503.209.4092 ... 239.234.9594 ... 928.209.5890... the numbers had been punching in busily this hour. He was starting to get restless. Oh, the old antics where he'd punch in the wrong numbers were always great for a laugh, but he'd grown bored of those as well. There needed to be new life, new excitement in his life. He wanted a paper that would tell him or show him something meaningful. Not just a travel brochure either, he wanted... well... he wasn't sure yet. But he knew he wanted something. But first, he wanted to cause one more problem. Just for old times sake.

"Another jam? For christs sake. Dammit." blared the pudgy real estate consultant "Someone plug in the phone line!

Faxxy the phone line chuckled to him self and lit up momentarily, causing an alarm to go off in the real estate consultants head, which in turn led to the physical abuse of Faxxy. Faxxy, being an inanimate object could feel no pain. The most brutal vicious attacks would have little effect beyond psychological terror mixed with humor. This led Faxxy to thinking: what could I do that would pit me on the sidewalk? What could I do that would pit me somewhere nice for a change?

Faxxy had dreams alright, he had dreams of making it out of this god forsaken shit hole. He didn't care which papers needed to be sent where, but he was sure that they would be fine without him. Go get some exercise for crying out loud - send the paper over yourself. As a piece of technology, Faxxy realized he was useful, although, he would prefer a better description. Like sexy, for example. He'd already had a name close enough, how much of a stretch would it be for some plump office whore to send some scandalous photos via his services?

Faxxy's phone line was unplugged first. That tickled a bit. Then he was disconnected from the power cord. He would not miss being plugged much, he figured, although it did cool him down a tinge. Next he was lifted haphazardly and heaved one step, two step, three step... all the way over the elevator.

Things were looking up. Or down, depending on if you want to consider the direction of the elevator. Down he went, with the hulkish brute of a warehouse worker. Down, down into the nether recesses of the office building. He could just smell the airy taste of freedom on his buttons. 3rd floor - this is it... no. 2nd floor? Okay, but. Wait. 1st floor was coming up. Home sweet home! Freedom at last! Technology utopia was close to his mechanical heart. Home sweet... basement floor?

(TBC)