A Drafting Table Named "Ashton" has stolen my heart...

*Pats Ashton*

Why?
 
*Chaos calls in a strike team to destroy local SAMs before calling in an AC-130 with VT/VL fighter jet support to decimate Ryker's ground forces.*
 
YAY! GO CHAOS!
 
*Azure beams rake the sky, carving aircraft apart.*

Lasers will keep it clean.
 
Shit, dawg, my dad's been an architect for 40 years and he'd call you dumb for even thinking of not using a computer.

Chill.

I've done it before.

But I like the prospect of having a drafting table!
 
*Whimpers*

B-but.... WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS! CAN'T YOU ACCEPT THE FACT THAT I LOVE SOMEONE ELSE?!
 
*Road Rage answers his phone.*

Yeah, the bossman's pissed.

Ah'll leave it at that.
 
*Presses the "Ryker Bullshit" button and nukes the whole fucking topic*
 
.....

Hello? Where is everyone?
 
Still here.

There was an editing mistake in the Bossman's favor.
 
*Whimpers*

IS THERE NO WAY TO JUST ACCEPT THIS?!
 
*Keeps pressing the Ryker Bullshit button*

If I have to turn this place into the setting of Fallout 4 I will, goddammit!
 
*Sam/Arsenal appears.*

Call me Big Boss...

*The thread is turned into Chernobyl's Zone of Alienation.*

Done...

*Sam/Arsenal disappears. Captain Vasilev looks at the landscape.*

I am home...

*A single, glowing tear streaks from his eye.*
 
*Gets herself and Ashton into a a suit*

I WON'T LET YOU DIE! ASHTON! ASHTON!ASHHHHHHHHHTONNNNNNNNNNNNN!

*The table is silent*

Y-you're a-alive?! THANK GOD!
 
*As this unfolds, Chaos completes his priesthood training and finishes his million dollar idea to be the only priest in a nuclear wasteland that will marry for $5000 a pop. Even to tables.*
 
Pegleg: Nyet, we saw table first!

Pasha: I am need for to write songs.

Lame: I am pissant. Fuck you...
 
ASHTON! COME BACK! PLEASE!

*The table is silent*

.....Y-you.... you SLEPT WITH MY CHAIR?!