The night sky exploded into an unreal world as Maxwell lay on the shabby floorboards gasping, like a fish out of water, his gills flapping, slowly being poisoned by callous betrayal. He had been landed by those that had least appreciated his existence, he knew now, by those to whom violation and destruction came easiest. From this began his dreams. He heard and felt the distant echoes of junk-ridden screams, the unmuted screams of all the murdered women of the world joining as one in a hideous cry of the violated. Again and again the screams rose up out of the night – violent, relentless and unforgiving, picking at his naked baby flesh like crows dining on fresh road kill. From this came his stinking helplessness. Releasing an almost reluctant hold on reality, Maxwell succumbed to the darkness and fell headlong into it. Now released, Rube Thabe raised himself out of the urine and vomit laden carcass of the man that now littered the doorway, turned to the window, and leapt the thirteen floors to the street below. The little man, Dilaudid, patted his knees in a small fit of childish, but frightening, laughter and crossed the floor for a better view of Rube Thabe’s descent, holding his sides lest they fall apart.
As he descended, the images came all at once, rushing forward and through him as though each on their way towards some great celebration. For one small, brief moment Rube Thabe considered the chattering minds of the people immediately below him and the endless possibilities to be had of attaching to any one of them, but decided that there was a far more vast wealth of fun to be had elsewhere in the city, so dismissed the thought and moved on.