“
Time’s up,” said the sergeant. “You’ve failed.” And he squeezed the trigger. With a click and a splat, a red “F’ spread across Joe’s forehead, seeping into his skin like tattoo ink. With that, the men in uniforms started to withdraw. “Have a nice life, Balrog,” growled the sergeant as he got up and left with his men.
Uncle Edna’s: Because We Really Need It in the Future
