(On the Run)

He ran and we followed. Of course we did. He was our creator, the Frankenstein to our monster. He gave us purpose. He showed us the way. And then rejected us for following it to its logical conclusion.

So he ran and we followed. Two months of running and we found him in a motel. With the monster we had created. With Adam Krug.

Poor Adam was tied to a chair and there was Jack the Skeptic trying to deprogram him. "You know who you are," Jack said. "You know what you saw. Ignore everything else, just focus on what you remember. What do you remember?"

"I remember," Adam said, "I remember...I remember a man...a man without a face..."

Jack let out a breath. "I know it's hard," he said as he patted Adam on the shoulder, "but we must never forget the truth of what happened or else we will lose ourselves."

"I remember," Adam said again. "I'm sorry. I’m sorry I att-attacked you. I just...I just wanted to make everything go away so badly."

"That’s alright," Jack said. "As long as you can remember who you are. They can never take that piece of you away."

Oh, Jack. Poor Jack. Wrong again.

The door flew open and in I ran. The great, tall, red-legged Scissorman. Only I wasn’t carrying scissors. I was carrying guns. Bang bang bang.

Poor Adam Krug died in that chair. Poor Jack tried to run, but a couple of well-placed bullets hit him in the legs.

And now poor Jack can't run anymore.

Oh, joyous day. This is the best of all possible worlds.

-- The Scissorman