CONTINUED FROM PREVIOUS FILE ... "I am Erich von Heisselman, Jr." He shook my hand. They always shake your hand before they put the wires in your brain. "You've been babbling quite a bit about something named VADIS. Quo vadis? It seems you think this VADIS is responsible for your deteriorated mental condition--do you still think this?" "Heisselman--you invented a Drive which flings spaceships thruout the Cosmos like a child flinging rocks into the Ocean of Being. The Drive radiated some corrupting force; the anti-world was devolving into matter. Bringing annihilation," I said, w/ the devout intensity of 1 who's known & seen. Heisselman ejaculated in surprise & more ampules of multi-colored liquid were activated. Yet he still looked at me expectantly; & as the tranks began to flow I realized that I hadn't answered his question, so I said: "Mass insanity...I know that much is true. I used to believe that a cosmic supervillain named Saklas had constructed a STAR WARS satellite named VADIS to create the schiz-kriegs...isn't it actually a virus?" "Good...I see you're coming out of your paranoid delusions." He paused to type something into the computer. I couldn't see what it was from where I was sitting. "You're right: The mindstorms are actually caused by a macro-mutation of the schizophrenia virus...something you also recognized before escaping from the Hotel Gonzo...we've hacked out your old records, you see. Though it took a highly-sophisticated mole-program to do it. I congratulate you on a masterful piece of hacking." He held up something that looked like a pacemaker. "This is a logo-meme chromosomal drug synthesizer. A logos is a word..." "A word-analog; a meme is a gene analog--replicating systems viewed from different levels of a hierarchy...I took Wee Willy Wimsatt's course in Evolutionary Epistemology...." "So the fundamental importance of the logos for modern science is the gene/language analogy: Genetics is a language," he said, continuing: "Even mind & cosmos are languages." He droned on, stating the technical implications of the machine he was holding; I knew what he was building up to: In a minute he was going to ask to implant it. Heisselman's face burned w/ an intense light, like the sun-god, Ahura Mazda. I wasn't certain if I wanted a schizo- phrenic, even a cured schizophrenic, doing brain surgery on me. The light became a violent mindstorm, more drugs flowed, as he said, "So this device contains computer holos which resonate w/ memes, monitoring brain activity, hormonal secretion, etc, etc--it all feeds into a logos-computer: This device enables a chromosomal logos to interact w/ the memes of your neurotrans- mitters; it synthesizes precisely the required quantity of tranquilizers to make poly-drug treatment feasible for the 1st time! By implanting it in your pineal gland..." "I never signed an informed consent!" "We don't need your consent. Your brain has been appropriated thru van Hohenheim!" Dr Erich von Heisselman, Jr, hit a button on the computer. I felt dizzy, tired; I realized that I was being injected w/ anesthetic: I was being prepped for surgery. The last thing I saw was the dippy little blond nurse gloating. # DO YOU REMEMBER LOVE? DO YOU REMEMBER RACHEL? I was in the smoking room of U-2. They had taken me off of pot (when you're outta pot, you're out a lot), not w/o my fierce objections; I had also given up & started over smoking tobacco for the 10th time; even now I was bumming a cigarette; I was picking up the habit again.... I was feeling no pain; feeling good in my brain. It had been several days now since the logos had been implanted. At 1st I had been running wild, running scared; I had run naked thru the halls; sang, laughed, jumped at the lights; I had read 1,000 comics & had become 1,000 Cosmicomic characters; I had become God in the chapel, a Cosmicomic Creator; I had become Lucifer, a planet. But now I seemed to be slowly leveling out of the mindstorm peak; I looked out the window & no longer saw the city as pellucid crystal; the mirror no longer showed a hairy Yog-Soggoth, a bestial thing from the lost mire-pools. The reptilian nightmare was replaced by a bearded zoccie who Bohu-ed his Tohu off every day & night--I still carried my Walkman; I sang, "I am so tired of being lonely...." & praised Christ, my heresies forgotten....Even Zarathustra was another loser in this time of cognitive disson- ance. My fingers wove w/ drug side-effects, tremors, as I extended my arm; the Staff was actually talking about releasing me; I mean this new brain-control gizmo, it hadda be a breakthru, we were going to put these into everybody's brains--I mean, once the Japanese got them into mass production.... My hand snaked toward the proffered pack of cigarettes, I mean, literally snaked! My skin was turning green. I screamed. I screamed to the wind, the wind did not hear: the wind in that place was climate control.... The fat lady who had offered me the cigarette screamed. I guess that meant that I wasn't going to get a cigarette, after all. All the raging violence of the Id coursed thru me once more. I was assaulted by dirty, hideous, violent thoughts. Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny: I was a devolutionary man; I was regressing into a reptile which activated my R-complex causing an outflow of Id: my left hemisphere was regressing into chaos. I thought in words whose meanings I couldn't remember....I was "he" instead of "me"; suicidal impulses raced thru my lizard-mind--I wanted to drown in burning acid! Then the schizoid episode passed even as the logos began cranking out a heady brew of biochemicals like the tap at Uncle Tim's. I even felt as though there was a head on my mind--then that thought quelled but the devolution proceeded ever faster: I was turning into a warty, scaly thing. I ran down the hall looking for a Dr. If this goddamn experimental logos-meme computer was turning my skin green & turning me into a reptile-amphibian of scales & ooze, I wanted it out of my bodanon this instant! So here was Heidi, the cute dumb blond: I held out my hands to her, screaming: "Look! Lookit what your dumb machine is doing to me! My skin is turning green!" She sighed as though explaining it for the 19th time, "You're on a poly-drug mixture...there's got to be some side effects!" I grabbed her, swung her around, screamed, "You cocksucking bitch! I didn't want this motherfucker in my brain in the 1st place & now I..." "There's no need to get abusive, Mr Leadbeater! Go to your room!" Maybe the wind didn't hear but I did; I covered my ears w/ Slime-thing hands to escape from her voice. Hideous, brutal, gears which clattered, clanged, droned assailed a mind split w/in. Insanity was reclaiming me like a mother a lost child. She followed me down the long corridor. I thought how cute her ass wiggled when she was angry--this girl just didn't know how to deal w/ psychotics; she never should've gone into psychiatric nursing. Probably got herself drafted by the Nova Narks, pushed thru an accelerated nursing program. Probably didn't know what the hell she was doing. When we had arrived at my cubicle she reached for the personal computer in the corner of the room to manually override the logos. She tried to plug me in, but I resisted. She grabbed her comm-link to activate the emergency signal, but I snatched it from her hands w/ the strength of the reptilian Id. Dreadlock Congo bongo natty dread fell into my eyes. "So, broom-lady...now you must face the avenging fury of...the Slime-crusader!" "Help! Help!" she screamed. A dozen Dreams came running at the commotion even as her own pulse-pounder prepared to spray ions. I feared the mighty fire-weapon, the radiation. For the only thing the Id fears is flame! I fell to the fearsome, awesome Dreams. The PC was plugged into the hole in my back like Data's on/off switch. Bitter liquid flowed into my brain; I could tell it was harsh haldol.... I've got the haldol blues & just can't be satisfied.... Just then a dark face peered thru the door; small round breasts, twin moons in eclipse; night thighs, perfect 10--she had dyed her hair blond. "Nikki! Nikki Plugen! It's so good to see you again--now that I'm finally sane--though I have been transmuted into a fell & fetid lizard-thing!" She said, "I'm Rachel." I stared at her, not knowing what to say. I'd just had a massive dose of potent tranks injected into my brain, yet I now--delusionally, I feared--perceived what had happened: Rachel had taken the telepathy drug, CPL-5938, had possessed the body of poor, sweet, innocent Nikki, like some crazy ghost about to know the astonishing force of...the Real Ghostbusters! Either that or I was totally insane. "Look at yourself!" She rushed up to me, kissed me; she kissed me like Rachel & not Nikki, like French-kissing in the USA. & her hair was perfect, the color of Ra's sun-trundle. "The logos-computer, Lead--it's turning you into a slime-creature--if it isn't removed soon you're going to die!" I stretched out my hand. The transformation was proceeding at a more & more rapid pace. I was going to die. I was going to die as I had lived life, insane. Rachel cried, "I've got the Invisible Hog here! The world's most advanced attack motorcycle. W/ tactical nuclear weapons. & the brains of Harley Davison, the great science fiction author." Suddenly it was all coming back to me. In spite of the logos. Which was resurrecting the Id; even from its very Root, the Id arose. Rachel, in the body of a dark slimchick raised her wristwatch to her mouth, said, "Rachel to Invisible Hog--let 'em have it!" Suddenly there was an explosion down the hall, blowing the doors off the rooms, a mighty rumbling of motors, turbo-charged & capable of breaking the sound barrier: the mighty Invisible Hog was cruising the corridors of U-2, looking for an insane science fiction author & a nurse who was really another nurse w/ transplanted brains. Rachel rode the Invisible Hog, taking out the dreaded Dreams as they poured thru the narrow corridor, synthe-glass doors now open to admit the Trank Copz from all over Night Hospital. They poured out of the t-tubes (transit-tubes), out of hallways, doorways as Rachel rode the Hog to gun them all down w/ pulse-pounding fury. W/ me behind her, strapped in tight & w/ my hands across her engines, I felt Rachel's twin moons in eclipse: soft machines, gentle contraptions, twin black moons...enough firepower to sink a battleship now pulsed down the halls in front of dark fury, a screaming banshee demon, which scattered dread Dreams. All at once the last door of the fortress crumbled & we were free! Like an avenging demon princess, the lithe black nurse rode the majestic Hog; the brains of Harley Davison soon had us at 1 of Nekbael's hidden laboratory fortresses: an old whorehouse, winos littering the ground like the bottles they cast aside. The Hog braked, skidded; we entered--even Harley Davison, Hog though he may be, wasn't Pig enough to run over a bunch of derelicts....The massive iron doors slid open, revealing a clean, well-lighted place, the death-angel's dark design. # AGAIN, THE SECRET ORIGINS OF THE SAVAGE ID "I'm only a nurse," Nikki said, "I don't know how to perform brain surgery & stuff." I was rapidly forgetting that she was actually Rachel. The old Nikki sub-systems that the new entelechies had been grafted onto yet exerted a recapitulatory effect: Rachel was being absorbed by her host body. Like Joe Clip in UBIK. "But Nekbael does," she added. She twisted her decoder ring; in an instant there was dissolution & reformation: Some vampire princess torn out of a mad comic artist's dream stood before me. "Take off your clothes--everything must be sterile for the operation." She spoke as a surgeon/Dr from an alien planet, not as some obscene wish-fulfillment fantasy resurrecting corpses thru strange rites of sexual magic. I took off my clothes, felt a keen sensual excitement & wished it were Heidi doing the operation; but this Nikki, this Rachel--she was also exciting; I saw glittering fangs, batwings; then the anesthetic mask descended.... VOID VOID OF COLORS VOID OF FORMS VOID OF SHADOWS When I awoke a great weight had been lifted from my mind: I breathed the schizoid air & was insane again--I did not fight it: Insanity can be fun! Nekbael was gone.... I kicked in the Drive of the Invisible Hog & cruised. He had no mouth; his screaming was the whine of turbos. Even Dreams couldn't stop me now! # CHAPTER IV MORE THINGS YOU CAN DO W/ A SHAFT # OTIS BENDER, PhD I'd finally escaped from the dread Thorazine Police, but now I was a Slime-thing; however, no 1 noticed because everyone else was insane & thought it was merely another mindstorm. In a desperate attempt to cure myself, I'd taken Otis Bender's course in SCIENCE FICTION & PHILOSOPHY OF MIND. I was in Otis Bender's office, discussing a true tale of Savage Dread: a journey to the heart of the Savage Id: & the Slime-thing grinned in his fine, cold sin; redeemed thru pain & not joy/division. Joy/division will tear us apart...again.... "I like your story," Otis Bender said. "But--I don't like the ending. It seems too...well, I don't know anything about lit-crit, maybe it's tragic or something...but you just blew everything up!" "That's because I was planning to write a sequel where he rises from the dead--where the character's in some kind of afterlife." Otis blew out a puff of cigarette smoke, said, "I don't believe in any afterlife--but what's it like? Tell me about the story you're writing!" "Death is a Dome w/ a war going on outside," I said, taking the paper back. I was rather embarrassed of my 1st literary efforts; even if I'd sold a couple of stories to Marvelous Comics. I was in a real English program now; I had to show my stuff to (gosh-wow!) world-famous literary critics--& I was ashamed because they probed it like God the naked Adam. "As you well know, the Bender Shaft is also a FTL spaceship drive," Bender said. "I've modified a small personal shuttle into an interplanetary ship. It's parked right outside, gassed up & ready to go. I would like to have a science fiction author as my copilot. You never know what you're going to meet in the depths of space." "God," I said, suiting up, &, while Otis wasn't watching, ripping off a microchip monad so I could change ID's. There was a zotz! & I was the vorkling Finny: Phineas Altenzauber. We trucked down the stairs. Outside the THX-1138 was parked on Jung Ave right across from Night Hospital. Otis climbed into the craft which looked like a stubby-winged sports car & I got in beside him. The canopy swooshed! shut & I launched us into hyperdrive. As soon as the rockets had cleared us from the atmosphere, G-forces pushing us back into our seats I cut in the warp-drive & stars streaked, just like on Star Trek or Star Wars. Yowie-zowie! In a few instants, the time it takes to drink a Mr Fruity, we were in orbit over the planet Lucifer, professor Bender marveling at all the gizmos & gew-gaws on the instrument panel. Cruising on impulse power we came in for a landing. A man awaited, a tiny figure growing larger w/ descent, motley, a clown: "I am God," he said as we blew the hatches. "I thought God was a woman," I said. "I thought God was a computer," Otis said. "Woman, machine, man: All forms are possible as hypostases of the All," the clown said, then turned serious: "I have devastating news: Saklas is growing microcosms in vitro, hundreds of test-tube baby worlds. How can we ever defeat this mad fiend?" "Speaking as a biologist, I recommend a saline abortion," Otis said, lighting another cigarette. God said, "Salt. Wisdom, Sophia, contains salt: This Sophia who was called barren is the Mother of Angels." I didn't understand God but I don't know if anyone does. God continued, "There's a salt factory a few miles east of here. Hurry! Hurry! The microcosms grow toward decantation even as we dally here on this wasted, arid plain!" There were cacti, & living mirrors upon legs w/ hands like little trees; on the western horizon the red sun of Lucifer hung like a bloated sac. W/ God squeezed in between Otis & I, we zoomed over desert plains & ominous buildings, citadels, spires, domes; soon were at the Lucifer Saltworks. I brought the THX-1138 in for a landing. As soon as we had touched down an ominous, angelic figure approached. "I am Millerael," in saffron sabbath robes; eyelids bled as I called her name. "I know who you are & what you need," she said, resplendent w/ wings like a sky full of eyes, "For I am part of the Divine Mind; I am an effulgence of the All." At these words a little gnome came out of the salt factory bearing a heavy load of lithium salts in a wheelbarrow.... Otis went to start loading the spaceship but Millerael stopped him. "1st...there is a price!" She stood next to me & put her arms around me. "I must have the love of Phineas Altenzauber. God is the Supreme Author; I must know his typewriter." & I hadn't even pressed the dreaded Bat-key yet. "Love is the price, & as an archangel I demand faithful veneration from all my humble worshipers." Storm psychoactivity: The world scintillated, fragmenting into little dancing crystals of pure salt certainty; then the entire paradigm shifted; I was in a different time, a different place: I was in Janet Miller's apartment, the incarnation of Millerael in the Real World (whatever that is); head of the English department. "Yowie-zowie," I said, marveling at the ability of God to do strange things. Bubba Reality, the world's heavyweight champion, who had taken the name because (he said) the mindstorms would never affect him, was fighting on the holo-vision. I was sipping some dopey drink, something heavily dosed w/ liqueurs. I turned toward her to ask, What is this stuff? then gasped in astonishment: Undaunted, she flung back her robes. Janet Miller was totally naked. "Well...are you going to fuck me or aren't you?" the happily married woman gaily asked, running her hand over her medium, pointed breasts. "But you're a married woman!" "Do you think that means anything in the storm era? We're all totally insane, running wild; hypersexuality is 1 of the symptoms; besides, my husband is having an affair." She was wearing mother-of-pearl earrings, a necklace of real pearls, expensive since the ecological disasters of the 90s. It was too much fun. Cascades. Waterfalls. Cool air heights. & so it goes. In a flashing twinkling I realized that she was carrying an Orgasmatronic teleportation device inside her vagina. Either that or this expensive liqueur wasn't doing a damn thing for my insanity, whatever kind of trank they were putting in it: I was back aboard the THX-1138 w/ God & the Great Bender. Shortly thereafter we were hovering outside Saklas' strong- hold. I pressed the main laser button & ruby fire shot from our ship, burning thru the walls. Then we were inside. Gnomes fired at us; Otis returned their fire while God prepared to dump the salt. Into each tank in turn we jettisoned certain sanity: white, crystalline powder. Embryonic universes shriveled, died, they were quivering flesh, glittering gel containing stars, galaxies, worlds. But the Making of Saklas is evil, for he makes shadow-worlds, he makes insane worlds in his own image....& he thinks there is no God beyond him; he wars against the True God who created him. But Her Creation is a self-making, beyond Time, beyond Space. She chose now to manifest herself in male form, became a Clown--who blew his little party horn even as Saklas screamed defiance. Saklas cursed in vain. God lined him up in the laser sights, but like any good supervillain, he escaped at the last instant in a time-pod. Who knows when or where the World-Maker will emerge again to work fantastic mischief? "Look out!" Otis screamed. I saw it barely in time: 1 of the little elven gnomes who served the evil insane god was lining us up in the sights of a pulse-pounder. I swerved the little aircar-sized craft to try to avoid the potent blast, but I was too late: An explosion ripped the little ship apart. I was dead. I rose from the dead. It was even better than Nekbael's oral sex: An Orgasmatronic woman was doing it wildly. I was racing at a run, I felt like Jesus' son as the mighty tides surged up toward release.... Just then Janet's husband charged into the room holding a pulse-pounder, charged at me shouting like a madman. It looked like I was up shit creek, Janet jumping off me in a frustrating moment of coitus interruptus. My seed was wasted on a plush red velvet pillow. He advanced as though he were a hillbilly bearing the shotgun of his daughter's betrothal. W/ a bottle of country/bourbon. "I'm gonna get you for this, you little cocksucker! I've got my finger on the trigger & you can't escape. Say your prayers, kid, cuz in a minute you're gonna be molecules!" "I worship God as a female hypostasis," I said. "God & the Cosmos are totally dualistic." The finger inched away from the trigger of the ray-gun. "You know, that's an interesting concept. As a philosophy professor myself I've often postulated an absolute Duality between Mind & Cosmos & Mind & Body. This would be, alas, a gnostic heresy were I not to follow the Neoplatonists & postulate a mediating principle between, on the 1 hand..." Janet was screaming, "Vorkling Finny! This is no time to debate philosophy! Use your magical ring!" For once the Crackerjacks people didn't let me down. I twisted the dial of the monad, turned into the vehement Yog-Soggoth. In violent rage I hurled chairs, tables, lamps at him. Though he blasted me w/ the pulse-pounder nothing happened. I was invulnerable, like Superman--only the element fire could prevail over the dread Congo bongoing Rootboy. Seeing that his q-resonant bursts were of no avail, he backed away even as a dozen writhing saurian tentacles reached for his face.... & whatever knows fear & loathing burns at the Slime-thing's touch!!!!! The battle was over. I screwed her ship & we sailed the tide. But I left there feeling a sense of shame, loathing myself for what I had done.... Yet as I trudged ever onward, back toward the Scoreland where my cosmic comic book collection waited, I felt bliss & not the division of schizophrenia: The Savage Id had scored again. I remembered her last words as a treasure of love, a secret sharing: There's nothing like fucking Id!! # LOVE WILL TEAR US APART...AGAIN Bob Vecker stood at the blackboard & drew structuaralist diagrams of epistemology & sex in Cosmicomics. I was taking Fantasy & the Gothic, along w/ the beautiful Sophie Rosencruetz, who was after my ass. She would constantly feel up my legs during Vecker's lectures, sometimes getting downright raunchy w/ the old dong, but VADIS affected you this way. Warm embrace. Separation. Afterplay, crimson-nailed fingers playing w/ a shaft, tongue-nipple teasing. "More." "Not now, Nikki, we have to go to class." I rose from the bed like a lion devouring a corpse, dead cow, & put on my cowboy shirt. I zipped up my blue jeans & sidled on out of the Scoreland Hotel w/ Nikki at my side, she not knowing that the vorkling superhero was actually her old boyfriend. I had picked her up at my funeral, sort of like Andy Warhol getting his brain diced for science. I would have to get a new prescription for pot 1 of these days. The curse of the killer glaucoma had followed me even into my new ID; even the monad couldn't cure me of that. Dr Curly, my psychiatrist, wanted me to lose the U-boat, but I was even more heavily into submarine warfare than ever before; nightly I visited the Roach/Clip Heaven. The Thorazine Police were everywhere, gray men, iron maidens, together w/ the Nova Narks busting the Heavy Metal Addicts. It was an age of interstellar exploration; there were Heavy Metal addicts on the planet Uranus now. The Subliminal Kid moved w/ inflexible authority to catch up to Nikki & I. He was born under Nova conditions. The Subliminal Kid was a punked-out zoccie; his unswayable outfits were post-punk & after Acid House....He was wearing a red bandana over green hair streaked w/ crimson. All around us, Heavy Metal Addicts played frisbee; the Kid poked his tongue at them. He said, "I hear you're transferring to the planet Rojan. Maybe you'll pick up some cute chicks there; I hear the women have 4 breasts out that way." "Maybe not," I replied. "It all depends on how this class w/ Vecker works out. I have been writing the cosmicomics for years under my pseudonym Claudius Schlausmuller III but gosh wow, think if I could actually write a real piece of honest to goodness literature. Maybe I can write the script for the next Batman movie. "Yeah, I may go there to do some graduate work--a Masters in science fiction; I guess but I just don't know...space is so immense...I don't know where I'm going to be going for my PhD--& there are things cuter out there than women w/ 4 breasts...." "I'll miss you," Nikki said. "If you aren't already having a dozen affairs...like w/ Sophie & that little whore Janet! & Rachel! Ooooooh, Rachel!" Nikki was being a little too sarcastic, I thought. "It's okay now that Janet's husband is dead. Tragic what happen- ed--committing suicide during a mindstorm. Crisp-fried to a crackly crunch. Do you think there really is such a thing as psionic thought-controllers so that the Creator/Destructor can dissolve the Universe back into the Primordial Oneness so that Apocalypse may bring Genesis?" "Too philosophical for me," the Kid said. "I prefer plain, simple acid reality." The kid caught a green frisbee, color of Nikki's shirt--the yellow nearest green. "I'm thinking of transferring to the Invisible Suburb myself. North Dakota is the place to be these days: Nobody wants to live in North Dakota, so it got less bombed-out in the Lunar Schiz-Krieg. By Saklas. You know, Hermann Saklas, the dictator of the Lunar Colonies? He's not a Galactic Overlord in a star-spanning spaceship!" "Thanks," I said. I needed to be reminded of reality occasionally. Not that Reality couldn't handle himself against even the toughest contenders. I was constantly drifting in & out of the cosmicomic. "Perhaps a visit to a psychiatrist," Nikki suggested. I didn't say anything. I was paranoid about psychiatrists. The damn shrinks were trying to poison me. Besides, I actually was a Savage Id. Who changed IDs w/ a monad. I looked out on an Invisible landscape, the rising, sinking squares that were the skyline of Night, wondered if there were any actual mindstorms--maybe I was simply an incurable schizophrenic trapped in a world he never made.... As I entered Delhi-Cobby Hall I passed the Grim Reaper. I couldn't acknowledge him as my own brother because that would mean admitting to the world that the vorkling Finny was not what he appeared to be. Even if he had the same lady friends as Lead--Lead was dead. At last I stammered, "Hi, Ger," acting as friendly as I could. I certainly wanted to be friends w/ my little brother, who had followed in my presumed dead footsteps & come from the west. The Grim Reaper was studying anthropology. Ice. Silence. I knew why he hated me: All his friends thought Finny was a fag. The ID I had assumed had had a problem of writing weird letters to girls; on 4 hits of acid, stoned & alone in the middle of the city in a lizard costume, he had gotten himself in Dutch w/ Rebecca. Why was the Invisible Lampshade trying to kill me? I entered Vecker's class. Soph-kid entered the class, a few minutes late, as usual, sat in the chair I had saved her & rapidly began copying my notes. I scribbled w/ great velocity. I take good notes when I'm stoned. It was too good to last: ejaculating, the Invisible Lampshade entered the class & killed Nikki & Sophie w/ a jackboot sprayer. I touched him, but he didn't burn, for he neither feared nor loathed me. He only charred a little. Pulling a smoke bomb from his utility belt, he escaped in a Fog of Anguish elaborating itself into Error. # End of file Press RIGHT ARROW (#6 key) of the numeric keypad to load the next file.