The space-lawyer clutched greedily at my Pilot. It flowed out towards me, on tendrils of intertwining flesh, forming itself a skull-face. Likely it was showing off something it ate in space. How quaint of a rapscallion you are! Like a confused puppy, it asked me why I persist to defy its authority without fear.

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 moustache to my face.

“WITH GREAT MOUSTACHE COMES GREAT RESPONSIBILITY.” I stated, when the popper’s extra time frame ran out. I regretted not giving Charles a big kiss.

“yOuR qUaNtUm DIsSOnAnCE HaS bEeN NOtEd!” The Biomatrix huffed. I realised 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 annoyed. Drat and baloney! This was definitely the worst party I’ve attended this year and the tenacious fact that Snippy refused to befriend his beast friend forever wasn’t helping things. I knew that he would, but I was most impatient.

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!

“THIS REMINDS ME OF AN ANECDOTE FROM MY EARLY DAYS IN SNIPPY CARETAKERY…” I outputted.

"WhAt?" The space-lawyer wobbled.

“HE FELL ASLEEP AT THE STOVE AND HIS HOUSE BURNED DOWN.” I continued.

“I WAS TRYING TO WAKE HIM BY MAGNIFICENTLY PUNCHING THROUGH ZEE WALL, BUT IN A TRICKY SWITCHEROO THE WALLS HAD BEEN MADE CAPTAIN PROOF BY A CERTAIN SUBSTANCE… YES, OF COURSE. A TRUCKLOAD OF RECYCLING BINS TO BE THROWN AWAY. HOW DID THEY GET THERE, YOU MIGHT BE ASKING? I HAVE A FEW THEORIES.

#NUMBLE UNO: SABOTAGEY BY EIGHT.

#NUMBEAN TWOP: A MOST TRICKY AND COLD HEARTED PRANK, ALSO LIKELY BY EIGHT.

#NUMBANA… WAIT WHAT WAS I TALKING ABOUT?”

“YoU SpEaK Of yOuR PrOpErTy, ChArLeS SnipPy?” The Biomatrix stated.

“OH, YES, OF COURSE, SNIPPY!” I almost shed a tear from that memory. “HE DIED TERRIBLY THAT DAY. DEATH NUMBER 70092 TO BE 'PRECISE'. [WHICH IS MY FAVORITE WAY TO BE BESIDES MYSTERIOUS AND SEXY]. ALACK AND ALAS, THIS JOB IS THANKLESS. HE DOESN’T BELIEVE ME VERY MUCH, BECAUSE HE IS A TITTY. YET I PERSIST TIRELESSLY, FOR I BELIEVE IT TO BE A MOST TRUE PATH TO A GOOD ENDING!”

“A GoOd eNdInG?” The Biomatrix inquired.

“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 tentacles of flesh.

“ANOTHER THING ABOUT SNIPPY IS HE’S ALWAYS MUMBLING MONOLOGUES TO HIMSELF. HE ONCE TALKED TO HIMSELF FOR ELEVEN MINUTES STRAIGHT, LEADING ME TO THE JUICY LIGHTBULB BRAIN MOMENT THAT TOLD ME ‘THIS SNIPPY IS LONELY, LET’S GIVE HIM A COMPANION FRIEND THAT TRULY UNDERSTANDS HIM!’”

"A friend?"

“YES, YOU SEE, SPACE-LAWYER... SOMETIMES THE PATH TO FRIENDSHIP INVOLVES WATERING THAT PRECIOUS FLOWER IN BLOOD. THAT IS WHERE YOU COME IN! ALTHOUGH, I WOULDN’T RECOMMEND COMING TO A POTENTIAL FRIENDSHIP MAKING PARTY COVERED IN LIFE JUICE. IN MY EXPERIENCE THIS WILL RESULT IN VERY FRIGHTENED PEOPLE AND ZEE POLICE.”

The space-lawyer contemplated my musings.

”tO rEaCh CONSEnSuS...tHis TRiAl DeMaNdS sUrROgATe EvIdEnCe.”

“WHAT SORT OF EVIDENCE?” I inquired.

“yOUR COmMOdITiEs wiLl PrOvIDe IT By BeInG InTegRAtEd InTO ThE bIoMaSs MAtrIx.” The Biomatrix spoke with a nasty smile, the creeping tentacle muscle springing to poke Charles.

Blood generally means something bad happens. Oftentimes there is screaming in a bad way, instead of a fun way. Snippy bled a lot, from places I had no idea were possible. His nose, his mouth, a gaping hole in his chest.

“AH… AHA… HE’LL BE ALRIGHT, BUT THIS NASTINESS IS RATHER SPOILING MY APPETITE. SEE YOU SOON, MISTER SNIPPY. GOOD NIGHT. SWEET DREAMS, MY PRINCE.” I waved at the uplifting form of Charles. Yes, sometimes friendship is 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 he went upwards.

“I’D ALSO APPRECIATE IT IF YOU WOULD JUST ONCE LOOK AT ALL THE ADS I BOUGHT YOU ON YOUR COMMUTE. I DESIGNED THEM SPECIAL AND ALL YOU DO IS STARE AT YOUR FEET!”

Charles wasn't listening. He was dead.