Having settled into a comfy recliner Kybalion unsheathes an antique Vapour Pipe. Fishing within his bandoleer pouch his eyes light up as he discovers an intact ball of VAPOUR and, after rolling the resinous material in his palm, he places it in the ignition chamber.

The fine, fractal veil of reality seeps into one of several vents which....

They....no...no...its fine

The fine, fractal fabric of reality folds in upon itself, seeping into one of several vents which sloop from the damp, lichen encrusted walls. The LEM CLOCK moves to one. No prophet steps forth. An elephantine pillar rises ominously from a velvet black bed of small, twinkling blooms and twists and contorts upwards towards the welcoming embrace of the CASUS. Within the bay, massing in a furious frenzy beneath the night black sea of entropy swin the BURDEN, untold multitudes offering their gaping mouths to the God of All Things. A forest of filamentous tendrils sprout from the protoplasmic truncated pillar, twisting into a single whip-like vine. The leathery strand bulges and pulsates along its full length, eventually disgorging a small, blue van like vehicle, crusted with millions of pure white grains.

No Prophet looked in

The terminal began to blink, rousing Kybalion from his neon dreams. Composing himself he lunges for the console, sending the clouds of fractal kernels amassed about his elongated head crashing into oblivion.

The ABBOTT's voice crackles across the airwaves:

Kybalion, this is Roc. Put the damned vapour pipe away and get a grip of yourself. The commander will be with you shortly