Lava sunk his teeth into a well-deserved hotel chocolate, for a moment forgetting about another day of drudgery through the luscious cocoa bliss. At least he thought it was well-deserved, anyway. It was hard work being irrelevant for the last five years, and he wasn't going to let that get to him. Sadly the chocolate didn't last as long as he desired, and after a few minutes of laying down in freshly laundered linen he had grown bored. A quick call to room service would remedy that.
"Come in!" he barked out at the knock on the door. A smartly dressed young man entered the hotel room and took a bow. The nervous quiver to his lips certainly aroused a particular interest in Lava, but he had sent enough traumatized bellboys down and chose not to open his terrycloth robe in front of this one.
"Hello, sir. My name is Khalsa, what can I do for you?"
"It seems that on US1, certain tags, abbreviations and signs are not allowed. I get constantly renamed by someone named ++Teapot for either using some clantag, or using symbols such as ++ in my name."
"I see, sir. That's quite unfortunate. What would you like me to do?"
"I would like a list of tags/abbreviations and symbols that I am not allowed to use in my nickname." This had angered Lava. It should have been obvious! There would be no tip today, and never again would he have this bellboy up to his room. When Khalsa left, Lava made sure that his slamming door would convey his displeasure to the remainder of the suites.
His rage had turned into a quiet loathing as the sudden solitude of the room permeated his very being. Lava could not stand it. Who would listen to him? A few minutes of shouting at the silent freeway down below were absorbed by soundproof glass, until he fell to the floor and wept from the sheer futility of it all. Why would nobody listen to him? Why was it not so painfully obvious that his desires should be known and respected? An idea had just struck him. His answers were all in his briefcase. He knew how to make them all listen to him.
Minutes later he sat on the edge of his bed, looking into a camcorder with a sleek black pistol inserted into his mouth. His suicide note specifically stated that this demo would not be available to any GT members, and after underlining it for the third time to add emphasis, he flicked the record button and blew his brains out.
"This looks like another mission accomplished," he thought for the very last time, as his consciousness faded into blackness.
