Hitler awoke to the cold dripping of water pattering against a frigid stone floor. His eyes shot open, fully awake. The German's eyes were met with a seamless deluge of darkness, a thin string of beady water trailing into the floor being the only visible object. He blinked in confusion. Had Stalingrad officials finally captured him and are preparing excruciating tortures? Was Nicholas II planning an execution? Hitler assumed he'd never know. His wrists were overlaying and bonded with a thick shield of unbreakable steel twine and his eyes bled grit mixed with salty tears. His head began wildly rotating. The commander's cranium did propel from his neck, parting and morphing flawlessly into a jet-fueled headrover. It flew freely amongst the ebony nothingness, scanning and analyzing the room for any kind of hint towards his location. In retaliation to imprisonment, he transformed into a poorly-rendered 3D model whose polygonal glory rang throughout the universe with charming glee. He spewed an infinite string of spiral-like yellow fluid that was administered into the shape of a stout, afro-sporting child. The substance hardened, and pastel hues began speckling its claylike surface, spelling out a soft countenance that radiated glee.

"What do you summon me for, my dear Fuhrer?"

"Steven, I wish for my freedom from this wretched place."

"This case is a cold one. I'm a fray I can do no suck thing."

Steven Spielberg frowned slightly at the reaction of Hitler's drooping expression and sodden eyes.

"But, Steven Strait—someone with your power is limitless for his breadsticks!"

Steven Yeun frowned. "You know I am not of infinity, Hotler."

"Steven Ogg, you have to!"

A sudden flood of emails caressed his Nazi body. The electronic liquid fused with his pale, nationalistic flesh and hardened into a roughly-shaped shell that stretched around his body. His hair was folded in a stiff flat underneath the notifying carapace. Two punctures symmetrical to each other appeared where his eyes were, allowing him to see the future of the world, peering through the sealed curtain into a door whose possibilities were endless. He was sealed eternally in his cursed mummy-like tomb, destined to see everything and do nothing, the song Accidental Racists playing for all eternity in the dismal abyss of his mind. God had abandoned him, and abandonment was God for him.