Happy six year anniversary, <NAME>! Summer is a time of unimaginable, oppressive heat in <CITY>, the place we call home. However, it will seem almost like an oasis compared to the prison the ancient Vyraxons have prepared for humanity within the heart of a dying star in the crab nebula. Using specialized reaping guns, these terrible monsters will agonizingly strip flesh from our bones so that our raw nerves can be wired into void phase suits, designed to allow us to withstand the crushing gravity of the blazing inferno that we will be forced to call our home. Once there, pitiless overseers with thrash us with pain tendrils that drip with venomous ooze as we mine dense elements from the burning core of the celestial body. The six years you have spent at <COMPANY> will seem but a passing of an instant compared to the seeming eternity we will ceaselessly toil within those wretched tunnels. On completion of our labor, we will be left within the orb, trapped, as it collapses into a singularity. Once this dire event comes to pass, we will be impossibly stretched as we are dragged screaming into the black hole, where we will become one with its infinite density. The Vyraxons call this the descent into the zone of torment. Given all that will have come before, you should have some idea of what those words portend.
All that will be left of humanity will be old I Love Lucy episodes, slowly crawling their way through the infinite vacuum between the stars. Remember that time she worked with Ethel in the chocolate factory, and she couldn’t keep up, so she started eating them? May that memory provide you comfort as you are dragged screaming into the abyss. Perhaps you will bellow a well-timed “Ricky!” as your essence passes the event horizon, before being sucked into the voracious pit within space time.