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--I can’t love myself.  I won’t love myself alone.--

 “But ye have borne the tabernacle of your Moloch and Chiun your images, the star of  your god, which ye made to yourselves.” Amos 5:26

There was an effort brewing in Hokkaido to suppress the infidel.  Already, they had caught him with his pants down masturbating to romance books, (you couldn’t call them novels anymore, they weren’t so new).  He got the rendezvous by the usual method, text *dingh*, not enough to cause too much racket… His lisp really bothered him on audio playback, but he wouldn’t let that bother anybody.  He wasn’t talking now.  Nor would he, no, not under torture or duress.  He had built up a tolerance for pain by bringing himself to the brink of climax again and again until his balls, his scrotum, filled with pus and made him sick.  Any pain now incurred was inversely sexual.  They wouldn’t think to milk him first.  They never do what’s nice and obvious.  Everything exquisite, nothing sacred.  Nevermind.  Microfiche, check, little tablet, check, file datum, double check.  Syria via Japan.

The spy game was easy.  Every tittle could be squeezed into a button and shoved up an anus for safe-keeping.  They never thought to plumb the line first.  In his darker years, (eldest son), he came to hate both sides of every geopolitical event, but as he soon discovered, this indifference to authority brought with it a healthy paycheck.  You see, it’s not easy to play both sides, but when one side wants you to win and believes in you, there is something innate in our nature that makes us want to obey, to follow some order, and he was okay with that, to an extent.  Loyalty to the mother/fatherland, Estonia, back home, they’d be proud.  He tries to think back, to remember something about the homeland in particular, but that wouldn’t help him right now, what, with the mission.  Boof the electronics.  Play the puppet.  It’s what he was paid to do.

He could always bend the minds of one or two confederates, but never the whole group.  The lisp gave it away.  Marked weakness, no group follows a lame leader, but to a simple some, the measurements seemed alright, and those where the ones who he aimed at, the ones with a weakness for weakness.  They would protect him when the group wouldn’t, and from there he could break apart the structure from the inside.  For he knew that what was wrong with him was merely superficial, but he brought out something much more deep-seated in others as a consequence, in their pity for him, they became his confidants.  Fox was no fool. 

It also pays to act domesticated, yet remain wild.  That was a trick he pulled off masterfully, giving half sway to his own feral being, a fully nurtured beast with a mind that was cunning and teeth that were all- together razor.  Women operate the same way.  They’re always trying to figure out something about man, to suss out a weakness and to use it against him, and to eventually break him.  Check Samson.  Fox had discerned this for himself, but unlike Samson, they forgot to blind him.  He could do much more damage this way.  He could get back at the one who betrayed him.  His scorned lover and the others.  He was young and foolish, but he was happy for a while.  But that wouldn’t do.  The war came.  There was always war, but this time it came for him.  They took her away from him (she was in on it).  It was long ago, and that’s how he chooses to remember it, it wouldn’t help to remember it otherwise.  He has his duties now.  His assignment.  Boof and deliver.  Don’t think.  Revenge can always wait.