Somewhere in a dark hallway in some old, tired and dirty casino in Las Vegas, a quiet muttering could be heard. It was not a patron who had too many drinks, as one would need to to be in a place like this. It wasn't the manager in some backroom swindling money from some poor sucker looking for drugs. No, it was the janitor, the old grizzled janitor who had seen the casino first open. In his small little storage closet that was supposed to pass for an office, he sat and muttered. Muttered and muttered about how the owner had run the place into the ground, about how he wasn't being sufficiently paid for the amount of time he had been working there, about the current economic problems of the US and the many liberation fronts forming in the Middle East. And when his manager called to report an accident in the bathroom, he grumbled and muttered some more. This was a man who had looked for a job in Vegas, hoping and waiting for the opportunity to make it big, but he waited too long.
That is until he found something rather curious among the mess of one of these bathroom accidents. Into the bathroom he went assuming a normal clean up of some lightweight's discharge or of a puddle left by a man who couldn't get his fly down in time. But what he found was rather different. Being a janitor in Vegas a man sees many strange things in bathrooms, needles, bags of sugar or basil, weird bracelets and other assorted “toys.” But he had never seen a stall in the condition of the one on this day. From wall to wall it was covered in a light dust that wasn't the mold from the ceiling. In front of Elvis's chair a small pile of bones and dust. And within the throne sat a rather bizarre looking device. This strange apparatus had what looked like a handle for a tiny hand with only three fingers and it was only the size of his fist. Odd, he thought as he further examined it and the small pile at his feet.