[ WP ] The year is 151441 . Humanity is on it ’ s last string of life . Food is scarce . The last bottle of maple syrup has expired . Hope is dying fast .

`` You did n't - did you -?'' 
 
 `` What?'' 
 
 Triad stood, mouth gaping, as he stared at the results of Fillad's blunder. The crimson sunlight gleaming through the half closed shutters gave the entire scene an almost sinister feel, though if Triad recognized the humor in the situation, he did n't show it. 
 
 Fillad turned back to his plate, stationed on the counter like a porcelain Atlas, holding the end of the world on its back. Fillad looked down at the fork in his hand, slowly realizing what he had done. 
 
 `` Oh, no,'' he whispered, the panic slowly starting to worm its way into his voice. `` No no no, I'm sorry - I did n't mean -'' 
 
 But that was all he could say. The syrup had already fallen to his stomach, already started to take its toll on his psyche. Countless scientists - chemists, biologists, physicists, astrologers, and even one sociologist - had determined that the last bottle of Aunt Jemima's best should never be consumed, lest the evil that rested therein be released onto an already withering world. Even now, at the end of the rations, the amber fluid had been banned and monitored, to be kept out of the hands of the unsuspecting public at all costs. 
 
 So of course Fillad would get his hands on it. 
 
 He looked up at Triad, his eyes wide. `` I'm sorry!'' he pleaded, but Triad stood motionless, simply staring at the spectacle before him. Fillad doubled over in pain, and when he looked back up at his flatmate, his eyes were glowing crimson. 
 
 `` Triad!'' Fillad screamed, and the room quaked at his voice. 
 
 Triad shook his head and walked to the counter where the plate of waffles still stood, smothered in the accursed sap. He turned around to face Fillad, a stern look in his eye. 
 
 `` I told you, did n't I?'' Triad scolded. `` You do n't eat waffles for dinner.''
