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The space-lawyer clutched greedily at my Pilot.

She flowed out towards me, on tendrils of intertwining flesh, forming herself a skull-face. Likely she was showing off something she had devoured in space.

How quaint of a rapscallion you are! Like a confused puppy, she asked me why I persisted to defy her authority.

Seeing an entertaining opportunity in such a tricky question, I produced a party popper from me pocket. This was a very special party popper. According to the marketing department, it froze time in the surrounding periphery for exactly 15 seconds. It was made because it extended those sweet new year's kisses. I did not use the party popper’s time for a kiss. Instead, I used it to apply a handsome mustache to my face.

“With great mustache comes great responsibility!” I stated, when the popper’s extra time frame ran out.

I regretted not giving Charles a big kiss.

I also realized that I have yet again used one of my best party tricks on the worst type of an audience.

Charles wasn’t even paying attention and the space-lawyer was just mildly amused.

I sighed.

“If you intend to take care of my Snippy in the foreseeable future, my dear,” I outputted. "You must learn to be more gentle with him. Snippy has many enemies that threaten his safeties. For you see, protecting Snippies is a rather delicate art, passed down from ME to me for centuries. He is even more fragile than a fabric-jay eggo, though he thinks otherwise!"

"WhAt?" The space-lawyer wobbled curiously.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"One day, long ago, Charles fell asleep next to an open stove and I failed to rescue him," I confessed. "The year was 1776 and the nearby town of Norfolk, Virginia was destroyed, by the combined actions of the British Royal Navy and occupying Patriot forces."

“Oh?"

I almost shed a tear from that memory.

“He died terribly that day, in a very mundane way. Death number 70092 to be 'precise'. Alack and alas, this job is thankless. He doesn’t believe me very much. Yet... I persist tirelessly, for I believe it to be a most true path to a good ending! Thus, I'm hereby passing my Snippy-caretaking baton to you, because I can't always monitor him and Eight is on a warpath most vile. I fear Captania may not hold long with her constant shenanigans.”

“A GoOd eNdInG?” The Biomatrix inquired curiously.

“Yes. The one where he doesn’t die horribly!” I waved my hands at Charles, who was clearly tuning out our conversation in his struggle against many tentacles of flesh.

I stepped to Charles and with a single flourish of my hand and a finger-snap I demolished all of the protective hexagrams that I had drawn on his person. With the omnicode hexagrams gone, Biomatrix could finally do a lot more than simply hug Charles.

"Sorry, Charles, this is going to hurt... quite a bit," I whispered to him, trying to stay strong.

I wasn't sure if he heard me.

The space-lawyer contemplated my musings and motions.

I shuffled in one spot, ready for what was coming. The fake lawyer was saying something about me, but I was barely listening, my eyes already filling with tears.

Eternity demands sacrifice. Infinity demands freedom. The Laws of Goodness must...

“Good night. Sweet dreams, my prince.” I glanced at Charles one last time, letting go of him.

Yes, sometimes friendship is most painful.

“Remember remember, the past, around November.

Sweaty office jobs, coffee and napping a lot.

I see no reason, why these, your memory seasons

Get stolen, twisted, broken and blocked.”

I recited a poem for Charles as the tentacle of the Biomatrix struck through his chest with a very diresome detonation of blood.