Thomas accidentally gives the processor a new owner.

"Ha!" The man read the line with intent eyes as he stared down at the keys, his breath coloring a cloud of dust in a grey hue. He leaned his face towards the flickering screen, the light bouncing off his pupils like a star-kissing telescope. "Could this thing be for real?"

"Well?" A clink and a rustle stopped just at the heel of his shoe. "There's only one way to find out," prodded Bianca, falling to his right.

"Type something," said Kyle, who flanked his left shoulder.

"It better not work if that's the case," meanwhile, Pamela's murmur failed at insulation. Thomas only snorted, and let his gaze drift back to the computer before him. They found a wooden table to set it upon and let it sit there, unassumingly. Silently it whirred.

The three roommates huddled together, and Thomas let himself soak the attention for a while. The musky air mopped his nostrils, and he looked back at the machine. At first with interest, then ambivalence, then a realization -- that these three seemed more interested in it than they were in him -- and scoffed.

Glancing peripherally at his three mates, he dropped his hands to the keyboard. "You know what? Who needs this anyway? It's just a piece of junk," finally proposed the scruffy man, and his fingers began typing away before they could stop him.

0000:_

Moving the blinking cursor, words soon filled the space. They read:

0000: This machine does not belong here, and will insted magicly teleport to the possession of somebody else in the next couple seconds.

"Done." Hitting the last key with a rapid finger, Thomas turned to look at the creaky panels. Once something caught his eye, he grabbed it. It glistened in his hand, and it soon became clear it was a rod of some sort. Rusted, but still as blunt as a witty one-liner. Pam gasped, and Kyle looked at Thomas sternly.

"And what do you plan on doing with that crowbar, Thomas?"

"Simple," explained their stout friend. "Fulfilling my own... wish!" He turned forward, and with one clean swing, aimed the crowbar at the side of the computer mainframe. When he instead spun backward and stumbled against Bianca -- who was quick to brush him off of her -- he swiveled his head back in surprise. "Wha--"

"You maniac!" shouted Pamela, punching Thomas in the arm. He rubbed it and snapped at her.

"Hey!" The man was interrupted mid-sentence by the other woman's rushing to shuffle past him. The crowbar nearly caused her to trip, before being held up by Pamela.

"Are you trying to give someone a concussion you idiot!" Bianca stepped back, the two women guarding the other as Kyle motioned forward.

"Come on Thomas, relax. There's nothing there." The man gestured. "See?"

"What?" Thomas blubbered. He pointed behind him at the desk. "You mean that old dinosaur isn't..." he turned. "...there?"

His eyes widened. When he had turned to look, he had expected to see the same dusty computer, if not at the center of its haunt, then at least far to the side or petering over the edge where he reasonably could have missed it at such a point-blank range. Instead, he looked with two eyes, only to rub them both twice before truly believing what, in fact, he wasn't actually seeing.

Where there once was a computer, now there was only empty space upon a face of wood.

"Where the shit did it go?" he curled an inquisitive lip as Bianca bonked him in the head.

"Like we were trying to tell you in the first place, doofus," she said exasperatedly, pointing at the crowbar that now lay motionless on the floor, "what were you planning with that thing anyway?"

Thomas only looked at the empty space before him, waiting as if for a silhouette to color itself back into the page and the machine he was sure was there to return. Finally, he grumbled and shook his head. "I thought I knew." Wiping his shoulder, he moved past the other three. "Eurgh, this dust is killing me! Kyle, let's go!"

The other man of the group looked at the two women. They looked back. After an equivocal shrug, they followed him back down, none of the three knowing what possibly Thomas could have thought he'd seen up there.

Little did they know, and over Thomas' own head, was that the Word Processor had only accommodated what he had so typed -- and likewise, now spontaneously appeared in the possession of another lucky, or unlucky, owner...

Somewhere, and with someone, who knew how far away.