Thefez filled his lungs with pure Windsor nighttime air. Smells like creatine, he thought. Sam the
Butcher outta be bringing Alice the meat right about now, and soon thefez planned on serving Sam
a nice roast cut from this butcher’s very own ass.

A complete, exhaustive, albeit ludicrous list of whom thefez’s enemies are and why , was always two
or three thoughts away from perception. A quick search (the third since the surgery) still found no
entry for this Sam. It mattered little, the agency had been in his skull and it was foolish for him to
assume that his motives would ever be purely his own again.

From his rooftop vantage point, thefez could feel his prey nearby, another gift from his new masters,
no doubt. Using portions of his brain that were still sore from meddling, thefez focused. As his
shaded eyes lit upon a fourth floor nondescript window, a white stab of fresh agony and a
kaleidoscope of colors told him where he had to go to finish this anxious need to rid the earth of this
meat merchant.

Not knowing what waited for him back inside the flophouse, the self same angry and inaccurate style
decision-making that landed him this commission, yielded the first and therefore only course of


Possessing none of the grace or technique of a long-jumper, thefez backed himself up to
the opposite edge of the roof and without so much as a moment to psyche himself up, (being in a state of
perpetual psyche) started the galloping stride that had a mere 98% chance of ending badly.

Aisha…I’m vibrating!

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