| You drain the vial
of its deadly poison. You wait for instant death to come. It
doesn't.
You look closely at the label. It reads, EXPIRATION DATE: YESTERDAY. "Usually that only happens to me with good things," you say. You brush past a spider web. Only it's not a spider web. It's a thread -- and it unfastens a bag over your head. The bag opens and clouds of dust rain down upon you. "What the -- " you start to say. You would normally start hacking and wheezing, but the past-expiration poison has lubricated your throat enough so that you feel no need to cough. "Lucky lucky me," you say. |