A man walks slowly on blistered feet through a ruined world, charred and smoking from its recent demise. His body is covered in soot, blood and sweat. Beneath the grime he is riddled with scars – trophies from his time in the fighting pits. A familiar sound gets louder as he approaches the singularity.
Jenkins? Are you dead? Hurry up, its almost tea time and I’m starving!
He lifts a wortbort off his shoulder, and places it gently on a pile of rubble. Sorry Wobbzy, you can’t come with me this time. With a sigh, he steps back into the wormhole.