[ WP ] A small clan of termites and their queen have survived the fumigation of your house . As revenge for the mass killings of their brethren , they have sworn revenge on you and your loved ones .

At the end of the street, a house stands. It's a quite stately house, considering the neighboorhood it stands in. And although the white paint is peeling a bit from the picket fence, it still breaths the American Dream. 
 It had hurt mr. Johnson to have to call the exterminators. The idea that he now had hurt a fly, probably dozens, did not sit well with him. But alas, he did have a house to maintain. Such a qaint, stately house. No one suspected the murder being plotted inside that house... 
 
 The mood in the chamber was grim. A long table with civilian dignitaries on one side and military notables on the other divided the space. An empty throne stood at the head of the table. The queen could n't be here today. The grief was still to fresh. Smoke clung to the ceiling, empty glasses and bottles of fermented cellulose strewn across the table. A furtive servant was placing plates of woodchips on the table, trying to be both quick and unnoticable, managing neither. 
 
 The glasses shook as General Ron slammed his front legs on the table. `` This is an affront!'' he screamed, clicking his mandibles to emphasize his point. `` eighty-one percent of our population gone! And you speak of worker quotas and survey expiditions?'' 
 The question was directed at Constructor Jim, supervisor of the External Workers Division, although all the laborers felt the sting of Rons comment. 
 
 Constructor Jim looked up from his report. Among the non-military dignitaries, he alone remained calm, aloof even. `` Yes, I do. And if you let me fini-'' 
 `` We will not let you finish!'' said General Mark loudly. `` We must act! We must retaliate! Eat their chairs! Weaken their beds!'' Each sentence punctuated by punching the air with his fist and by a collective `` Yeah!'' from the military men around him. `` Kill them all!'' shouted a colonel from the end of the table. 
 
 `` Gentleman, please calm down,'' pleaded John, senior merchant of Termitaria Prime. He raised his hands in a placating manner while looking around the table. `` We have all lost so much. Should n't we try to consolidate our holdings here, in the attic, so this tragedy can not happen again? Should we not see to the needs of our people first, before we send off our strongest men to a fight we do not know we can win?'' 
 To his credit, his words did have effect. The military men looked at each other and backed down a little. When the homicidal colonel tried to rile up his colleagues again, an airforce general laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly to him. The colonel burst out in tears and left. 
 
 Jim's demeanor fell. With disdain on his face he let his reports fall from is hands. `` Imbeciles. How will making a single chair break bring us the justice we deserve? Useless cretins. You could n't think yourselves out of an autum leaf!'' By now he was standing, leaning on his hands and over the table. General Mark started to protest, but was silenced when the Constructor continued his tirade: `` Oh, shut up! What do you know of this house? Have you any idea what is out there? What it would take to bring down a single one of those lumbering brutes? Well, I do! And if you want your vengeance, keep your mandibles together and listen.'' 
 With that he set down and looked around the table. All eyes were on Jim. No one dared to breath, on pain of risking his wrath. The silence was so thick, you could fill the empty glasses with it. 
 `` This house is wood. You know that, because it's why we live here. Every night, around 18:00 hours, the loathsome humans sit down for dinner around their table. Above this table, hangs a chandelier. This chandelies is attached to the very wooden ceiling. According to the Fly Ambassador, this chandelier made of gold. Gold is heavy. Heavy enough to kill a human, if it falls on his head. Now here is what I need you all to do: first.....
