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There I was sitting beneath the sewer system drainage port.
Strange as it may seem, I had once again escaped from them.
I moved for a moment only to be discovered by a sensing device.
Turning and darting in an hysterical run in a vain attempt to once again escape, I by chance find a long dimly lit corridor. Hearing only the footsteps of the bloodthirsty guards racing towards me from all conceivable directions, I take to the corridor in chance of possible passage.
Racing towards what I find to be the end of such hope, I find myself in the midst of thousands of rows of glass cannisters.
As my mind spins in an hysterical venture of freedom I spy a cannister containing the remains of a late great friend, pickled in his own juices.
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