Michael is absentmindedly scratching the massive, furry head of his best friend, Buck, while reading over a report comparing and contrasting the collective consciousnesses of bee hives and ant colonies. He is aware of the droning sound of aircraft far in the distance but, enthralled by the article as he is, pushes the crescendoing noise of the planes to the back of his mind.
Abruptly, the desktop screen goes black and the light above Michael's head briefly flickers before cutting out, enveloping him in darkness. "Bloody rats must have chewed threw the power lines again." He angrily says to Buck, who responds with a soft, empathetic yip. Michael stands and slowly makes his way to the kitchen, hands outstretched. Upon reaching the familiar counter top, he feels his way to the end and, reaching into his junk drawer, pulls out a flash flight. He attempts to turn it on in vain, discovering that the batteries were dead, thwarting his intentions of checking on the generator that powers his tiny cabin. "I guess we'll have to wait until tomorrow to check it out, bud. As soon as the sun comes up, we'll figure out what's wrong and probably have to drive into town to get a new cable. We can stop by the store on the way back home, too. We're running low on milk and whatnot anyway," he mutters to Buck who was still lying lazily by the desk. Tossing the useless flashlight on the counter, Michael carefully walks to the bedroom and opens a window to keep the room from getting too warm during the night. As he flops down on the bed, Buck hops up with him. "One thing's for sure. We're setting more traps and catching all thse freaking vermin as soon as we get back tomorrow." After his furry behemoth of a pet stops fidgeting, Michael drifts off peacefully to sleep.
Abruptly, the desktop screen goes black and the light above Michael's head briefly flickers before cutting out, enveloping him in darkness. "Bloody rats must have chewed threw the power lines again." He angrily says to Buck, who responds with a soft, empathetic yip. Michael stands and slowly makes his way to the kitchen, hands outstretched. Upon reaching the familiar counter top, he feels his way to the end and, reaching into his junk drawer, pulls out a flash flight. He attempts to turn it on in vain, discovering that the batteries were dead, thwarting his intentions of checking on the generator that powers his tiny cabin. "I guess we'll have to wait until tomorrow to check it out, bud. As soon as the sun comes up, we'll figure out what's wrong and probably have to drive into town to get a new cable. We can stop by the store on the way back home, too. We're running low on milk and whatnot anyway," he mutters to Buck who was still lying lazily by the desk. Tossing the useless flashlight on the counter, Michael carefully walks to the bedroom and opens a window to keep the room from getting too warm during the night. As he flops down on the bed, Buck hops up with him. "One thing's for sure. We're setting more traps and catching all thse freaking vermin as soon as we get back tomorrow." After his furry behemoth of a pet stops fidgeting, Michael drifts off peacefully to sleep.