-1-
Haley held a special loathing for the Federation but he liked the new art. The glimmering water feature burbling in front of him was one of the public art pieces commissioned by the Federation to help in the “rehabilitation” of the Sprawl.
On a normal day he'd take a few minutes and ponder the way the clear water seemed to be coming out of nowhere before waterfalling down the facets of a gigantic diamond and into a pool of prismatic water. It was beautiful. He liked to look at beautiful things.
But today the water fountain only frustrated him.
He’d managed to wind up back in front of the diamond fountain three times in the last half hour despite taking three different routes from the train stop.
Turning around, Haley heads back down the side alley he’d just come, doing his best not to run into the people crowding the streets for their midday lunch breaks. He jogs all the way back to the train station and carefully retraces the directions that had been sent to his Syndicate last night.
As he retraces his steps, this time keeping straight on 8th street instead of taking the slight left, he notices the letter V tagged on every other light post in a holographic paint. He follows the V’s, carefully scanning the cramped store fronts until he sees the tall shining glass doors and above them white neon lettering glowing hazily on a square sheet of high shine metal.
Virtue
The sign reads in handwritten script.
Jean Dory is sitting on the concrete steps leading up the doors of Virtue, his long legs spread in front of him. He’s eating a bright green ice cream cone in a way that strikes Haley as slightly childlike despite the man being newly in his 40s. Jean's skin is immaculate and his slicked back dark hair is tinted purplish-blue at the ends
Jean’s clear amber eyes meet Haley as he starts for the
steps. A devious smile plays on Jean’s lips. He slowly licks
melted ice cream off the back of his hand in a way that seemed all together too intentional to Haley.
“I’m sorry, I’m late, Jean I--” Haley stammers.
“I need you to call me Mr. Dory when we’re working,” Jean smiles, revealing tiny wrinkles around his eyes. “It helps separate the clients from the staff…makes the clients feel special, like they’re personal friends of mine. You understand ?”
“Yes,of course...I-I got turned around, um I--tried to call you when I got lost but I couldn’t find your SIN ID--”
“Charlotte handles that sort of thing for me. I don’t tamper with that Syndicate bullshit. I swear one day someone will turn the kill switch on those things,” Jean replies flippantly. “ It’s been almost a year, have you really never noticed I'm disconnected ?”
Haley shakes his head numbly.
He hadn’t noticed Jean Dory's lack of syndicate.
But he hadn’t noticed much of anything for almost a year. Ever since he'd been released from Ft. Pride's prison camp he’d been in a daze.
For the past year he’d risen every morning in the tiny apartment the cartel rented to him, went to the Mojave Blade Company factory floor where he silently sat at a machine and cut knives for 10 hours a day and then went back the apartment and straight to bed. On the best weekends he'd have a mostly silent lunch with Gram or Isla.
On the worst weekends he’d get panicky or start crying for no reason and finds the brightest, most harmless puzzle game
he could and played it until his mind was so preoccupied it couldn’t
wander to bad places. One weekend he'd logged 37 hours straight.
But mostly he counted the ticking numbers in his bank account.
Waiting until he finally earned the $200,000 the cartel had said he
needed to commission the hit on Kenneth
Maxwell, the man who'd brutalized him for 7 years in the prison camp.
It had been a dull, simple way to live but he knew it would take time to earn the money. He’d been content, chipping away at the MBC factory to earn his hit.
And then he gotten a message from Minnow Dory, the cartel's executive assistant and Jean's younger sister. The price of his hit has been tripled.
Maxwell had gone from a senator to a judge in the Federation Courts and he was now under the protection of the Federation Honor Guard. She’d explained they’d have to pay higher bribes and take bigger risks to follow through with the assassination.
Hale knew Kenneth Maxwell was politically ambitious. Every few years his public profile would rise and in turn the the price of his hit would only increase.
Haley needed to make more money than he made in the knife factory and he needed to do it fast.
And that brought him
to Jean Dory’s front steps. Jean Dory, the notorious Shy Cartel brothel owner, who’d been whispering
offers to him the moment he'd laid eyes on him..
Jean stands suddenly, his tall, svelte frame towering over Haley. Nearly everyone was deferential to Jean. It was like the man had everyone under some kind of love spell.
Jean reaches his arm out and on instinct Haley backs away.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” Jean Dory smiles softly and points to Haley’s waist. He hates that Jean is talking to him like he's a scared dog. “I’m just going to put my hand here. I’m giving you the five cent tour of this place and I want you to stay close.”
Haley nods and holds his breath as Jean presses his hand into the small of his back and guides him up the steps and past the glass doors into the brothel.
Haley had never been inside Virtue or any brothel. He'd never had the desire to no matter how many times Jean had offhand made a comment about the attention he would get.
He doesn’t know what he expects when he walks in the front door, but at first glance the lobby looks like a fancy hotel, soft colors and real flowers accent the sparse reception space. A well dressed pair stand in near identical poses behind a tall pristine desk.
“Good Afternoon, Mr. Dory,” they greet him in unison.
“I’d like you to meet our latest addition,” Jean Dory smiles, pulling Haley closer to him.
The receptionist both smile brightly at him. Before Haley can remind Jean he hadn’t agreed to being a latest addition to anything just yet, a panel on the frosted glass behind them slides open and Jean pushes him past the threshold.
They step into a buzzing dining room. The candlelight tables were mostly couples, although there were a few groups at communal tables and on the sofas talking and laughing quietly. It could look like any high class restaurant lounge except that one person at each of the tables was extraordinarily beautiful.
The conversations lull the moment Haley steps in and for a moment he gets the feeling they are all staring at him, but their eyes are well above his head and directed at Jean.
“Mr. Dory!” A gorgeous man with dark hair and impeccably Roman features walks up to them.“I’d like to talk to you later tonight about--”
“Not today, I’m afraid.” Jean reaches out to stroke the man’s now frustrated face. “Talk to Charlotte about fitting you in my schedule. I’ve got a new employee to show around.”
Again, Haley wants to protest. He hadn’t
agreed to employment. This was just supposed to be a conversation with Jean.
The man furrows his brow, blatantly looks Haley up and down before frowning and walking away, disappearing up a flight of stairs in the back of the dining room. Haley looks at the stairs, guessing exactly what part of the brothel they led to.
“Would you like something to drink ?” Jean inclines his head to the gleaming white marble bar that wrapped around the space.
“Water ?”
“I’m honestly not sure if we serve that,” Jean smiles and for a moment Haley understands why everyone was so in love with Jean Dory.
They approach the bar, Jean leading the way and Haley stiffens when he sees Alan Gray perched on one of the white leather bar stools. His eyebrows are creased as he watches the crowd. Alan downs a drink before turning around to face the bar and picks though a bowl of brightly colored candies.
Haley was still angry with Alan Gray for locking him in that room with
Maxwell and then forgetting about them. He was even more pissed that Alan
seemed to barely remember doing it—not that Haley had ever said any of this to
Alan’s face.
Jean makes a small gesture to the bartender who nods and bends down, briefly disappearing behind the bar before coming back up with two glass bottles of sparkling water.
“All alone this afternoon, brother ?,” Jean asks Alan, leaning his back against the bar and stretching his arms.
“Yeah—Actually…Minnow and I are fighting. I guess.” Alan says, making eye contact with Haley but not bothering to acknowledge him.
“Just apologize,” Jean Dory says, turning around to lean over the bar, giving the bartender a stroke on the cheek and light kiss before taking the bottles of sparkling water.
“You don’t even know what happened--”
“Apologize."
“I wasn’t--”
“Apologize.”
“Your sister is a workaholic--”
“Just apologize, brother.”
“Is it so bad I wish the old man would just give it up and fucking die already ?” Alan says.
“No, but don’t you dare let Rias hear you say that shit,” Jean Dory says. “I don’t know what he’ll do if Rayne takes an early flight to hell.”
“Has it gotten that bad ?,” Haley asks. “I—I mean is he still…there ?”
Haley wanted to be asking about Rayne Washington’s health because he cared about the cartel boss who was slowly dying in front of his loved ones at the hands of a mysterious hereditary brain disease. But the truth was he wanted to know if Rayne Washington was still in his right mind to commission his hit on Maxwell.
Alan just glares at him. “The brain is a weird thing. He’s there but he’s not there. I mean, he’s in his right mind and all but he’s in pain from the last surgery and pain changes people. He’s lashing out at everyone. I should have put him in a coma for his recovery, but I was vetoed.”
“I suppose I owe Zacharias a visit soon. Is he with Rayne this week?,” Jeans asks.
“Where the fuck else would he be ? ” Alan scoffs.
“Don’t take your frustrations out on him, brother,” Jean smiles, patting Alan’s hair.
“I should be doing black market surgeries, not taking orders from a fucking teenager, a dying man and my girlfriend. I swear she spends more nights sleeping in a chair next to Rayne than she ever does with me. As if Rayne’s ever going to reward her loyalty to him.”
“Poor baby. Want me to get you a girl ?,” Jean asks but there is no real sympathy in his voice. “On me.”
Alan shakes his head. “How about just the lunch I ordered and a drink that hasn’t been diluted ? I have two surgeries I have to go prep for, I can't spend all day in here--”
“Charlotte!,” Jean barks so loudly Haley jumps.
A young woman with chin length dark hair and wide bangs framing a rounded face suddenly appears at his side.
She’s the first person that Haley has seen working in the brothel that looks like she hasn't had work done--she stands out in her plain modest dress—a green jumper over a long sleeve white blouse and black carvat. She has two clear Syndicates in her right ear and in her arms she’s cradling two tablets that ping every few seconds with alerts and messages.
“Yes, Jean ?,” Charlotte asks, swiping across a screen.
“Check on Mr. Gray’s food. If it’s not out in five minutes we are firing someone. And get him a real drink. From my suite upstairs.”
She nods and Jean winks at her before putting his arm back around Haley’s waist, leading him towards the back of the dining room.
“What do you think so far ?,” Jean asks.
“It’s different than I imagined.”
“Well, this isn’t the fun part. This is the social club.” Jean gestures around the room. “A place for the clients to get used to their host before going to a private suite or to spend time in post coital bliss or…just to be seen with a fucking beautiful person. Also we serve a damn good steak.”
“And the…everything else happens upstairs ?”
He nods.
“Are you going to show me the suites?,” Haley asks more with caution than curiosity.
“No. Actually…well, I suppose I should have explained to you that you won’t exactly be working in Virtue.”
***
-2-
Jean doesn’t do or say anything more as they walk to the back of
the social club, down a set of stairs and to a freight elevator that takes them down three more floors. The doors open to
a frosted glass wall with a sign in the same neon font identical to the
sign outside but with a different name.
Control
There is a fingerprint lock on the wall, but Jean pulls a card out of his pocket. He waves the card in front of the fingerprint reader for nearly a minute, turning it back and forth and cursing to himself, until a beep sounds and the neon lights recess and the glass wall slides back.
“You’d be surprised how hard it is to make decent security when you’re fingerprints have been burned off,” he quips once the glass has slid all the way back.
This space beyond the glass wall is dark, the only light
coming from tiny pins of white light lining yet a another staircase. Haley was beginning to think they were on their way to the 7th circle of hell.
At the bottom of the stairs, when they reach a pair of shining chrome French style doors, Jean’s grip tightens on Haley, like a mother taking a child through a crowd.
“I’m going to need you not to stare at anything, love,” Jean whispers into his ear.
“Where are we ?”
Jean doesn't respond but simply guides him through the door.
Soft music play from the wall speakers and Haley feels like he's been pulled into an alternate universe version of the social club upstairs. While the layouts were similar, that club upstairs was full of life and warmth. This one was smaller and mostly empty with dim lighting on exposed brick wall, unadorned dining furniture and numerous corners swathed in shadows.
And from those shadowed corners he hears moans--some closer to pain than pleasure.
Instead of the expensive shimmering marble bar that is upstairs, down here there is only an old fashion looking wooden bar in the center of the room. Behind the shelves of endless assortment of wine and liquor are rows of pill bottles and glowing syringes—Haley recognizes the sickly pinkish-purple glow of Clarity.
The single bartender is a woman with a serve white blonde high ponytail. A black leather balaclava with gold studs covers everything except the deep black of her eyes. She wears a matching black leather dress that could have been painted on her body. She stands perfectly still on tall 7-inch leather stiletto heels, her folded arm stance against the bar turn her into an unobtrusive statue.
Only one woman sits at the bar, she’s pale and freckled, with light brown hair in two thick braids down her side. In the dim light it takes Haley a moment to realize that the woman is topless, stark blue veins showed through her skin and the unnaturally large size of her breasts resting on the bar made Haley wonder if she was even capable of standing. He must have been staring because Jean gently tips his face away.
There is one hallway off the social club and as Jean steers them towards it, Haley quickly realizes the doors to the rooms aren’t soundproof. He hears moans, screams, the unmistakable sound of a whip and some sounds that don’t sound at all human to his ears.
“Control is my private club within the private club,” Jean explains as they walk down the hall. “It operates less like a brothel and more like a…fulfillment service.”
“Fulfillment service ?,” Haley asks hesitantly. His time in the military prison camp made him hate bullshit sounding euphemisms.
“Yes. Control clients are allowed the utmost freedom to fulfill the full potential of their worst desires no matter how taboo,” Jean explains. “For a price, of course.”
“The drugs…Are those drugs real ?”
At the moment they were all he could focus on. He’d been
able to ignore the fact that the cartel he worked for trafficked the drug that
his mother had been so hopelessly addicted to. But he’d never so much as seen a syringe until this moment.
“Full potential of their worst desires,” Jean repeats.
Haley can feel his fight or flight instinct kick in as Jean leads him farther down the darker hallway of rooms and away from the exit. He’s all but decided to go for the flight option when Jean unlocks one of the doors with his key card and guides him inside. The lights flicker on as the door shuts behind them.
And for a moment Haley’s reality alters.
The room behind the door was made up to look exactly like the private quarters of a high ranking Republic Liberation Army officer.
Or atleast how high ranking RLA officer quarters looked in the movies—where they were clean, air conditioned with king sized beds and had doors on the bathroom.
A carved wooden wardrobe in the corner was filled with starched RLA officer uniforms and freshly polished shoes, the desk held a sleek monitor and what looked like official paperwork. Framed pro-RLA propaganda mounted every wall along with weapons and vintage display boxes of model airships.
The room was old fashioned and regal. The detail was uncanny.
“As you can see I’ve put a lot of money into this.” Jean says sitting on the king sized bed, done up in the muted teal and black of the RLA. “Sit.”
Haley goes to sit on the bed but jumps back when he sees the
familiar metallic gag and blind, laying innocently on the bedspread.They looked like two strips of metal but Haley knew their damage. He'd spent years with one over his mouth at all times.
Haley was sure the patent for those had been destroyed when the RLA was removed from power. He’d watched videos of Maxwell hypocritically going on a media tours calling them torture devices and advocating for having them made illegal.
“Where did you--”
“They’re replicas,” Jean says holding up the mouth gag. “Well, not an exact replica. I read those horror stories about prisoners getting trapped in them so I have duplicates of all the keys and it comes off automatically after 48 hours.”
Haley had been mildly amused by all of this but now his stomach was bubbling, his chest hurt and he felt the panic attack he’d avoided for nearly a year coming on. Before he could even think of going for the exit, Jean takes his arm and guides him to sit on to the bed—tenderly stroking his back before slipping his hands underneath Haley's shirt and undershirt to massage his bare back.
Still sitting up, Haley drops his head and rests it on one of the pillows—it was cool and so eerily soft. He wanted to sink into it, maybe get under the covers and just take nap.
If only his heart would stop beating so fast.
“ I know you’re freaking out but I need you to calm down. You need to relax,” Jean breathes against his ear, placing soft kisses up the back of his neck. “The closest thing we have around here to a doctor right now is Alan Gray and you don’t want to deal with him unless you have to.”
Haley doesn’t think that is funny but he laughs.
“Are you hot ?,” Jean asks, still making small circles on his back.
“What--”
“You’re wearing a sweater. Aren't you hot ?”
“Yes, but I’m always hot,” Haley says quickly. It was always over 100 degrees in the Sprawl on a good day but he always kept his tattoos covered.
“No one will judge you for your ink here, least of all me.” Jean says. “May I ?”
Haley nods and Jean removes the gray cardigan and shirt in one motion. He makes a trail of soft kisses up Haley’s bare shoulder, the side of his neck and across his warming cheeks until their lips meet. The tip of Jean’s tongue enters his mouth at a deep angle that sends pleasurable shivers down his spine. Jean Dory’s mouth taste sweet, like a ripe apple, and his scent is clean and masculine.
Haley hadn’t really kissed anyone. Never with someone he wasn’t terrified of. He’d never known kissing another person could feel so good.
Jean’s intentions suddenly shift to the waist of Haley’s pants
and Jean somehow manages to get them undone single handily before slipping his
hand into his underwear.
Haley had passing dreams of Jean touching him like this, but now that it was happening in real life he felt exposed and embarrassed. Was Jean playing a game with him ? Was he testing him ? And why did he like it so much ?
“Come, darling. I want you to.” Jean says quietly as he wipes a small speck of blood on Haley’s bottom lips. He'd been absently biting down on it.
A soft sigh escapes Haley's lips and the tension slides from his body when he orgasms into Jean's soft hands.
Jean carefully pushes him to lay completely flat on the bed and Haley can't help but to curl into the bed. Elevating himself in a plank position, Jean kisses him once more before sitting up and pulling a powdery smelling towelette from the nightstand drawer and carefully wiping his hand.
Then he’s lying down next to Haley, their heads sharing a black and teal striped pillow.
Haley had been called pretty all his life, but Jean Dory had nothing on him. Jean’s charm and skill only magnified his already good looks and Haley felt like he could stare at the man all day and not find a single imperfection.
Haley wondered just how much Jean Dory’s clients paid for him.
“Let’s talk business,” Jean says, rolling on to his elbow, tangling his legs with Haley’s on top of the comforter—which was much softer than any actual RLA bedding had been.
“Like this ?,” Haley asks. He’d shamefully tucked himself back into his pants but they looked more like two lovers having pillow talk than potential colleagues.
“This is the business, sweetheart.” Jean smiles and Haley is quickly snapped out of Jean’s trance.
This is the business.
This.
“You want me to be a prop in someone’s RLA rape fantasy ?,” Haley asks, looking around the room.
“That’s not how I’d put it but…yes.”
The RLA had been treated as a distant shame for the Republic
even though it had only been disbanded a few years earlier. There’d been a rash of films
and documentaries (funded by the Federation) about the corruption and cruelty
of the RLA and how they'd started the war. It was from the films that Haley had learned there had been others like him; nonconscripted citizens kept in RLA camps for officers to rape. Although the ones the officers who kept them didn't have the cruel streak Maxwell had manged.
“The hosts I hire upstairs in Virtue have a high standard. I invest and mold them to an unnaturally high beauty standard, train them on how to give mind blowing pleasure and also have sparkling conversation. The hosts I hire for Control are a little more special. They simply fit a set of very specific requirements and have a certain threshold for the unseemly. The clients fill in the rest with their imagination.”
“Why do you think I have a high threshold for the unseemly ?”
Jean lifts the bottom of Haley’s undershirt, exposing the Property of the RLA tattoo on his lower back. That tattoo had been done at Maxwell’s request. The Please Fuck Me Until I Bleed was added by Forge DeCartes later.
“I know you tried to escape an RLA prison camp 4 times…you’d have to do quite some unseemly things to attempt that.”
“I didn’t know you wanted me to…I don’t do well reliving what happened to me,” Haley admits. “….I think I have PTSD or something…I get violent sometimes. It’s why I was almost kicked out of rehab--.”
“Even better,” Jean says. “Most of the people who've requested this like it rough.”
“You’re exploiting me,” Haley says, more to himself, feeling stupid for never considering this may have been the reason Jean wanted him.
“Yes. I am,” Jean smiles. “But you have a body covered in RLA propaganda. What the hell else do you expect ? Look, darling, if I don’t do it someone else will. Atleast I’m going to give you a good cut and benefits. ”
Jean was starting to become less of a flirty suitor and more like a businessman bargaining with his life.
“I’ve got three interested clients already.” Jean continues, “We’ll set the boundaries together. I’ll work with you. Depending on how this goes you could make thousands of dollars a night and I know some clients want more than one night.”
He does the math in his head; he could have the money for his hit on Maxwell in a little over three months.
“Keep in mind a certain percent of what you earn goes to the house of course and to pay for any incidentals.” Jean adds. “You can sleep here if you’d like, so you don’t have to pay for an apartment anymore if you don’t want to. It may be good for you…You can walk around here naked and no one will stare at your ink”
“And Rayne. He’d be okay with this ? He’d still take my money if I earned it…doing this.”
“Fucking ?,” Jean smiles. “Yes, after all Virtue was funded by MBC…although I do keep Control off the books. Rayne fucking hates prostitution as it is, silly man thinks it’s sinful, so he’s never been here and doesn’t care to know everything we get up to. He can be a little holier than though, you know ? Poor fool didn’t lose his virginity until he married.”
“If Rayne hates prostitution so much why did he give you money to open Virtue ?”
“Because I’m the one who knows where all the bodies are buried.” Jean grins slyly and Haley isn’t sure if he is kidding.
Jean interlaces his finger between Haley’s, pressing their palms together.
“Say yes, love,” Jean prompts. “Let’s make some fucked up dreams come true. My clients get their fantasies, I get paid, and you get your hit on that annoying Maxwell asshole.”
A knock sounds on the door. Haley jumps up and stands on impulse, but Jean stays, sprawling his long limbs out on the bed, like he was having a lazy Saturday afternoon in his own home.
“What ?,” Jean calls to the door.
Charlotte’s meek voice carries through the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Jean…It’s Mr. O’Dell. Again.”
“Dammit, what is this ? Third strike ? Tsk, Task,” Jeans calls back. He reaches to take Haley’s hand. “Come on, love, I think you need to see this.”
-3-
Pulling himself out of bed, Jean whips open the room door and they speed walks after Charlotte up the stairs and back into the elegant Virtue social club. The club dining room is mostly empty now and a small crowd is gathered around an older, fatherly looking man being held in a chokehold by Alan Gray.
“He tried to run,” Alan shrugs as if Jean asked for an explanation.
A woman is in the corner is crying--one of the Virtue escorts judging by her beauty.
The two receptionist are trying to console her. Jean makes a small, friendly gesture at the crying woman and she smiles for barely a second before nodding her head and wiping new tears from her eyes.
“Oh come on, Jean,” Mr. O’Dell—who sounds very drunk--says when he sees Jean. The man is shaking.
Jean releases Haley’s hand and walks towards Mr. O’Dell. His bright hazel eyes going suddenly dark.
“The Virtue social club isn’t a place for exhibitionism and when my girl tells you she doesn’t want to do something, you have no right to get angry or force your penis down her throat. This is the third time we’ve had this little conversation isn’t it ?”
“I had a little too much to drink--”
“My service staff would never let a client get drunk. Don’t you dare insult them. Have you been bringing in your own alcohol again ?”
Mr. O’Dell stutters. “Sh-she was still on the clock. C’mon, Jean. I didn’t mean to grab her so hard—I just wanted an under the table blow job. Nobody was going to see. I tip well. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again. Look I’ll just cancel my membership and never come back--”
Alan Gray, still holding Mr. O’Dell, rolls his eyes.
“You know our rules, Mr. O’Dell. First time shame on you,” Jean Dory quips. “Second time shame on me and third time…”
Jean whips a thin stiletto blade from a pocket and makes a quick arch down Mr. O’Dell’s throat. Blood gurgles and spurts from the wound, landing all over Alan Gray and Jean. The warm blood splatters on the tables nearest them and to his horror Haley can feel a faint mist wetting his face.
Alan Gray seems to remember suddenly he has medical training and cuts off the blood spray.
“Shit, you had to hit the fucking artery ? Fuck, you could have warned me.” Alan mumbles, picking up a cloth napkin off a nearby table to wipe at the thick blood coating his face.
Haley is stunned at the dead body now taking up residence in the social club, but no one else seems to be. Immediately, all the employees being to move; taking up blood stained glasses, comforting the woman who was attacked or whispering in the corner.
“Charlotte!,” Jean barks loudly and the his assistant appears again, this time juggling three tablets. “Call Minnie and tell her I need them to send a clean up crew, I want this place ready for the crowds tonight.”
“Already done,” she says, lifting the hem of her dress to step over the body to cross the room.
---
I came up with Virtue while I was finishing Sweet Prince and there were actually some elements of it in Sweet Prince that I took out. Like in Sweet Prince the name of Jean's brothel is never said because I wasn't sure if I was going to change it at some point. I'll talk more about this in the blog post but as you can imagine it's going to get a little subversive...
CPShawna: Really, Shawna ?
SHV: What ?
CPShawna: You're so bad at naming things you just named both of Jean's brothel's an antonym of what you named the original serials.
SHV: No, uh, it's, uh an artistic choice. Yeah. I did it for literary reasons and not because I was running out of ideas.