Aha, so you ARE watching. I was writing that stair muffin story. Not only you're dependent on bots, you're also impatient!
A few days before the sewage incident...
Alex Soros woke up with a throbbing headache, the result of a night spent drowning his paranoid thoughts in an expensive bottle of whiskey. He blinked away the haze, his mouth dry and his stomach churning. He needed something to soothe his hangover, and he remembered the muffin he had stashed away somewhere in the bunker.
But where?
He stood up, his vision swimming slightly before he shuffled out of his bedroom, his mind a fog of confusion and discomfort. "Where did I put that damn muffin?" he muttered to himself, his voice sounding foreign and distant in the silence.
As he made his way down the stairs, his foot connected with something soft and yielding. His center of gravity changed and his adrenaline glands kicked in, making time slow down just for a brief moment. In that split second, he saw the muffin, now a sad, squashed mess.
'Who the fuck moved my stair muffin?!' was his last thought before his rapid journey down the stairs. He bashed into the sides as he tumbled down the remaining stairs like a twisted mockery of a pinball game. He finally landed in a heap at the bottom, bruised, battered and the tell-tale lumps caused by minute fractures rapidly forming on his body. The agony in his head was now outpaced by the pain in his body, and he let out a pain-hued cry that echoed through the empty bunker.
Aha, so you ARE watching. I was writing that stair muffin story. Not only you're dependent on bots, you're also impatient!
A few days before the sewage incident...
Alex Soros woke up with a throbbing headache, the result of a night spent drowning his paranoid thoughts in an expensive bottle of whiskey. He blinked away the haze, his mouth dry and his stomach churning. He needed something to soothe his hangover, and he remembered the muffin he had stashed away somewhere in the bunker.
But where?
He stood up, his vision swimming slightly before he shuffled out of his bedroom, his mind a fog of confusion and discomfort. "Where did I put that damn muffin?" he muttered to himself, his voice sounding foreign and distant in the silence.
As he made his way down the stairs, his foot connected with something soft and yielding. His center of gravity changed and his adrenaline glands kicked in, making time slow down just for a brief moment. In that split second, he saw the muffin, now a sad, squashed mess.
'Who the fuck moved my stair muffin?!' was his last thought before his rapid journey down the stairs. He bashed into the sides as he tumbled down the remaining stairs like a twisted mockery of a pinball game. He finally landed in a heap at the bottom, bruised, battered and the tell-tale lumps caused by minute fractures rapidly forming on his body. The agony in his head was now outpaced by the pain in his body, and he let out a pain-hued cry that echoed through the empty bunker.
"GAAAMERGAAAAAAATE!"