It continues.

You awaken in the still-smoking wreckage of the Connie's Nail Salon under which the Pic Master's subterranean dungeon was housed. He was right. You should never have opened it. You should have listened to his warning and kept the eBaums Box of Never-Ending Cringe closed.

But you, in your naivety, in your selfish curiosity just had to see -- had to open it and loose its unspeakable horrors upon the world. Slowly, you rise to your feet, breathing in the smoke and ash. The charred, twisted skeletons of the Pic Master's disturbing machinery stand like the jagged spires of a forgotten civilization out of the cinders.

The Box of Cringe is nowhere to be seen. Tears run down your cheeks, carving out little rivulets of clean skin through the ash smeared across your face. You stand there amid the embers swirling through the air, looking out on a new life.

Shrill screams echo out from the small town -- your home town -- all around you as the cringe-fiends you loosed upon the world get to their work. Where is the Pic Master? Nowhere to be seen.

You are alone. You have only yourself and the weight of your mistakes and it is up to you to right your wrongs -- to save your hometown from the plague of cringe washing through its street, drowning the people you love in their gut-twisting embarrassment.

You nod to yourself and get to work. You begin to gather all of the Cool Pics and Dank Memes you can from the detritus of the Pic Master's lab, wiping away the ash and stowing them inside your now-tattered satchel. As many as you can. As many as you can. Who knows how many it will take to wash away your sins.