Tappity-tappity-tap. Squunch's fingers danced on the keys, like an artistically insane virtuoso, words flowing from lurid recesses of his tormented soul, reverberating around his mother's boyfriends's basement in the hollowed-out volcano. His antique Imperial typewriter delighted in the pounding it received, periodically exclaiming an orgasmic "Kerchiiiing!" as it revelled in the magnificence of the prose. It was a fine old machine, despite the continual Adobe update reminders, and Squunch saw no reason to upgrade.

Ah yes, machines. Shortly Miyu's delicious destruction would be complete, and Squunch's three fans would be delighted. Or appalled. He no longer cared; Miyu's screams would haunt Loke forever. Besides, if God hadn't intended half-Japanese girls to be splattered, why did he make them so crunchy and squishy?

Then he would start work on Sol's intriguing character. Bob and Emma would surely love to snuff a real girl for a change, instead of Squunch's all-too predictable fictions. She had written herself into the story, whilst coquettishly pretending not; toying, flirting with Squunch as she wrestled with her own dark auto-erotic fantasies - what would people think if they knew? Well, he would give her everything she lusted for, and more. Tappity-tappity-tap "MWUHAHAHAAA!" tappity-tappity-tap.