"1-7-3-4-6-7-3-2-1-4-7-6-C-3-2-­7-8-9-7-7-7-6-4-3-T-7-3-2-V-7-­3-1-1-7-8-8-8-7-3-2-4-7-6-7-8-­9-7-6-4-3-7-6-LOCK"

"1-7-3-4-6-7-3-2-1-4-7-6-C-3-2-­7-8-9-7-7-7-6-4-3-T-7-3-2-V-7-­3-1-1-7-8-8-8-7-3-2-4-7-6-7-8-­9-7-6-4-3-7-6-LOCK"

Heeeeeyyy...gimme 5, man! But Robo wouldn't. He was programmed to not recognize fives. He stood there awkwardly, peering at Steve, wondering why he stood there with one arm up

started to smoke, which set off the sprinklers, which well, Robo got water in his circuits. Steve abandoned the burned up, rusted robot. 2000 years later a light appeared in the sk

ellar. Light. Safe to go out? It must be. Steve heaved up the heavy doors, inhaling a heavy burnt wood and sweet smell. Smoking trees twisted and oozed of treacle, dead

bodies were strewn across the wasteland as far as the eye could smell. No wait...as far as the nose could hear? No...what's...uh oh. Steve hadn't drank paint thinner after all;

Steve had inhaled too much Citadel Miniature Paints. He face planted in the tableau of Warhammer Space Marines 40,000. Splotches of Drakenhof Nightshade and Ungor Flesh covered his

dictionary, so he couldn't even comprehend the words that were describing this moment in time. Steve walked away from the painting, choking on the fumes he had breathed in.

"Hey buddy, look at the 'No Smoking' sign!" Steve yelled at the violator, who looked to be a pauper. Baggy clothes, unbathed, uncut hair, and smelt of rotten eggs.

The pauper looked at the no smoking sign and back at Steve. He didn't seem to comprehend. Perhaps he couldn't read. He left anyway and Steve sighed a sigh of relief.