These new mustard bottles make a lot of sense, I'm thinking. Putting the nozzle on the bottom? Genius. After a successful squirt with little liquid mess, my ear perks up at the rumble of a distant explosion. The report of an echoing female voice cuts through the noise, softly crying out in a dissonant aria, lulling me back to my chair. As I round the corner, the screen lights up in a flash, and the names of cities I've never been to fade into view. Kiev. Budapest. Four million dead. Six million dead. Back at my post, I begin to furiously issue retaliatory orders, but it's too late. I left my station to get a Sprite during Defcon 3, and my country is now alight with white nuclear fire. This is global thermonuclear war, and every minute counts.