CREATIVE LITTLE SHITS Issue #1 Table of Contents I. Introduction to CLS ......................... The Fugitive II. Staff Members ............................... The Fugitive III. How You Can Become a CLS Writer ............. The Fugitive IV. Miscellaneous Section A. A Note About CLS ........................ Canabis B. Story ................................... Torak C. Story ................................... The Fugitive D. Short Story ............................. Canabis E. Short Story ............................. Canabis F. Poems ................................... Staff G. Art Section ............................. Staff V. Thanks to ................................... The Fugitive VI. Boards to Call .............................. The Fugitive 컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴� I. Introduction to CLS by The Fugitive Welcome to CLS, a new magazine dedicated to creative thinkers. Creative thinkers includes anarchists, phreaks, hackers, artists, and many others. Likewise, we will have many articles on many different topics in the future. As you can tell, this magazine will not be like Phrack or any other magazine of that sort because we will don't discuss only one topic like anarchy or hacking. Instead we will discuss almost everything imaginable. I hope that you will enjoy the magazine. This is our introductory issue. The magazine will hopefully grow with time and will contain better, more informative articles in the future. We hope that you will not just lay this magazine aside or delete it from your hard drive. Instead, I hope that you will keep on supporting this magazine and possibly even help it by submitting your own works or encouraging friends to do so. In other words, stick with us here at CLS... you won't be dissapointed in the future. 컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴� II. Staff Members Without the following peoples help, I would have never gotten this magazine going, thanks to my staff... The Fugitive - Founder Crusader - Senior Member Crusher - CLS Artist Atomic Man - CLS Writer Canabis - CLS Writer Loudze - CLS Writer Torak - CLS Writer I appreciate the help, guys! 컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴� III. How You Can Become a CLS Writer How would you like to write articles for CLS magazine? If your creative, and a good all-around writer, please send some info telling me about yourself and an article that you have written to: The Death Penalty BBS 509-226-3996 CLS World HQ Log in as WRITER and upload your Text-File to me, so my fellow staff and I can look through it and decide on whether or not you should become a permanent member of CLS Magazine. If you can't write articles worth shit, but have got a good sense of humor, have some artwork or maybe a good story that you would like to see published then please upload those to me as well. They should be in the next issue of CLS magazine. 컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴� IV. Miscellaneous Section A. A Note About CLS ---------------- You look around. You have entered a new realm of possibilites. The realm of literature, poetry, and other various forms of art. You are overwhelemed by the power of these susbstances. Lead by CLS you slowly begin to realize what will become of this morbid world. It will be much more so if people would not stay in touch with there real feelings. Here is Creative Little Shits to guide you through the new age. The age of art and Literature. Yes it does sound wierd, and most of the things you will read you will think is wierd, but hey, its an opinion. So hold on tight while CLS takes you on a ride of your life.... Canabis [CLS Writer] B. Story Torak The fromin leaped for Torak, jaws open wide. Cold steel sang through the ait, and Torak's blade caught the fromin in the throat. Fromin were small, catlike creatures that were able to leap great distances. This fromin had been twenty feet from Torak when it attacked. But Torak was a seasoned warrior, in fact, he was the unofficial leader of the pack of recruits that took refuge at the Complex. The Complex was all that the recruits had left. other bases were attempted, but mutants and/or the Hydrackians themselves had torn them down. torak stood over the fallen fromin and inspected it. the fromin seemed to be by itself, which was unusual, Torak thought, because fromin usually hunted in multitudes. Then again, the word multitude was a relative term. "YAAH!" Torak spun around. A Hydrackian was charging him, his rifle held high. Torak wasted no time and whipped out his own weapon. Torak dove to his right as the Hydrackian fired a burst at him. Torak returned fire, knocking the gun from the man's grasp. Even though he was ruthless and unmerciful, Torak believed in a fair fight. He holstered his gun, and drew his most prized possession, the Trevix-Baxin. The Trevis-Baxin was a weapon of his own design. He had taken two short blades and connected a chain between them. Next, he fashioned a handle for the chain, so he could swing the weapon freely. The result was that of destructive proportions. He had killed nearly three hundred mutations alone, not to mention the number of Hydrackians that fell victim to the whirling blades. He now used the weapon to silence his helpless enemy. "Aha!" Torak had been searching the Hydrackian's body and found a small sack, containing several hundred small crystals. He added these crystals to his own collection. A short search also found a MedKit and a cigarette lighter. The lighter was broken, and the flint was pretty much worn out. Torak tossed this aside and continued his journey home without further confrontation. "Hey Torak, long time." The Gate Guard stepped over to Torak and scanned him with a geiger counter. "Alright, your clean, go on in." "Thanks, catch ya later." Torak strode into the Complex. For the other recruits, humans, cyborgs and some mutants alike, that still lived on earth, it was home. For Torak, however, it was a resting place. Torak never really stayed long, a day or two at the most, then he would set out, looking for adventure or whatever came to him. He was a great warrior, and had no time for humiliating the other recruits at the lounge games in the lounge. That's where he was now, sipping at a strange concoction, when the bartender (who was really a spy for the recruits in Hydrackian territory) walked to his end of the bar. "So," Torak probed, "heard anything lately?" The bartender leaned forward and whispered: "Heard that the Hydrackians were buildin' a bomb." "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." Torak slid off his stool and walked across the lounge to a small crystal deposit/withdrawl machine on the far wall. He removed the pouch at his belt and emptied it until it was half full. Then he hit the deposit button, and the crystals disappeared into the machine. Torak then entered his account number and walked away. "Hey, Torak, wanna play?" Torak turned to meet the challenge and found Sirk at the arm wrestling table. Other recruits were rubbing sore arms. Obviously, he was getting good. Without saying a word, Torak say down opposite Sirk, and the two recruits locked grips. An old referee, Sam, approached. "Welcome to the most heated arm wrestling event of the decade! The challenger, Torak. The champion, the undefeated Sirk!" Sam was big on dramatics. "Ready," Sam began, "set... GO!" Sirk immediately put all his force behind his hand. Torak however, almost nonchalantly, pushed back Sirk's attempt and pinned his hand down easily. "The winner!" Sam shouted. Torak stood. Sirk rubbed his forearm and glared at him. Torak grinned and turned to leave. "Wait, you forgot something." Torak turned to see Sam. He was holding a small bag. This he gave to Torak. "The winner is always rewarded." Torak pocketed the pouch and headed to the barracks for some needed sleep. *** To be continued ... C. Story The Letter Courier Written by The Fugitive Jordan turned, sword drawn, looking into the gloomy forest. After scanning the area thoroughly he put his sword away and continued forward. Jordan was on a journey from the Castle of Sastanka to the village Mandael. He was sent by the king to deliver a message to the sorceror, Raendul, for what reason? He did not know. on the third day of Moldae (In English, Moldae would be equivilant to 'the week'), Jordan left on his quest, armed with his sword and a large pack of food. The journey which Jordan was about to undertake was long and quite perilous. He would require all the food he could get. He made sure that he brought a well- made, strong sword, becuase he would have to pass through the forest to get to Mandael. The forest is full of evil and hatred. The night before he left had been quite exciting. The people from the Castle of Sastanka had led a fairly quiet and secluded life. This was the first time in several decades when someone attempted to beat the great dangers of the forest and leave the boundaries of the castle.The people of Sastanka had held quite an elaborate party that evening to see Jordan off on his quest. It had been quite a riot, but Jordan was now starting to feel a bit of regret that he had stayed up so late that night. The result of this lack of sleep made Jordan a bit jumpy and his reactions considerably slower. He took to walking through the forest not really paying much attention to his surroundings but rather in a bit of a trance, turning around every once in a while. He wasn't necessarily looking for anybody or anything, but always half expecting to see one of the Enemy's followers leap out, ready to kill. After several miles of walking, Jordan had began to feel quite weary. He thought about the urgency in the king's voice when he gave him the letter, and Jordan kept walking forward, despite the pain and weariness. Alas, after a few steps, Jordan could not find the strength to lift his foot and collapsed. He lied there, resting but not sleeping. That was probably a blessing, for if he had closed his eyes and allowed his mind to wander from this evil place, he would not have seen or heard the small creature creeping through the woods beside him. Jordan dared not move a muscle or even breath for he knew not what creature was advancing toward him. All of the sudden, a hooded creautre lunged at him, slicing the air with two sharp blades. Jordan groped for his sword, but to no avail. All Jordan could do now is try to evade the hooded swordsman, since there was no chance of him winning a fight bare-handed against a man with two blades. Jordan jumped as a sword sliced the air where he had been standing. He ran for all he was worth, not knowing which direction he was headed, just running from the creature. Despite his being tired, the fear of death propelled him and his feet carried him far away from the blades of the swordsman. Unfortunatly, that fear also propelled him away from his supplies. He was now wandering through the forest without any food or other supplies, and no weapon. He was half expecting to lose his poor excuse for armor within the day. However, Jordan didn't dare retreat. It would be a disgrace for him to return to the castle and like many others of his day, he would rather die than be disgraced. Since Jordan did not know where he was, and without his supplies he had no means of finding out, he wandered aimlessly throughout the immense woods for hours. Not wanting to rest until he found where his items had been dropped. He knew that he would never find his things because the dark creature had probably taken them and wiped out all traces of him ever being there. However, Jordan prayed that he was not a servent of the Enemy, rather than a savage hunter, just wanting a bit to eat and nothing else. That it would leave all things of no use to him. But, this was not at all the case. *** To be continued ... D. Short Story Beyond Vision By Canabis You look around. The room seems diferent than it did last night. You cant tell what looks different. But you KNOW something is different. You go about your usual morning routine. You still think something has changed. You go to work, noticing only that the sun has a red tint to it this morning along with a mysterous fog hanging over the city. You look into the car next to you seeing another personm, so you thought. The person or thing glares at you staring, as if he knows what you are thinking. He pulls you over. You get out of your car to see if he has a problem. He jumps out of his car and without flinching grabs you by the neck, gouges out your eyeballs with his bare hands, and puts in these new eyes. You look through them seeing everthing in a new perspective, Everything is Beyond normal Vision, You see and know all controlled by one person whose name is The Clone. You are now at his Mercy and his mercy only... E. Short Story Dead Homies By Canabis You wake up in your crib in SC LA. You hear the sound of the bullets flying, you pay no attention to them, it is an everyday occurance. You call up your homies to play some hoops in the hood. You jump in yo' homies 67 Impala thats all jacked up. You can smell the budz that were smoked in here last night, Even with the top down. Damn you smoked alot of budz last night. Maybe an oz. Hopefully not cause thats too much $$$$ to be payin back to the nigga you got the shit from. You look around at all the hos cruisin down the strip with basicly nothin on wit dem titties hangin out and shit. All of a sudden you hear gunshots closer and closer. They are aimed at your homies head. You turn to realize this a little to late as the drivers head explodes in a burst of red. The next to go was the passenger, he was a little less explosive you might say. You had enuff sense to get down when you heard the shots. Now with 2 dead homies you are left, Bloody and Homieless. F. Poems Morbid Frustration By Crusader Warmth winding blinding, The power, Grab on, Play the game, You will never win, A pit, A deep dark pit, Below life itself, Past the point of depressed, Not living, Not feeling, Just feeding, How long can you take it? How long will you close your eyes? Blind to what fate lie beyond! G. Art This section was put together by various ansi artist's working as part of the CLS team. Since putting 100 line ansis in here would take up unneccessary space, they have been included in this pack as seperate files. This is a list of the ansi's, who they were done by, and what they represent. Filename � What it Represents � ANSi done by ... 컴컴컴컴컴컴컵컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴탠컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴� PENALTY.ANS � A BBS ad for the Death Penalty � Crusher and The Fugitive 컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴� V. Thanks to ... Thanks go out to all my staff members for helping me to get this magazine started. Thanks to all the boards which have agreed to become distro sites. Thanks also go out to my couriers, how could this magazine survive without 'em? And finally, thanks to all the others involved, those who sent in artwork, stories, and poems. Thanks alot! 컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴� VI. Boards to Call Channel Zero Sysop: Beastie 714-532-5950 CLS Western Headquarters Dead Homies Sysop: Skill 404-964-1788 CLS Distro Site Gates of Hell Sysop: GateKeeper 407-287-3226 CLS Distro Site Mirror Image Sysop: Vapor 713-480-5509 CLS Distro Site PsychoNet Sysop: Polymorphic Assasin 616-325-6233 CLS Distro Site Realms of Decadence Sysop: Zaphod 216-671-0078,,t66 CLS Distro Site Agony of the Flesh Sysop: 514-589-6490 CLS Distro Site Downtown Militarized Zone Sysop: ShadowSorcerer 512-267-9557 CLS Distro Site 컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴컴� (C) Copyright CLS Magazine, 1993/94 All of the works in this magazine are property of the artist and are not to be duplicated in any form without the artist's permission.