The still

Who: Cerebrum, Appendix
Where: Psychatric Offices
There was another explosion, and Cerebrum exited the back room admist
a cloud of smoke, coughing. "Okay," he said, "Test eight has failed.
But I think I'm getting a hang of it. It lasted for a minute this
time before the pressure built up too high."
[Where are you getting all the pipes and stuff?] the Appendix asked.
"I'm buying them? What do you think I would do? Steal them?"
Thirty minutes later
"Eureka! I have done it!" announced Cerebrum as he walked out of the
room, carrying a bottle of some liquid.
[Alcohol?]
"You bet! Now, for the final test," said Cerebrum, then he took a
drink from it.
Two seconds later, he realized he had two choices. Spit out the
stuff, or keep it in his mouth and have a hole burned through his
check. Swallowing was most definately not an option. So he spit it
out, spraying it over the wall and melting part of it.
"Back to the drawing board," he sighed.
Another thiry minutes later
Cerebrum looked down the hole that his latest creation had melted in
the floor, and the floor below that one, the floor below that one as
well and the next eight floors below.
"I guess it would contravene some regulations to sell that to
people," he said as he headed into the back room again.
Finally, he made some alcohol that was drinkable without any severe
gastric problems, such as a persons intestinal tract disolving.
"Excellent," Cerebrum said as he poured it into a flask, then started
walking out of the room.
[Where are you going?]
"To Parrots Bar," he called back over his shoulder, "I'm going to be
the alcohol supplier. It's very simple. I sell the owner alcohol at
really high prices and he sells it to his customers and even higher
prices. I get rich, he gets rich and his customers get drunk and
poor. We're both happy, and the poor customers are too drunk to care."