“Shut up, Lisa!” Patrick shouted to his obnoxious sister as he prepared to finish the incantation over the twitching robot corpse. “Klatuu!” he began the chant. “Barada! Nikt-” his voice left him as the oxygen was sucked out of the room into a sudden black vortex rising from the sacrificial offering. Lisa tried to yelp, but was cut short by her lack of breath. She clutched at her chest as she doubled over, trying to cough, trying to wheeze, trying to do anything to force the air back into her lungs. Her head felt heavy and she dizzily wobbled to the door of the room as a black funnel cloud sprung out of the smoldering circuitry.

“Ohfuckohfuckohfuck,” Patrick reassured himself. His hand moved of its own accord, rising above the miniature tornado. He stared at it curiously until he felt his other hand lurch and watched as it drove the knife deep into his palm.

His scream would have followed had the blood saturated smoke pillar not exploded at that moment.

“411 h4i1 $4t4n,” sounded the electronic screech.