An old, lonely man whose only ambition was to hunt deer off-season without getting caught, he could have never imagined that he would have absolutely no part to play in this story. Regardless of how shabby and run down his house may have been, it will have no impact on the plot or setting. No matter how many closely related he might be to the hobo that the Domain Kain staff ran over in Kain’s car, he has no purpose. For there was little attention paid to the hobo; no matter how loud he may have screamed, Cheese was screaming even louder… to the voices in his head.

In this bustling city, thousands of cars passed the mighty Little Debbie skyscraper without giving it a second thought. No one considered how close they passed to the face of evil itself, except for one particular individual. Kain turns to his fellow staff members, with a completely serious face.

“Little Debbie is a mere front; a farce for the pathetic citizens of this nation to look at, smile, and buy snacks from. Look closer at the building! Its location would be a perfect match for evil ki energy, and an outgoing flow towards other cities.”

Thus, the staff looked at their community service time sheets. If they were going to avoid paying rent, a necessity if they wished to continue paying for broadband internet, they had a few more hours to fill out. Furthermore, if they didn’t want to miss dollar pizza dinner at the local restaurant they’d need to do it now.

Approaching a traffic light several minutes later, Kain slams on the accelerator in a desperate bid to pass the intersection while the light is still red. As the extraneous g-forces take their toll, Cheese and Barbie Boy continue to muse over a moldy piece of string cheese. Transmetal, their official navigator, screams at the map.

“Fuck, that was our turn! We missed the turn!”

With a quick jab at the wheel, the car is sent plowing through the front window of an office building. Trans and Kain desperately drag their shoes on the ground in an attempt to slow the car, while Cheese and Barbie drag their cheese sticks. The car’s existence is based off improbability, the sheer impossibility that it will even start ensures that it can and does. This improbability factor, combined with the friction of cheese grating on the ground allows the vehicle to slide nicely into a freight elevator, just as the doors close with a satisfying ding behind it.

“Ya know, despite the amusement I get from realizing that SWAT team members will probably be present and armed in anti-terrorist gear at whatever floor we stop at, I can’t help but be frustrated that you still turned the wrong direction.”

“Shut it.”

A sudden groaning noise echoes throughout the elevator. It continues and develops further high pitched overtones, vibrations obnoxious enough to drive a sane man to madness. Then a sickening jiggle, and silence. The elevator has stopped.

“Ok, whatever sick deity pre-destined this day isn’t going to let it end like this… is he?”

“With our luck, yes.”

Cheesy Boy snacks on his Little Debbie “stick ‘o cheese”, content with the delicious taste of mediocrity and irony in every bite.

“Damn you Elevators Inc. of America!!! DAMN YOU!!!”

Later that day they would write in their community service sheets that they had assisted in the replacement old glass windows from the comfort of their new prison cells.

To be continued...