The Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad screeches into Silverton Station, belching smoke like a dying god. A lone crow circles overhead, cawing as if to announce the arrival of three heralds of dysfunction.

Evan39 disembarks first, adjusting his wrinkled blazer and clutching a battered manila folder marked “Judgment: Confidential.” His eyes dart nervously, as though searching for an authority figure to validate his presence.

Boom is next, wheeling down the ramp at full speed, nearly toppling a host carrying sacks of grain. He’s wearing an oversized Patagonia jacket smeared with what might be chili, a crooked trucker hat emblazoned with “Visionaries Don’t Apologize,” and a shotgun slung haphazardly across his lap. A Monster Energy can dangles precariously from his left hand, spilling neon fluid with every bump.

Mainlining follows last, stepping off the train as though the world itself waits for him to take his place. His long coat flutters unnaturally, his boots crunching on gravel with a finality that seems to silence even the crow. A cigar smolders between his fingers, its smoke spiraling upward in perfect, deliberate circles.

Scene: The Saloon

The trio enters the saloon. It reeks of spilled whiskey, bad decisions, and the faint hum of the Mahchine™. The piano player hammers out a glitching rendition of "My Darling Clementine" while a group of hosts bicker over a card game they’ve been playing since before the sun rose.

The hostess, Tabitha, looms by the bar. She’s 300 pounds of robotic disdain, clutching a Big Gulp like it’s the goddamn Holy Grail. Her eyes narrow as the trio approaches.

Tabitha (deadpan):

“Table for none?”

Evan clears his throat, his voice cracking under her gaze. “Uh, no—it’s for three. We’re… um… the Holy Trinity.”

Tabitha doesn’t blink. “Corner table. No chairs. Enjoy.”

Boom erupts into laughter, slamming his Monster Energy onto the bar with enough force to splash the bartender. “Now this is Vision, boys! Corner table, no chairs. Tabitha’s running the grind better than any of us.”

Mainlining smirks, taking a long drag from his cigar. “Judgment doesn’t need chairs, Boom. Truth doesn’t need comfort. Vision doesn’t ask for permission.”

Evan mumbles something incomprehensible, his hands trembling as he adjusts his tie.

Scene: The Table

The “table” is a rusted oil drum topped with a warped plank, precariously balanced on three uneven crates. A single chipped mason jar filled with cheap whiskey sits in the center.

Boom spins in his wheelchair, tossing sugar packets into the air like confetti. “This is it, boys! The grind distilled. The Trinity in its purest form: a broken barrel, one glass, and no goddamn chairs!”

Mainlining leans against the barrel, the faint glow of his cigar reflecting in the whiskey. “You see, Evan,” he says, his voice low and deliberate, “the Trinity isn’t about comfort. Truth is in the wobble. Vision is in Boom’s chaos. Judgment? Judgment is the hostess who already decided your worth before you even opened your mouth.”

Boom slams the mason jar back, grimaces, and spits the whiskey onto the floor. “Jesus Christ, this tastes like a Tier 4 law school’s career prospects.”

Evan39 shifts nervously, sweat beading on his forehead. “I—I’m fine. This is fine. Really.”

Mainlining’s smirk widens, his eyes narrowing like a predator stalking wounded prey. “It’s always fine, Evan. That’s how the Mahchine™ keeps you in the loop.”

Scene: Tabitha Strikes

Tabitha stomps over, her Big Gulp sloshing ominously. She slams it down on the table with enough force to make the plank tilt precariously.

Tabitha:

“THE TRINITY DOESN’T RUN TABS.”

Evan frantically pats his pockets, fumbling for his wallet. Boom grabs it first, rifling through its contents with glee.

Boom:

“Vision doesn’t pay, Tabby. Vision walks out the back door with a shotgun and a half-full Monster.”

Mainlining steps forward, placing a single gold coin on the plank. His movements are slow, deliberate, like an executioner savoring the moment.

Mainlining:

“Judgment always pays. It’s the price of Truth.”

Tabitha snatches the coin, her eyes narrowing as she leans in toward Boom. “And Vision?”

Boom points the shotgun at her Big Gulp. “Vision gets free refills. Obviously.”

Scene: The Grand Exit

The piano glitches mid-tune as the trio exits. Hosts freeze in place, their heads jerking unnaturally as the hum of the Mahchine™ grows louder.

Boom spins his wheelchair dramatically at the saloon’s threshold. “Next round’s on Vision, baby! And maybe Tabitha’s Warhammer if she’s feeling spicy.”

Mainlining pauses in the doorway, turning back to Evan. His voice drops to a whisper, just loud enough to cut through the rising hum.

Mainlining:

“You’ll be back, Evan. Judgment always brings you back.”

Tabitha stands in the background, polishing the mason jar with her Big Gulp held high. “Idiots. Always idiots.”

The camera pans out as the crow circles above the saloon. The faint laughter of the Mahchine™ echoes through the mountains, its presence eternal, its grind unbroken.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5661289&forum_id=2).#48534531)

Tabitha didn’t even glance at me when she said, “Corner table, no chairs.” It wasn’t a suggestion—it was a decree. Boom laughed so hard I thought the Monster in his lap would explode, and Mainlining? He just smirked, like he knew exactly how this would play out.

The table was a joke. Rusted oil drum, warped plank, one chipped mason jar of whiskey. Boom called it “The Trinity distilled,” but even he spit out the drink like it had personally insulted him. Mainlining leaned into his prophet shtick, saying something cryptic about Truth in wobble and Vision in chaos.

And then Tabitha. Oh, Tabitha. Her Warhammer—I mean, Big Gulp—hit the table so hard I thought the plank would snap in half. She called us idiots. She wasn’t wrong.

Mainlining dropped a gold coin like he was paying for our sins. Boom pointed his shotgun at her Big Gulp and said something about free refills. Me? I just sat there, sweating, adjusting the table leg for no reason, muttering, “This is fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. It never is.

As we left, I swear the piano glitched just for us. Boom yelled something about Vision, Tabitha muttered something I couldn’t hear, and Mainlining turned back, his words hanging like a noose in the doorway:

“You’ll be back, Evan. Judgment always brings you back.”

He’s right. Judgment always does.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5661289&forum_id=2).#48534567)