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Hawthorne’s taken to walking around with a syringe of oxytocendorphin jammed into his skull.

“Jesus!” says Senji.

“What?” says Hawthorne, following his gaze, trying to crane his head around to get a look at the back of his own head. “Oh! Right. Say, would you mind giving that plunger a little tap?”

“That’s disgusting!”

“Fine,” grumbles Hawthorne, backing up until it bumps the wall. “Oooh,” he adds, eyes glazing.


“Look, I just streamlined the process. The old way was a clumsy cargo cult!”

“What process?” says Senji.

“Love is addiction,” says Hawthorne. “Addiction is love.”

Senji has nothing to say.