In an attempt to reclaim something vaguely resembling relevance, Chrysler sent out a team of engineers to locate a relic from time that never was.

Stumbling through the ruins of what once was a part of Detroit, they found what they sought. In a catacomb by the locker room, a lone Chrysler Cordoba sits center stage miles under the earth.

It’s tank full, it’s paint pristine… a voice beckons from every conceivable direction “I like what they did to my car”.

In their hubris or in their naivety, the engineers cranked the Cordoba alive.

The noise was piercing, the heat so immense those near by where vaporized leaving only shadows of where they once stood, before those left surviving where thrust towards the lingering machine.

Flesh and steel became one, as the agonizing screams of these unknowing engineers had awoken the cordoba from its sleep.

The blast was felt as far as Anchorage, when this vile abomination unearthed itself from its tomb, taking down half of Detroit with it, bellowing a sound so inconceivably grotesque it might have actually motivated me to get up from my bed.

We don’t know what the cordoba truly wants, nor why Chrysler thought it held the answer. We just pray for a swift end once it’s fully manifested within our universe.