It is a chilly Monday evening, specifically, a Monday at the center of the winter season. You are on the New York Metro, coming home from work. It is smack dab in the middle of rush hour, so the train car you're in is absolutely packed. You marvel at how it can be so dark outside at just after 5 o'clock pm. You manage to find a small corner to stand in despite feeling like a canned sardine. You're snapped back to reality when you hear a dry, deep voice trying to get your attention with soft yet firm whispers.
It is C.Q. Cumber, and you're eyes begin to water in sheer disbelief from the absolutely unbelievable sight they're beholding. Why? How? What? Your mind races until you're interrupted in your thoughts by C.Q. who, this time, speaking much louder, his voice is bone chillingly cold.
"Don't let the 8-ball fall..." he says, pulling out a gun from seemingly nowhere. You ponder what he means in a panicked frenzy, as there is now a gun pointed at you and the rest of the civilians in this train car. Then, the ceiling opens up and hundreds of 8-balls come pouring down. Anyone not knocked out cold by plummeting dense plastic balls is shot dead in cold blood by the small sea cucumber. You are burdened to watch, he hasn't even waved the gun in your direction since he started. Your work clothes are soaked in blood of so many different people and none of it your own. The train car comes to a stop and the door opens, you stumble out of the door with your belongings and trip into the snow covered station. You collect yourself and turn around to see the small sea creature standing in the doorway, your mind is so traumatized it's starting to warp your vision. You hear one more thing as the doors slide closed that shakes your very soul.
You collapse into the snow, your body completely in shock.
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