Perfected company man, metaphysical middle-manager. Z. lived triumphant in his shepherding role, he was an acclaimed fixer.
A fisher of men.
Z. would want for nothing, insulated by professional indifference, wholly independent from petty, decadent concerns. Passing to and fro from common space to common space, Z. was the gatekeeper to the ineffable mysteries of The Bold-Printed Signs, and this critical intermediary status contained the beginning and end of his desire, singular--for he had only one desire, to serve faithfully the grim force of which he was the only visible representative.
So it was, until, until now, here--as if having contracted an airborne illness, pathogens exhaled by these his charges, these twenty-one subjects condemned--
What, like some unconscious vengeance? And now, only now, after so many previously felled in the name of The Mystery.
