Sombra woke up face down on the floor. She had been there for the past several hours; she had run out of fun computer defenses to break into and fell asleep face down on the floor next to her chair from boredom… next to a spilled puddle of Nano-Cola.
Her eyes saw a tapping foot. Next to the puddle. In a formal shoe. It was Doomfist, in formalwear, with his two hands extended. On one hand was a blue pill; on the other, a red.
And thus spake Doomfist: “This is your last chance, Sombra. After this, there is no turning back. You take the Blue Pill - the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the Red Pill - you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes.”
And Sombra replied suspiciously, picking herself up off the floor: “Are you dealing drugs again, Doomfist?”
Doomfist: “It’s Morpheus this week, you imbecile. And, the Red and Blue Pills are not drugs, they are delicious candy. Step into my unmarked serial killer van for more details.”
Delight spread itself across Sombra’s face: “Delicious candy? Who EVER could resist delicious candy?” With that, and before Doomfist could react in the slightest, Sombra took both the Blue and the Red Pills and swallowed them.
“What now?” she asked eagerly, and a strong nervous tick started twitching her left eye.
“You idiot, you’re supposed to take ONE!” wailed Doomfist in utter despair.
“Free your mind, Doomfist, or Morpheus, or Mr. Fluffykins, or Princess Sparklycakes, or whoever the hell you are,” Sombra said dreamily, and her hand started punching up something on that personal computer thing she always carried. And still, her left eye kept twitching like a psychopath; even more than usual.
(52 hours later, in Europe’s biggest asylum)
Asylum employee: “Mr. Doomfist, Sir, we only have one padded room left in the asylum, and this tenured dude of yours keeps wrecking it.”
“It’s ok, I’ll put Mr. Tenure into a college classroom,” Doomfist assured the employee, “the students are all so drunk and stoned they won’t be able to notice that he’s off his crock. And here, Sombra, have a computer capable of hacking the entire planet right here in your padded room while the nice men in white labcoats prepare your medication to treat your Stage-2 Rabid Psychosis.”
In the coming hours, as the aliens watched Earth from space, all that was bright went dark. The only thing distant civilizations could hear for the next year was, “take that, Agent Expletive!” interrupted with cursing in Spanish and insane giggling.
And while humanity desperately tried to get its lights back on, a certain special somebody in the asylum was shouting “lights OFF, Expletive. LIGHTS OFF!!!” Occasionally, a programmed recording of “Winkyface” on a 10 hour cycle began, and groans were heard from across the land as people smashed their equipment to, vainly, try and get it to stop. And always, the Winkyface spam started up again, sooner or later.
The moral of the story is: Next time, only give her ONE pill from your unmarked serial killer van, Mr. Morpheus, Sir. Sheesh.
Just like that old saying goes…
