(At first, there is the tranquil, idyllic silence that is the soundtrack of all gentle nights. A slight gust of wind that meanders through the window, perhaps ruffling the curtains a bit. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, after all. Except for that faint...squeak. Was it upstairs? Was it the wind, tapping an errant branch against a locked window? Was the window even locked? There it is again- that muted, almost sneaky sound. The sound is unmistakably that of someone, or something breaking their way into the unprotected sanctity of your house. Oh, we should have bought a gun. We should have triggered the alarm. Did the neighbors hear anything? Would they hear anything? No, no, the time for making bad decisions was behind us. The worst one, unceremoniously dumping Old Bug from this site, had already been committed. Some things couldn't be undone. Was it him? Was he creeping in through an opening somewhere, with his bag of depraved devices to insert into every inviting orifice? You bet your ass he was. To paraphrase Alice Cooper, it's no more Mr. Nice Guy, you sniveling malcontents. Don't try to pull the covers over your head- Bug is here- hell, he never left.)
Then there is the chilling sound of static- irrefutable....final. The radio's back on, and the first transmission is going to be a doozy, kids.