Igor Wrong Place Wrong Time

Igor throws one glance towards the sea, and her stomach lurches like a thing with wings. A distant memory slithers in across the glasslike surface of the water, a memory of the dead and the long forgotten. Igor wants to run, back to the Fortress, back to Princess, but Boss said that today was her birthday, and everyone must celebrate.

The pimps look pale and clammy, sandwiched in between a blistering sand and a blazing sun, their new linen suits patchy with sweat. The whores fan their faces like melting waxwork se