A pole.
Humanity's finest creation. It's elegant in its simplicity and versatile in its purpose.
Even when it's rusted, it doesn't retire—it evolves. Because, at the end of the day, it still has one glorious use.
To be shoved up someone's ass.
Creatively. Mercilessly. And preferably sideways.
Now, normally, I don't spend my precious brainpower thinking about the tactical applications of rusty poles.
But when one is threatened upon your future corpse—by someone who sounds way too sincere about it—your body tends to go cold.
"If you die or get injured out there without my permission, I'll resurrect you… and shove a rusty pole somewhere very creatively."
Now how did I get to this situation when I was just peacefully trying to check my status window right?
It all began with a perfectly normal entrance by a perfectly sane person.
