My life… my everything… it used to be at the bottom of the bottle. We were not scientists, we were assembly line workers. It didn’t matter how useful our abominations were, as long as they were present. So I found solace in a melange of liquors hard and brutal. As I pulled my blood soaked arms out of its gaping cranium, my heart was heavy. The brain was wired, the switch was flipped. It stared at me, blankly, for nearly five minutes. Then it smiled, and hung on my every word with unflinching adoration. Was this unconditional love? No, there was a dire condition: lobotomization. But I needed something to grab hold of to haul myself out of the pit of this despair. This seems to be working. Hmm, I’ll feel terrible about him down the road? You know what? Whatever.

Though she was never the third strongest mole, she had a reason to fight. Your Sanctuary was hers now, to protect and nurture her birth and surrogate children. True brutal savagery emerges in a threatened mother, a gentle touch remains as she holds her rowdy progeny back from the main fracas. They may have been playing rough, but without Momma they will be scared and scattered, completely out of their depth in the Dusty Dunes and Summers. You monster.