I do not want to do this, but . . .
RIPSLINGER AND Zipper who had waited so much time. They went to room that it was Dusty there.
Zipper who were in Dusty's propeller, looked at him. "Hey, wake up!"
Dusty didn't do that—he still fell asleep.
"What's wrong with him?"
"Maybe you must scab him until his eye will opened."
Zipper took a knife, scabbing Dusty's body.
No one of Dusty's reflex—he was still silence. His didn't open his eyes. There was no sound of his voice.
"Stop it, Zip," Ripslinger commanded. "Wait a second."
Ripslinger drove in to near Dusty. He concentrated to hear something, but he didn't hear that—the breath.
Dusty was not breathing.
"He's DEAD!"
"What? Holy Shoot!"
"Tell him!"
"Just a minute!"
.
.
.
"WHAT!? THIS HAVE NOT GOING TO DO WITH THAT! WE STILL NEED HIM!"
"I—I—I—I'm so—sorry."
"Argh! It was too late to apologize! Our experiment have failed! Throw him!"
"Alright, Professor."
.
.
.
He typed again with his enigma.
Our object had been dead. Maybe I have to look for new object. Still a plane, and this would be the number 2100.
-V-[]
He-he . . . still going to mystery.