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monitors.
    Failure had just disappeared when a human named Victor Klein walked straight into Death, who had been standing on the sidewalk watching the exchange between Pain and Failure. Death wouldn’t have noticed the human at all if it wasn’t for the loud noise it made when it fell ass first onto the pavement. Pain quickly strolled over to see what all the noise was about.
    Victor looked up frightened at Pain and Death and asked, “Do you have any Pez?”
    Pain and Death looked at each other in total confusion.
    “I said, ‘ Do you have any Pez?’” repeated Victor, his voice being just this side of hysterical.
    “Uh, no,” answered Pain. “We don’t.”
    The human jumped cheerfully to his feet and heartily shook their hands. “Then I take it you aren’t policemen. Or policewomen,” he said, a wide, almost sane smile on his face. “All policemen, and policewomen, too, carry Pez dispensers. It makes them feel superior.”
    “Uh,” said Death. “Um.”
    Pain asked, “What difference would it make if we were policemen?”
    “Or policewomen?” added Death.
    Victor looked around quickly and moved towards Pain and Death before saying, “It’s because they’re after me, you see. The policemen, and policewomen, too, that is.”
    “Oh? Any particular reason?”
    “Probably because I recently escaped from the Perpetually Disturbed Mental Institution and Steak Ranch.”
    Pain’s face beamed with pure joy. Death’s skull seemed to glow and, if he had the ability, he would have smiled. They both recognized that they might have accidentally found a potential candidate for their game. They had great success in the past with those that were slightly unbalanced mentally but seemingly functional otherwise.
    “Thank you, Fate,” whispered Pain. He asked Victor, “If you don’t mind me asking, what did you do to end up in this institution?”
    “I prevented my girlfriend from being abducted into another dimension by the High Priest of Kwork,” answered Victor proudly, as if this were an actual, noteworthy accomplishment.
    Pain and Death visibly slumped. This piece of meat was clearly insane but not in the manner they had initially hoped. They had felt a similar sense of disappointment once seat belts and airbags were invented for automobiles. Previous to that, automobile accidents were a growth/growth industry. Lots of blood and suffering. A limb here, an organ there. Maybe a little decapitation. Now car crashes produced little more than crushed metal and plastic boxes with relatively whole people inside. Hardly worth any excitement at all.
    “Sadly,” continued Victor, “The policemen, and policewomen, too, called my preventive acts ‘murder’. I think a judge agreed with that hasty assessment as well. So did a bunch of people with the first name of Jury. Funny that a group of people with the same first name would all get together like that. I mean, the odds of that spontaneously happening must be pretty high.”
    “Uh,” said Death. “Um.”
    Victor said, “The ironic part to all of this is that I learnt, while wrongly institutionalized for a crime that I didn’t commit, that my girlfriend had actually been murdered the same day I was arrested. Very sad, in a way.”
    “Funny that,” said Pain, getting interested.
    “One of life’s many coincidences,” said Victor with little discernible emotion in his voice. He took a quick breath and said, “Although, when I think about it, preventing her from entering the Kwork dimension did leave her in a state that could’ve been mistaken as death. She was awfully still and silent afterwards, but women are like that when they don’t get what they want aren’t they? They sulk and moan about the pain. And complain that they’re getting cold. That they’re getting faint from loss of blood. Women overreact like that about everything. Everything is one big production. Hysterical. They're all hysterical meat.”
    “Blood?” asked Death, trying to raise