Tapping hard, he tapped; could have pounded nails through wood. Quickly, heavily, and there would be cracks on the keys before the sun ascended amidst the clouds.
Robots. Maynard loved robots. He thought it awful amusing when that golden colored group scattered, frightened to scrap when their censors registered Maynard - - beast.
Tapper harmed his left pinky; feeling it snap as when it made contact with the "shift" key. He cursed an admirable amount. His neighbors figured is world had just came crashing down around him - sharp shards, bridges obliterated. The walls shivered as if the pulse of his apartment flatlined.
"That was a rumor," Maynard exclaimed.
"Hey, I'm just the messenger here, buddy," said a cool and comfortable, delightfully devious British govenment-employed magician Devin King. "Tap, tap, tap,and his brain crumpled away, absorbed back into his blood. Swears to my mum."
"King, you know damn well about the law, swearing to yuh mum like that."
"Then, I'd be a pig caught licking his own sausage by a pack of wolves then, wouldn't I? Trust me. Believe me.
Or don't."
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