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They’ve shoved him in the back and buckled him in, treating him like a five-year-old, treating him as if a little time in the spotlight is going to turn him into a slobbering drunk. As if they’re so much wiser! As if they behaved any better when they were Narrator.

Brunhilde’s eyes show white and she bites her lip when she smiles back between the seats at him. “I promise you can have your keys back once you”re more used to it, okay?” she says.

The Narrator knows she is lying, though (she is a total bitch like that).


Brunhilde’s cock is as big as the sun. She fucks the sun, and the sun comes rising into the eyes of a billion soulslaves white eyes minds nerves cells chains atoms space. Brunhilde sees the stars and the leptons and owns all of it. Leases it. They are begging her indulgence to spin.

Comedown: she shakes all over and plucks feebly at electrodes. “What,” she tries. “Whafuck. Was that.”

“You’ve heard of deus ex machina?” asks Haroun, twisting dials on the black box.


“This is what happens,” he says, “when you don’t let it out,” and turns the crank again.