The Fez...Episode One
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The hotel was marked only by a grimy sign hanging from a lonely hinge. Thefez couldn't tell if it was neon or not -- it was pink and it was fuzzy. In this world, pink and fuzzy is good enough. He slumped through the doorway, still wincing from his exodus via garbage chute.
The little voice in the back of his head that constantly dispensed advice and subsequently demanded
narcotic tribute began to scream. Something about this hotel was extremely incorrect. Fez smiled quietly. "Perfect."
While the clerk puzzled himself over the same paperwork that each and every room rental occasioned Fez took a blurred glance around. Dingy? Check. Secluded? Check. Cheap? Check. Manned by incompetents? The clerk began to curse under his breath--something about " ... goddammit, I carried the one last time." Check. A shaky signature by a carefully trained hand left the moniker Dr. Horatio Benway. The clerk looked up from the form with a room key extended - "You're a doctor, mister?" Fez beamed a smile belying the fact that in the last 24 hours he'd undergone a digi-retinal modification that had left
lazic scar constellations drifting over the surfaces of his pupils. "Oh yes, I'm a doctor. I'm a super doctor."
Key in hand, he set out for the stairwell. A little holiday for the eyeballs and a supply-run later it was shaping up to be a fantastic evening. It's amazing what you can purchase in Windsor with the the right kind of smile ...
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