The childhood of guitarist Christoph Crimson is a mystery; He was discovered by Prof. Richard Slimewell in previously unexplored North American wilderness at the estimated age of 13, apparently having lived his entire life until that point completely unexposed to any modern civilization. Slimewell took the child as his own, returning to his lair in an underground missile silo, long ago abandoned by the United States government. It was here that Slimewell found, after years of fruitlessly prying into Crimson’s past for clues as to where he came from, that the only way the boy could express whatever unknown horrors he had encountered in the past was through primal, thrashing guitar riffs, accompanied by feral yelps and howls. Slimewell realized, though, that without any rhythm to accompany this otherworldly music the songs would never be complete, and he would never be able to accurately understand the terrible past of the boy. Therefore, he put out a notice in several scientific journals, requesting the services of any drummer brave enough, crazy enough, and cheap enough to work with the wild guitarist and help bring his songs to completion. As it turned out, Slimewell needed to look no further than the secret catacombs hidden beneath his very own super-deep-sub-sub-ultrabasement. Never having asked too many questions about why the US government had been so eager to evacuate the complex that was now his secret lair, Slimewell had very little knowledge of the history of the building. If he had looked as far as the Contract of Lifelong Secrecy that he had signed along with the deed to the property, he would have known that it was abandoned because of a minor zombie infestation in the earth beneath the facility. Mistaking the wails of Crimson’s mysterious music for the call of his zombie brethren, Samuel Von Rock wandered through depths of the lair, finally stumbling after three days into the laboratory in which Slimewell was working with Crimson. Von Rock, who had been Chief Flailer in his zombie society, was stirred by Crimson’s music, and sat at Slimewell’s drum set. Immediately he began supplying fast, raucous beats, as well as accompanying Crimson’s frenzied vocals with his own haunted zombie moans. The music fascinated Slimewell. But the journey was not over yet. As Slimewell had predicted, with the addition of the right percussionist the ancient horrors told of by Crimson’s strange songs were now becoming clearer. What he had not counted on was that Von Rock’s rhythmic contribution would evoke it’s own supernatural feelings of the untold mysteries of life in the nether world, and at the same time it seemed that the secrets of Crimson’s past went deeper than Slimewell had imagined… Slimewell now feared he had no other choice. He would have to record the band, distributing the recordings globally to anyone who dared listen, as well as risk taking the dangerous group out to live shows, and hope that someone somewhere would hear the music and be able to help him unlock its enigmatic secrets. He named the band The Munitionettes, after the model of space missile that had once been stored in his secret lair, and prepared to make history.