The factory manager lay on the floor, throat gurgling like an artesian spring
The floor of the factory was entirely silent, save for the sound of a man bleeding out and the assembly machines dutifully trundling on.
Elon held the wine bottle to the steady flow of blood. Most of it flowed down the side of the glass container, but nevertheless, the bottle steadily filled with the man’s vital fluids.
No one in the room had seen the brutal slashing of the man’s throat - no one had even seen the tool it had been slashed with. Elon was far too quick for their primitive human eyes.
They say that eyes are the portal to the soul. To look into Elon’s eyes, then, is to stare into the abyss. With a predatory smile, he pushed a cork into the wine bottle with his thumb.
The crowd around him stared at their feet. Elon lifted the wine bottle above his head and stared each of them down. The people felt his gaze as a chill running down their spine, and a deep, instinctual urge to run and hide.
“With the hemoglobin of this unit, I will bring life to the world. Something cannot come from nothing.” He declared, breaking the silence. He gripped the neck of the bottle and swung it at the hood of the Tesla in front of him.
The glass shattered. The people in the front of the crowd were splattered with blood and shards. The Tesla lit up of its own accord and began moving with a mind of its own.
The car approached the factory manager’s newly widowed wife and began blinking its headlights, as if trying to communicate. The widow wailed, and the car started honking.
Over the cacophany, Elon’s smile widened further. Impossibly, sickeningly further. Nonchalantly, he said while wiping blood and glass from his forehead, “This unit will serve sufficiently.”
Several people in the crowd fainted. Elon licked the blood from his fingers.
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