The hooded Doomling dragged his wagon toward the riverbank. The wheels struggled through the silt, weighed down by glass bottles collected from the village dump. The Doomling plopped down next to the water, pulled a stack of yellowing paper from the cart, and started writing. After finishing each note, he neatly rolled it up, sealed it into one of the discarded bottles, and tossed it into the river. Days later, a fisherman reeled in one of the bottles, opened it, and read the note inside. He blushed and touched his mustache. “Someone noticed!”