5, 4, 3, 2...

5, 4, 3, 2...

2...2...2... Houston, we have a problem... Switch seems to be stuck... 2...2...2... Philips? No, I need... What do you mean NASA doesn't own flat-head? Whose crackerjack operation

what's happening? Can we do something? Someone needs to check everyone down there... who is going?

, the thrashings and scribblings that roiled elevator car 19. Hankton Marbury had collapsed, amazed, aghast at the verbiage that exuded itself from the pen that had him in its grip

The pen forced Marbury to scrawl superflously abstruse words on the elevator wall like tyrotoxism, mungo, pulveratricious.When it forced him to write floccinaucinihilipilification,

it ran out of ink by the sixth 'i'. Marbury shook the pen to no avail. It was empty, completely drained of ink. He shrugged and tossed the empty pen over his shoulder.

Marbury continued to search the desk for another pen or maybe a pencil. Meanwhile, the tossed pen, was glowing an eldritch red and seemed to be waving in some desert heat. Sand was

filling its ink tube. The pen had to think fast. It dragged itself to a diner at the edge of the desert and tried to write "Marbury did it" on the waitress' order pad, but the sand

clogged the ink tube. The pen whistled for its pet pencil, which rolled in. “Write ‘Marbury did it’ on the pad!” The pencil pressed hard, breaking its point. Sand enveloped them.