On a black and stormy night, there lay in the black valley the blackest city to have ever been. In this city's black streets, under a black sky, there were columns of houses, each one the deepest shade of ash. But there was one house, the blackest of them all, with filled black windows and an iron, black door. And walking in, the floor is also torched black, each room deeper than pitch. But there is one room with the blackest black on its door. And opening the door, your feet stick to the floor with its soot-colored panels and the walls are black and the ceiling is blacker than night. And in this room, there is the blackest corner, the darkest shade to have ever been. And there is a man coated in black, coated in foul whips of soot and smoke. You stare at him and he stares back. The door opens and another man walks in. He opens his mouth: "Seryoga... maybe it's time to stop burning rubber?".