THE WRITER MUST EAT -> patreon.com/trn1ty <- blah! ideas with no tangibility; ideas with irrelevant supports; ideas without value; ideas' witlessness; ideas' witnesses; ideas- <^>
2023-02-13 catgirl 911, what's your emergency? hi, my catgirl seems broken. she doesn't feel anything. i give her lots of headpats and treats and she doesn't care Protein Olive stood making sandwiches when she heard something crash at the front of the restaurant. She walked towards the counter area to try to see what it was but saw the gas canister in the dining room, heard the hiss, and knew what it contained given that there was no visible smoke expelling out of it. She held her breath and ran around the table to the stairs as agents dressed in black broke through the windows in the front. After locking the door behind her she ran down to the corridor and opened the door marked Security, where she found a man dressed in a guard's outfit and stubble sitting at a desk on which there were a dozen video displays arranged in a square stack showing a dozen different views of the upper level of Durmer Burger being searched by law enforcement entities. The guard himself lay on his keyboard in a pool of blood next to his own sidearm. She ran out of the room and, knowing they weren't interested in taking prisoners, continued down the corridor to the ladder, down which she climbed. At the bottom of the neatly layed hole she found a hatch, which she wrestled open. Under the hatch was another ladder. She closed the hatch and picked a flashlight out of her pocket so she could see in the darkness. She saw the bottom of the hole a couple meters below her so she slid down on the sides and went through the door at the bottom. Olive now found herself in what seemed like a laboratory setting. The walls stainless steel, the floor featureless white tile. An ancient poster to her right welcomed her to the National Defense Center and illustrated the personal protective equipment she did not have that was necessary to survive her visit. She tried not to feel concerned and continued through the hallway to another door, this one looking like it had come from a hospital. She went through. The stench overpowered Olive and she nearly threw up. A nearly mummified dead body lay on the floor covered in old, dried, splattered blood, in front of a conveyer belt on which a machine periodically stamped blank wrappers with a Durmer Burger icon. <^>
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