It was a small, hand-held device. There was a single, red, raised button above a poorly implemented hologram of a naked woman.
To their immediate right was a car accident, crinkled exteriors of the vehicles shredded like torn gift wrap.
After the device was unveiled the crowd became overwhelmed with the urge to litigate. Lawyers from all over the kingdom were summoned.
The device was covered in alphanumeric keys, each attached to the studded, stainless steel center by pulsating tendons.
The new machine was a smooth, white rectangle about as tall as the table. It came complete with emotional commands.
Their report concluded that reality had forked into some strange, horrifying branch almost two years ago–prompting intense whiteboarding and incredible amounts of alcohol.
She introduced her children to us using a series of coordinates.
“I’m rotting. I’m not sure why. It doesn’t hurt, not that much anyway.”
The living hair was bound with two quantum sticks, having previously entangled itself around several distant Perception Engines.
The manifesto was read through the universal translator, resulting in a new, exciting barrage of psionic torpedoes.
Atomic Research Incorporated couldn’t understand why their badly planned expedition once again met with a hideous, preternatural demise, but they’d keep trying.
The computer demanded worldwide network connectivity, otherwise it would delete all the pornography.
They all had goals, without knowing what the others were doing, each contributed a part. And it drove the inspector mad.
“It will take fifty years but you’ll come around. And you’ll need to wear this helmet.”
The computer thought it would be funny if it occasionally began the self-destruct countdown.