Aah, Rufus. Sweet, poor Rufus. How long has he been in the cupboard now? Ten years? Twelve? Could it be that long already?
Nevermind that. All that matters is the sweet comfort he gives so willingly, asking nothing in return.
You pet Rufus, stroking his fur worn bare by so many years. Sweet, poor Rufus. He never should have entered the fumigators' tent.
Something fell out of his mouth. What is it?
You put Rufus down, and crawl to the corner of the room, where whatever it was fell and rolled to. After searching for a minute, you spot it. It's a marble.
But not an ordinary marble. Instead of the swirly-thing suspended in the glass, it's an electronic gadget of some kind. Pulsing a faint, pink light.
Well, that's odd.
You go to sit back down, and passing by the stereo, you hear a sound. A little 'ping'. Curious, you wave the marble by the stereo again -- another ping!
It's a transponder. Someone's been tracking your movements.