The crack! Yolk.

In the dim glow of my flickering computer screen, I stumbled upon a dusty, forgotten hard drive at a yard sale, marked only with a faded label that read "Yolk: Unfinished." Intrigued, I purchased it for a mere pittance, eager to uncover the secrets within.
As I delved into the files, I discovered a connection to the creators of our quirky webseries "The Crack!" The lost independent film, "Yolk," was their earlier endeavor.
The film centered around the adventures of talking eggs: Dan, the reasonable; Jason, the crazy; and Chrisi, the kind but sassy sidekick. Other eggs played supporting roles for plot reasons. In one memorable scene, Chrisi quipped, "You know, cracking jokes is easy, but cracking eggs for a cake? That's just cruel." Jason, in his usual absurdity, retorted, "Cruel? Nah! It's eggstraordinary!"
The particular episode I stumbled upon involved a human making a cake, a seemingly innocuous premise that took a dark turn.
The crude animation and shoddy audio told the tale of the human systematically, albeit clumsily, cracking each egg for the cake. Chrisi, with a touch of sass, remarked, "Well, this is eggstremely unsettling." Jason, embracing his craziness, added, "Unsettling? More like eggstremely cracking entertainment!"
Each egg represented a beloved character from the series, and I cringed as the poorly executed scenes unfolded, accompanied by a hauntingly off-key soundtrack.
The budget constraints were evident; scenes abruptly cut, animations were jarring, and dialogue often overlapped, creating an unsettling audio cacophony. Chrisi continued her banter, "This feels like a yolktastrophe!" Jason, escalating his craziness, responded, "Yolktastrophe? Sounds like my kind of party!" The egg characters, once vibrant and full of life in "The Crack!," met their untimely demise in a strangely unsettling and disjointed manner.
As I continued exploring the files of "Yolk," the unsettling narrative unfolded further. The cake-making episode took a darker turn as the human character in the story seemed to take sadistic pleasure in each egg's demise. Chrisi's voice, once full of sass, now echoed with a sense of foreboding.
"Is this what our creators had in mind?" I wondered, my eyes fixed on the screen. Jason, in his absurdity, became a distorted reflection of humor gone awry. "Crack me up, why don't you?" he exclaimed as the unsettling scenes played out.
The unfinished nature of the project became even more apparent. Scenes faded to black abruptly, leaving a lingering sense of unease. The egg characters, now silenced, haunted the screen with their lifeless expressions.
As the narrative progressed, a strange symbolism emerged. The cake, a grotesque amalgamation of cracked eggs, took on an eerie significance. Chrisi's earlier remark about a "yolktastrophe" seemed to foreshadow a narrative that blurred the lines between humor and horror.
The echoes of Chrisi's and Jason's banter lingered in my mind as I delved deeper into the narrative's murky depths. The dim glow of my computer screen cast an eerie atmosphere, amplifying the uncanny sensation that the abandoned project held secrets that begged to be understood.
Late into the night, surrounded by the virtual specters of cracked eggs and unfinished tales, I couldn't escape the feeling that I had unearthed more than just forgotten files; I had stumbled upon a chilling testament to the blurred boundaries between whimsy and the macabre in the world of digital creation.
In the subsequent parts, the degradation in quality became palpable. The budget constraints were painfully apparent, transforming what might have once been a coherent animation into a mere collection of rudimentary storyboards accompanied by deteriorating audio quality.
The visual richness that characterized earlier parts had evaporated, leaving behind a skeletal framework of what could have been. Each passing part seemed to sacrifice more of the animation, creating an unsettling descent into abstract representations of the narrative.
As I braced myself for the next segment, the screen flickered, and the audio crackled ominously. Chrisi's voice, once filled with sass, now echoed in disjointed fragments. "This is egg...tastrophe," her words emerged as distorted whispers. Jason's craziness, now reduced to mere echoes, created an eerie atmosphere that permeated the room.
Suddenly, in the midst of this audio disarray, the screen flashed an image—a cracked egg with vacant, haunting eyes. The once innocent and whimsical symbol of the egg had transformed into a nightmarish apparition. The visual jumpscare caught me off guard, and a chilling scream pierced through the deteriorating audio.
My heart raced as the cracked egg image lingered on the screen, a frozen moment of terror in the otherwise skeletal narrative. The abruptness of the jumpscare left me unsettled, and I couldn't shake the feeling that the creators had intentionally crafted this jarring experience.
As I reluctantly continued through the increasingly fragmented narrative, each part seemed to teeter on the edge of coherence. The storyboards struggled to convey the intended emotions, and the distorted audio added an extra layer of discomfort.
Late into the night, with the cracked egg image still haunting my thoughts, I couldn't help but wonder if this unsettling descent into chaos was a deliberate artistic choice or a consequence of the creators' diminishing resources. The combination of fading visuals, fractured audio, and the unexpected jumpscare created an atmosphere of unease, making me question whether I was witnessing the unraveling of a creative vision or the manifestation of something far more sinister.
Having cautiously traversed through the fragmented parts of "Yolk," I found myself facing Part 14. The preceding segments had been a monotonous procession, each lacking the intrigue that would warrant my attention. It seemed like an endless repetition of lackluster storyboards and fading audio, leaving me to question the purpose of such redundancy.
Nonetheless, as I pressed play on Part 14, a bittersweet revelation awaited. The animation, or what was left of it, depicted the culmination of a narrative that had teetered on the edge of chaos. The once-vibrant egg characters, now reduced to mere outlines, conveyed a palpable sense of finality.
As the story unfolded, a figure unexpectedly entered the scene—a voiceless Annoying Orange. Dane Boedighenheimer's refusal to be associated with the project had left the iconic character eerily mute. Yet, even in silence, the Annoying Orange became an agent of resolution.
In a twist that straddled the line between dark comedy and poetic justice, the Annoying Orange managed to vanquish the human antagonist. The visual depiction was surreal, with the character delivering a silent but decisive blow, bringing an end to the distorted narrative.
The unexpected turn of events left me pondering the creators' intentions. Was this a final, tongue-in-cheek nod to the absurdity that had unfolded, or a commentary on the unpredictable nature of creative endeavors?
The screen faded to black, and the lingering silence underscored the peculiar journey I had undertaken through the remnants of "Yolk." The unfinished project, marked by its descent into abstraction, had revealed a spectrum of emotions—from whimsy to horror, and now, a touch of bittersweet resolution.
As I closed the file, I couldn't shake the feeling that, perhaps, the true essence of "Yolk" lay not in its polished animation or coherent storyline but in the raw, unfiltered journey it represented—the collision of creative ambitions, limitations, and the unpredictable quirks of artistic expression. The abandoned project had left its mark, a digital artifact that transcended its intended narrative, leaving me with a contemplative pause as I navigated back to the realm of concluded tales.
== Prologue ==
It is currently 2 weeks later and i wrote a email to the creators of "yolk" here's what i wrote:
"Subject: Inquiry about "Yolk: Unfinished" Hard Drive
Dear [Censored],
I hope this email finds you well. My name is Derek, and I recently came across a peculiar hard drive at a yard sale. To my surprise, it was labeled "Yolk: Unfinished," and upon further investigation, I discovered a connection to your earlier project, "The Crack!"
Intrigued by the mystery surrounding this "Yolk" mini-film, I couldn't help but delve into its contents. The adventures of Dan, Jason, and Chrisi took an unexpected turn in the cake-making episode, and the unfinished nature of the project left me with numerous questions.
The quirky characters, the abrupt shifts in animation quality, and the unsettling narrative compelled me to reach out to you directly. What inspired the creation of "Yolk," and why was the project left unfinished? The use of repurposed rigs for "The Crack!" from this earlier venture raises intriguing questions about the creative process.
I would be grateful if you could provide some insights into the origins, intentions, and perhaps shed light on the darker themes that emerged in the later parts of "Yolk." Additionally, any information regarding the decision to include the Annoying Orange in Part 14, despite Dane Boedighenheimer's disassociation, would be fascinating to learn.
Thank you for your time, and I look forward to hearing from you. The enigma surrounding "Yolk: Unfinished" has captured my imagination, and I'm eager to understand more about the untold story behind this abandoned project.
Best regards,
Derek".
They responded, but seem to be denying any involvement with it. Here's what they wrote:
"Subject: Re: Inquiry about "Yolk: Unfinished" Hard Drive
Dear Derek,
We appreciate your curiosity and interest in our past projects. However, we must clarify that "Yolk: Unfinished" is not associated with us, and we had no involvement in its creation. It seems there might be a misunderstanding or mislabeling of the hard drive you acquired.
Regarding your questions about the origins, intentions, and themes of "Yolk," as well as the inclusion of the Annoying Orange in Part 14, we regret to inform you that we cannot provide any insights as we are not affiliated with this project. We suggest respecting the privacy and creative autonomy of content creators.
It's important to note that some projects are abandoned for various reasons, and we kindly request that you refrain from further investigation into the matter. Sometimes, the mysteries behind unfinished works are best left untouched.
We hope this clarifies any confusion, and we encourage you to focus on officially released content. Thank you for your understanding.
Best regards,
[Censored]"
I was curious, as his name was mentioned in the credits, so i wrote another email, here's what i sent:
"Subject: Re: Inquiry about "Yolk: Unfinished" Hard Drive
Dear [Censored],
Thank you for your prompt response. I understand your denial of involvement in "Yolk: Unfinished," but I must mention that upon further exploration, the credits within the files explicitly list your names. This discovery has left me perplexed and compelled to seek clarification.
Given this information, it appears there might be a level of association with the project. I respect your creative autonomy, and I acknowledge that projects may take unexpected turns or be abandoned for various reasons. However, the inclusion of your names in the credits raises questions about the extent of your involvement.
I assure you that my intention is not to intrude but to gain a better understanding of the creative process and narrative choices behind "Yolk: Unfinished." If there are any insights or details you can share, it would be greatly appreciated.
I value your time and appreciate your consideration in addressing this matter. I believe that understanding the context behind the project will provide a more comprehensive perspective.
Best regards,
Derek"
They currently haven't responded, but when they do, i'll update this.