You'll begin somewhere in the foot, deep down, where the
brain barely even acknowledges what's going on, a spark, a hint of the
potential that we all have inside ourselves.
You'll ignite and surge, up the leg, into the brain, where you'll be
interpreted as a command to move the arm, the right arm specifically, forward
and down in a pressing motion. The arm
will obey. After all, the brain knows
best. But the arm won't know what your owner's
eyes and ears and much of his higher cognition knows: that there's a button
where the arm is moving, and that that button is actually "The Button,"
the means by which nuclear weapons can and will be launched once it is
depressed.
Your owner will experience a feeling of terror which will,
in turn, shift to dread as he realizes that what he's done will forever shatter
the world, that all the training in sitting and reading comic books that the
air force put him through was, in fact, useless. He'll look at his office mate, with whom he
shares the underground bunker that things like this happen in. His office mate will look at him with the
same fear, the same knowledge that the world above, whatever it may have been,
will be gone now, replaced with something horribly new and unknown. Your owner will consider kissing his office
mate on the mouth, just to see what it's like before the world really starts to
fall apart, but we aren't sure if he'll go for it. We're limited to your perception here, and by
the time anything happens or doesn't happen between the two of them you'll be
gone, the energy that made you occur dissipated within the firmament of your
one-time-owner.
Congratulations Spasm!
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