Epilogue (1)

== A Taut Goodbye ==
Muscle man raised his head. The jail cell was dark and damp and cold. He wondered how long he would have to wait before the time came, when he was either released or killed. Seeing Sandy Boy’s last moments gave him no hope for the first option. Snake and Pcab were brutal, cruel, and vengeful to the last atom. It was rather scary really.
There was a rattle. A jingle of keys. Muscle Man’s sharp ears perked at the unexpected noise. He wondered if it was already time for dinner, though he just had a lunch of stale bread two hours ago.
Someone roared in defiance outside. A heavy object— probably a tablet— slammed into the wall. Muscle man saw other prisoners, further up and closer to the main doors, begin to look around for the source of the sound.
The main doors, made of heavy wood and reinforced with steel, banged open with a loud crash. Two guards in full armor marched in, carrying a thrashing man in a torn tuxedo between them. The guards’ helmets obscured much of their faces, but in the light of the open doors, Muscle man saw the black smudges on their noses and cheeks. Blood? Ink? Charcoal? All of the above?
A third guard, visibly less prepared for a fight, came through the doors and walked down the dungeons. He shoved past the first two guards, and strutted down to the very back of the dungeons, down to where Muscle Man was. But he didn’t pause to look at Muscle Man. The guard stopped in front of the cell across from Muscle Man’s. He jabbed a key from his big jangly ring into the lock, and it clicked open. 
His two cOmRaDeS marched their prisoner down to the cell, and tossed him into it with a sickening crunch. Just as the new prisoner started to get up, the guards locked his door and left. The square of yellow light from the outside shimmered tauntingly at Muscle Man, until the guards bolted it shut again.
A crooked old man a few cells up hissed at the newcomer. “I’m in for running over Colonel Cornsnake and sexual assault. I may or may not have drowned my wives but the snake up there don’t needa know that. This beefy boy here has some pretty heavy adultery and war crimes on his record. What could you have done to deserve that top cell of yours?”
The person got up and dusted himself off. 
“Beastialty, murder and multiple assassinations, some successful, attempted to bomb the capitol, arson, shoplifting, fraud, tax evasion, and identity theft,” he rattled off. He took a deep breath. “Sex trafficking, sexual assault, slavery, bribing, and 690 unpaid speeding tickets.”
== PSA ==
My fellow historians, 
We have reached a point where I do not know where to go.
Do we depict Granny, sobbing, as his mother crumbles into nothing? Knowing it was all his fault? Creeping into the hospital, to find Swhite?
Shall we show Sblack Bart dejectedly walking across the beach barefoot, as he tosses a hunk of bread into the sea for the crabs? Riding his Arsonmobile through the sky, where no one else can hear his screams of agony? 
Will we take a peek at Pcab and Snake grinning as they zoom down the highway in a stolen car, JUST MARRIED flapping on their rear window? 
Or, is it Muscle Man refusing meals and left emotionless in prison, wishing he was also dead? Is he sitting still and stony, or ripping mountains open from anger?
Maybe we will see the Legend of Spink, creating aomg.
Maybe we could write about Sandy wandering alone in hell, as his father calls for him from heaven.
We reached our destination. Hisscabinet is on paper, a part of the lore, a solid pillar in our legends. We finally made it. After 70 pages of lore, we’ve reached the Hisscabinet endgame. As Hisscabinet unfurls, what comes after? We killed Sandromedus John Boye I, but what does that mean? What do we do now?
Will we reach a point where we have absolutely nothing else to write?