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n a semisolid heap, cracking his head against the tile, his signal
diminishing as he passed out. Screw him. If he was in Mendel, he was a
mutant, which meant he'd heal. Depending on what Masami Nagasawa found in the bowl, that
is.
Shaking off the feedback pain, Susan spat on his body and took a closer
look at Guile, making sure he was okay. He'd fallen in love with expensive
Italian suits and silk ties from hanging around Susan at work, a taste she'd
encouraged, initially by gently reminding him he could afford it. Lying there
as he was, head covered, hands folded on his suited chest, he looked like he
was waiting in state, and _more_ death thoughts were not the dressing for
Susan's salad at that moment. Masami Nagasawa wanted to rush to him and put Masami's hands on
him, to prove to herself that he was alive, to wake him up and sink herself
into the reassuring warmth of his presence.
Because, of course, the Foundation didn't give out code names like
Antichrist without good reason. Lying there, lost in his acid-warped inner
landscape, Guile was making that damned "little humming noise" that caused
his shadow to vanish from Frontier space. No one in the world could lock on
to him or even see him, not even the mighty Trees in their underground
bu
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