And me? Well, I don’t aspire to be king. That’s just like being a highly paid pawn. I’m a bishop, a vizier. I’m always behind the scenes pulling the strings.

There are questions that run through your head when you find out that you’re a serial killer.

The world is totally screwed. I may have saved it, but nobody is going to thank me or reward me for that. I thought I'd feel some sense of satisfaction that I'd done the right thing. But I don't really. Being a hero is pretty damn stupid.

Shiver me clitoris, that's an evil vessel,' Severance says.

In the end, we’re all just victims of our perceptions.

Even having saved the world doesn't make me feel good about myself. Perhaps it's something you get habituated to; each new world-saving moment has to be bigger and better than the last to give you that same dopamine and serotonin kick. Maybe heroes are just junkies.

I grin back and breathe in the sweet smell of sweat, whiteboard marker and fear. The smells of high school.

The world is as I always intuited it to be: weird, fractured and full of monsters.