Re-roll

Soft clouds pummel the mountainside. Thunder. Rain. More thunder. More rain. Repetitive writing. Short sentences. Headache.

Just as your head feels like it will split open, M, also known as Dr. T (Praise be unto his name and his ten-headed virgin father who shall not be named) bursts into the room, guns blazing.

M: "I have burst into the room, and my guns are blazing."

M's Insignificant Aide (curses unto her and her wretched lot) slithers in behind M.