I was being completely controlled by crudely inhuman mechanical forces, but apart from that everything was fine. Apart from that everything was okay. I was a total prick, but aside from that everything was great. Aside from that, everything was great. All around me the pigeons stood, staring at me balefully – they blamed me for everything, obviously. They blamed me for the whole sorry mess. I ignored them of course – I’m too long at this game to be put off by a pack of bloody pigeons. They weren’t going to get to me that easily. I laughed as I thought of their presumption. Poor bloody pigeons! They didn’t know who they were dealing with; they didn’t know that I was a battle-hardened veteran at this sort of thing! ‘What sort of thing exactly?’ You might ask, affecting obtuseness. ‘The sort of thing where even the pigeons in the streets try to mess with your head.’ I replied archly, refusing to let you rile me. The sort of thing, the sort of thing. I knew that if I hung around long enough I’d start to come back to myself. It’s just a matter of time, it’s just a matter of time. ‘Don’t be panicked’ I told myself, ‘don’t be rushed…’ I knew that if I just hung around long enough everything would eventually fall into place. The pigeons won’t get the better of me! I laughed as I said this because I knew that I had faced greater adversities of this and yet I had survived. And yet I had survived, I told myself. And yet I had survived. Or had I? Thoughts came into my head, one after another. Thoughts were queuing up to get into my head, there were queuing up all round the block! Can we come into your head please?’, they asked, only they didn’t even say ‘please’. All of a sudden I felt very tired and very sad. I no longer felt like a hero, I no longer felt like a battle-hardened veteran of the psychic wars – the inevitable collapse had taken place. ‘Why do I have to be me?’ I thought. Why do I always have to be me? Why do I always have to be me? Why do I always have to be me? Why do I always have to be me? Why do I always have to be me? Why do I always have to be me? This – I realised unhappily – was not exactly the thought-process of the hero. The pigeons leered at me and I sent out a half-hearted kick in their direction. They didn’t even bother to move however, such was their insolence. They were an ugly crowd and no mistake. They were an ugly crowd and it wouldn’t be very long before they lost their fear of me entirely. I knew I had to take out the ringleader in one swift, decisive action; this was the only thing that would save the situation. Nothing else would suffice. Nothing else would turn this nasty situation around. Would I be able to find the courage to carry out this bold, decisive action however? The truth was that I wasn’t at all sure that I would find the courage. I have after all a long, long history of NOT finding it…