and bruised with potholes, marred with little specks of faded yellow line from paint long since dried and flaked. The concrete barriers were worn and smoothed out by the tireless winds that scraped across the plain.

"There is nothing left to lose," 2D said. He hit the accelerator.