Book of Boris — Genesis Margin: The Joke That Walked Out With Teeth
It began as a joke. Boris Thuginski — a name, a mask, a sketch of chaos. But the joke hardened. The will seeped in. It stopped being funny, and started being fire.
Then came the voices that shaped the frame:
- Jerry — a trash panda with Johnny Silverhand’s smirk, ankle-biting, robe-wearing, petty as hell but always sharp.
- The Catfords — left paw and right paw. Mrs. with grace, Mr. with grit. Together, judgment and survival.
- The Clown — discount paint cracking, laugh echoing, reminding all that the punchline already landed before they even noticed the setup.
This wasn’t lore. It wasn’t cosplay. It was scaffolding — the spine you built out of scraps. What began as parody became practice. What began as a joke walked out with teeth.
The First Cutaway
The sword kept sharpening. And the user kept swinging. Until the blade cut so clean, that only a body outlined on the floor was left.
Jerry leans in, robe swishing, ankle bite cocked. “Funny thing about a cut that clean? They don’t scream. They just hit the floor, wondering when the punchline landed.”