#crud

Chapter 1: Part 2

TW: Blood, injury, trauma

Yeah.... sorry about the resolution. Again, I really, REALLY miss that feature on the camera.

Welp, we found Donnie!

Prolouge. Next. Part 1 masterpost

The LORD bless you!!!!

Psalm 27:1

So! It's the time for some personal art!

Me and a bunch of Rise fans got together and just had fun with our Turtle Kinsonas. And it's been a year since we started that little journey of ours.

Each and every one of them is so different, so charming in their own way, just like the people who made them. Through the year, these are people I have cherished and smiled daily because of them. Every time we'd draw something for these little guys, or write stories, angst or fluff- it didn't matter. Talking hours on end, waking up to 1000+ messages just with ideas- It was an absolute highlight of the year and a feeling I will take with me for the rest of my life I think. Even if our hype has died down a little, we are still here for each other, and draw these folks to show affection. Through a hard time in my life, they were a guiding star on my journey in just- in life. At a point where I was scared I'd lost a lot of things that matter to me- They showed up, and gave me hope that no matter what, I'll find people. People who will be there for me, who I can love, who I can laugh with and smile at the simple truth that they are out there living, breathing, and that I know them. Thank you all for being here with me. No matter what, I will always remember this, and I hope that lets you rest easy.

Words can't do justice to the admiration and love I hold, but I hope images can.

Parallel lines. Opposites. Things which should never meet come together. In the wake of a scandal, Arato Nikkuni is demoted from his elite government job and transferred to the remote island of Izumosuito. There he encounters the grand casino CRUD, and its young yakuza boss, Yuki Tensho. Inexplicably drawn to one another, their beliefs clash, and the two soon become embroiled in a life-or-death power struggle. On top of it all, Izumosuito happens to be home to a powerful supernatural force, sealed away at the bottom of the sea...

CRUD is a series of original plays, produced by theater troupe Zero Terra since 2022. A part of the Japanese genre of "entertainment theater," the series takes many influences from 2.5D, as well as mythology, history, and literature. My English translation of part 1 is linked below.

Please remember:

Do not post screenshots or video to social media sites like Twitter and Youtube

Do not redistribute these subtitles as burned-in hardsubs

I'm a massive fan of the author (Yu Akahoshi), and this translation is made with the utmost respect and admiration for their work. I'd love it if more people worldwide could enjoy these productions someday.

I am providing subtitles only, no video. The subs are timed for the DVD and Blu-ray release. Download here. Special thanks to CheapestThrill for reviewing my translation. Check out their own work here.

The year was 1985, and the neon lights of the Tri-State Area drive-in theater hummed with the promise of a perfect Saturday night. Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz, looking surprisingly suave in a white leather jacket with popped collars and bright red pants, opened the car door towards the back of his station wagon. "Okay, the coast is clear," he announced. "You can come out now."

The back of the car popped open, revealing Linda, in a pink shirt and a ruffled green skirt, sprawled uncomfortably amidst a pile of socks. "Ew, it's grody back here," Linda Flynn-Fletcher complained.

"Well, on the bright side," Doofenshmirtz replied, "you got in for free, so we'll just split the cost of my ticket."

Linda, extricating herself from the socks and the back of the car, retorted, "Right, you know I could have gotten in the trunk like a block away, instead of you first picked me up at my house."

But from the shadows of the parking lot, a different kind of evil was on the prowl. Grampa—known to his few associates as "Crud," an anthropomorphic ginger tabby cat with a scruffy beard, wild blonde hair, and a perpetual scowl—crept toward the car on all fours, his tail twitching with anticipation. Crud wasn't motivated by respect, petty revenge, or any grand scheme for world domination. No, his was a pure, malicious desire to destroy a moment of happiness, simply because he could. In this mashup of worlds, even the Dog Man universe's chaotic elements found a place.

He quickly snuck into the car through the open door, pulled out a cord, and swapped out the Re-Cali-brate-inator, Doofenshmirtz's current motor, with his own replacement invention. He plunged his invention back into place, leaving the Re-Cali-brate-inator behind the car. Grampa then looked at them, holding the Re-Cali-brate-inator, leaving them behind the car.

He then listened to Doofenshmirtz's echoed words: "Come on, hop in." Crud watched Heinz and Linda settle inside the car.

The image of a young Molly Ringwald mid-confession was instantly replaced by a massive, colorful explosion. The screen—a behemoth of metal framework and stretched canvas—buckled under the force, then ripped free from its supports with a deafening crack. With a thunderous roar, it blasted off into the night sky like a giant, movie-themed frisbee, trailing sparks and debris as it soared over the rows of parked cars and disappeared into the distance. A gaping, smoking hole was left where the movie once played, and the entire theater plunged into darkness, punctuated by flickering emergency lights.

Chaos erupted immediately. Car horns blared in a cacophony of panic, people screamed and ducked for cover, and a few overzealous moviegoers even started their engines to flee. Popcorn buckets flew through the air, and the romantic spell of the evening was utterly and irrevocably shattered.

Linda stared, aghast, at the smoking crater where the screen had been. Her face paled, then flushed with frustration as she turned to Doofenshmirtz. "Heinz, what in the world was that?!" she demanded, her voice rising above the din. "Every time I'm with you, something like this happens! The last time we went bowling, the entire roof collapsed because of one of your 'gadgets'! I can't do this anymore. We're done."

Before Heinz could stammer an explanation—he was as baffled as she was, his mind racing through possibilities like a faulty inator or a rival inventor—Linda grabbed her purse, unhooked the speaker from the window, and stormed off into the night, weaving through the panicking crowd toward the exit. Doofenshmirtz was left alone amidst the wreckage, slumping in his seat with his head in his hands. His white jacket was now smudged with soot from the explosion's fallout, and his dreams of romance lay in ruins, much like the drive-in itself.

Meanwhile, Crud watched from a safe distance behind a nearby payphone, a look of unadulterated triumph on his feline face. His plan had worked perfectly, even if the method was a bit more explosive than anticipated. Dusting off his paws, he swaggered away with a spring in his step, the Re-Cali-brate-inator tucked under his arm like a trophy. He made his way to a secluded spot near the edge of the lot, where Grace—the beautiful calico cat with sleek fur, cool sunglasses perched on her nose, and a no-nonsense attitude—was waiting for him, sitting on the bench.

Grampa came towards her, and Grace looked at him, surprised. "Crud," she said, her voice a mix of amusement and exasperation, "you're here this evening? I thought you were off causing trouble somewhere else."

"Yeah," replied Crud with a smug grin, his green eyes gleaming behind his own sunglasses. "And I brought you something special." He handed her the Re-Cali-brate-inator, its wires still faintly sparking.

Grace tilted her head, examining the device curiously. "What is this?" she asked, turning it over in her paws. "Where did you get it?"

"Oh nothing, It's a memory of radio," Crud replied cryptically, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "You can hear tales of love... or whatever." In truth, he had no idea what the malfunctioning gadget would do now, he lied to her thinking it would play static-filled tunes, or cause another minor explosion—perfect for a night of mischief.